Guest Bloggers – Page 18

Excerpt from The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury:There was a smell of Time in the air tonight.

What did Time smell like? Like dust and clocks and people. And if you wondered what Time sounded like, it sounded like water running in a dark cave and voices crying and dirt dropping down upon hollow box lids, and rain. Time looked like snow dropping silently into a black room or it looked like a silent film in an ancient theatre one hundred billion faces falling like those New Year balloons down and down into nothing. That was how Time smelled and looked and sounded.

Marlene’s Musings: I love the idea of writing what Time smells like. . . sounds like . . . looks like. . .

Your Turn: Choose an item, an object, a thing, that interests you. . . what does it smell like? sound like? look like?
Guest Blogger Daniel Ari writes about Sense And Specificity: The Soul of Great Writing

Great art is about balance. Okay, great art is about a heck of a lot of things. But one thing that makes great writing stand out from the superfluity of all writing is that it strikes a balance between emotional abstraction and concrete specificity.

We want to read about things like devotion, honor and transformation. But the actual words devotion, honor and transformation aren’t concrete enough to sweep a reader away. As I discussed in “How to Make Your Poems Stand Out: Advice From a Reader” for Writer’s Digest online, abstract nouns can’t be grabbed, and they don’t grab readers. And what’s worse, they tend to come in flocks. Once a writer writes honor, then love and respect want to come in. Then deep, forever, and mutual are at the door, having chased away all the beautiful specifics like moonstone, cardamom, and foxtrot.

But luckily, concrete nouns also come in flocks. That’s because when you tell a story or describe a moment, either remembered or imagined, the telling includes all the specific things that make the moment unique and moving. If you want to test whether your writing is too abstract, imagine illustrating it. Could you? If there aren’t enough nouns and verbs to make into a drawing or painting, then your writing may be too abstract to interest most readers.

Allen Ginsberg put it well: “You can’t write about ‘The Stars.’ You can go out one night and see a glitter in Orion’s belt, or see a constellation hanging over Nebraska, and that’s universal. But it’s got to be over Nebraska—particular—otherwise it isn’t universal. If it’s just the stars in the abstract you don’t even see them, so it’s not a living experience. It’s not an instant in time actually observed, and only instants in time are universal.”

What’s universal is the sense of being human that we translate into language as writers and that readers translate back into thought. That’s why concrete sense imagery is so crucial. That’s how the abstract system of language is able to relate living humans to one another—though memory and imagination of sensed experience.

Here are two poems that I think do a good job of being relatable by being specific. The first is one of my own, a draft in a series about a legendary backwoods character named Starlight. The second is by Rebecca Auerbach, and I think it’s wonderful how her imagery isn’t just visual, but also auditory, and even more interesting how the sensation she describes is often the absence of sensation and hunger for it.

“To build a supper”

by Daniel Ari
```
Without matches, I’m sure I could build a fire.
I may be city, but I’m not dumb. I would
just use a lighter. No lighter either? Hm.
Then I’d use friction between two bits of wood
to weave threads of smoke into a baby spark
 
then huff and puff the infant in a hoodie
of soft, dry bark or needles. I’d be famished
by the time the contained blaze could be called good.
Then I’d have to start the hunting or fishing
or just eat miner’s lettuce and blackberries.
 
I wonder how much hungry equals finished.
Lost in the woods, I’d be grateful for Starlight.
She knows a thousand growing things that furnish
sustenance and comfort. She could catch a trout
with a thorn hook—or we could stalk the shoulder
 
of Tyler-Foote Road for fresh (truck-)grilled meat,
a bumper crop of headlight venison.
```
**********************************************

untitled

by Rebecca Auerbach

We used to start with eyes meeting,

exchanging a smile,

then voices,

speaking, sharing names.

Now we start with a photograph & a profile.

If you like the way a man smiles

when he isn’t smiling at you,

the way he introduces himself

when he isn’t meeting you,

you might exchange words without voices,

& if you like what he says when you can’t hear him,

you might consent to speak aloud by phone,

& if you like how he speaks to you

when he has never seen you,

you might

maybe

consent to look into his eyes.

