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Our Columnists Write About Writing |
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Be in the Genes? |
 "Allyson shows an instinctive feel for the elements of a good story." |
She begins her journeys
in her own wonderland
of TheColumnists.com
Allyson sits in her Third Grade classroom, pencil poised above a sheet of lined paper as she waits for inspiration. Her teacher told the class to create a story that might be fanciful but must be grounded in reality. The main character must be an actual living being who exhibits three of his physical characteristics as he goes about his adventures. The designated hero: the crayfish in the classroom tank–a small, lobster-like mud-dweller.
Allyson, who is my granddaughter, and her classmates are learning to become writers. They are mastering the tools of the trade--in this case, the hand coordination to make a Number 2 pencil shape words into something legible in cursive. They are also tackling the mechanics--how to write sentences with proper grammar, spelling and punctuation. And as they try to carve out a story from a jumble of ideas about what kind of adventures a certain kind of being might have, they touch on the art of writing itself.
Does this mean that Allyson and the rest of the Third Grade will emerge from her public school, each child a writer for life? Is this the ultimate miracle of literacy that is the hope of every school, of every voter, of every parent?
We all want our children to leave the grades with the budding ability to tame words and make them perform the commands of their masters. We want our children to be able to set down language in permanent form so that it stands physically apart from the sound of their voice and conveys feeling and attitude through a new, written voice. We want them to be articulate in writing so they can accurately convey instructions, information, ideas, requests without having to personally be on had to do so.
When Allyson masters these skills, she will be a good technician of language. But I think she has it in her to be a writer, that word defining who she is from the inside out. It defines her talent, passion, craftsmanship and above all, the knowledge that “not writing” will not be an option in her life.
What makes an 8-year-old or any other year-old a writer? It can start with the genes in the same way that talent for music or painting flows through a family. As a writer I think I have handed her the writing gene through her father, who is a journalist. My tall, blonde granddaughter bears no physical resemblance to me, but I think our likeness lies in how we love to create with words. No one can teach that joy; it’s simply in the blood.
Allyson tells me that it is more fun to write than to draw because words leave more room for imagination. She makes up stories about both scary creatures and nice ones who get into trouble and out again--a metaphor of childhood itself. Her parents and I have written them down in a journal as fast as she can invent them. “So meanwhile, what was the prince doing?” I nudged once when her account of the princess’ activities veered off, him far behind. Mostly I’m just the scribe and encourager, not an editor.
Usually she has little trouble making her tales cohesive. She visualizes the action quite clearly. Last year while she was still seven she dictated a tale of fairies and dragons.
“They (the children of the fairies) saw a dragon sitting all alone under a tree. They didn’t know he was dangerous, so they went up to the dragon and said, ‘Why are you just sitting there? There’s lots of other stuff you can be doing. Look at that rainbow. There’s lots of stuff to do on that.’ Then the dragon felt a very good feeling. . . He thought, ‘Hmmm, those children look yummy’ . . . and said, ‘I’m glad I will play with you. He laughed a little tiny laugh, just so he could hear it.”
Deceit, irony, showing how mother’s advice can go wrong. Allyson shows an instinctive feel for the elements of a good story.
But could she deliver such subtleties in her crayfish story within its assigned biological parameters? Must reality triumph over magic?
Allyson went to work. She named her hero “Tommy” and gave him the newts in the other tank as companions. They all went off to a place called Revenge River, but not everyone wanted to go. Jill, the older and wiser newt, got hooked into the adventure because Tommy’s main claw grabbed her by accident. Of course she fell into the river’s raging waters and Tommy had to rescue her. However, Allyson wanted to place Tommy in danger all by himself and then get him out of it. Biologically, a couple of slippery newts might not work as agents of rescue.
Every writer hits a wall. She couldn’t finish by the time the bell rang. The teacher allowed her to stay on through P.E. But even with the extra time, she complained to me that “Tommy didn’t get to do everything I wanted him to do.” He was creating necessities of his own and pulling her along in tow. She just had to get them out there on the page.
Anne Lemott was the same age as Allyson is now when she first saw herself as a writer. In “Bird by Bird,” a book about writing, Anne tells the reader that as a child she loved reading above all else, just like Allyson, but unlike her she felt set apart from the other kids. They made fun of her scrawny looks. So Anne began to write. She felt that her existence was verified when a poem she wrote about John Glenn was published in a children’s anthology. Allyson feels verified by being invited to lots of birthday parties.
