yourpassions.tk

It was a dark and stormy night. That sentence surely takes the prize as the most clichéd and often cited example of bad writing. Do you know the reason? It lies in the first two words, “it was”. This construction and its variants are ubiquitous in our speech and much of our writing. For example, It’s snowing hard as I write this post. There are several people sitting near me who look worried. It’ll be hard to get up the slippery driveway when I get home if this continues. In sentences like the ones above, “it” and “there” are dummy pronouns because they refer to nothing specific, thus functioning as dummy subjects . Simply put, they are a form of passive voice , which generally weakens your sentence and slows the story. The fix is simple. Reword your sentence to ditch the dummy subject. For example, here’s a possible revision of that initial dark and stormy night intro: The heavy scent of rain filled my lungs, and my scalp tingled with anxiety as I peered through the window. ...

A few hours ago the Mayan calendar reset. We are officially in a new “age”, at least according to the Mayans. Nobody I know was surprised to wake up this morning to find the world unchanged in any discernible way. I heard reports that some were stockpiling Doomsday kits of food and survival gear, just as they did for Y2K thirteen years ago, but this event has had far less hoopla in the media or public attention. I’ve been contemplating its possible significance for at least four years, never expecting anything dramatic to happen, but watching trends and listening to thought leaders who point out that change has become dramatic and global since about the end of World War II. They also point out, for whatever it may be worth, that the Women’s Movement has occurred in waves of about forty years from the first Suffragette efforts, to the Consciousness Raising of the 60s and 70s to now. These gurus opine that the trends they discuss have brought us to a tipping point where change must...

“A gunman went into an elementary school and killed 18 children and 9 adults!” My husband’s voice cracked as he told me this, and I looked up to see his face contorting. It took a minute or two for the full implication of what he had told me to sink in. I immediately grabbed my laptop – I wanted to know the story, right that minute! It took only two clicks to find it. The more I read, the more stricken I felt. “Students were told to close their eyes by police as they were led from the building.” I read. The story went on to say that children were led out in a line, with each child placing a hand on the shoulder of the one ahead. I had to stop and catch my breath. How can we possibly fathom or make sense of such unimaginable horror? That someone could be so deranged, so tormented, that he could gun down children at their desks? I want to know the story. All of it. Why did this person do this? How did he come to this state? What were the children thinking as this occurred, and ...

Who doesn’t appreciate people who come along with a purple crayon and draw a door in the wall you’ve been beating your head against? Or points out the image you hadn’t noticed in the clouds overhead? Mentors wield purple crayons for us as they help us stretch and grow and see the world in fresh, new ways, and that’s especially valuable to writers. Kathleen Pooler celebrated her third blogaversary with a post on The Magic of Mentors . The post includes a short video in which she interviews three of her own mentors, and I’m honored to be included, along with Linda Joy Myers and Jerry Waxler . Kathleen’s post includes a transcript of the highlights of the video. One of the points I made in the interview is that many of the mentors who have had the most profound influence on the way I view the world and the way I write are people I’ve met only between the covers of an endless parade of books. I’d like to celebrate a few recent finds: Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi take top bil...

“True, I’ve written a few stories, but I’m not a writer!” Such is the mindset of most beginning writers. In January of this year I posted an interview with author Nancy Pogue LaTurner based on her experience writing her memoir, Voluntary Nomads: A Mother's Memories of Foreign Service Life . I’m happy to welcome her back with this guest post building on the metaphor of Santa Claus as she outlines her writing path from novice to “real writer.” Before beginning my memoir, Voluntary Nomads , I carried a weight around with me. Like Santa's bag of presents, I hefted my sack of stories. It was full to bursting and I needed to lighten the load by giving these gifts away. Unlike Santa, with his centuries of expertise and magic delivery system, I worried that I was ill equipped to carry out my plan. When I began the memoir-writing journey, I didn't consider myself a writer. I could have, given my early experience as editor of my elementary and high school newspapers, colum...

All my life I’ve wanted to fit in, or so I thought. Now I wonder. What is it that I wanted to fit into? Some might say their jeans, but so far, my jeans have fit fine. I wanted to fit in with others, to blend seamlessly with the group. To be an insider . To be like others . Suddenly I wonder: just what does that mean? What was I hoping to be like? And who were these people I wanted to fit in with? Last month travel writer Annabel Candy published a blog post, 35 Ways I Don’t Fit In , and she challenged readers to make their own list and link back to her post . When I sat down to make my list I realized that any given item is far from unique. Each specific attribute will be shared by a multitude of others – like DNA, it’s the total combination of shared elements that makes me unique. In no particular order, I’ll list  35 of the countless elements that add up to my unique experience and self. 1. I love chili, the hotter the better – up to a point. Inspired by Elizabeth-Anne Kim , I’m...