Daniel Ari began dancing to Freeze Frame” by The J. Geils Band at an 8^th grade dance in 1981. He hasn’t stopped. About five years later, he began courting poetry as a practice, and that, too has stuck. As a poet and professional writer these days, movement remains key to his creativity. Daniel recently won Grand Prize in the Dancing Poetry Festival, and his poem about swing will be set to choreography and performed at the Legion of Honor in September. His forthcoming book One Way To Ask from Zoetic Press, pairs poems in an original form called queron, with artwork by 67 artists including Roz Chast, Tony Millionaire, Bill Griffith and R. Crumb.

Daniel Ari will be the August 20, 2015 Writers Forum Presenter in Petaluma, CA
Guest Blogger Alison Luterman talks about “how to be true to the complexity of intimate relationships, while at the same time protecting the dignity of all concerned.”

The other night in essay class, a student read her story aloud. Behind her moving account of her mother’s death, I could sense something missing.

“I can tell from your description what a wonderful woman she was, ” I said. “But there are hints here and there about things that might have been difficult as well.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she admitted. “We got into some tangles, but I didn’t know how to write about that part. Maybe I wasn’t ready.”

I knew exactly what she meant. I also struggle with how to be true to the complexity of intimate relationships, while at the same time protecting the dignity of all concerned. I don’t have any one-size-fits-all answer. I just know that the weight of things unsaid, or said partially, becomes a presence in a poem or story, as much as the words that are actually on the page.

As we continued our discussion, other students wanted to know if they always have to write about “bad stuff” to be considered honest. Aren’t some love affairs or family relationships just sweet? Isn’t mortality, that ever-present shadow of loss that accompanies every human love, enough?

I admit to a certain personal affinity for the shadow. When I was very little, my father assigned me the chore of picking up rocks, finding earthworms underneath, and putting the worms in his vegetable garden where they would aerate the soil. He was probably just trying to keep a six-year-old occupied while he tended his tomatoes and zucchini, but I took my job very seriously. I still like to pick up rocks and see what’s writhing under there. Under the shame, rage, and terror, there lurks raw life energy, that thing we desire and fear the most.

When my friend Carla was dying, she said her favorite word was “bittersweet.” Never had the beauty of life been so vivid to her; never had pain been so intense. That’s the shadow. I don’t know how to get away from it. That’s why there’s a big box of Kleenex on the table at writing class. At the same time that’s why the room often erupts into peals of raucous laughter, and why we all hug each other so hard when our time together is over.

Originally posted March 15, 2015, Alison Luterman‘s Monthly Newsletter.
Guest Blogger Bella Mahaya Carter writes about courage, love, and intuition.

In fall 2014, I attended Hay House’s I Can Do It! Conference in Pasadena, California. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to attend what was being advertised as a “mind, body, and spirit retreat.” The conference featured luminaries in the fields of self-help, personal growth, and spirituality. Looking back over that experience, I felt like a kid in a candy store with a twenty-dollar bill in my pocket.

I’d been scared to go. I was just coming off a year of grief and debilitating anxiety. I’d felt like I couldn’t breathe, and an irrational thought that I’d quit breathing and drop dead in public haunted me. So the thought of being at a venue with three thousand people unnerved me. Why was I going? I asked myself. What was I looking for? What did the words I Can Do It! mean to me? I wasn’t sure, but I felt drawn to the event, and I knew I had to face my fears and go.

The conference helped me identify three staples in my life that have a big impact on my writing: courage, love, and intuition.

As a poet and memoirist, I have to dig down deep inside myself and come to terms with the good, the bad, and the ugly. I have to make peace with my terror, accept what hurts, and understand that a broken heart is an open heart. There’s strength in vulnerability. I often tell my students people don’t care about you, per se, but if your writing is honest and closely observed, they will care about your writing because they’ll see themselves and their own lives reflected in your words. We all have challenges. We all struggle. We all long for freedom from our fears. I love that the root of the word “courage” means heart. It was the first staple I identified, and I want to live more from my heart than from my head. I want to release fear and be guided by love.

