November Newsletter - The Writing Life

December 2002 Newsletter

By Jessica Page Morrell

The Emotional Landscape, part 2 In the first part of this article, we discussed how emotions bring the breath of life to writing and how itâs a writerâs job to provide readers with an emotional experience. Another aspect of your job as writer is to activate the many layers of the readerâs brain including the deepest and most primitive parts, the centers where survival instincts lie. Yet to describe emotions we often must use restraint, while somehow striving to convey the vast range of complexity simmering in humans. So itâs a fine line that writers dance along; using finesse and nuance and seduction to compel the readerâs pulse to quicken, causing him to feel and feel deeply. Rebecca McClanahan author of Word Painting describes the way to a readerâs heart. She writes: ãWhen a reader fully believes our story, both intellectually and emotionally, he moves in and unpacks his bags. No longer a tourist living out of a suitcase, ordering room service and watching suspiciously from his hotel window as the natives bustle on the street below, he has become, for the moment at least, a native himself. He changes into comfortable clothes, strolls the avenues, eats in open-air cafes, even tries the local catch-of-the-day. He turns another page in the book. Anything is possible. Who knows? He might even fall in love.ä Readers long to participate and savor another reality or thoroughly understand a writerâs thoughts and memories. So letâs look again at the techniques necessary to enter the readerâs brain and stir his reactions. First, make every description count. When writing about emotion, or describing any person or thing, use fresh language and word combinations. Get rid of tired modifiers, clichs, and most adverbs. Invent. Imagine. Bring an opera of sensations alive onto the page. Then also strive for precision. Too many writers use the almost-right word, not the perfect word for the subject at hand. Emotions are created through words and imagery that are true, palpable, concrete and specific. Use contrast and comparisons. Sorrow or loneliness or despair is sometimes experienced most acutely, with terrible clarity when we remember happier times. Make certain that your descriptions are never ambiguous. Emotions are sometimes confusing when we experience them, but on the page, they must never be muddled. Yet, here is the rub; sometime emotions are intermingled, so you must make an effort to differentiate those many layers of feeling. Take a stand. Be certain of the feelings that youâre evoking. Rid your sentences of qualifiers÷rather, somewhat, kind of, sort of, quite, probably, generally, a little, pretty much, a bit, usually, mainly. A movie or event is sad or it is not. It cannot be kind of sad. Use all the senses, not only the visual means to describe emotion. Sensory words and images trigger associations in the reader. Try to associate strong emotions with other senses÷what does fear smell like? What does longing feel like? How would you describe a grieving widowâs hands as she strokes her dead husbandâs coffin? How can you infuse the sort of giggly happiness of a child into a scene without being trite? Use metaphor, imagery and other poetic techniques. Rendering emotions requires both the subtle and grand gestures. Metaphor and imagery, like many techniques also create associations and stimulate the readerâs right brain, his vast store of memories and connections. Enchant your readers with the unexpected. We read for many reasons, but there is nothing like the surprise of the novel experience, the twist of plot that we didnât foresee and the shock of the sudden, the unpredictable, is in its own way, delightful. Real life offers up its banquet of tragedies and losses, but the ones we encounter while reading can contain both the impact and the distance that make for a satisfying read. Use body language to reveal emotions, or express denial, dismissal, or suppression. Donât forget about subtext÷that which goes unspoken, but yet lingers in the air. Look for ways to make overused emotions÷surprise, outrage, sadness -new again. Whenever possible dramatize by using action and dialogue rather than summary or statements. Instead of telling the reader that Manny was handsome, describe a woman plowing into a parked car because sheâs distracted by the sight of him approaching. The clearest writing is participatory÷the reader becomes part of the story rather than simply absorbing information. Use expressions, metaphors and images found in nature÷storms, wind, frost, ice, but insist on new twists or comparisons, never clichs. Consider lightening heavy or dark emotions with flashes of humor. Irreverence, pathos, and silliness also reflect a range of human expression that resides close to sorrow and despair. Use props÷the room a character inhabits, his collections, the music he listens to, his style of dress to describe his state of mind. Be an acute observer. Notice the tiny gestures that reveal a personâs mood, the many ways people move through the world. Scribble down impressions, sights, sounds, colors, the pieces of your life that evoke YOUR emotions. Emotions on the page and stirred in the reader. Inseparable. Anything is possible. *********************************************************************** December