What Mother’s Day Offers Writers

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. I lost my mom over a decade ago and the loss never truly goes away. I thought of her and deeply missed her. And, as I often do, I thought about writing and how my loss – and the emotions attached to that loss – could relate to my characters. Am I fully using my experiences? Do I include these emotions or tap into them for maximum impact in my writing?

The answer in this case is no, not really. In my poetry, I have written about and delved into loss, like this:

“Love isn’t only what we have while we’re alive.
It’s the strength we’re given to stay behind,
and say goodbye.”
-from “Last Lessons,” in Paper Bones by Sherry Rentschler (c) 2013 

But what have I done with my emotions that benefits my creative writing? I must respond by admitting that my fiction has not benefitted. Yet.

This then is the perfect time to examine what the loss of a mother (or any family member) brings to your writing repertoire and what you can do with your experience. It’s all about writing what you know, yes? This is the perfect holiday to take advantage.

In life, we have relationships with our mothers that go from blissfully solid to teenage terrible, from retrospective to lonely, to bordering on abuse or even murderous. Each person has within them a myriad of emotions that are useful, necessary, and invaluable to your writing. Do you use the “mother influence” to challenge or grow your character? Does the mother offer insight into the current state of being for your character? Does the holiday set your character up for laughter or sorrow? Are you a modern mother or a retro one?

Real examples can highlight the character emotions and moveyou from telling into showing. Baking together, learning to sew or cook, going to work with, sharing a business, teaching moments, playtime, each and every single experience adds depth to characters. Don’t forget simple things like making a lunch, giving a handmade gift, or simply sitting in the grass and watching the ants go by.

In the death of a mother, we can find regrets for things unsaid or undone, or worse, for things we did say or do. Death sadly provides an opportunity to discover unexplainable lost treasures in the home or in the mail. We discover secrets of personalities that never manifested when the mother was living. We know emptiness, frustration, fear, separation, as well as relief and joy. Our every sense is engaged. The lingering smell of perfume or stale flowers. The soft favorite sweater left on a chair. The many pictures lining the buffet or the dresser. Favorite movies highlighted in the TV guide. Homemade jam in the refrigerator.

Again, take the time to show character through activities related to the mother. Going through a jewelry box after a funeral, opening leftover mail, finding an old journal, speaking to siblings or other secondary family members, even neighbors offers insight. Use reality to spark life to the moment.

The how and why of each and all these various feelings are important to your writing. You can examine what you feel by giving your characters outlets to express them for you. You’ve heard the expression to “discover what scares you and write that.” Familial holidays set up this scenario perfectly.

In my case, I’ve realized that I have not used the mother influence to its best advantage. I am now writing fiction where my character became a mother and is facing a vault of new emotions. Though I am not a mother myself, I have a role model in my mom that gives me all the fodder I need. And I have the loss of my parent(s) to fill in the emotions I must experience for true-to-life drama. 

Yes, loss requires I go deep and refresh old, painful memories and feelings. Yes, it is going to hurt to go there. And I believe that doing so will give my writing a truth the readers will relate and respond to because I dared to write it. My daring will allow my readers to feel enabled to go with me and perhaps tap into their private emotions too.

On a lighter note, I hope you and your families all enjoyed a Happy Mother’s Day. I hope you had another chance to express your love, give a hug, share a token of affection. Take none of those free moments for granted lest they be gone forever and you lose your chance.

But if you spent the day in memory and reflection, if you wandered into a cemetery or visited a grave (even in your mind), I hope the emotions were touchable and brought you happy tears.

Please use what you have to give life and breath to your characters. Be bold, be honest, be real. Your characters have/had mothers too. Do not let an opportunity to understand them pass us by.

RESULTS OF THE FREE EDITING OFFER:

Last month during my Fireside with the Phoenix live chat, I offered viewers of the chat, receivers of my newsletter, and members of my street team, a chance to have free editing for any writing project. I was excited to be able to make this offer and I hoped to read some very wonderful pieces and forward something exciting to an editor/friend, maybe even discover a fresh, new writer.

Unfortunately not a single person participated in this free offer. Initially I was sad and dejected and then I had to shake my head. Never, ever in my years as a writer have I ever been offered a chance at FREE editing. Had I received the chance, you can bet your bottom dollar that I would have JUMPED on such an opportunity. 

I understand you may not have thought my offer worthy or even a good deal. I assure you that it was. My hope is that you may find another chance at a like gift in the future. Sadly, I will not be offering this giveaway again.

Finally, look for my next Facebook Live Chat on May 26. And the monthly newsletter will be headed out a few days after. Have you signed up yet? There’s a link on the right….

Thanks for stopping by!
I remain, Yours Between the Lines,

Sherry

Spring has sprung
in winter’s grip.
Summer’s begs that
either slip,
as Mother Nature
nurses her fat lip.