Love was the second staple of my writing life. Anita Moorjani, a Hay House author who had a remarkable near-death experience and then wrote Dying To Be Me: My Journey From Cancer, To Near Death, To True Healing, said at the conference, “Love yourself as if your life depends on it—because it does.” Loving yourself means staying by yourself no matter what. It means being your own best friend. It means believing in yourself when nobody else does. It means giving up the idea that you must win the approval of others.

“Don’t dance for the people whose approval you don’t have,” Anita said. “Win your own approval by following your heart.” She also said that many people seek approval from the one person who won’t give it to them. Boy, could I relate. I spent my childhood trying to gain the approval of my stepfather, who couldn’t see or appreciate my gifts. Then, as a young writer, I sought the approval of my father-in-law, whose response to my work was that I should write male characters, because “Not everybody wants to read about women all the time.” If only I’d realized these men were not my audience—and never would be! I wish I’d trusted myself more as a young writer. I wish I’d validated myself, and honored my instincts and intuition. I’ve come a long way, but I’ve learned that valuing and appreciating myself is an ongoing and ever-deepening practice.

Attending the Hay House Conference, even though I wasn’t sure exactly why I was going, and despite my fears, was a sign of growth. I followed my heart and my gut and—as is usually the case when people listen to and act from these body parts—was rewarded. One highlight for me was attending a talk by David Kessler, an expert on grief, death, and dying, who happens to be an old friend. Our kids went to kindergarten together. It was wonderful to reconnect with him after many years, and hear him validate that much of what I’d been going through in my grieving process was normal.

Sometimes we don’t know why we’re drawn to a place or to a project, or to a situation or event. Following my intuition was the third staple in my writing life. This requires trust and faith. I often tell my students that even though they may not be sure where they’re going with their writing, when they follow their instincts, when they listen to that small voice inside, and to the voices of their characters, the work eventually reveals itself. All we have to do is pay attention, though sometimes paying attention is difficult. Distractions uproot us like seaweed in a turbulent sea.

In retrospect, I know exactly why I went to the Hay House conference, and what I hoped to gain from the experience. Inner peace topped my list. And I wanted to feel like myself again, like the person I’d been before my mother died. I wanted to move forward with the writing and teaching careers I’d spent my entire adult life building. I wanted stability, strength, and clarity. I wanted to heal, and to live a calm, inspired, and courageous life. I wanted to quit feeling sorry for myself, stop feeling like a victim, and find some joy. I can do it, I thought driving home from the conference that Sunday night in November—I am doing it!

Marlene’s Musings: Bella wrote a fabulous article called, “8 Tips for Taking Care of Yourself while Writing Painful Memories,” in SHE WRITES. Definitely worth reading these important tips.

Bella Mahaya Carter is a poet, author, teacher, and coach. In 2008 Bombshelter press published her poetry book, Secrets of My Sex. Her poems, stories, essays, and articles appear in dozens of print and online journals. Bella is currently writing a memoir, The Raw Years: A Midlife Quest for Health and Happiness. A practicing Spiritual Psychologist, whose mission is to heal herself and others through creative work, Bella serves clients around the world with her transformational classes, workshops, and coaching. She’s a featured columnist at SHE WRITES, an international online organization serving over 25,000 writers, and maintains her own blog, Body, Mind, Spirit: Inspiration for Writers, Dreamers, and Seekers of Health & Happiness. Visit her online: www.bellamahayacarter.com.
Guest Blogger Steve Fisher writes. . . (and I love it) . . .

Writing. We love it; we hate it. Anyone who has put pen to paper, or in this modern age, fingers to keyboards, understands that sentiment. It’s a process both joyous and painful. When it works—that is, when our brain clicks into gear and coherent thoughts manage to escape the gray matter—there’s no more exciting feeling. When emotions actually materialize on the page, or screen, leaving you feeling drained in the best of ways, it’s the best of all possible worlds.

On a rare occasion I have found myself laughing at something one of my characters said or crying because of something they did. And I didn’t feel like the mystical God creating those words or actions that I was at that moment. Once, I actually walked out my door and ran into my characters. People who seemed like mirror images of what I had just written. It was like something from The Twilight Zone. And it was glorious.

