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The Importance of Details in Writing & Next Month’s Prompt

Last weekend, as I sat around the table and listened to stories written by my friends at the Retirement Center, we discussed the the power of details. Almost everyone wrote on last month’s prompt, “I look like _____,” and we marveled at how each person approached the exercise differently.

One person wrote about life with his identical twin. Another person told of his wife, how she often made him look good and never took the credit. One man wrote on himself, starting his essay with a punch, “I look like something the cat dragged in.” Then, he took the reader on an introspective journey from that image of what he sees on the outside to what he remembers on the inside: children and grandchildren, success and happiness and, despite one day’s sad musings, memories of a long life gone well.

Though all the essays differed, we witnessed one thing in common, how certain details in images can add texture and richness to a story.

Details reveal more than the setting.

Every month these folks bring tiny memoir pieces to the table, flash nonfiction, so this month I shared with them an essay by Brenda Miller in the ROSE METAL PRESS FIELD GUIDE TO WRITING FLASH NONFICTION. In “Friendship, Intuition, and Trust: On the Importance of Detail,” Miller talks, about the importance of images and detail when crafting a story in such a short space on paper. She writes about her experience, of how one simple image—a piece of wood in the road—led to the unfolding of her own short memoir essay:

The essay came out of me in one piece, in about 30 minutes, one image leading to the next. The first words, I’m sorry…led me along, and become the mantra for the rest of the piece, I’m sorry, I said, and I said it again, and we continued on our way through the desert, in the dark of night…. Flash images arise…I let them come, I don’t censor them, because by now the essay has taken on a life of its own. And since I know this will be a very short piece, I won’t have to inhabit this space very long—in and out, touching the wounded spot and letting it go.

Later, she says of these kinds of pieces:

Because flash nonfiction is so short, I needed to take only a slice of that time, and from this one cross-section…I could unravel the rest. [Flash nonfiction] requires the same attention to language as one would give to a poem: each line needs to carry some weight, and to gradually evolve into more meaning as it goes along.

Then, I read a few paragraphs to those writers at the table from an essay by Barbara Hurd in her book, WALKING THE WRACK LINE: ON TIDAL SHIFTS AND WHAT REMAINS:

A nor’easter smacked into Cape Ann last night, and this morning the wrack’s dark line lies tangled and heaped. Hundreds of shells have settled sideways and tilted on the beach, half in, half out, sand-dribbled, seaweed-draped, partially rinsed. On the outside, they’re a riot of spires and pinpricks, ribbed turbans and knobby cones. Ivory, copper, pinkish, twisted, scalloped, hinged.

. . . .

When I open my eyes, the ocean seems to demand too much. At another time in my life, I might have responded — raised a sail, plied my oars, at least considered the lure of infinity. If the sea, after all, has any constant call that can also sound like taunting, it goes like this: come in, come in. But this is the cold North Atlantic and I’m older and I won’t and besides, if I did, I’d be out there immersed in the lives of these cracked-open things I’d rather look at underfoot. It’s not that I’m tired of desire; I just want to make sure it’s my own.

In Barbara Hurd’s essay, certain details are missing. We don’t know when the storm started, when it stopped, how long it lasted. But with the images Hurd leaves behind, and in each description, she reveals more into her own state of being. And, that’s what makes this piece so powerful.

As Lisa Cron says in her book on writing, “the story is in the specifics.”

This month’s prompt.

After the storm.

Read more from Brenda Miller in “Friendship, Intuition, and Trust: On the Importance of Detail,” in THE ROSE METAL PRESS FIELD GUIDE TO WRITING FLASH NONFICTION and from Barbara Hurd in “Wordwrack: Openings,” in WALKING THE WRACK LINE: ON TIDAL SHIFTS AND WHAT REMAINS.

* Photo credits: kakisky and greenfinger on Morguefile.com

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Author Interview with W.H. Beck & Book Giveaway

“What if [Malcolm] could prove to the Academy that he was a critter of…valor and merit? Maybe…he could admit the truth. Maybe then everyone could start thinking that not all rats are skuzzy.” ~ from MALCOLM AT MIDNIGHT

I’ve always been one to root for the underdog. Yes, even a rat. At our house, we aren’t pet people (allergies spoil the fun), and that one rat in the garage last summer was a little disconcerting. Still, like my son, I enjoy a good book about a critter surrounded by unfortunate rumors. Or, mistaken identity.

My son and I read W.H. Beck’s novel, MALCOLM AT MIDNIGHT, together and loved every page, every illustration. Beck tells the story of Malcolm, a rat who, after being mistaken for a mouse, becomes the fifth grade pet in Mr. Binny’s classroom. He learns quickly that he’s not the only pet in the school and that much of the serious work going on at McKenna happens once the Midnight bell rings.

Soon after he’s admitted into the Midnight Academy of McKenna school pets, Malcolm becomes the prime suspect in the mystery of a missing iguana. He sets out to prove, then (to himself and the other classroom pets), that rats are not all bad. In fact, he depends on his “every ratty fiber and trick” to save the day, and – likely – the entire school.

I’m honored to host W.H. Beck for a Q&A. Because my son and I read this book together, I asked him to come up with the first two questions. He rattled them off right away, adding that he hopes for a sequel. Which means, MALCOLM AT MIDNIGHT is too good not to share. I’m giving away a copy, so drop your name in the comments for a chance to win and look for the lucky reader on Tuesday, February 20th.

Now, welcome W.H. Beck!

CC: How did you decide to write your book?

