Jennifer Lauck's Blog, page 16

Writing Tip #25: The Big Picture

~ This writing tip refers to the book Crazy for the Storm by Norman Ollested. This book is a "must read," in my opinion and to read a previous Book Talk on this book, Click Here.

It’s hard to know what you are writing about, in a novel or in a memoir. For most of us, there is simply an elusive “something” that drives us to write and so we do it. As Rilke writes, in his Letters to a Young Poet, “Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depth of your heart; confess to yourself you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.”

If you must write, you must. Okay. Now get busy.

But the next question is, "what should I write?" followed by "how shall I write it?"

Rilke offers a big of advice on these questions as well: “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions.”

What he's saying here is "write your questions, explore your questions and see where it all takes you."

Okay again.

Easy enough.

But amidst our questions, we are still mightily challenged. We hunger for answers on how to shape our book, our essay and/or our short story. This is our desire to know the outcome, of course. It's also the desire for some control in a process--the writing process--which if we tell the truth, is almost entirely out of our control.

One of my favorite ways to get a semblance of control, or at least, more information about the craft of writing, is to read the work of other writers and do it with a set of sticky notes and a pen.

My recent favorite book to study in this way is Crazy for the Storm by Norman Ollestad. I have dissected this book into its front story/back story framework. Let's take a second to define these terms. Front story is an answer to the question of "what is going on in this story that is the forward moving continuous arc. (My initial tense suggestion is first person, present intermixed with third.) Back story is the background information that gives the reader enough context for the forward moving arc. (My initial tense suggestion is first person/past, third person past and even the second person at times.)

In his book, sometime with one paragraph chapters even, Ollestad goes back and forth with front story which details the plane crash with himself, his dad and his dad's girlfriend, Sandra. In his back story, he details a trip he and his father take to Mexico as a way to give all the primary characters in the story--as they were in the life of the young Norman--just prior to the accident. Near the end of the book, at the point that young Normal is able to get off the mountain after the crash, the front story meets the back story and the remainder of the book is then told in front story and continues in that manner all the way to the end.

This is a terrific method to tell a story and if you want to take this class, you can do this by Clicking Here. If you want to see for yourself, go out and get a copy of this terrific book and study it on your own.

YOUR TURN: What books have you read and what is the structure. What inspires you about the structure and what bugs you.

Announcements: Two Terrific Classes!

Yes, both these classes started this week--and they were taped so you missing none of the action! Registration remains open for one more week. I hope you can join us.

April 16 - May 14 | How to Write a Kick-A@# Scene (SPACE AVAILABLE)
Scene is the foundation of memoir, essay and fiction and yet it is one of the most elusive forms to master. Why?

We don’t live in scenes. We live in our heads. Learning how to write a scene teaches you how to get out of your head and get into the details of the experience you are trying to write about. I break scene down into seven components in this class and provides a series of prompts to help the writer master the ingredients that are necessary to write a solid, compelling and vivid scene.

WHEN: Mondays, 7:30-9:30 p.m., April 16 - May 14
WHERE: Attic Institute, 4232 SE Hawthorne Boulevard (South Library)
COST: $185
SIGN UP: CLICK

April 16 - May 14 | Craft the Spiritual Essay |

Spirituality is a part of life, we have been infused with the sacred from the moment we are born into the human family.


How do we write about spirituality without sounding…well, a little “out there?” This class will focus on writing about spirituality, being moved by the spirit and what it is to have a spiritual experience in ways that make your writing believable rather than dismissible. I have written and published spiritual essays for Buddhadharma and Shambala Sun and my work has been picked at some of the best spiritual writing in 2007. This class will be an exciting challenge for writers who want to make their spiritual writing potent and grounded.

This class takes on a chapter from the fantastic book Tell it Slant, by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paola. We will have five writing prompts, to stimulate your creative process around "the esoteric," be it nature, love, the supernatural and the divine.