But there are also the times that can only be described as writer’s hell. When the dreaded BLOCK forms. There is no worse feeling of helplessness. No one to call or text or email with a magical solution. It hits us all—the newbie and the pro. We go for runs or walks or drives, we drink, we turn to mind-altering substances of dubious legality. Yet none of that works.

Ironically, the secret cure is within each and every one of us, and it’s very simple. Write. Write anything. Don’t worry about whether it’s good or bad. Don’t evaluate it for worthiness. As in the old Nike ads, just do it. You may end up eventually deleting most of it, but it may just be the jump start you need to write something you’ll read later and say, “Wow! Who wrote this?!!” In a good way.

Steve Fisher has written for television, film, stage and print for more than 3 decades. He sleeps in formaldehyde to keep his youthful good looks.

Marlene’s musings: “Like something from The Twilight Zone.” Steve Fisher writes what I think. How did he do that? I’ve never even met him . . . cue The Twilight Zone theme song . . . Like he says . . . Just write!
Writers! Need to build your cred? . . . or, as they say, need to build your platform? One way is to be a guest blogger. The Write Spot Blog seeks guest bloggers. ~600 words, something inspiring and informative for writers. Contact Marlene if interested. mcullen – at – comcast.net
Guest Blogger Jordan Rosenfeld: 5 Habits of Persistent Writers (That you can adopt, too).

Show me two equally capable writers and I’ll show one who succeeds at her publishing dreams and one who struggles. What’s the difference between them? And no, the answer isn’t luck, or “being born with it.” The writer who succeeds persists. What does this mean, precisely? We hear a lot about persistence–is it just a numbers game, where if you keep submitting the same story or novel eventually it will just magically land? No, that’s blind hope. Persistence is passion + commitment + practice. Below I’ll walk you through seven strategies for becoming a persistent writer, and I promise you the answer will not include self-immolation or losing sleep.

Find a Passion Root: One of the most amazing things about rose bushes is that they are notoriously difficult to kill by chopping or cutting. You can prune it down to a tiny little nubbin, and next season you’ll simply have a fuller, more glorious rose bush. You have to cut out its root, its heart, to kill such a persistent, gorgeous flower. We writers can take a lesson from the rose, even if it’s not your flower—if you can identify those qualities and reasons that make you passionate about your writing—whether you do it for work or pleasure—you will forge a root that is incredibly difficult to kill inside you despite the many vagaries of the field, from rejection to comments from trolls. You do this by identifying why you write, what it means to you, and how you can use it to serve yourself and others.

Set Boundaries: It took me nearly a decade to stop allowing interruptions to my writing time—answering the phone to friends in need, getting up to answer my husband’s shouted-across-the-house questions, or making overlapping commitments that would cut into my writing time. I don’t cancel on my clients, I don’t show up late to appointments, so why would I not treat my own writing time with the same respect? The more you build strong boundaries around your writing time, the more you train yourself and others to treat it with respect (and you’re more likely to get it done). But in order to do this you first have to do the next step:

Treat Creative Time as Work Time: When you sit down to write, especially when it’s NOT for work (but even if it is), you have the right to let your friends, family and pets know that you are no longer interruptible. Shut doors, put up “writer at work” signs, do whatever you can to approach your own writing with serious intent and others will follow suit. Not to mention, the only way to find inspiration is to show up and make time for it. Inspiration rarely comes in lightning bolts, but often comes when you prime the pump and let a little imperfect writing flow first.

Don’t be an Island: The mistake many of us make in this already isolated craft, is to do everything in isolation, perhaps to even take pride in this state of being. But you need the support of other writers who get what you go through, and their eyes on your work to see past your blind spots. I firmly believe in trusted allies you can kvetch to, seek cheerleading from, and rely upon for helpful but critical feedback.

Revise: Many of us writers are addicted to the fresh outpouring of a new draft—that’s the stage at which it feels like release, flowing out of us at last onto the page. And as much as we’d all like to produce finished work on the first try, there’s beauty in the revision process, which David Michael Kaplan calls “re-seeing.” Though you may feel a stab of fear at the idea of having to cut and pare, snip and trim, take comfort in the knowledge that even the NYT bestsellers have editors, and rarely is a piece of writing ever published that hasn’t been revised.

