What did I learn about writing this week?

The authors of “Under Construction: How Narrative Elements Shape Qualitative Research” seem to argue that framing a story via narratological devices ( e.g., plot, character,  authorial distance, and point of view) is just as important when sharing research data as it is when plotting a novel.

While I admit that I enjoy reading/writing pieces that are conversational and enriched by anecdotes, metaphor, and voice, I do wonder who can afford to take the author’s advice without fear of repercussions.

Some of the examples the authors offer are books and book chapters, places where writers tend to have some latitude. They might be encouraged to tell a good story and told they can stick the theoretical framework, methodology, and other sections of research papers traditionalists will be looking for in the appendix. I admit there have been times when I’ve left it out all together because it seems obligatory and uninteresting. I know this is wrong and I have been trying to break this bad habit. My only excuse is that I like papers that are well-written, not rote.

 

If it bores the crap out of me, I stop reading it. I have too many other texts to get to.

Want to read it?

Karri Holley & Julia Colyar. 2012. Under Construction: How Narrative Elements Shape Qualitative Research. Theory Into Practice, 51:114–121.  

How to break away from writer’s block

What have I learned about writing this week?

It’s hard.

For a while, I thought I had writer’s block.

That’s freaking scary, especially when you are forced to produce.

Reading helped me break away.

Often I’ll read something really good and react one of two ways:

1. I get jealous. Just totally envious of how great some writers are. They blow my mind.

Or

2. I am moved to write. Something in what I have read reminds me that I have something important (at least to me) that I want to say.

Reaction # 1 leads to more reading.

Reaction # 2 causes me to scribble in the margins of what I’m reading, or close the book altogether and open my notebook or laptop.

How do you break away from writer’s block?

Writing to Deadline

from Google

People often ask me how I find time to write.

I always reply, “I would never get anything written if it were not for deadlines.”

Donald Murray's Writing to Deadline helps me make sure I never miss one, or at least I rarely do.

In it, he tells this story:

 

“I am told that the term [deadline] comes from an actual line drawn outside of a prison's walls. When prisoners crossed the deadline they were shot. Dead. And that's the way I feel about deadlines. They must be met or I will face professional death” (p.17).



Setting Page Limits

from Google

In class the other night, a student expressed frustration about being asked to write a certain number of pages for assignments in other classes. 

 Let me explain.

 

The student argued that by requiring, let’s say 15 pages for a paper, teachers are possibly

1. ignoring (and probably annoying) the student who writes in a succinct manner.
2. inviting (Is encouraging going too far?) students to use large fonts and make irrelevant, repetitive points just to meet the requirement.

I’m sure I mumbled something in support of the student’s views because I don’t believe in required page numbers.

Yet, even as I write this, I cringe a little because every piece I’ve been paid to write had a page or word count that I had to follow. 

That’s not the point in my class though.

In my class I believe I should promote clear thinking/writing that adequately responds to the assignment. I want students to tell me “what they need to say” without worrying about page requirements. However, I do have an idea of how long the average response will probably be to fulfill the requirement.

Enough about me.

I wish I had read the quote below before the student made the point. It sums up things well.

 

“It is the besetting sin of some teachers to assign writing by the number of words or pages they expect a paper to be. These are likely to be teachers who do not make regular use of writing, and resort to it only for such occasional purposes as term papers…. They presume that the more important the paper-- that is, the more it is to count in their gradebooks-- the longer it should be. They pass this confusion of quantity with quality directly along to students, who tot up the words they write, line by line, or stretch out material to fill the expected number of pages, and in the process forfeit their opportunity of writing to learn.” (Writing to Learn by James Howard, p. 14)

My Biggest Fear...I Haven't Been Edited Enough

Well, I wrote about how I felt about one aspect of the editing part of the writing process the other
day.

Every experience is unique. Every project is unique.



The other side of the story is that I am afraid when I haven't been edited enough.


So, I dread reading my own work once it's published.

Why?

Because I cringe when I see the inevitable typo or "wrong word." 

Why in the world did I write it that way, I wonder.

