Another Writing Exercise

Songs are the soundtrack of our lives. Over the years, songs come and go and define a particular moment in time. A fragment of song may capture a sentiment we held true at the time we heard it. And songs can bring back stories from the past, along with the emotions associated with it.

Today I went back to where I left off in the book “Writing the Natural Way” by Gabriele Rico. Midway through Chapter 3, there is an exercise related to a song heard in childhood. The task involves clustering a phrase from this song, and building on the images evoked by this phrase. Doing this should lead you to what wants to be written. Then you write a vignette based on this cluster for four or five minutes. After that, you rework your vignette and add to it or cut out whatever is necessary.

For this exercise, I recalled passages from the song “Beautiful Dreamer” by Stephen Foster. My dad liked to sing this song when I was growing up, while my mom or my sister played piano. The following vignette was the result:

UNDER THE STARS

Under the stars,
by the light of the moon,
is where I go
and dream.
When the noises of day
fade away,
and all of life’s cares
are still.
Away from the throng,
I come to this silence
To dream.
Music plays,
and the melody soothes,
like balm for a wounded
soul.

Let me have this time
and place,
let me find some
some peace.
I do not wish to hurt you,
my love
but I need you to let me
be me.

Let me go
to this sacred space,
and help me find
my way.
For I need time
to heal the wounds,
and I need time
to grow strong.

So let me have this time,
this place –
under the stars
by the light of the moon –
and let me dream
my dreams.

Where Did You Learn to Write Like That?

Over one long Easter weekend, an old friend of mine found me again. I’m still writing, I said, and gave him the link to my blog. He e-mailed back this question: “Where did you learn to write like that?”

I have no easy answers - it takes a lifetime to become a writer. As a child I always made up stories in my mind, but I wanted to be a doctor. Then at fourteen, I had an epiphany. I loved reading, languages and writing, and I realized they’d been shaping my destiny. I was meant to be a writer. After that, it was all that mattered – in school, at home, in my hobbies and daydreams.

Most writers I know are readers, and I grew up in a house full of books. They lined up a wall in the living room, filled up the shelves in the bedrooms. We kept them in drawers and musty old trunks. We had a virtual library - of bestsellers, references, literary classics, science books, whodunits, children’s books, newspapers, magazines, comics and schoolbooks, including those that belonged to grandfather. At our house, we spent our free time reading for fun.

As a family where both mother and father were teachers, discussions over the dinner table were inevitable. And so it was with us. At these times, we all shared what we knew, asked questions, had arguments, and settled them. It was done in the spirit of give and take, and to their credit my parents never lectured down to us. We were equals all learning from each other.

Bookworms we were, but not bookish. Fortunately, our knowledge of things and ideas was tempered by the wisdom of experience. Our parents and elders had lived through hard times, and survived a great world war. They told us stories from the past, and we listened. Soon we realized that books don’t tell the whole story, and that life’s best lessons can come from those who’ve lived it before.

Writers learn to tell stories, because they once heard stories told. This is true because I once wrote a story, based on a something I heard as a child. It was a classic trickster tale, where the hero outsmarts his antagonist by talking his way out of the crisis. I took this oral piece of literature, and embellished it with new details. To my amazement, that story later won a literary prize. The trickster had done it again.

Writers learn to write by writing. It’s a no-brainer, but it can’t be said enough. You learn by doing it, like carpentry. All you need is a pen and some paper, an idea, and some research. Then you string words and facts together like beads, and form a logical, harmonious whole. Of course, it helps when you’ve mastered the language you write in. But this is no problem, if you’ve done a lot of reading, listening, observing and discussing in your life.

For a writer, no task is too small or too great. I began with theme-writing in the second grade, and at ten started keeping a small diary. As you grow up and expand your vocabulary, you work your way up to difficult topics. And you start using bigger notebooks. You join your high school paper, contribute to the company newsletter, and move on to a wider audience. At first you may do it for free. Later, you can do it for pay. But whether or not you get paid to write, you do it above all for love.

It also helps to have the right mentors. I had teachers who encouraged me to join contests, and express myself in writing. I became editor-in-chief of my high school paper. In college I took up Communication Arts, and became a better writer in Professor Espanto’s English Prose Styles class. He introduced us to Strunk and White’s “Elements of Style”, and William Zinsser’s “On Writing Well” – books I still use to this day.

And then there are mentors who teach things greater than writing. Things like integrity, the pursuit of truth, peace and justice. Or using your God-given talents in the service of a higher good. Once when I was a high school journalist, I attended a conference where I met a remarkable man. He was good-looking and intelligent, and was a charismatic speaker. As governor of a small province in the Visayas*, he spoke of his people and heritage with pride and unbridled passion. His words moved us all in the audience, and I never doubted his sincerity. Seven years later in 1986, Evelio Javier** was gunned down by assassins, in the aftermath of an election stolen by a desperate dictator. Life changes forever when someone you know gets martyred on the altar of freedom.