is a month of stillness and dark and mystery. No matter that the shopping malls are jangling with too-often played Christmas songs and jammed with cranky shoppers. No matter that your to-do list is bulging with tasks and your calendar is crammed with commitments. If you track the real magic of this month youâll find a time when the planet (at least in the northern hemisphere) holds its breath since the sun is so seldom seen. The wisps of ancient traditions have thankfully filtered down over the years and greenery and candlelight and enchantment still permeate. There is a sense of ritual and reverence and hope and community. Though modern noises threaten to drown out the essence of the season, the sweetest of rituals exist to keep the dark away, to beckon the sun back. And despite the drawbacks of our modern times, generosity is the grace note that rules December. Amid the bustle of the season find a place, preferably candlelit and scented with greens, and grow quiet. Notice the shadows tossed against the wall by the candlelight. Savor it all and write it down. Good wishes for a blessed December and hope and light and joy in this holiday season. ************************************************************************ The Writerâs Notebook I am thumbing through my most recent writerâs notebook and ran across a quote I jotted down recently, ãWords are the exquisite shape at the heart of silence.ä On another page Iâve recorded a bit about the recent California fires and how the ãSanta Anna blowtorch winds went trick-or-treating.ä Then there is Craig Childâs description of ãmilk-blue glare of the full moon,ä a line about breaking up from Sex and the City, (ãWeâre so over we need a new word for over.ä) and a poem I wrote while staying at a cottage with an ocean view. Today I scribbled a few words about a walk in a park÷itâs late November and itâs been rainy and the lagoon was shrouded in mist and the air was wet and thick and the park smelled like cedar and loam. Still on another page I note that an essayist has used the phrase ãrazz my dazzâ while on the next page there are reflections on the sky, the trees that still cling to their gold leaves, the many striations of sky. I find a note about a news broadcast describing a mass grave south of Baghdad as ãa mountain of misery...that smelled of earth and death.ä This notebook, like so many Iâve kept over the years, is a gathering place, an idea log, a record of the sights and sounds and smells of my world. Writers are scavengers and the brimming world is always exquisite, always available, even in the midst of change, loss or heartbreak. A writerâs notebook is a sanctuary for a deliberately cultivated awareness of our surroundings and imagination and inner world. Yet it is not a diary, because we are focused outward, weâre collecting and paying attention. Through this noticing we encourage our artistic sensibilities; we think about the films weâve seen, the books we read, conversations held and pasts remembered. Life can slam past us at a breakneck pace, keeping a notebook slows time, forces us to record the now, and strive for clarity of thought. But I think that a notebook has another purpose÷it lends us courage and serves as constant companion. I feel braver in the world when I carry my notebook. I sometimes write in coffee shops or while waiting for a friend to join me for lunch or first thing in the morning while the teakettle boils. I write after my students leave because I want to remind myself of something that was mentioned during our session. My notebooks are part of me and in my years of teaching Iâve noticed that writers who keep notebooks stay close to their ideas and inspirations. Itâs a simple habit, the writerâs notebook, but its impact on our writing is never simple. ************************************************************************ Writing Prompt: ************************************************************************ Inspiration ãYou donât write because you want to say something, you write because youâve got something to say.ä F. Scott Fitzgerald ãEvery writer I know has trouble writing.ä Joseph Heller ãI have lost too much by losing, or rather by not having acquired, the note-taking habit. It might be of great profit to me; and now that I am older, that I have more time, that the labor of writing is less onerous to me, and I can work more at my leisure, I ought to endeavor to keep, to certain extent, a record of passing impressions, of all that comes, that goes, that I see, and feel, and observe. To catch and keep something of life÷thatâs what I mean.ä Henry James, Notebooks, November 25, 1881 ãA writer is not a confectioner, a cosmetic dealer, or an entertainer. He is a man who has signed a contract with his conscience and his sense of duty.ä Anton Chekov ãMy business is to be talented, that is, to be capable of selecting the important moments from the trivial ones·.Itâs about time for writers÷particularly those who are genuine artists÷to recognize that in this world you cannot figure everything out.ä Anton Chekov This is the 24th edition of this newsletter. If youâre interested in a subscription or notices of upcoming workshops, contact Jessica at jesswrites@juno.com. Many thanks for reading, and as always, happy writing. © Jessica P. Morrell No portion of this newsletter may be reprinted without permission.