Each class will address one of these aspects:
1) The Tradition of Spiritual Autobiography
2) The Quest Narrative
3) Renditions of the Sacred
4) Your Koan
5) Writing as a Spiritual Practice

WHEN: Mondays, 10am-Noon, April 16 - May 14
WHERE: Attic Institute, 4232 SE Hawthorne Boulevard (South Library)
COST: $185
SIGN UP: CLICK

Writing Tip #24: The Art & Necessity of Set Up

When it comes to telling the story of your life or any story for that matter, there is a reader who must be "brought up to speed." We see this in shows that have a sequence to them or are two partners. "Last week, on The Love Boat…" and off you go. A pilot is the "set pp," and this has me think of a program I often watch with my children called Psych. The set up for the characters, the plot and the way the series will go is in that first show but you see there is also an evolution that takes place as the series and the characters evolve. In fact, the initial set up changes in its orientation remarkably as the program evolves and other factors weigh in which include audience opinion. And that will be the case for you.

From Reflection and Retrospection: A Pedagogic Mystery Story Phillip Lopate, he asks for this bit of information from the writer: what year the story is beginning, how old he or she was at the time, where the episode was taking place geographically, and something of the protagonist's family background, class, religion, and dominant mental state at the time.

Lopate goes on to say: This crucial information is precisely what the fledgling memoirist or personal essayist often leaves out—ostensibly because omitting it will make the story more universal (the opposite is true: omitting it will leave the reader frustrated and disoriented). Probably one reason for the omission is that the fledgling non-fiction writer does not know how to insert such information gracefully, and so takes an active dislike to summaries. True, we have all encountered summaries that can be deadly: the obligatory rehash of facts and ideas, or the cursory condensation of years. The problem is not with summaries per se but with badly written ones. The student memoirist must be challenged to bring the most lively, idiosyncratic style to bear on these summarizing, "telling" passages, so that they will flow with personality, brio and active reflection.

Don't allow your fear of writing badly keep you from jumping in and trying to write the set-up. You must start somewhere. Give it a shot. Your reader will thank you by staying with the story you attempt to tell.

Prompt: Set up this moment in this room and where you are at in your life, your writing. Use the checklist Lopate provides. (20 mins)

Share: Find a pal and have them listen as you read this prompt. As they listen, ask them to close their eyes and see what questions arise. Have them write those questions down for you and know you know what the reader--listener--wants to know more about. Those questions help guide the writer to understand what to include in the revision.

Your Turn: Share your writing and the questions inspired.

Writing Tip #23: Take Your Writing to the Reader

Writing is a solitary craft until it is not. There will be a point, in every writers life, where she will look around for a group. To share the writing is to refine the writing. The reason many of us do not venture forth bravely into this terrain is fear. We tell ourselves our reticence it is not fear but in the end, it is fear. We make all matter of excuse.

"I'm not ready."
"They won't get me."
"I don't need anyone, I'm an artist."

If you toil for hours, days, years on your work, if you want to be read by a reader, if you secretly thrill at the prospect of publication, you must bring your work to a group, a teacher, a class and eventually, an editor.

For those who are on the brink of coming to a class or who are in groups already, my writing tip this week comes in the form of an article by Ann Pancake, published in Poets & Writers in Sept. 2007. Pancake is a tremendous writer and teacher. I had the good fortune to attend classes with her during my own MFA. Her writing is unique and her teachings are terrific. Grab a cup of tea and enjoy her insights.

"Reading How You're Read: The Art of Evaluating Criticism"
by Ann Pancake

You're heading home from that writers conference, exhausted and exhilarated, toting a bag loaded with feedback on your short story from fifteen people you didn't even know two weeks ago. Or you're finishing the second workshop of your first year in that MFA program, overwhelmed by the torrent of advice you received on the poem you've been revising for six months. Perhaps you're hunkered over your coffee table in the few minutes you have between your nine-to-five job and this month's writers group meeting, trying to digest the comments on your memoir from the last time you met. No matter what circumstances have led to the blizzard of input—this often contradictory, sometimes intimidating, and occasionally infuriating criticism—the question remains: How do you begin to make sense of it all?

After years of digesting criticism of my own fiction as well as reading and listening to countless commentaries from my students on their peers' work, I've found there are three basic principles that will help you master the art of evaluating feedback on your writing.