~Sherry Rentschler  (c) Apr 2018 in honor of the wacky weather

National Poetry Month arrived April 1 and during the next thirty days I take great pleasure discussing the ins and outs of free verse, making bizarre limericks, giggling over e.e. cummings, immersed in Baudelaire or Yeats, and wishing I was in Paris during the time of the beat poets.

For most folks, Poetry Month is something they hear about on Pubic Television (and therefore avoided) or from school (and therefore avoided), or in passing on the internet or social media sites (and dismissed as done by college kids or rappers). Such perceptions are a shame too, because National Poetry Month is all about discovery and learning, finding pleasure in seeing the world in new ways. 

Because we need to read poetry and let it help us discover our world in ways news and scholars and schools do not.

I heard someone say, “Poetry. Just rhyming words about things over my head.” Such remarks remind me that poetry doesn’t reach “the common man” because we never stressed the common man poems. It was all Iliad, Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Keats. And we groaned, remember? (well, I didn’t, but my friends certainly did).

More, the above comment carries weight because poetry, once the style of telling stories has passed into the background. You don’t find it in Kohl’s or Walgreens or the grocery store. It’s not in the magazines (but once or twice a year) for April and perhaps Christmas. Kids talk about it at school just long enough to get to lunch where they can discuss “real literature” like Hunger Games, Game of Thrones, and Wonder, or discuss the latest comic book/graphic novel that became a blockbuster movie (Marvel, anyone?).

Sadly, the very people discussing the latest blockbusters and listening to their playlists on their phones, are missing some of the best moments in quotable literature. According to CNN, “Fewer than 7% of Americans polled in 2012 had read a work of poetry at least once in the past year — down from 17% in 1992, according to a national survey (PDF) by the U.S. Census Bureau on behalf of the National Endowment for the Arts. That decline in participation was the steepest found in any literary genre.”

What we need to emphasis to our children and each other, is poetry is the short, short, short, story. A poem can define a moment, bring us together in surprise or sorrow, encapsulate a thought, and help us to understand ourselves in brilliant and usually brief ways. Just look at Maya Angelou or Mary Oliver and how easily we come to share their understanding. No, you don’t need to read Dante’s Inferno (though you really would enjoy it), when you can read William Carlos Williams or even Dylan Thomas. Truth is simple. And poetic.

No, poetry isn’t mainstream anymore. But if you hang out on Twitter or Instagram and you search for poetry or poets, you’ll be amazed at the real poems being shared and quotes coming from them. Many don’t even realize the poem that originated a quote but are surprised to realize that poetry made the words quotable. Take the great poet, Alexander Pope in his An Essay on Criticism, Part II , 1711:

Ah ne’er so dire a Thirst of Glory boast,
Nor in the Critick let the Man be lost!
Good-Nature and Good-Sense must ever join;
To err is Humane; to Forgive, Divine.

Poetry is more about us than we realize. Poetry is us. We sing it and the songs we sing become markers of our lives. We quote snappy lines, sometimes not realizing the words are ancient or even Nobel Prize winning. 

Do we need to know that? Nope. What we need to do is read more poetry. We need to not “go gentle into that good night” but rage against poetry’s invisibility. Help others to see the beauty all around them. Start with a child’s poem such as the insightful Shel SIlverstein. Or even Dr Seuss.  But let us dust off our old tomes and read….and celebrate Poetry Month, every month. Let our children become the natural poets of the future. Start now.

 There are so many good poets and poems out there. Sure we need to read the classics to discover the artful phrase, to understand the development of the art form, to hear the triumph in epic verses. But does that matter in the long term? Nope. What we need to do today is introduce each other to the modern poets and create a love for common words defining life in uncommon ways. To restore our wonder and excitement. To show us that we can know profound things and be better for the knowing. Poetry does this and so much more.

Let us read some poetry. Share with a friend. Just one poem. Maybe once a week or, better yet, once a day. Don’t do it with anyone if you are nervous or shy. Read it alone. Think and enjoy.

But read poetry. It will improve you, delight you, surprise and shock you. It can enrich you and prevent the inevitable ennui that comes with time.

Be invited in. See the world through rose colored glasses. Or in the boldest colors of reality.

Poetry matters.  Check out some of the ones mentioned here or ask your friends what they are reading. Go on an adventure and allow yourself to be surprised. See your world through creative, fresh eyes and maybe you’ll be inspired to write a poem or two yourself. Share with children and let’s all be a little more free verse in our lives.

Happy reading!
I remain, Yours Between the Lines,

Sherry

WELCOME TO THE BIRD FEEDER NEIGHBORHOOD

The calendar said it was Spring but this year I’m happy to say Winter has a firm grip and isn’t letting go. We’ve had snow flurries three times this month here, and poor New England is buried after four Nor’easters. I can’t say I’m happy for those up north but I’m delighted to be lingering under a blanket with hot tea, watching cold rain fall while I either read or write. Very satisfying.

