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.