READING YOURSELF
With your poem, short story, essay, or book manuscript back in your hands, the first thing you'll probably do is scan the feedback as quickly as possible with the secret hope that your critics have deemed the piece perfect. But once you see this is not the case—and before you can productively sort through the comments—you have to perform a balancing act that may be the most difficult step of the evaluation process. You must suspend enough of your ego to become somewhat objective while holding on to enough of it so that you don't sacrifice your vision.

The easiest way to reach that semiobjective zone is simply to wait. For many of us, our immediate reaction to feedback can be defensiveness—and even anger, hurt, and ultimately defeat. Let those feelings pass before reading the criticism carefully. For me, this usually takes about a day, although when I was younger and less experienced, it took longer. If you can figure out your own schedule around this issue, you can save yourself a lot of the emotional agony and time wasted by wrestling with criticism too early. Let the critique cool. Only when you feel your mind and heart creaking back open should you give the commentary a careful read.

At the same time, remember that humility and openness to the ideas of others isn't the final endpoint in this process. Some writers—especially beginning writers who receive feedback from authoritative critics—quickly abandon their vision of the piece, and it immediately ceases to be their own. When this happens, the work almost always fails. Achieving the balance between receptivity to others and faith in one's self takes practice and experience, and as your sense of yourself as a writer solidifies, it becomes easier to strike this equilibrium.

READING THE FEEDBACK
When you're finally ready to carefully consider the criticism of your work, you must first ask yourself: What parts of this critique contribute to the ultimate goal of fulfilling my vision for this work? What parts indicate that the reader either doesn't understand my intent, or understands my intent but wants me to move in a different direction?

Before you can answer these questions, of course, you have to have a fairly strong sense of your vision for the work. This is why it is important to avoid exposing your writing to criticism until you have a solid grasp of what you're trying to achieve. I don't show anyone what I'm working on until I know I can't make it any better by myself, and I usually don't reach this point until I've finished seven or eight drafts. You might ask someone to read your piece early in the writing process for her support, but if you do this, make clear to the reader what you need from her at this stage—it usually isn't criticism. Even the most novice writer must wait until he at least thinks he understands his vision for the piece before he makes it vulnerable to outside criticism. Later, when you feel you have a handle on your work's intent and are ready to seek criticism, remain open to the possibility that you still may not fully understand the piece and that another reader might actually "get" it before you do.

Once you're conscious of your intent, you're ready to evaluate the specific content of the feedback. If more than one reader identifies the same problem, your decision is relatively easy. Take that consistent reaction to heart. Unfortunately, though, you can often find yourself getting conflicting advice about a specific issue—one reader loved it, another hated it or found it confusing. For example, an editor found the way I slowly revealed information in the first hundred pages of my novel a weakness—she felt that if I didn't more immediately make clear what the novel "was about," readers wouldn't continue reading. Three of my other critics, however, actually loved what one called the "hide-and-reveal" nature of the book because of the suspense it built.

When you hear conflicting advice about a single issue, consider the source of the criticism and listen to your gut. Two readers taking notice of the same element of your story in different ways may mean that you're actually doing something right there—something unusual or unexpected. It may also mean that you're simply not making yourself clear, and you're being misread all the way around. Pay special attention to criticism that echoes comments about earlier pieces you've received from different readers. I've always been called on my vague pronoun references, for example, so if that comes up (again) in feedback, I know it's something I need to address.

As a rule of thumb, take seriously the fact that a problem has been identified. Take a little less seriously the ideas your reader offers as solutions. Occasionally such solutions do work, but more often than not someone else's idea for your own piece just isn't quite right. If you can tweak the suggestion in your own way, however, it may very well do the trick. For these reasons, a vague solution can actually be more helpful than a specific one.