You've got to write better than this, I criticize.

YOU CALL YOURSELF A WRITER! PLEASE!

Never mind that I've done the best writing I can do at that moment. My ego could care less.

Yes, the book or article is read by a number of people before it goes to press: the editor, proofreader, me, and sometimes my loving "assistant" who catches everything.



But...

Errors are camouflaged by their surroundings and seeing them creeps me out.




 

Writing & Money

"Fewer than five percent of the Author’s Guild…live primarily on their income as writers, and this figure includes those with lucrative movie rights, overseas translations….”
~~Stephen Pyne in Voice and Vision: A Guide to Writing History and Other Serious Nonfiction


Um. Is this true? Wow!

Well, what motivates this writer?

I write because I have something to say.
I write because books have been a lighthouse for me.
What if I write something that helps someone?
 

An App I Can Write With

TypeNote seems to be the best app for me.

I can send what I write to my e-mail inbox or via text message. It’s easy to use.

 

 

After a few days of using it, I began to wonder if I should just cut out the middle man, TypeNote, and just e-mail my thoughts directly. Of course, I did this.

Oh, well, I tried to rely on an App. (I'm using an Android phone.)

When I want to jot down thoughts over a long period of time and then e-mail them to myself, I'll use TypeNote.

Remember When Writers Were Advised to Have Thick Skin? I need thick skin today.



What does it feel like to have my work edited?

 

 

A professional writer…	The novice (me)…
realizes that once they submit the best writing they can get into Word, often the book no longer belongs to them and things can be changed, improved.	insecurely wonders about her writing ability.
analyzes the changes that were made and tries to learn from them.	huffs and complains about how she doesn’t see what was so wrong with what she wrote.
understands the editor’s job is to make what’s written shine and is thankful for it. (Years ago, a colleague said, “It doesn’t matter if I know how to spell or use proper punctuation in every instance, I have an editor.”)	learns how important an editor’s work really is and keeps writing even when she feels rejected or untalented.

 

I'm still learning about the business of writing-- and I'm enjoying the opportunity to do so. This matters to me.



 

Pursuing the Perfect App for This Writer



 

Excited about Writer

I was excited about finding the time to give Writer a try.

I eased into using it.

Low stakes grocery lists seemed ideal.

When Writer earned my trust, I began taking

short notes on the books I read.

Putting Writer to Good Use

Once, a really good idea came into my head. Excited, I jotted it down.  That was the beginning of a sort of end.  

I had no way of getting my fabulous idea to my computer. As great as the idea was, I didn't want to retype it once I already had it typed on the phone. 

I tried to do everything I could to get what I'd written in Writer to my laptop, or at least my e-mail inbox. I failed.

My first thought was that I was completely computer illiterate.
After all, I had read user reviews that said they had typed an entire novel on Writer.

Was I missing something?

As I dug deeper and deeper into the user reviews,  it seems like writers cannot  transfer what they have written in Writer to laptops (Word document), blogs, Facebook pages, and so on.

That made me realize that Writer wasn't the best app for me.
I had to pursue other apps that would give me what I needed.


I still like Writer.

Writer is easy to use, but for me it is best for grocery lists and other things I want to remember, but do not necessarily want to paste into Word.


 

*Kill Your Darlings

Now I know how students feel when you tell them that a certain piece of their written work needs to be axed, especially if this piece is a darling.

Yes, we can all let misspelled words or dangling modifiers go with ease, but please, please, please do not ask us to delete our favorite line, anecdote, or quote.  

This happened to me recently. I showed a friend the wonderful anecdote below that I just had to have in a recent manuscript. (I found it in one of the books I used to research the piece I was working on.)

When the editor wrote back something like, **“You’ve got to be kidding me, right? And how does this story relate to your point?”

 I grew tenacious.

K: I can’t believe she wants me to get rid of that anecdote. It’s so funny. I’m leaving it in.

My loving friend: You’re right. The nerve of that editor!

I made every effort to hold onto my beloved anecdote during the second draft.

Needless to say, my darling did not make it. I grew wise and recognized that it did not fit into the manuscript, after all.