Elizabeth-Anne Kim recently published two collections of life stories, DANCING IN THE RAIN ( free Kindle download Thanksgiving Day through Sunday, Nov. 25, 2012 ) and WHAT MY MOTHER DIDN’T KNOW , as Kindle Shorts. These memoir pieces were largely unplanned. In this guest post, she explains how incidental writing can turn into something surprising. If you can be an accidental life story writer, that's what I am . I didn't mean to publish independently either; it just sort of happened. After nearly four years in Korea, my husband and I transitioned our family back to the United States in the spring of 2010.  I found myself in a new setting with two children who needed me close at hand. Traditional career options were not going to work. I decided to try writing. I had previously done a bit of writing work, and I felt pretty confident in my ability to transition back and forth between genres. What I didn't feel comfortable with was my ability to stick to a deadline all ...

Everybody has a junk drawer in the kitchen or somewhere, a drawer where you put the stuff you don’t know where else to put. Stuff you intend to sort and put away properly “someday.” I have a folder like that in Documents – odds and ends of lifestory starts and sandpaper drafts. Bits and pieces of memory and story that beg for completion, but I haven’t had time, or lost the thread or … you know. Stories that made it past the Story Idea List stage, but not by much. Stories with beginnings, but no endings. I’ll bet you have a folder like that too. Today, when the post I’d planned didn’t work out because the video I wanted to include doesn’t display right, I decided to peruse my junk file. To be honest, I have more than one such folder. I found an older one with files dating back about four computers. I haven’t looked in it for ages, and I found some real treasures. Among them is a file I’d intended to use as the first chapter of a memoir about my mother. The folder date on that file...

If you, like Santa, are making a list and checking it twice, here’s a gift idea for adult relatives: stick a copy of The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing in their stocking. This gift is a way of urging them to record their stories for you and the future . While you’re at it, order a copy for yourself. While you may not be able to crank out the story of your entire life in the next six weeks, you can begin now with a single story or two. If you write two pages a week, you’ll have six hundred pages in two years . Amazon has dozens of books explaining how to write lifestories, and all have merit. In fact, I encourage anyone who is serious about writing lifestory, autobiography or memoir to read several.  I also encourage them to begin with mine, which is the most comprehensive I’ve found. In addition to the usual guidelines for writing stories, here’s a list of features that set The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing apart: Start-to-finish instructions on planning writ...

Guest Post by Madelyn Sharples Madeline Sharples’ memoir began as a collection of poems, that she thought would suffice to record her memories of living with her son’s bipolar disorder and subsequent suicide. In this invited post she explains how she realized poetry alone would not suffice. My memoir, Leaving the Hall Light On: a Mother’s Memoir of Living with Her Son’s Bipolar Disorder and Surviving His Suicide consists of a mix of prose, poetry, and photos. And if I could have put music into it I would have. I originally dreamed about publishing a memoir in poems. I had a finished poetry manuscript early on and since poetry came out almost miraculously from my pen soon after my son died, I thought telling his and my story in poems would be most appropriate. But I was soon convinced the poems could not stand-alone. My book would lack the details, characterization depth, and the thoughts and feelings of my husband Bob and surviving son Ben that were necessary in the telling o...

I would have bet half the farm that this picture I drew was an accurate representation of my first backyard in Albuquerque. I would have lost half that farm. I pulled out my 64 color box of fragrant Crayolas a dozen years ago and had a blast drawing a vivid memory of that backyard, calling on artistic skills little improved since I last sat on that swing. I remembered sitting inside a curtain of leaves on the pictured stump of one of the four trunks of that willow tree. A second stump, hidden in the picture behind the two intact trunks, was cut off somewhat higher, about shoulder level for me as I sat on the lower one. I drew the grass beneath the tree, and my sandbox back somewhat behind the tree to the left. The chicken house is in the back, along with the storage shed. S ometime later I asked my father when the two trunks had been amputated. He had no idea what I was talking about. “That tree had four trunks,” he insisted. “We never cut any off.” His report was a jolt, but th...

