It has taken me three tries to start, not write but start, this entry that I wanted to write today about what it means to be a writer. About BEING a writer.
With BEING in caps for gravitas. And emphasis.
In each of my previous entries I sounded like an asshole.
You know, I used words like, "GRAVITAS."
No one will ever get to read those entries but me and the nosey pigeons that are likely dusting me with some sort of avian flu as they skitter around me. Hopping off and then back onto the sidewalk next to me on unpolished toenails.
[Mental note: Get manicure]
Set the scene. It's just the pigeons and me and my little laptop outside the coffee shop that provides Wifi and a space for writers like me. I've grabbed a gorgeous sunny spot just outside the cafe, on the sidewalk. A metal chair and patio table. An indifferent jury of men in cargo pants and sweatshirts smoking an looking up at something behind me like it's something that might need fixing. Soon.
Hmmmm.
Anyway. So here I am, thinking about being a writer and what it means to be a writer, which I am thinking about a lot these days.
More so since I quit my full time office job [counter rumours to the contrary] and decided to be a writer "only" which will and has already meant taking on other jobs so that I can continue to support what often feels like a habit or a distraction. An unstoppable force. A somewhat superpower not unlike my friend Carolyn Taylor who has, amongst other things, the ability to know the exact moment to leave a party.
Also because, joyfully, I've been talking a lot about what it means to be a writer and an artist because I've recently found a someone who wants to and can talk about this stuff as much as I do.
And maybe just because of the sun here, and the air, and the talking… I find myself talking more and more about writing as a mantra, or a mandate. Something unlike a series of rules and more like a dissection of a way of being.
And so.
This blog entry about BEING a writer.
As someone who's taught endless numbers of high school students stuff about writing I've had to boil it down to things that make sense in 40 minute segments. I've tended to default to the importance of observation. Because, yeah, to me that's pretty big. And I have a 30 minute exercise that goes with that. Which I'll tell you about in a sec.
So. The writer is an amateur spy. The writer has her eye on you.
Read: Harriet the Spy.
[The writer is easily distracted by the series of fancy strollers that roll down the sidewalk and then… of course… email]
The writer observes. Best exercise. Tell students to describe something they see everyday.
Example. On a piece of paper. Or laptop. Get them to describe the front entrance of their school. Two to three descriptions/points.
Can be other things, I like front entrance but could be a portrait/picture in the school (most schools have a weird mural/painting/portrait somewhere). Could be the floor of the cafeteria. Should be something they know but cannot see directly at that moment.
After writing for 5 minutes or so, get students to go and LOOK at the thing. Look for 10 minutes. Take notes. Return to class. Write three new points/descriptions of said thing/place/portrait.
This is actually an exercise taken/modified from an 826 Valencia workbook. I like it a lot. The distinction between before and after is always amazing.
The more I think about it, though, the more I think that the best part of the exercise is not what student SEE that they didn't see earlier, it's the connections they make, the metaphors they expand on after a second look.
So how much of this is looking and how much of it is just pushing yourself beyond a first round of thoughts and observations. Committing yourself to "really" looking or even just really thinking about what things look like and what you're seeing when you look. What you're hearing when people talk.
It's interesting because I've always pushed in this exercise for students to really look at the details.
Like:
"It's a brick wall."
"Okay, what kind of brick? Red brick?"
"It's a brick wall. With some red. A bit of red."
"Okay but that's not really giving me much of a picture."
As a side note, the last time I taught this to a class all the students came back with all these incredible metaphors around aging and disease, talking about the entrance of their school. Brick wall --> Scabs. Brick wall --> ravaged skin.
The barely breathing brick wall of Havergal College (my alma mater).
It takes 30 minutes, more often than not, to get beyond "it's a brick wall." Which doesn't really give you all that much time to talk about, "what so important about a brick wall?"
Why does your character/story need these details? What do all these details add up to? Why are we even looking at walls in the first place? What's the difference between keeping your eye on the sky and keeping your eye on the ground? And so on.
We're amateur spies on a metaphorical mission.
Part of our mission being to understand said mission.
No caps.
We are collectors and processors of life's moments and details.
"We."
Or at least "I." I am trying to be.
That's it for now I think.
My wifi's about to run out because this coffee shop likes to create a space for writers to sit and work but only for hour segments.
Besides this metal chair is hurting my butt.
xo