Jordan Rosenfeld is the author of A Writer’s Guide to Persistence, Make a Scene, Write Free (with Rebecca Lawton), the novels Forged in Grace and Night Oracle and the forthcoming novel Women in Red, and Writing Deep Scenes (with Martha Alderson). Her work has appeared in: AlterNet, Brain Child, Bustle, DAME, GOOD, Mental Floss, Modern Loss, New York Times, The Nervous Breakdown, Ozy, Role/Reboot, Rewire Me, Salon, the San Francisco Chronicle, STIR Journal, Sweatpants & Coffee, Washington Post, and The Weeklings.
Guest Blogger Susan Audrey writes:

I didn’t begin paying attention to my nighttime dreams until my dreamscapes started showing up in my waking life.

The first instance was fairly benign: I dreamt of a man with dark hair, wearing a white, button-down shirt, standing to my right and talking on a pay phone (yes, this was awhile ago). And the next morning, after I dropped my kids off at daycare, I saw this exact scene: the same man, same hair, shirt, and pay phone. This really got my attention!

I found out later that these are called precognitive or premonition dreams –– they show you the future. I wasn’t sure why this was happening at this time in my life. I was in my thirties and a single mom of two grade schoolers. It wasn’t until years later that I learned that our nighttime dreams are more abundant and more easily remembered during difficult and transitional times.

Curiosity inspired me to read about, research, and train in dreamwork in the upcoming years, and most importantly, to keep a dream journal. I discovered that by exploring the images, metaphors, and feelings that emerged through my dreams, I had access to a wondrous, self-revealing and self-empowering stream of wisdom. One that’s always there –– and free! And, using this simple approach to cultivating “inner knowing” has helped me to better navigate my life and to get my creative juices flowing for all kinds of creative endeavors, including writing.

Dreamwork helps us to jumpstart our creativity and keep it flowing in several ways. One is by providing a sort of emotional and physical house cleaning. The messages from our dreams can give us clues about how to work through emotional baggage we may be carrying, remedies that can heal our physical ailments, and ways we can let go of beliefs that may no longer serve us –– freeing us up to give our full attention and energy to embracing our creative sides. If we’re not obsessing about a love we lost or worrying about what to try next to soothe a backache then we’re more present when we sit down at our computer to write or in front of a canvas to paint.

Our nighttime dreams also offer us an amazing resource for creating –– both as actual themes to work with or, metaphorically, as clues for how to proceed with our work. When we take actual images from our dreamscapes and write about or draw them, they come to life in ways we could never have imagined, revealing things about us we may have never considered. Yet, as we dive in to explore further, either with words or through visual art, what emerges can often feel quite familiar, like switching the light on in a forgotten room of a home we’ve always known. And rather quickly, we can find ourselves in that delightful and precious flow state from which our best creative work emerges.

Viewed metaphorically, our dream images can also guide us in choosing subjects and approaches for our business writing and projects. We just need to do a little more digging to unearth these gems. For example, if you need to write a promotional piece or an article, you can “seed” your dreams the night before to discover how to start. This is an exercise in which you clearly ask for the information you are seeking by writing your request on a piece of paper and placing it under your pillow before you go to sleep.

I know that to some, this may sound like an exercise in wishful thinking (one you might share with a child), but through years of experience working with dreams and much research in the approaches of renowned philosophers, psychologists, and authors, including pioneering dream analyst, Carl Jung, I’ve come to trust this process whole-heartedly and have seen amazing results transpire for clients and dreamwork circle participants as well as for myself. The answers to these nighttime inquiries will come, and they arrive in the form of metaphors, symbols, and, sometimes, strong emotions.

For example, perhaps you’ve asked your dreams to tell you which approach you should take in writing a piece for a client, and a tiger walks through your dreamscape, slowly and methodically circling you. As you learn to work with your dream images and to trust the insights your dreams bring, you’ll learn to view such a scene as a clue, a suggestion as to how to proceed with your writing… slowly, methodically and going around and around your subject to see it at all angles. Or, the tiger itself could suggest the tone of your piece –– should it be colorful, lean, and wild? Should it be written from a hunter’s point of view (metaphorically, of course). You’ll know. Your gut and an inner aha! will be your guides.