But while open-ended solutions might be useful, be wary of ambiguous identifications of potential problems, like "I just couldn't get into the essay" or "I couldn't really sympathize with the main character." These comments often indicate that the reader isn't reading or thinking very carefully, or is thinking about the wrong things. You can sometimes salvage this kind of critique by kindly asking for specifics. A close cousin to the vague response is the canned response—those old chestnuts you hear over and over again in workshops, which usually mean that the reader didn't read closely or that she doesn't have enough workshop experience to know how to really critique a piece. Whenever I hear "I would like to see more of this character" or "of this scene," for example, two of the most common canned workshop responses, I bristle. If the reader is explaining exactly how a character needs to be developed or is describing precisely how the scene needs to be expanded, "I'd like to see more of…" is helpful. Usually, however, it's just downright lazy feedback.

Occasionally, in more advanced workshops, you'll get something that is the opposite of canned feedback but is no more useful: A reader will make a suggestion that sounds very original and interesting, but, on close inspection, has little to do with your piece, at least as you have written it. (This usually comes from the kind of critic for whom it's more important to look intelligent to others in the workshop than it is to help you improve your writing.)

Be wary of suggestions that make the work "easier" to read. If your critic is addressing something in your story that is obviously unclear, fine, but such suggestions can also be triggered by a passage in your piece where you made an unexpected move, strayed from conventions, or took a risk. While the critic's natural instinct might be to "smooth out" these irregularities, you could end up compromising the originality of your art by following such directives. Another more obvious thing to remember is that if a reader has unequivocally misread one part of your piece, you should probably take less seriously his similar remarks elsewhere.

Keep in mind that a reader who commented on an earlier draft may have a hard time giving an objective, reliable read of a revised version. Unfortunately, that first read usually muddies the second one. As a teacher who must comment on my students' revisions and read commentaries on their peers' revisions, I've noticed this problem time and again. When critics reread, they tend to over-praise changes (especially ones they suggested), grow bored more quickly, and occasionally bemoan the omission of passages or lines they grew attached to in an early draft but that really did need to go.

READING YOUR READERS
As part of evaluating feedback, you also need to evaluate its source. Sizing up an unknown reader in a new workshop or writers group is tricky business, which is why it's so critical to develop and nurture a network of readers you trust. In your workshops and writing groups, seek out thorough readers who understand your vision and aren't set on altering it, and then try to work with them outside that structured context. Offer to trade work with them—always reciprocate—and remember that a thoughtful, caring response to their work is likely to elicit a comparable effort.

Although it might take years to evolve, such a network of readers is invaluable, not just for the purpose of getting criticism of your work, but also as a support system as you suffer the inevitable trials and tribulations of being a writer. Don't despair if you don't have the opportunity to know a variety of people in this way. Even one or two smart, dependable, generous people can provide you with almost everything you need.

When you are confronted with a new reader, weigh a number of factors—including the amount of workshop experience the person has had, the quality and quantity of literature she has read, and what she likes to read and why—to determine how relevant her comments will be to your work. A particular reader might be an excellent critic of a certain type of writing but not a good critic of yours. At the same time, don't discount the perspective of a smart reader who doesn't share your aesthetic. This kind of critic can be extremely valuable in unexpected ways. For example, my short stories are very language-driven, but precisely because I understand style a lot better than I understand plot, I can learn a lot from good readers who grasp plot better than the intricacies of language.

Pay attention to how the workshop participant responds to the work of others in the class, especially work that shares similarities with yours. Take with a grain of salt not only destructive critics, but also those who praise enthusiastically everything they lay eyes on. And do consider any personal biases a reader might have for or against a particular piece. Such prejudices might concern you as a writer (and have nothing to do with your work), the critic's insecurities about her own work, or the subject matter of the poem, story, or essay being critiqued. I've had readers who identified so closely with a protagonist that they couldn't judge the piece with any degree of objectivity.

My most reliable indication that I need to incorporate a particular piece of feedback occurs when I reread the passage in question and feel a twinge in my stomach. Then I hear that old voice in my head: "Yep, deep down I thought that was a problem all along. But I was just too attached to the beauty or cleverness of my words—or simply too lazy—to fix it. I sure was hoping I'd get away with it, but I guess I didn't."

