The exercise:
What a beautiful Fall day here in Vancouver. To celebrate, today's starter is: the colors of Fall.
Mine:
The sun sets the tree on fire;
I hold my breath and admire
The brown, orange, yellow and red
Of Fall's vivid new attire.
The tree stands taller in new threads
Even as a lone leaf it sheds,
Swaying gracefully down to me
And landing gently on my head.
A breeze sets more leaves flying free:
Adrift in a ruby red sea,
Lost in a dark rainbow mire -
The stark beauty of Fall's debris.
Tuesday October 21st, 2008
The exercise:
Okay, one more from the workshop and tomorrow I'll have something fresh. For the record I haven't been taking a break from writing the last few days, just focusing on other stuff. Some of it is over on Protagonize, some of it is not.
*Ooooooh, mysterious*
Anyway, today's starter: your first writing memory.
Mine:
Grade eleven - I was not at my most shy but I was still uncomfortable with my mind and my body. I couldn't take a compliment to save my life.
Writing class, a grade ten/eleven split. Being one of the older kids gave me some confidence. I sat behind a grade ten boy who was very academically gifted but he struggled with creativity - a math type, not an art type.
We had been given an assignment to write a short story that had a twist at the end. I remember my opening paragraph very clearly still - it was a first person story from the perspective of an ant, that was my big reveal at the end.
When our teacher was handing back our work I was quietly thrilled that I had done well, the boy in front of me was loudly unimpressed he had done poorly. He didn't understand what he had done wrong.
The teacher suggested that he he read mine as an example of what he should have been striving for. I handed it over with a heady mix of pride and terror.
He read my first paragraph and said that he could never manage that. I politely attempted to convince him otherwise but internally... I knew he was right.
That was the first time I felt proud of my ability to write. I think chasing that feeling is a part of why I write today. I bet he doesn't even remember that day, that moment, but it means so much to me still.
Okay, one more from the workshop and tomorrow I'll have something fresh. For the record I haven't been taking a break from writing the last few days, just focusing on other stuff. Some of it is over on Protagonize, some of it is not.
*Ooooooh, mysterious*
Anyway, today's starter: your first writing memory.
Mine:
Grade eleven - I was not at my most shy but I was still uncomfortable with my mind and my body. I couldn't take a compliment to save my life.
Writing class, a grade ten/eleven split. Being one of the older kids gave me some confidence. I sat behind a grade ten boy who was very academically gifted but he struggled with creativity - a math type, not an art type.
We had been given an assignment to write a short story that had a twist at the end. I remember my opening paragraph very clearly still - it was a first person story from the perspective of an ant, that was my big reveal at the end.
When our teacher was handing back our work I was quietly thrilled that I had done well, the boy in front of me was loudly unimpressed he had done poorly. He didn't understand what he had done wrong.
The teacher suggested that he he read mine as an example of what he should have been striving for. I handed it over with a heady mix of pride and terror.
He read my first paragraph and said that he could never manage that. I politely attempted to convince him otherwise but internally... I knew he was right.
That was the first time I felt proud of my ability to write. I think chasing that feeling is a part of why I write today. I bet he doesn't even remember that day, that moment, but it means so much to me still.
Monday October 20th, 2008
The exercise:
Another workshop writing exercise: close your eyes and just listen. Where does each noise you hear take you? Pick one and go ahead and go there.
Mine:
The conductor clangs the bell at the end of the platform and hollers something in German. I think it's safe to assume it's the equivalent of "All aboard!" but not knowing the language makes it hard to be sure of anything.
I try to watch the other waiting passengers inconspicuously, to see what they do. I take my signals from actions these days, not words.
But no one is getting on the train. A man sits reading a newspaper in perfect stillness, the wind crinkling his paper the only audible indication of his existence; a couple are arguing behind me in a language I don't recognize, their words assault my ears.
What is going on? Are they waiting for another train or is this one pausing here for a while or... God, I hate not knowing the language.
I edge closer to the open compartment door in front of me, hoping to find a sign I can decipher. A destination would be wonderful - city names are a universal language. Well, most of the time. Lest I forget that incident on the way to Naples/Napoli.