I share it here for posterity’s sake, and because it is still my darling.

Background before you read on: Congress had a time dealing with the slave question in Missouri Territory.

They finally got a vote on it and the next day one of the congressmen decided they should throw the vote out and start again. Henry Clay wasn’t having it.

 

 

The Trick

The day after the vote, March 3, 1820, John Randolph of Virginia asked Henry Clay, the Speaker of the House, if the vote could be reconsidered. Clay said it was too late in the day to consider Randolph’s suggestion. He told Randolph to ask again the next day and ended the meeting.

Early the next day, Randolph rose and asked once again if the vote could be reconsidered. Clay said, “Mr. Randolph, you’re out of order. We haven’t handled our routine business yet.”

Randolph sat down and waited. When no one was watching, Clay quickly signed the Missouri bill and asked a clerk to deliver it to the Senate. Later, Randolph stood again and asked that the vote be reconsidered.

Clay said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Randolph, but the Senate has the Missouri bill now.”

The Bill is Settled

When the clerk entered and said the Missouri bill was settled, Randolph became angry and urged other congressmen to demand a vote on the matter, but the vote failed. No one wanted to reconsider the Missouri bill.

 

**All quotes are approximations. Every effort was made to stay true to the spirit of exchanges without actually having to use exact language.

*I realize “kill your darlings” generally replies to favorite characters, but here I am using it to mean anything in your writing that you love.

The Due Date is Here

OK, so it’s Monday night and my students have to turn in a narrative tomorrow, I think. I’m sitting in my recliner previewing a video I might show at some point when the reality hits me: I have to turn in a narrative too. I started the story but couldn’t develop a middle. I grow irritated. Why in the world did I tell the class I’d write a story too? Was I crazy?

I drag myself down the hallway and into my room. I reread what I wrote before and think, it’s not exceptional, but I like Shana (my main character). I force myself to write. Here’s what I come up with:

First Date

“Excuse me.”  Shana’s eyes darted up and down. Her neck grew warm. Suddenly her pink Nikes were the most important thing in the world. Well, that and her red smock that said, “Welcome to Piggly Wiggly! I’m Shana.”  “Uh, excuse me, what aisle is the bread on?”

Before Aisle 3 stumbled out of her mouth, he was gone.

Shana hurried to her register. Please, please, let him get in my line, she thought. Shana let out a sigh when the tall, mocha-colored boy walked past her register and got into Karen’s line.

…..

The next day Shana went into the cafeteria, took one look at the tables filled with laughing, chatting schoolmates, and darted right back out of the café door and into the library.

“Hi, Ms. Brooks,” Shana waved as she made her way to the back of the room where four carrels sat in a row. Only serious, quiet students settled here so Shana was sure she would avoid talkers. She had no patience for conversations about parties crashed over the weekend or couples going out on dates. All she wanted was to sit down and read. 

As soon as she opened her copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, she heard a familiar voice. She looked up and saw the boy from the grocery store talking to Ms. Brooks. When he looked up and over toward her, Shana jumped and stuck her nose into the book. A few minutes later she peered over the book slowly and saw that the boy had chosen a table on the other side of the room.

Shana stuck her nose back into the book and then out again. She thought about introducing herself to him, but decided against it. What would she say? What if he ignored her? Besides, Marguerite was waiting for her to discover how she broke her silence after being mute. Shana read a few more lines before glancing quickly at the boy whose own nose was now buried in a textbook. She noticed how he rapidly tapped on a calculator and then wrote in a tablet.

He’s doing math, Shana thought. She smiled and pushed her chair back.

Shana checked to make sure no one was looking her way, not even the boy. The walk toward the other side of the room seemed long. When she reached his table, she took a deep breath and said, “Hi, do you need some help?”

The boy looked up and grinned. “Are you any good at theorems?”

Shana’s cheeks grew red. “Sure. I’m taking trig. I had geometry a while ago.”

“Oh, well, have a seat. I’m Jeremy. Don’t you work at Piggly Wiggly? Shana, right?”