I know that all writers must acquire a sense of detachment from the swirl of life in order to see the direction it’s taking, to peer into its quiet pools to see what lives there, and to look closely at the dragon sitting under the tree. Often it is the inability to be like everyone else that sets one up to have a writer’s perspective. Pain is the usual corollary. I don’t want that for my Allyson but I know the most incisive writing usually sprouts from pain.
Writers appreciate the art of other writers and are drawn to a good story with interesting characters, no matter what the time period or writing style. Earlier this year Allyson heard about Romeo and Juliet and asked me how the story ended. I read her the synopsis of the entire play from Lambs’ "Tales of Shakespeare." The Victorian English used by the Lambs did not put her off. Hoping she could move back to Elizabethan English, I showed her scenes of the play as it was performed in the movie “Shakespeare in Love.” She was fascinated.
Then I told her about Macbeth. We found a series of booklets called “Shakespeare for Kids” and read the story together. When I followed up with scenes from Ian McClellan’s stylized film presentation, she wanted to see the whole thing, not just the drooling witches. Last summer we lightened up with “Midsummer’s Night’s Dream.” Her younger sister and her best friend joined us as I showed the entire video of the movie starring Michelle Pfeiffer as Tatiana, Queen of the Fairies. I carried on a running commentary so the kids could follow the plot. The friend spotted Ally McBeal, aka Calista Flockhart. Everyone chattered away. Except Allyson. She was transfixed. She told the rest of us to shut up.
Excellent advice on appreciation.
Sometimes on writing, too. Ernest Hemingway maintained that it
is bad luck to talk about writing. It removes “whatever
butterflies have on their wings and the arrangement of hawk’s
feathers if you show it or talk about it.”
Before it turns into art, writing has to begin with the employment
of skills that you do talk about. The writer must connect with
the reader through the conventions of the written language they
both share. The writer will lay out a line of words straight
from her mind and heart into a realm of discovery for both herself
and the reader. In “The Writing Life,” Annie Dillard
uses several metaphors to describe this line of words: a miner’s
pick, a wood carver’s gouge, a surgeon’s probe. “You
wield it,” she says, “and it digs a path you follow.”
The San Mateo-Foster City School District to which Allyson’s school belongs has decided that Third Grade is the right time for its children to identify these skills and begin to master them. At Back to School Night, her teacher gave parents copies of the district’s "Writing Handbook for Families” so that they can support what the children learn in the classroom. It described the six “traits” of effective writing: ideas, organization, voice, word choice, fluency, and grammar conventions. In terms of these traits the teacher will rate each paper as the students should perceive their work: #1. Just beginning--not yet me; #2. On my way--individuality fades in and out, and #5 (there is no #3 or #4) Exactly what I intended--individual and powerful.
Voice is the tricky trait. The handbook calls it “the heart and soul, the magic, the wit, along with the feeling and conviction of the writer coming out through the words.” It comes through in the edge of word choice, in description, in simile. I think voice is a dividing line between skill and art. It takes the most courage and it comes through when the writer says in effect, “I’ve just got to tell you this. Here’s what it’s really like.”
The biggest surprise to Allyson may be what hard work writing will always be, even for one who loves doing it and gets consistent #5 ratings. She will learn some harsh lessons:
* If you fall in love with a phrase or other bon
mot you’ve created, throw that baby out. Otherwise you’ll
force the story to serve it, instead of the other way around.
But if the baby keeps screaming, it probably belongs somewhere.
Bring it back carefully.
* As you write, think of yourself as an alligator wrestler.
Annie Dillard does. She says “With your two bare hands you
hold and fight a sentence’s head while its tail tries to
knock you over.”
* Don’t let the job overwhelm you by making your
task too big. Anne Lemott’s father advised her brother,
as he struggled with a report on birds, “Just take it bird
by bird.”
When you hit a block, keep marching step by step through the
dark in survival mode. You’ll find the beauty later.
* Develop thick skin. You’ll expose your innermost
self on the page and then have some soulless teacher or critic
deliver a kick to your tenderest spot. Is that spot strong enough
to withstand their picks or did it really require surgery?
* Finally, observe life and love it. Sculpt what you
see with imagination, using words as your tools. Be amazed at
what emerges.
In a book on writing called “Steering the Craft”--a wonderful metaphor--Ursula Le Guin says, “first of all--and in the end, too--(writing) is an art, a craft, a making. To make something well is to give yourself to it, to seek wholeness, to follow spirit. To learn to make something well can take your whole life. It’s worth it.”
I hope Allyson finds this
to be true. I will be proud beyond words.
© 2002 by Joyce Kiefer. The illustrations are from IMSI's
Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael,
CA, 94901-5506, USA.
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