My writer’s mind is always working but seems to work overtime during the fall and winter months. I suppose that’s why I enjoy doing National Novel Writing Month in November because it suits the weather and my “spring” fever that only comes in Autumn. When Winter arrives, I write and read like a mad woman, though much of what I write doesn’t ever see the light of day. Still, satisfying.

One thing I can tell you about writing every day is this opens your mind to new ideas and new ideas brings you more prolific moments. You know I like to take real life and turn everything into an opportunity for scene work, character development, or world building. Real life moments are what make me a better writer. Even dark and dank, (ma)lingering Winter ones.

For example, recently we put up a new bird feeder. This has been a never-ending source of incredible excitement for the local songbirds. For my husband and me too. We watch out our kitchen window as the cardinals and their mates (or potential mates) flitter and fuss over fallen seeds, the bluebirds, wrens, and sparrows becoming regular patrons. Doves rarely came to my yard before and now two pair seem to have moved in. And a gorgeous red-headed woodpecker that I saw once or twice a year is now a daily friend.

The squirrels are like potential shoplifters. We had to grease the bird feeder pole to keep one particular squirrel from climbing and pilfering the seeds. He seemed oblivious to the local bluejay security guard so we solved the problem. Just like a greedy kid, the squirrel will have to manage like everyone else. I’m keeping an eye on him.

I liken this whole moment to opening a new apartment building. Suddenly you get all sorts of people moving in and out, strange and beautiful. Dating and mating and married for life-ers. There are the fussy, the troublemakers, the slow movers, and the ones always in a hurry but going no where.

And just like real life, you get the ugly moments too. A raccoon died in the road out front of the house. A black vulture dragged it to the end of the driveway. Then into the side ditch. Then back onto the driveway. Then UP the driveway. That’s when the friends showed up. For two days, we watched this go on and then when the raccoon ended up in the middle of our drive, hubby loaded it onto a shovel and tossed it into the neighboring pasture (that’s called passing the buck). Now we see the vultures from a distance. Close enough to see them manage their meals but far enough away that the gruesome factor is mitigated. Let those demons attack elsewhere, right?

Same as it would be for my neighborhood apartment building. Death in the streets is a natural occurrence. Robbing and dragging. Gangs showing up for spoils.

The rains are back. The birds are scattering. They too need time in their cozy nests. I hear a redtail hawk overhead. Squirrels run for cover. Like sirens screeching by in the road, these sirens in the sky warn of danger and accidents. Like me, like people, the birds and animals know.

A doe and two young fawns make their way over barbed wire fence (what separates me from the neighboring pasture) and come to feed on unborn tulips and fallen bird seed. The birds scatter at first, then return, realizing the diner is big enough for everyone. It is a peaceful neighborhood and diversity is possible. Deer, dove, large birds and small. Oh look! A bunny. Ah, that was a nibble on the run much like young folks who are too busy to stop and chat.

(Not my pic, but funny)

Like a true diner, the bell over the door is silent but when the diner is open, it serves many and all.

Life is happening outside my window and in my writer’s mind it is a world not dissimilar to the one I live in. Even in the darkness, when I know the “others” come – the fox, the coyote, the possum, and raccoon – the 24-hour diner continues to serve, their world turns and life is a cycle of comings and goings, birth and death. But this “local diner” is now the hub of activity and feels comfortable.

Uh-oh, there’s the black cat that lives somewhere around here. I think of him as the mafia don, always looking for a payment. Everyone has fled and the cat sits atop my firepit surveying the scene. He’s looking mighty plump these days so business must be profitable. From the tail twitch, someone’s going to pay up soon. When he’s gone, the small birds return. Life goes on.

Thrones, anyone?

That’s the way our book series work, too. We build a world, make the lives, stay with them day in and day out, get comfortable with our characters, look for them, get to know them, need them.

Even when Winter has to let go for Spring, life around the diner will be a never-ending story to savor. I’m certain that’s when I’ll finally see the falcon who gives the hawk competition. Of course, the owl who cries “whooooo” as the police on patrol, lets me know all is well in the neighborhood.

Let the life outside your window give your imagination fodder for your characters as mine does. You’ll writing will sparkle with realism because it will reflect the life’s truth in microcosm. And the fun you’ll have is endless.

We’ve put up a hummingbird feeder close to the window. It’ll be like going to ballet. I can’t wait for that show to come to town. When Spring is allowed to arrive, that heralds the butterflies and bats, and finally Summer’s fireflies. It’s like waiting for the circus.

We’re putting in a birdbath soon. My own neighborhood bathhouse.Stay tuned! And keep writing.

I remain, Yours Between the Lines,
Sherry

P.S. Look for my poetry contest!  Rules at the end of this week.