But this is a long, winding tale of a writer’s beginnings. Writing takes a lifetime to learn, and I can give you no easy answers. I learned to write by reading, and I learned to write by listening. I learned to write by discussing, and I learned to write by observing. I learned to write by following, and I learned to write by imitating.

I learned to write by living, because without that I have nothing to write about. I learned to write by doing, and I learned to write by writing. Then, when the writing is done, you learn to write better by revising. I learned writing from a lifetime of learning, and it’s a task I still work at everyday. Because practice, as you know, makes perfect.

__________

*An island group in Central Philippines.

**Former governor of Antique province in the Philippines.

(Special thanks to Allan Encarnacion)

Writing About Myself

My mother wanted me to become a doctor. My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer. My piano teacher thought I was good enough for the conservatory of music. Growing up, I alternately shared my mother's dream, empathized with my father's wish, and trusted my piano teacher's judgment. But in the end I followed the beat of my drum, and decided to become a writer.

When I was fourteen I had an epiphany. I suddenly realized that all my life, I had stories running in my head all the time. I loved to read, and had always kept notes of things that struck me as special. I wanted to tell stories too, and write them down. So what could be more logical than pursuing my love for language and literature? Forget about med school - I was born to be a writer!

Once I decided to pursue this path, things started working my way. I started joining writing contests in school, and more remarkable than that, I also started winning prizes. I became editor of my high school paper. Then I went on to study communication arts and literature. And all the jobs I held after graduating from college had something to do with writing one way or another. I was accepted into a well-known writers' workshop, won a national literary contest, became a freelance contributor for a magazine, and published a children's book.

Then suddenly, my winning streak stopped. Work-related reasons brought me to another country years later, where I met and married my husband. I forgot about writing for a while, because life's other struggles got in the way.

It's been twelve years since I set the tools of my trade aside. Three years ago I picked up my pen and notebook again, and now I write everyday. Sometimes I sit at my computer, let my fingers fly on the keyboard, and pick up my thoughts on the way. I am a working writer, but I don't have many products to show. Instead, I focus on the process. It's been a long road to becoming a writer. And it's a journey I take every day.

__________

Note: This essay is another exercise from Writing the Natural Way by Gabriele Rico.

A Writing Exercise

For the past two weeks I've been reading the book “Writing the Natural Way” by Gabriele Rico, and going through the exercises. The author uses an approach to writing called “clustering”, which taps into the thoughts, feelings, facts and ideas residing in our logical left brain and our creative right brain. It's like mind-mapping, but it goes a step further.

It works like this. You take a sheet of paper, and write a word like “blue” in the middle. Or it can be any word. Encircle it, and then make arrows pointing outwards to other words that come to your mind. You ignore the inner critic in you, and just keep doing this written word-association game. Draw circles around the words, draw arrows leading to and from the words.

Then, when you have exhausted your thoughts, when you have nothing more to say about the original idea, you write a vignette based on this cluster. Take another sheet of paper, look at the cluster for reference, and write. Write what comes to your mind, write as you think. Your hand is an extension of your mind, and don't worry about structure or grammar. That can be corrected later.

Write constantly for about ten minutes. Use the words in your cluster, or ignore them and express it in other words. End your vignette by coming full circle, and go back to the idea you started with. Then read it aloud. Share it, if you like. Afterwards make changes until you feel your writing is whole.

This, in a nutshell, is what the book and the technique is all about. I consider myself an experienced writer, but in doing the exercises, I've surprised myself. Yesterday, I finished Chapter Two. I wrote a poem based on a cluster, which is a “tribute to someone I deeply care for.” Here is what I came up with:


A POEM TO MY FATHER

This is a poem to my father,
who left without saying goodbye.
I remember one Christmas season
when I brought home my family
for a visit. Because we lived in a faraway
country, and didn’t see each other so often.
It was going to be a happy reunion.
But on that day he had just seen a doctor
who told him he was terribly ill.
It was supposed to a happy reunion,
but instead of laughter and merriment,
the long shadow of death came between us.
A few days later on New Year’s Eve,
it was time for us to leave.
Take good care of the girls, he said,
when we parted at the gate.
And that was the last time I saw him.

This is a poem to my father,
who left without saying goodbye.
So many things left unsaid,
so many things left undone,
until one day it was too late.
Now all that’s left is the bitter taste
of the tears I shed on his grave.

This is a poem to my father,
who left without saying goodbye.
I’ve taken his words to heart,
I’ve taken good care of the girls.
Now I watch them grow
without getting to know
the father - my father -
whose frequent absence and
joyful laughter punctuated
my childhood years.

This is a poem
to my father.