Dream images have led me to the best remedies for physical and emotional challenges; they’ve helped me to change my perspective about a situation to one that is more beneficial for all involved; they’ve provided a heads-up on future traumatic events, so that I could handle them with greater ease and skill, and they’ve kept my enthusiasm for life (and it’s many dimensions) alive. And, they continue to provide me with access to the infinite flow of creativity hidden in my unconscious and just waiting to break free.

You can learn much more about dreamwork and how it can jumpstart your creativity at Susan’s Writers Forum presentation, “Learn How to Access Your Infinite Creative Flow Through Dreamwork,” on June 18, 2015, in Petaluma.

Susan Audrey is a multi-disciplined Dreamwork Practitioner who specializes in guiding individuals and groups through the fascinating and transformative journey of discovering the wisdom of their dreams. She has also worked as a writer and editor for various forms of media for over 20 years and is currently a writer for The Shift Network located at The Institute of Noetic Sciences in Petaluma.

You can find out more about dreamwork at Susan’s Blog, The Night Is Jung.
Guest Blogger Ted A. Moreno: How You Became What You’ve Become

I’m learning a new song on my guitar: “Africa” by the band Toto.

One line of the lyrics intrigued me: “I seek to cure what’s deep inside, frightened of this thing that I’ve become.”

It’s never really explained in the song what that means. How does someone become something that is frightening to one’s self?

Seems to me that it doesn’t happen all at once, of course.

It’s more like the frog peacefully floating in increasingly hotter water until he is boiled, never aware of what’s happening so he never jumps out. Kind of like death by a thousand cuts.

Perhaps a good word would be entropy: the gradual decline into disorder.

How does someone become someone that they are not happy with?
- It happens one extra cookie, or additional scoop of ice cream or portion of food at a time.
- It happens one extra drink or cigarette at time.
- It happens the day you decide you are not going to take that walk or go to the gym and then one day leads to two days, then three…
- It happens when you don’t make that extra phone call, or send that card or that letter, or drop by to say hello and then that becomes the norm.
- It happens when one day you don’t get up on time, arrive on time or leave on time, one day at a time.
- It happens that one time when you don’t say I love you, or smile, or go out of your way to be generous. It’s easy not to do, so it can happen again and again.
I heard a saying once “If you stand in sewage long enough, you can become comfortable with it.”

We can become very comfortable with the gradual lowering of our standards for ourselves, the gradual lowering of our expectations, the lowering of our energy, stamina and strength.

Then one day we step on the scale, or look at our bank account, or realize that our marriage or business is failing. Maybe the doctor tells us something we didn’t expect. Or we end up in the hospital, or divorce court, or getting our kid out of jail. And we ask ourselves: How did I get here?

Answer: One neglect, one bad choice, one wrong word, one bad habit, one “it doesn’t matter” or “didn’t get around to it” at a time.

No one sets out to become unhappy, unhealthy, unmotivated, unproductive and unsuccessful. The problem all too often is, we neglect to keep our goals in front of us so that we choose each day to do what it takes to be happy, motivated, productive and successful. Sometimes we think that it will happen by itself.

The good news is that the same principle that tears us down is the same one that can build us up: what we choose to do every single day.

If you have accomplished anything, triumphed over anything, or become someone you are proud of, it happened every single day.

Can you walk for 5 minutes a day?
Can you hold out for one less cigarette a day?
Can you make one phone call a week? Send a letter a month?
Save a small amount of money each week?
Can up get up 5 minutes earlier each day? Go to bed 5 minutes earlier?
Can you smile at one person a day?

If you are able to do any of these, than you have power to become what you love, what you respect, what you admire. Success by the inch is a cinch, by the yard it’s very hard.

Take steps to cure what is deep inside, whether it’s apathy, resignation, cynicism, or fear. Becoming who you want to be might only take a small action every day.

Like the song says: “Hurry, it’s waiting there for you.”

Originally published by Ted Moreno, April 9, 2015 Ted A. Moreno is a hypnotherapist, success performance coach, published author, educator and sought-after speaker who helps his clients become free from fear and anxiety, procrastination and bad habits such as smoking.