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All posts for the month August, 2012

The Poetic Power of Parallelism

Published August 28, 2012 by Elsa Pla

The exercise for this past week was to do a sentence inventory for either a paragraph by a favorite author or your own paragraph. I did both.

First, a paragraph by my favorite author: Ray Bradbury.

From Dandelion Wine:

“A whole summer ahead to cross off the calendar, day by day. Like the goddess Siva in the travel books, he saw his hands jump everywhere, pluck sour apples, peaches, and midnight plums. He would be clothed in trees and bushes and rivers. He would freeze, gladly, in the hoarfrosted icehouse door. He would bake, happily, with ten thousand chickens, in Grandma’s kitchen.”

First Words ———–Main Verb(s)———# of Words

A whole summer ———to cross off—————12

Like the goddess———saw, jump, pluck ——– 21

He————————-would be clothed———10

He————————-would freeze————– 9

He————————-would bake————— 11

I chose this paragraph because it showcases the rhythmic power of parallel construction (the repetition of the structure of the last three sentences and the use of three items in a series). Repetition causes the writing to “sing.”  Notice how even the number of words of the last three sentences is similar. All this repetition works because it’s used as a special poetic effect. I love it. (There are more cool things happening in this paragraph, of course.)

Here’s my paragraph:

Ioúna awoke before the break of dawn.  He lingered in his hamaca, listening to the last sweet notes of the little brown frogs and to his mother breathing to the rhythm of the ocean waves.  Stirred by the sea breeze, the sun-dried straw on the roof of their bohío swished and whispered.  He rubbed his sleepy eyes with the palms of his hands and –  careful not to wake his mother –  rolled out of his swinging bed, picked up the small spear he used for fishing, and tiptoed toward the beach.

First Words ———–Main Verb(s)———# of Words

Ioúna————————awoke———————– 6

He—————————lingered——————— 28

Stirred by the sea breeze—swished, whispered——– 18

He—————————rubbed, picked, tiptoed—– 38

The paragraph has variety and flow, but after analyzing Mr. Bradbury’s use of parallel construction, I think I’ll change the end of the last sentence to “rolled out of his swinging bed, picked up his fishing spear, and tiptoed toward the beach.” By repeating the pattern of “his swinging bed” in “his fishing spear,” the sentence sounds more musical. It also shortens the last sentence a bit, which helps to balance the paragraph.

I’m going to stick to this exercise for a couple more weeks to see what else I notice about the way my favorite writers construct their sentences. I’m going to add a fourth column and title it “Special Effects.”

I’ll post again next Monday.

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The Sentence Inventory

Published August 20, 2012 by Elsa Pla

This past week’s exercise:

Go through your list of titles (refer to my post “The You List”), pick one, write a reflection piece on it, and see where the muse takes you. 

My earliest memory is of playing hide & seek with my mother at my grandmother’s creepy house. Here’s an excerpt from my reflection on “The Locked Desk”:

As a little girl, I was afraid of my grandmother’s house. It possessed an eerie quality that made me nervous. Perhaps its strangeness resulted from its ancient, unkept appearance and the fact that it was dreadfully out-of-place in the middle of the modern city. Perhaps because of the artifacts it contained: solemn columns, antique furniture, unusual objects, and obscure family portraits whose threatening eyes seemed to constantly glare at me. Whatever the reason for its weirdness, the house frightened me.

The eeriest piece of furniture in the house was my grandmother’s personal desk: a large and dark Spanish “Vargueño” intricately carved with fierce jungle animals and demon-like creatures. The front panel opened downward and doubled as a writing surface. When opened, the desk released a strong aroma of cedar and parchment and revealed dozens of small compartments and locked drawers. The desk was the heart of the house. The whole house — with its darkness, strong smells, many rooms, locked closets, and threatening “presences” — seemed to extend from it.

What did my grandmother keep locked up in her desk? Letters? Photographs? A diary? What sinister secrets does the desk conceal?

The point of the exercise is to wake up the muse. I love it.