“Yes, I’m sorry about last night.”

“It’s all right. I was in a hurry. My mom was fixing sandwiches for my sister’s class and ran out of bread, so I had to get to the store and back fast.”

“Um, you were really in a hurry to get your mom that bread.”

Jeremy grinned. The sight of his dimples made her knees buckle. “Actually, I was trying to get home so I wouldn’t miss much of the football game.”

They both laughed.

The bell rang.

“I’ve got to get to English,” Shana said as she stood.

“I’ve got to get to class, too. May I call you later?”

Shana leaned her head to the side as if she were trying to decide. “Uh, sure.”

After dinner, Shana checked the phone in the kitchen, hallway, and her bedroom to make sure they worked. By 8:00pm when Jeremy still hadn’t called, Shana knew he wouldn’t.  She went into the den, sprawled herself across the couch, and sighed. As she clicked through the television channels, she sucked her teeth as one happy couple after another danced across the screen. “Uhhhh, my heart feels like a fifty pound dumbbell is resting on it,” she yelled.

“What, honey?” her dad asked as he entered the room. “Did you say something?”

“No, Dad,” Shana mumbled.

“Well, while I was on the phone with Aunt Marge, this boy named Jeremy beeped in. I told him you’d call him back. Here’s the number.”

Shana jumped off the couch and ran to her room.

After Shana hung up the phone, she squealed, leaned back on her bed, and kicked her feet in the air. When her five-year-old sister, Sabrina, ran in, put her hands on her hips, and said, “Ooh, I’m telling Mama,” Shana continued to kick and squeal.

“Tell, I don’t care,” she said and tossed a pink, fluffy pillow at Sabrina’s head. “I’m going on a date!”

Sabrina darted out of the door and ran down the hall screaming, “Maaaa! Shana has a date!”

Shana laughed and said, “I really don’t care if you tell, Sabrina. Why should I? Jeremy Jackson just asked me out!”

Yeah, yeah, it needs a lot of work, but I put myself in my students’ position and I wrote too. I’m pleased that I kept my word.

Narrative Assignment

This semester I am writing each of the three assignments with my students. On the first day of class I asked them to write a narrative of 3-5 pages, double-space, so I’m trying to write one too. I have a few false starts but nothing promising yet. I think I want to write about a female teenager’s first date.

False Start 1:

I squeal, lean back on my bed, and kick my feet in the air. I don’t even stop when my five-year-old sister, Sabrina, comes running into my room, puts her hands on her hips, and says, “Ooh, I’m telling Mama.”

“Tell, I don’t care,” I say and throw a pink fluffy pillow at her head. “I’m going on a date!”

Sabrina darts out of my door and runs down the hall screaming, “Maaaa! Shana has a date!”

I laugh. Nothing can ruin my day now. Jeremy Jackson just asked me out.

Next, I thought I wanted to write about a character whose car is stolen.

False Start 2:

It was a typical Sunday. Dry and sunny. The sun shone brigh As Shana walked to her beige Miata

False Start 3:

“Shana, grab some chips,” Bill yelled.

“OK,” Shana shouted back, not bothering to turn around to see Bill standing in the doorway in a white Polo and khaki shorts. “Go golfing already,” she mumbled, as she settled into her beige Miata.

The last time I sat down to write I decided false start 1 above could be the end of the story and maybe my story rests in how I could get Shana, a nerdy, shy girl to get Jeremy Jackson’s attention. (I changed the point of view because I thought third person might be easier for me.)

False Start 4:

“Excuse me.”  Shana’s eyes darted up and down. Her neck grew warm. Suddenly her pink Nikes were the most important thing in the world. Well, that and her red smock that said Welcome to Piggly Wiggly! I’m Shana. “Uh, excuse me, but what aisle is the bread on?”

Before Aisle 3 stumbled out of her mouth, he was gone.

Shana hurried to her register. Please, please, let him get in my line, she thought. Shana let out a sigh when the tall, mocha-colored boy walked pass her register and got into Karen’s line.

Writing a story is work. Shoot! I don’t know how I’m going to come up with one by the due date.