With deep sorrow, I announce the death of my only granddog, Walker, who succumbed today to the ravages of bone cancer in Austin, Texas. At the risk of alienating half my readers, although I fully understand and respect their importance and value to others, I admit that I’m not a dog person. I don’t want to take care of a dog or be tied down to a dog’s schedule. I don’t like being jumped on (my friend Martha the Dog Trainer could help with that), I don’t like having dogs climb into my lap, I hate being licked, and doggie smell is one of my least favorite ones. Only two dogs in my adult life have nuzzled all the way through these barriers to my heart. One was my father’s miniature Alaskan, Pixie, who could have charmed a smile from Ebenezer Scrooge. The other was my daughter’s rescued greyhound, Walker. Perhaps the fact that neither of them lived with me helped seal my half of our mutual affection, but neither of them jumped on me, invaded my space, or licked me, and their doggie sme...

Red is the color of danger , a universal signal to stop. The mere thought of red ink splattered on pages triggers fear, maybe a slightly sick feeling. Fingers freeze, brains block. Creativity comes to a halt. Stop right there! Rather than launch into a lecture on the Inner Critic you know so well, let’s look at a fun work-around for times when you are in a red-ink frame of mind. Write with green ink. Green is the symbol for “Go” and “Grow.” It’s a safe, nurturing color of fertility and creation. As odd as it may sound, whether you write on paper or the computer, changing your ink color can make a difference in how your words flow, but you must try it yourself to experience the power. Use a green ink pen, or set the font on your computer screen to green. While you’re at it, try a new paper color, on-screen or under your hand. You can find more information and instructions for doing this in an old post, Write It Your Way . For yet another variation, with or without color ch...

My write brain feels flat and gray as a shadow. If I were writing on paper, the wastebasket would be overflowing with crumpled blog post drafts. Since I’m at a keyboard, cyberspace is awash in electron static whirling off my hard drive as my brain spins and my fingers flail, trying to gain purchase on the page. Each of those posts began with a great idea that I may eventually find a way to develop. Right now they are flat. Flat as a pancake. Flat as a board. Flat as stale beer. Flat as the hat an elephant stomped. You get the idea. I think I know the problem: I’ve been reading blog posts and advice articles with titles like 7 Tips for Captivating Readers , or Bore into Readers’ Brains for Keeps . (Don’t go searching for these articles. I made up the titles. Besides – why would you go looking for something I just described as trouble?) The advice wasn’t bad. The concepts they espouse are solid and useful. Maybe. Sometimes, for some people. Trying to follow those formulas draine...

Blanche Lippincott, 100 years old (photo by Susan Lippincott Mack) Although the number of centenarians is rapidly growing, having a hundredth birthday is not a once-in-a-lifetime experience for very many people. My mother-in-law, Blanche Lippincott, is one of those people, and I pause today to celebrate with her. Blanche was born 100 years ago in Tucson, in the newly admitted state of Arizona. Her family soon moved to Ray, Arizona, a now deserted copper mining community, where they lived until she was about twelve. When the the copper industry declined, her parents, along with a few aunts and uncles, decided to move back to Philadelphia. After high school she worked for a few years in the accounting department for the telephone company. In 1937 she met and married Ezra Lippincott, and they lived happily ever after – although ever after came a bit sooner than expected. He died unexpectedly early in 1969, leaving her a widow at only 57. During those happy years they enjoye...

“You grow into your story.” I was surprised to hear these words come from my mouth the other day as I met with a new group of lifestory writing students. I’d never thought of things quite this way, and their truth was a bolt of psychic lightening. The sentence emerged during a discussion about the need for every story to have a “moral.” Moral is a word with a lot of baggage.  We came to an agreement that strong stories include some element of change or growth as a result of events and experiences included in the story. As mentioned in the previous post , it isn’t always apparent what that insight is. I pondered for a couple of days as I reflected on the lesson learned in “ Grabbing Grannie’s Dishes .” Only as I adapted this previously written story for the Gutsy Story contest, did I realize that the initial version, written a dozen years ago, was an extended vignette, lacking the insightful closure that adds impact and meaning to a full story. As I explained to the class, I was...

Most people might reflexively answer “Sure!” to the question, “Are you a gutsy person?” then be hard-pressed to come up with an example. Others would simply demur, “Not really. I’m more the quiet type.” Sonia Marsh, author of the memoir Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of Gutsy Living on a Tropical Island , plans to change all that. Sonia has begun a campaign to help people find their inner gutsiness, and she’s doing that through story. She’s running a monthly writing contest, asking readers to submit their own gutsy stories. Each week she selects one entry to publish in her blog. At the end of each month, readers vote to select the winner of the  month. I need your help! Her contest is bearing fruit. My heart went pitter-patter at the thought of writing a gutsy story for this contest, but for the life of me, I could not think of a single one. I pondered for weeks before the cork popped from the bottle. As soon as I sat down to write, another came to mind – then another. I...