This week I’m going to try an exercise I learned from a teacher who attended the Denver Writing Project Summer Institute:

The Sentence Inventory

1- Construct a chart that lists sentence beginnings, main verbs, and number of words (you could also list nouns, adjectives, adverbs, etc).

2- Pick a paragraph from a manuscript you’re working on, and inventory the components of your sentences.

(Or, pick a paragraph from a work by a favorite author, and inventory the components of his or her sentences.)

3- Analyze the sentence structure, verb choice, and sentence length of the paragraph.

The point is to get a better picture of your writing style and reflect on possible changes.

(If you’re analyzing a favorite author’s paragraph, the point is to reflect on his or her style and learn something new.)

Example:

Sentence Inventory of the second paragraph of “The Locked Desk”:

First Words—————–Main Verb(s)———–# Words

The eeriest piece—————-was, carved——————29

The front panel—————opened, doubled—————11

When opened—————-released, revealed————–21

The desk—————————-was————————-8

The whole house—————–seemed———————20

Analysis: I notice that four of my five sentences start with “The.” I won’t change them, but I’ll keep this tendency in mind. I’m okay with the variety in sentence length. I’m not happy  with having two sentences with the verb “was.” I wonder if I should change the verb in the fifth sentence to “constituted.”

See how it works? This exercise is a great revision tool.

Try it! 🙂

I’ll post again next Monday.

Writing is Survival

Published August 13, 2012 by Elsa Pla

The new school year is quickly approaching, and there’s a ton of things I need to do. The luxury I’ve had of blogging Monday through Friday is over. From now on I intend to post on this blog only on Monday evenings. What I plan to do is present an exercise I’ll be working on during the week (and invite you to work on it, too), then share my attempt the following Monday, as well as introduce the next exercise.

I’ll be working on my middle school website/blog (www.writecook.com) and my Juvenile/YA book reviews (www.elsapla.wordpress.com) throughout the school year, and I’ll continue to post on my personal blog (www.catchabutterfly.wordpress.com) as well.

Here’s the schedule I intend to follow:

Sunday – Season of Butterflies blog

Monday – The Write Town blog

Tuesday – Thursday – Write Cook website/blog and writing projects

Friday – writing projects

Saturday – art projects

First week of the month – The Reading Café blog

The new schedule starts today.

The exercise I’ll be working on this week is the continuation of Friday’s exercise from Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury:

“I began to run through those lists, pick a noun, and then sit down to write a long prose-poem-essay on it.

“Somewhere along about the middle of the page, or perhaps the second page, the prose poem would turn into a story.”

This, then, is the new exercise:

Go through your list of titles, pick one, write a reflection piece on it, and see where the muse takes you. 

I’ll share my attempt next Monday. Join me!

I’ll end today’s post with a bit more wisdom from Ray:

“What, you ask, does writing teach us?

“First and foremost, it reminds us that we are alive and that it is a gift and a privilege, not a right. We must earn life once it has been awarded us. […]

“So while our art cannot, as we wish it could, save us from wars, privation, envy, greed, old age, or death, it can revitalize us amidst it all.

“Second, writing is survival. Any art, any good work, of course is that.

“Not to write, for many of us, is to die.

“We must take arms each and every day, perhaps knowing that the battle cannot be entirely won, but fight we must, if only a gentle bout. The smallest effort to win means, at the end of each day, a sort of victory.

[…] [And what if we don’t?]

“What would happen is that the world would catch up with you and try to sicken you. If you did not write every day, the poisons would accumulate and you would begin to die, or act crazy, or both.

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.

“For writing allows just the proper recipes of truth, life, reality as you are able to eat, drink, and digest without hyperventilating and flopping like a dead fish in your bed.”

Perhaps that’s your experience. I know it’s mine.

Talk to you next Monday! 🙂

The You List

Published August 10, 2012 by Elsa Pla

Here’s a fantastic exercise from Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury.

“I began to make lists of titles, to put down long lists of nouns. These lists were the provocations, finally, that caused my better stuff to surface. I was feeling my way toward something honest, hidden under the trapdoor on the top of my skull.