Trying to Write in Class

Like many teachers, I ask students to read Sandra Cisneros’s vignette “My Name” from The House on Mango Street and write about their names. In my language arts class, we thought about this activity in terms of mentor texts, those texts teachers can use to teach students about craft, organization, or garnering ideas for writing.

Every time I ask students to write about their names, I write about mine too. Oddly, I’m usually the last one to finish even though I’ve done the assignment numerous times. What I noticed right away was that my piece isn’t that great, but I shared it anyway hoping that students would get to know something about me, including that most people call me Kaa. Here’s what I wrote:

My name means beautiful flower, or so my father told me. To me, it means too many letters. When you put KaaVonia Mechelle Hinton-Johnson together it also means too many syllables. My father gave me my first name even though my mother wanted to name me Portia. Portia. What a lovely name; it’s so literary. If I could rename myself, I’d be a Portia. Portia Marie to be exact.

In keeping with the idea of mentor texts, I asked the students how we might use “My Name” to teach writing in other ways. They mentioned organization, genre/mode (i.e., narrative and vignette), and figurative language. Next, we tried to write two sentences about our names that included imagery, a simile, or a metaphor.

I tried this too and probably complained the loudest about how difficult it was. The students came up with excellent examples that I will not share here due to anonymity, but our share my attempt:

My name is a mouthful of vegetable soup.

KaaVonia sounds like a prickly cactus.

KaaVonia feels like a licorice stick on a dry tongue.

What I continue to realize about writing is that I never know what I’m doing. I can never really get it right the first, second, or third time. Writers need lots of practice. Writers need lots of time to create something readable, something worth sharing.

After I read my lines to the students, I joked that I’d never go public with them. And what do I do? I post them here. The final thing I’ve learned is that I enjoy lowering the writing bar for my students. I hope it encourages them to think, Geesh, if she’s willing to keep trying after writing that, we should too.

Having something to say



The other night I was flipping from one television channel to another when I stopped on BET. The awards show was on and they were in the middle of honoring Maze featuring Frankie Beverly. I had to stop because the sound of their music always brings back fond memories of summers with my father.

As I got into the tribute, which included a little humming, singing, and even at one point dancing, the music stopped and members of Maze featuring Frankie Beverly began to give speeches.  At the end of Frankie Beverly’s, he urged musicians to do the music they want to do. Ignore the flavor of the month, and do the music you are good at and you enjoy-- is the gist of what he said.

This morning I thought about what Beverly said. It’s the same thing with my writing. It’s a creative tension I experience daily, really. There is the writing I think I should be doing and the writing I really enjoy and could be decent at if I could focus on it.

The statement also reminded me of how certain books like Twilight or Diary of a Wimpy Kid became successful and sparked hundreds of readalikes.

Writing is about having something to say, right? The only way I can hold true to that is to follow Beverly’s advice and do the writing that I really want to do.

I'm so sick of talking. I need to act.

ATL: Separate what you feel from what’s real

My son and I have probably watched the movie ATL a dozen times, and each time we always laugh when Uncle George tells Rashad to separate what he feels from what’s real. It’s a somber moment in the movie, and Z and I are prone to inappropriate laughter, but I think it’s deeper than that. We laugh because Uncle George has managed to use just 7 words to sum up a complex human tendency, and let’s face it, Uncle George has been a clown the entire movie. Yet, this time Uncle George is right and we know it.

I heard Uncle George all week. Well, if I’m honest, I’ve heard him for two. I haven’t felt like writing. Not about Asia, and certainly not about this important project that I must get done by August 1.

So what do I feel and what’s real?

Feeling: Tired

What’s real?:  Yes, I should probably get a little more rest and work for shorter periods of time so I’m fresh when I work on my project. I have moments throughout the day when I feel refreshed and well-rested; I need to use them wisely. The board of health will not shut us down, will it?

Feeling: Stress

What’s real?: Just like everyone else, I have a lot to do from housework and childrearing to 9 to 5 stuff, but I must put everything into perspective. If the house is a little dirty between now and August, I must look away.