The bell sounds again, the conductor hollers again. I swear under my breath and step up into the compartment. What's the worst that could happen? This is supposed to be an adventure, right? So be adventurous!
The door clangs shut behind me, the noise magnified by the small entrance way and the bare metal walls. I feel like the train is yelling at me - it could be a welcome, it could be a warning.
Typically German - always yelling but I'm never certain if the speaker is happy or mad or even indifferent. I really miss English on days like these.
Another workshop writing exercise: close your eyes and just listen. Where does each noise you hear take you? Pick one and go ahead and go there.
Mine:
The conductor clangs the bell at the end of the platform and hollers something in German. I think it's safe to assume it's the equivalent of "All aboard!" but not knowing the language makes it hard to be sure of anything.
I try to watch the other waiting passengers inconspicuously, to see what they do. I take my signals from actions these days, not words.
But no one is getting on the train. A man sits reading a newspaper in perfect stillness, the wind crinkling his paper the only audible indication of his existence; a couple are arguing behind me in a language I don't recognize, their words assault my ears.
What is going on? Are they waiting for another train or is this one pausing here for a while or... God, I hate not knowing the language.
I edge closer to the open compartment door in front of me, hoping to find a sign I can decipher. A destination would be wonderful - city names are a universal language. Well, most of the time. Lest I forget that incident on the way to Naples/Napoli.
The bell sounds again, the conductor hollers again. I swear under my breath and step up into the compartment. What's the worst that could happen? This is supposed to be an adventure, right? So be adventurous!
The door clangs shut behind me, the noise magnified by the small entrance way and the bare metal walls. I feel like the train is yelling at me - it could be a welcome, it could be a warning.
Typically German - always yelling but I'm never certain if the speaker is happy or mad or even indifferent. I really miss English on days like these.
Sunday October 19th, 2008
The exercise:
On Saturday we did a walking meditation on the grounds of Stanley Park in the area around our workshop. We walked slowly, we stopped often, we engaged our five senses and took everything in. The list of things I observed after only thirty minutes will give me writing ideas for weeks to come.
So go for a slow walk and find some tiny detail that sparks your imagination.
Mine:
The bark of this tree
Has seen more than me.
I reach out to taste
Slowly, without haste,
The wisdom it holds,
Stories it has told.
My fingers can hear
The voice of the years,
The wind against leaves,
The webs being weaved.
I do not see why
This tree cannot fly;
People of this earth
Would learn from his mirth
The richness of peace,
The joy of release.
Each year the same pain
Of loss, wind and rain;
Each year the same joy
Of sun and young boys.
The bark of this tree
Knows much more than me.
On Saturday we did a walking meditation on the grounds of Stanley Park in the area around our workshop. We walked slowly, we stopped often, we engaged our five senses and took everything in. The list of things I observed after only thirty minutes will give me writing ideas for weeks to come.
So go for a slow walk and find some tiny detail that sparks your imagination.
Mine:
The bark of this tree
Has seen more than me.
I reach out to taste
Slowly, without haste,
The wisdom it holds,
Stories it has told.
My fingers can hear
The voice of the years,
The wind against leaves,
The webs being weaved.
I do not see why
This tree cannot fly;
People of this earth
Would learn from his mirth
The richness of peace,
The joy of release.
Each year the same pain
Of loss, wind and rain;
Each year the same joy
Of sun and young boys.
The bark of this tree
Knows much more than me.
Saturday October 18th, 2008
The exercise:
Well the workshop was amazing - and I'm not just saying that because the link to this page is going to be sent out to Ruth Ozeki and all of my fellow participants. But on that note - it was a pleasure to meet, speak with and hear from all of you this weekend. What a great experience.
I invite you all to drop by here whenever you're in need of a writing prompt or exercise or just want to see what sort of randomness I've come up with that day.
I wrote a lot in the last two days and I plan on sharing some of it here... but today is Saturday, and 'round these parts that means it's the day to write a four line poem. So - the topic for today's poem is: inspiration.
Mine:
Moved by words and silence -
We're writers not islands;
So hear the words we use
And be each others' muse.