Above all, as you respond to criticism of your writing, remember that you can't please everyone. If you try to suit all the people, or even all the "important" people who have commented on your work, you could find yourself busily sanding away idiosyncrasies, "normalizing" unconventional portions, and lopping off risky passages—all of which will serve only to homogenize your writing and turn it into (at best) craft instead of art.

The biggest argument against workshops and writing groups is that they can take a diamond in the rough and reduce it to a trinket. Keep in mind that art is not created by consensus.

After you absorb all those outside voices about your story, poem, or novel, try to seed the criticism into your subconscious. Then wait a few days, weeks, or even months. When you reread your work, look carefully for any signs that the criticism you've digested is the criticism for which the piece is asking. The work itself must play the final judge. It will always speak truthfully if you learn how to listen closely enough.

Ann Pancake is the author of the novel Strange as This Weather Has Been, forthcoming from Shoemaker & Hoard. She is currently on the faculty of the low-residency MFA program at Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma, Washington.

For the original link: click here

It's Your Turn: What techniques have you picked up in your writing classes that help you be a better writer?

Book Talk: This is Not the Ivy League by Mary Clearman Blew

I am so so happy to have Cloie back, writing my Book Talk reviews. Enjoy

By Clover Cohen

[image error] When I opened This is Not the Ivy League, I had planned to study the way point-of-view shifts. The author's use is effective—she employs third person when a thought or memory needs distance, first person to bring us close. These are sprinkled throughout, and for the most part, I was able to make the shifts and stay with the story.

Yet as I flip back through the pages after my first read-through, the number of characters grabs my attention. On the whole, there are far too many. Obviously, a person's life will include hundreds of people. But when putting your story in to a book, their inclusion should me more selective so we may know them more individually and how they have impacted the author's life.

Without going through page by page, I know there is a rancher grandmother, a school teacher grandmother, a great-grandmother named Rachel, two husbands, four children, a handful of grandchildren, many university presidents, vice presidents, deans, and department chairs, and so many professors, they all swim together in the muck. There's a dead girl, her crazy husband, a guy who crashes his motorcycle, the author's own teachers and professors, and a good friend who is also a little person.

Crowding a memoir with too many characters cushions the writer from her true story. I know because I do this myself. It's easy to describe everyone around me with his or her dramas and intricacies. I may as well write, "Hey, look at them, not me."

But even if we really intend to write our stories close and illuminating, how do we keep from getting tangled-up and end up choked-out in the end? Wise advice from my teacher comes to mind: determine which characters matter to the story and kill off the rest. As writers of memoir, we can do this. We have this power, and responsibility.

[image error] Along with studying the author's devices, I can't help but try to figure out what this book is really about. The description on the inside flap of the book's jacket includes, "This memoir is Blew's behind-the-scenes account of pursuing a career at a time when a woman's place in the world was supposed to have limits." I can see how she thinks this is her story. It may be a part for sure. But anyone who writes knows that we tell ourselves all kinds of tales, even about the topic of our writing.

If I can analyze this author and give my opinion (which many other readers will do as well), I think the story is really about the author's relationship with her children. She describes herself as a depressed and compulsive person and how her children were sacrificed in the name of achievement. I think that even if she had pursued elementary teaching or being a housewife, they may still have been sacrificed. Maternal instinct appeared to be knocked off course in this family. From the author's childhood as her father's "son" on the ranch, to her cold mother, to her mother being unwanted by her own mother, these are not the makings of happy children.

The line where I got stuck and never really recovered from was the first sentence of chapter 4, "That son has not spoken to me in over twenty-five years". For all the subsequent chapters, details of friends and colleagues and work, and even when she refers to her children, the author does not adequately address these profound words. That a mother has not spoken to her son in over twenty-five years.

I know parents have, and are entitled to lives apart from their children, but for the child of an estranged father like me, all I wanted to know was her perspective on how such a tragedy came to be. A behind-the-scenes account of a mother who is severed from her child. The inside story of how a parent does not spend every breath and ounce of strength to make amends with their lost child. Those are the stories I would have liked to read.

Now it's your turn. Tell me what you think of this book. Leave a comment.