Feeling:  Worried

What’s real?:  I can pull this off. I’ve done it before. Yes, I may screw this up, but I will do my best. That’s all that is required of me.

Yes, as hilarious as he may be, Uncle George is right. Whether you’re having negative feelings about a writing task the way I am or you feel betrayed by the girl you love like Rashad, the only way to think clearly about a situation (or a writing obligation) is to focus on what’s real.

Now if that doesn’t work, follow ATL’s other piece of sage advice: Fake it ‘til you make it. But that’s a blog post for another time.

That’s it update

OK, so I wrote seven sentences this week. I decided to change the point of view to first person. I didn’t know if I wanted Asia to get to work in a train or a Prius.

I settled for a Dodge Charger. When she is speeding to work, she gets a call from a love interest. I don’t know what happened then. I just know she seemed relieved but pissed off.

I had to get to work myself, so I’ll get back to her next week. (I have a chapter in the project I’ve been working on that is overdue. )

Oh, the joy of trying to write!

Fretting about my next sentence

I have been fretting about my next sentence all week. Should I describe how Asia gets to work or just “zap” her there? Should I use her method of getting to work as an opportunity to show more about her character? What kind of work does she do? If I ascribe to the write what you know idea, Asia is a teacher.  But what kind?

I know what it’s like to teach preschool. I know what it’s like to teach preschool part-time and ninth and tenth graders full-time. I know what it’s like to teach sixth grade math when you really do not know how and then go teach freshman English at night. I know more about teaching college students than any other group. She can't be a college teacher or people might think I'm writing about me. Do I really care, or do I have something I'm burning to say about what it's like to teach at the college level?

Anyway, Asia definitely has a career rather than a job, but maybe she has both. I think she’s 30. I have to have her interact with someone fast.

Yikes! There are so many decisions to be made by tomorrow when I write my next sentence. Wish me luck.

That’s it!

That’s it! I’m sick of me.

I’m going to make myself practice writing fiction even if it’s only one line a week!

If I write more than one line a week, well, yay, me.  If I don’t, yay me.

Here’s my first line:

It’s sad when the only thing you’ve got going for you is that you’re getting your armpits waxed this weekend, Asia thought as she dressed for work.

Revised line:

It’s sad when the only thing you’ve got going for you this weekend is an armpit waxing appointment, Asia thought as she dressed for work.

No, no, here’s another try.

“I’ve got to get a life!” Asia moaned, as she grabbed her briefcase and darted out the door.

Too cliché.

Now do you see why I can’t get going? Ugh!

I love that Z is having fun experimenting with writing.

Something Like Writer’s Block

I’m not going to call it writer’s block. I’ll call it a lack of motivation. Or maybe I’ll call it distraction prone. Whatever it is, that feeling that makes me dread opening my laptop some days, can be conquered, so I’m thinking about all of the ways I usually defeat it.

Too bad I’ve only come up with three four so far:

1. Know where I’m going next. It’s so much easier to get back to my project when I know exactly which part of it I will tackle when I return to it. For example, as soon as I’m done blogging, I’m going to return to my project, and I’m eager to get to it because I need to work on the suggested reading section.
2. Deadline, even if it’s self-imposed. Deadlines are like magic to me. I can muster up the strength to complete any project when the dagger of a deadline is looming.
3. Focus. Sometimes I dread opening the laptop when I have too many projects to work on. Everything is due. Everything appears urgent. I am paralyzed until I say, “Look, either focus on one of the projects today or devote a certain amount of time to each one. Whatever you do, you need to decide and get busy.”  I usually listen to myself and get to work.
4. Hey, I thought of a fourth one. When I don’t want to work on my project, I use the things I do want to do to make me get busy. The conversation with myself goes something like this: “Look, you want to go to the gym today, right? Well, then, you have to do this, this, and this, or you will be so distracted in spin class, you will not have a good time.” This conversation with myself is motivational because I hate being distracted in spin.

I Can't Write If I Haven't Read

There comes a time when one really shouldn't write at all. One should read. I've reached that time.