WHB: Well, when I started Malcolm, I was working on a nonfiction animal series, so I think I had critters on the brain. I’ve also always loved stories that take place in the “regular” world, but have something a little fantastical going on just out of sight. Since I work in a school, it was fun to imagine what happened after all we humans headed home. It just grew from there.

CC: Did you ever own a pet rat?

WHB: Ha! No, we have a dog and a gecko—but I do get asked that a lot. The truth is, I’m not exactly sure where the rat came from, except that I wanted an animal that had to use his animal “superpowers” to solve a mystery. When I read about how rats can compress their bones to fit through the hole the size of quarter, hold their breath for three minutes and swim up through sewer pipes, and gnaw through glass and cement and steel…well, it seemed too fun not to use in a story. It also made it interesting to have Malcolm struggle with rat stereotypes.

CC: As an elementary school librarian, I imagine you run into a variety of readers, from voracious to completely uninterested. How does the challenge of meeting students at both ends of the reading spectrum influence your life as an author?

WHB: What a good question! And the answer is…I’m not sure I think about this overtly when I write. I am usually just trying to write a story that I like. But I think you’re right that it does influence me subconsciously. I’ve seen the power of humor in a story for kids and have a good sense for how long readers will stick with a descriptive passage (zero seconds, in case you’re wondering—it WILL be skimmed over). But I think what voracious readers love and what might draw in reluctant readers may not actually be all that different. And it may not be all that different than what brings me to a story—an interesting idea, characters I care about, something unexpected happening. The trick is coming up with all that, and doing it well. J

CC: What are you reading these days?

WHB: I am reading THE RUNAWAY KING by Jennifer A. Nielsen. I was a huge fan of THE FALSE PRINCE, so I was delighted to get the second book in the series as an ARC. (One of the perks of being a librarian as well as a writer!)

CC: Do you have any advice for up and coming writers?

WHB: I’m a huge believer in READING for writers (and really, for everyone—that’s why I became a school librarian, after all J). Anyway, for writers it is so important to read to not only know the market and what is selling, but also to study the craft. To analyze why stories work (or don’t work) and to figure out how other authors develop characters, create tension, and so much more. It’s the best homework there is.

~

As a kid growing up in Wisconsin, W.H. Beck’s dad always teased her that she would be a librarian someday. That’s because she read all the time—walking home from school, while brushing her teeth, under the table at dinnertime, and under the covers at night. And, sure enough, after earning an elementary teaching degree from the University of Wisconsin, she went on to get a master’s degree in information studies from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. (Yes, that’d be library school.)

She still lives and reads in Wisconsin, but now she shares her home and books with a husband, two sons, and a sneaky (but loveable) dog. By day, she’s an elementary school librarian. And early in the mornings, late at nights, and in between kids’ sports practices, she writes.

For more about W.H. Beck and her books, visit her website, where she’s put together a wonderful list of blog posts about MALCOLM AT MIDNIGHT, the revision process, post-publication, and the making of the book trailer.

Remember, drop your name in the comments for a chance to win and read your own copy of Malcolm at Midnight.

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A Writer’s Mind Never Rests

There’s a scene in the movie, Becoming Jane, when Lady Gresham and Mr. Wisely pay a call to Jane Austen’s family. After Lady Gresham suggests Jane and Mr. Wisely take a walk together in the “pretty little wilderness” nearby, we see Jane’s face change expression: her brow furrows, there’s recognition in her eyes of something important. She turns, then, sits down on a bench and feverishly scratches words into a notebook. Readers of Jane Austen know those words later find their way into her novel, Pride and Prejudice.

Even if you haven’t seen the movie, you know that feeling if you’re a writer, that insistent pull to grab a notebook and pen and leave all conversation in order to put the magic onto paper before it slips away. And you’d probably laugh like I did when, after Mr. Wisely tells Lady Gresham that Jane is simply writing, Lady Gresham (the quintessential non-writer) asks, “Can anything be done about it?”

As writers, we are defined by such moments. Nothing can be done about our obsession with words and dialogue and tiny notebooks in pockets. It simply can’t be helped.

Guilty.

I’ve pulled out my pen and notebook in the middle of church, when I should be singing or listening to the sermon, because something struck me that needed to be written down, stat. Sure, I felt a little guilty, wondered if it was somehow sacrilegious. So, I wrote pensively, as if I was simply taking notes on the hymn number (which, sometimes, was exactly what I was doing…verses in hymns have been known to inspire). But then, if I believe what Julia Cameron teaches us, I don’t need to feel bad: that burst of creativity was very likely sent from somewhere above; I was simply honoring the process.

I’ve learned to accept the fact that writing will always be on my mind. I will turn to story, the novel, even a blog post at unexpected times. I will over pack when I leave town, mixing writing paraphernalia with clothing, just as I did this weekend when my husband and I took off for a mini-vacation and a wedding. Along with too-heavy sweaters and an extra set of heels, I packed the iPad, the laptop, the notebook (or two). Though, I never sat down and put anything on paper (or on screen), my works in progress still made their way into my days.

We went snowshoeing on Saturday, and in the middle of the woods, I stopped. I listened to the quiet snowfall. I studied the height of the trees. I took a photo. Partly for the beauty, yes, but mostly for the inspiration.

Those trees begged for a place in my novel, in a scene centered around the protagonist’s walk through northern pines, majestic in their own way and protective of whatever lies beyond.

Which, after two hours trudging along the winding and rolling and thick-with-powder path in snow shoes for the first time, this protagonist hoped was a warming house with hot cocoa and a masseuse.

Funny, how our minds wander.

What did you capture this weekend?