Listen In: How to Sell Your Book

On Tuesday, March 13, 2012, I was delighted to host a webinar salon where I gave three tips for publishing a book. This conversation is a preview of the in-depth program I offer, including a 85 pg. workbook and teachings, called Phase III. Enjoy the recording of our webinar and I hope to see you in the Sell Your Book class, Saturday, March 18. Only ten spots left!







Class Details
This is part of my Phase III teaching and is for the writer who wants to be published. It does not matter if you are ready to sell your book yet or not. This class, built from Phase III Audio Teaching will get you in the right mind set for when the time is right and will spark you with unique insight and new ideas.

Sunday, March 18th from noon to four, I will teach you all I know about getting your book out there in the world and help you build a map so you can make your way to that publishing dream. This class comes with an 85 pg. workbook and a three hour audio program so you can listen again and again.

This is an on-line, virtual class via Go To Meeting and it is open to 15 people. You need a phone (at the least) and if you have a computer with an online connection, even better! Then you can see me and ask questions virtually.

DAY/TIME/DATES: Sunday, Noon-4:00, Mar. 18
WHERE: On Line Via Go-To Meeting (10 spots left)
COST: $95.00 (Member Discounted at 20%: $76.00)





Member Discounts
Full Price $95.00 USD
Member Discount $76.00 USD







Can't take the class? That's okay. The audio program is here for you and it's even more affordable. Click, pay, upload and learn: Click Here

Sell Your Books: Mini Class ~ March 18

This is part of my Phase III teaching and is for the writer who wants to be published. It does not matter if you are ready to sell your book yet or not. This class will get you in the right mind set for when the time is right and will spark you with unique insight and new ideas.

Sunday, March 18th from noon to four, I will teach you all I know about getting your book out there in the world and help you build a map so you can make your way to that publishing dream. This class comes with an 85 pg. workbook and a three hour audio program so you can listen again and again.

This is an on-line, virtual class via Go To Meeting and it is open to 15 people. You need a phone (at the least) and if you have a computer with an online connection, even better! Then you can see me and ask questions virtually.

DAY/TIME/DATES: Sunday, Noon-4:00, Mar. 18
WHERE: On Line Via Go-To Meeting
COST: $95.00 (Member Discounted at 20%: $76.00)





Member Discounts
Full Price $95.00 USD
Member Discount $76.00 USD

Writing Tip #22: Writing Spirituality

The Dalai Lama says, "religion is a luxury, kindness is not."

What I hear in these words is practicality.

There is another Tibetan saying, "consider all beings Buddha, but keep your hand on your wallet."

Again, the pragmatic, even the cynical, intertwined with the divine.

Both of these statements can provide insight about how to engage with the spiritual in our writing without sounding lofty, dogmatic and even a little nuts. If we look close at the experience of living, spirituality is everywhere. Afterall, almost all of the life we know is pure mystery, ungraspable and yet palpable. We experience through our senses but what are we actually experiencing?

As we consider taking on the spiritual in our writing, the greatest challenge is, of course, not to get lost. Disembodiment is already rampant for the creative non-fiction student who attempts to convey experience via the written word. Too often, in fact, most often, the student is guilty of being in the thinking process more than the actual experience that gave birth to all the thinking. That same student will be urged, again and again, back to the task of reporting the bare-bones details of the event. IE: The time, the place, the up, the down, the right, the left, the set up, the details of people and objects and stuff.

The elements of writing that include setting, set up and scene are all needed more than ever in spiritual narratives. Think of it like this: the higher you go, the lower you must burrow in order to achieve balance. The spiritual is the highest of experiences, the height of heights, it is reaching for the light and thus, balance is achieved by getting into the body of the person, into the details of the trappings that surround the spiritual and into the senses being experienced. For spiritual writing to feel real, authentic, believable and part of a true experience, pay even more intense attention to the details of the actual experience.

Key Points to consider from my favorite writing text: Tell it Slant by Brenda Miller & Suzanne Paola

Powerful writing always emerges from the physical, specific and sensory details of your experience. If you decide to write about spiritual experience—whether positive or negative—you will want to look closely at the physical elements that make up your spiritual life, whether those include incense in a church, chanting in a synagogue, or the odor of cedar on your daily walks.