“The list went something like this:

THE LAKE. THE NIGHT. THE CRICKETS. THE RAVINE. THE ATTIC. THE BASEMENT. THE TRAPDOOR. THE BABY. THE CROWD. THE NIGHT TRAIN. THE FOG HORN. THE SCYTHE. THE CARNIVAL. THE CAROUSEL. THE DWARF. THE MIRROR MAZE. THE SKELETON.

“Where am I leading you? Well, if you are a writer, or would hope to be one, similar lists, dredged out of the lopside of your brain, might well help you discover you, even as I flopped around and finally discovered me.”

I love you, Ray!

Here’s the start of my list:

THE OLD HOUSE. THE PORTRAIT. THE LOCKED DESK. THE DARK CLOSET. THE TIGER. THE EMPTY ROOM. THE LONG-HAIRED TREE. THE CEMETERY. THE LEPER COLONY. THE HURRICANE. THE STARING DOLLS. THE DOOR ON THE FLOOR. THE WHITE MICE. THE LAKE. THE GHOST. THE BLACK BIRDS. THE OPEN WINDOW. THE BULLY. THE MIRRORS. THE DARK DREAMS. THE WAVE. THE WASPS. THE SUGAR CANE FIELD. THE WITCH.

Now you try it! 🙂

I will post again next Monday. Enjoy the weekend!

Take Me to Your Homie

Published August 9, 2012 by Elsa Pla

Here’s a fun little exercise on dialogue and humor:

Compose a short scene that includes a humorous conversation.

Here’s my attempt:

An encounter between a middle-school student and an extraterrestrial being:

The spaceship’s door slid open, and an alien being that looked like a beet-red, fish-headed monkey wearing a green, super-hero outfit stepped out.

“Yo!” said the alien while lifting one of its four-finger paws. “Take me to your homie.”

“Is that you, Leroy?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “Don’t mess with me.”

The alien was quiet. We stared at each other for a few seconds. I heard a soft whirring, as if someone was re-winding a tape.

“Howdy, partner!” This time the alien pretended to salute me with what I presumed to be an invisible cowboy hat. “Is your boss at the ranch?”

“What? Leroy, take off that silly suit. I’m gonna tell your mama you’re playing that stupid Green Lantern game again.”

“¿Habla Español, señorita?” asked the alien.

“Very funny, Leroy, but you don’t fool me. You sound just like yourself.”

The alien made a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a burp. Then it turned around and started to step back into the spaceship.

“Wait up, Leroy! Just where you think you’re goin’? Don’t you remember we have a meeting with the principal?”

I grabbed a four-finger paw and marched off toward the school building, pulling the burping alien behind me. I grinned as I imagined the principal’s expression when she sees me walk into her office with an extraterrestrial, fish-headed monkey.

Silly, but fun!

Try it! 🙂

The Hole in the Lake

Published August 8, 2012 by Elsa Pla

Today’s exercise:

Describe an outdoors setting for a story. The setting must be a real place you have visited or lived in. Think about how the place made you feel (happy, sad, scared, etc), and try to capture that feeling in your description. The purpose of this exercise is to practice using setting to create mood.

Here’s my attempt from a story I’m working on:

The lake was the color of boiled plantain leaves. It lay captured between verdant hills teeming with tropical life, the lush vegetation interrupted here and there by the modern dwellings of the well-to-do residents of the area. I glimpsed the glistening green water between branches and leaves as I treaded – with difficulty – down the steep asphalt road that snaked through the gated community.

I searched for the wooden steps that led from the side of the road down the embankment to the communal dock. The steps were partly hidden by bamboo trunks, so it took me a few moments to find them. Going down the steps was tricky, for they were being taken over by the surrounding vegetation. Aggressively so, I realized, as I tripped on a root and almost went down on my behind the rest of the way. The bamboos swayed and creaked loudly. Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea, even if it was broad daylight. I slowed my pace and held on gingerly to the wobbly railing until I had made it down safely.