Well the workshop was amazing - and I'm not just saying that because the link to this page is going to be sent out to Ruth Ozeki and all of my fellow participants. But on that note - it was a pleasure to meet, speak with and hear from all of you this weekend. What a great experience.
I invite you all to drop by here whenever you're in need of a writing prompt or exercise or just want to see what sort of randomness I've come up with that day.
I wrote a lot in the last two days and I plan on sharing some of it here... but today is Saturday, and 'round these parts that means it's the day to write a four line poem. So - the topic for today's poem is: inspiration.
Mine:
Moved by words and silence -
We're writers not islands;
So hear the words we use
And be each others' muse.
Friday October 17th, 2008
The exercise:
My workshop is starting right about now - wish me luck!
In my absence, Def Poetry Jam Friday presents America Calls by Sekou The Misfit and Steve Connell.
Mine:
This one goes out to the 41 percent of Canadians who were eligible to vote on Tuesday but chose not to.
I don't really care what you've got for an excuse - do you know how many ridings might have had drastically different results if even half of you got out there and put an 'X' on a ballot?
Mr. Harper would like to say thank you for making this easy.
Three hundred million dollars for sixteen seats... I guess the economy really is in trouble.
Here's one from Steve Connell and one from Sekou.
My workshop is starting right about now - wish me luck!
In my absence, Def Poetry Jam Friday presents America Calls by Sekou The Misfit and Steve Connell.
Mine:
This one goes out to the 41 percent of Canadians who were eligible to vote on Tuesday but chose not to.
I don't really care what you've got for an excuse - do you know how many ridings might have had drastically different results if even half of you got out there and put an 'X' on a ballot?
Mr. Harper would like to say thank you for making this easy.
Three hundred million dollars for sixteen seats... I guess the economy really is in trouble.
Here's one from Steve Connell and one from Sekou.
Thursday October 16th, 2008
The exercise:
I'll have a post scheduled to go up tomorrow evening since I won't be around for most of the day. That's because my super awesome girlfriend has rounded up some of my super awesome friends and family and they're all chipping in to send me to this workshop as a (slightly early) birthday present. I'm super awesomely excited about it. I'll let you know how it goes.
As for today? The starter du jour is: finding time to write.
Mine:
Finding time to write can be an incredible challenge to overcome. You think about sitting down to scribble thoughts on paper and your mind goes numb. That little voice starts telling you nobody wants to read what you have to say and your ideas are dumb.
My biggest obstacle is a beast called Procrastination; maybe you've heard of him and his friend I've Got Better Things To Do? But I've managed to write every day for the last 130 days, so there's no reason you can't too.
There's no question, I have sacrificed other things I enjoy doing in order to write. I've gone to bed later than I would have liked on many a night. Admittedly, I didn't have much choice in the matter - I could never sleep with all those ideas running around my head like mice.
The thing to remember is this: writing is its own reward. I don't write hoping to be adored. I know there's a good chance my words will be ignored. I write because not writing isn't something I can afford.
I'll have a post scheduled to go up tomorrow evening since I won't be around for most of the day. That's because my super awesome girlfriend has rounded up some of my super awesome friends and family and they're all chipping in to send me to this workshop as a (slightly early) birthday present. I'm super awesomely excited about it. I'll let you know how it goes.
As for today? The starter du jour is: finding time to write.
Mine:
Finding time to write can be an incredible challenge to overcome. You think about sitting down to scribble thoughts on paper and your mind goes numb. That little voice starts telling you nobody wants to read what you have to say and your ideas are dumb.
My biggest obstacle is a beast called Procrastination; maybe you've heard of him and his friend I've Got Better Things To Do? But I've managed to write every day for the last 130 days, so there's no reason you can't too.
There's no question, I have sacrificed other things I enjoy doing in order to write. I've gone to bed later than I would have liked on many a night. Admittedly, I didn't have much choice in the matter - I could never sleep with all those ideas running around my head like mice.
The thing to remember is this: writing is its own reward. I don't write hoping to be adored. I know there's a good chance my words will be ignored. I write because not writing isn't something I can afford.
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