Spirituality can be an arena that is fraught with prefabricated rhetoric and tired clichés. As a writer, your challenge is to find a language and a form so personal, only you can give us this rendition of spiritual life.

One pitfall of spiritual writing is that it can become too heavy and self absorbed.

Prompt: Try to remember a moment in your childhood when you were first aware of a spiritual presence in your life. This can be anything from a moment within your spiritual tradition, a moment in nature, or a moment when you were alone in your room. Describe this experience from the child's point of view, in present tense.

Now go back and put this in an adult voice and see how the piece changes.

Post! I love to see your writing and it helps everyone in the trenches.

Small Talk & Annoucements

Are you going to AWP? Do you even know what AWP is?

Well, for those who don't, AWP is The Association of Writers and Writing Programs. And this year, there are 11,000 people flying into Chicago to attend. Can you imagine? 11,000? The darn event is SOLD OUT!

I'll be there, microphone in hand, interviewing all I meet about writing and writing insights. Since I know quite a few terrific people, expect a fun, informative and even inspiring report when I return.

[image error] The Spring Class Schedule is on fire. If you don't know yet, I am joining my teachings with The Attic Institute and my offices will be now located there. The space is doubling and is improving. This place is hopping with terrific teaching and more space. Check out the Spring Fling schedule and sign up for a class. Nearly all of my classes are filling up faster than I know so please, don't be a typical writer and wait until the last moment. If you do... you might miss the opportunity.


Sell Your Memoir: March 18 - Four Hour Virtual Class

Download Your Memoir: March 31 - 5 Week Virtual Class

Craft Class: April 1 - May 20 - Portland

Write the Spiritual Essay: April 17 - Portland

Write a Kick A#$ Scene: April 17 - Portland

Critique Circle: (Ongoing and Full, but yes you can get on the wait list as spots may open each month).

Get to a class! Grow! Learn! Write!!! (Do I have enough apostrophes for you?)

Writing Tip #22: Point of View

Prompt: Study the art displayed here and write what arises. Be observant. Tell a story. When you are done, read it out loud to yourself and then re-approach the same story but from a different point of view. For example, if you wrote from the "I" POV the first time, try the story again in the "you" or the "she/he" points of view. See where this approach takes you.

Lesson: Generally speaking we have three points of view available to us and they are based on pronoun use. Pronoun defined is: a word that substitutes for a noun or a noun phrase, such as "I,""you,""them,""it,""ours,""who,""which,""myself," and "anybody." "I" is the 1st person, "you" is 2nd person and "she/he" is third person.

Question to ponder: Why use each POV, what is the effect?

Generally speaking, the "I" voice, also known as first person, is immediate and keeps the reader close to the writer. It's confessional but also intimate. The third person voice, "he" or "she" voice, provides some distance and space. The "you" voice--second person, is a way to create inclusion with the reader and draw them in to share the journey.

Points to touch on: "of the three POV choices, second person is the rarest, in non-fiction as well as fiction and poetry. It's not hard to figure out why: second person POV calls attention to itself and tends to invite reader resistance. Imagine recasting "For five years I lived in Alaska," to "for five years you lived in Alaska." That's exactly what a POV shift to second person would do; it places the reader directly in the shoes of the author, without narrative mediation. Clumsily used, second person screams out for the reader to say, "No, I didn't" with an inner shrug of indignation and stop reading." Tell it Slant, Pg. 144

Vivian Gornick, The Situation and the Story, "I began to read the greats in essay writing—and it wasn't their confessing voices I was responding to, it was their truth-speaking personae."

"Though memoir is the nonfiction form most closely associated with an "I," it can be written in second or third person…these kinds of techniques –experiments with POV, use of different tenses (past, present, future), finding just the right metaphorical image to anchor the piece—all serve to help the memoir elevate itself out of self-centered rumination and into the arena of art." Pg. 97, Tell it Slant.

Your Turn: Post your stories and your revisions. Let's see where this prompt took you.