I now stood on the sturdy, wooden planks of the dock. The surrounding bamboos provided a shady reprieve from the summer heat and, best of all, privacy. I breathed in and out the thick organic scent that enveloped the dock and admired the liquid-green expanse before me. The summer breeze shook the branches and rustled the leaves, creating groaning and swooshing sounds. It was as if the trees were complaining, resenting my presence.

I pulled up a grimy plastic chair, plopped down, and concentrated on slowing down my breathing.  Alone at last, thank God. The thought, of course, was ludicrous. This was a tropical island, and I was sitting among – at the very least – a thousand living things. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and tried to ignore the groaning trees plus the buzzing, chirping, scratching, pecking, plopping, gurgling, and scrabbling all around me. I was sufficiently far away from my mom, and that’s all that mattered. She was having one of her bad days, and if I stayed inside the house listening to her for too long, her craziness would start seeping into me, and I certainly didn’t want that. (I have enough of my own craziness, thank you very much.) So I had run away to the dock at the first chance I got.

Normally I wouldn’t have chosen to come down to the edge of the lake, but I was desperate for a bit of peace and solitude. And the lake offered both. I loved to gaze at it from a distance – it was lovely as a calendar picture – but I was reluctant to get too close, especially after one of my neighbors was found dead and bloated, floating face-down right behind our house, where our property reached the water.

The dock, as I had expected, was deserted. Now that I felt more relaxed, I opened my eyes and admired my surroundings. The day was so hot and hazy that the lake resembled a bowl of hot soup, but where I was sitting the temperature was pleasant.  Thank goodness for those creaky bamboos, otherwise lounging here would have been unbearable. I studied the tiny insects skimming the surface of the water and the fish bubbles that popped now and then. Dragonflies bobbed up and down in the hot, muggy air.

I imagined all manner of insects, spiders, centipedes, frogs, and lizards, perfectly hidden, quiet and hungry, acutely aware of my presence. Correction: I did not imagine them, I was as acutely aware of them as they were of me. A strange thought crossed my mind: if I were to drop dead on this dock, all those critters would greedily feast on my body. There you have it. Those are the kind of cheery thoughts that often creep into my brain.

I plucked the little predators out of my mind, and tried to focus on the pretty way the water rippled and glistened. But, as I glanced across the lake, I saw the hole. And my thoughts wandered in a different, darker direction.

Hopefully I’ve created a suspenseful mood. Now you try it! 🙂

The Haiku Moment

Published August 7, 2012 by Elsa Pla

Today’s exercise is deceptively easy.

Take a walk or go sit on the porch and contemplate the everyday world around you. Compose a haiku (or more than one) that describes your experience and how that moment “spoke” to you. The point of the exercise is to develop an awareness of our surroundings and to learn to translate a single moment’s experience into a simple descriptive image that contains layers of meaning. These simple layered images (usually metaphors) can add depth to our writing.

Traditional haiku consist of 17 syllables arranged in a sequence of 5-7-5. They commonly contain

1- a sensory experience (the what),

2- a sense of place (the where), and

3- a sense of time (the when).

“Though brief, [haiku] tell a story or paint a vivid picture, leaving it to the reader to draw out the meanings and complete them in the mind’s eye. Haiku often contain a hidden dualism (near and far, then and now, etc.) and have a seasonal tie-in, as well as specific word-images that reveal deeper layers in each poem.”

(From The Classic Tradition of Haiku — an Anthology, edited by Faubion Bowers)

By the way, the plural of haiku is haiku.

Here’s an example by the poet James Kirkup:

Haiku should be just

small stones dropping down a well

with a small splash

(A possible deeper layer of meaning: Should we strive to be like those small stones?)

“A fine haiku presents a crystalline moment of heightened awareness in simple imagery, traditionally using a kigo or season word from nature.” Patricia Donegan, Haiku Mind

My attempts:

Summer morning stroll —

the coyote on the road

turned and looked at me.

The noon sun ignites

the colors of the lily.

The petals blind me.

Such a hot summer!

Clusters of Black-eyed Susans

brighten the garden.

Now you try it! 🙂