Category Archives: Prose

Hey Writers: Can You Talk the Talk?

Today I like: tons of kids running around my house
Not so much: feeding them!

My girls are taking Chinese and Spanish at school. I can get by with the simplest French when in France (Je m’apelle Stephanie. Je suis une touriste Americaine.), and pick out a word or two in the more heavily accented areas of the Caribbean (In Haiti I understood manger and bonjour. That’s about it). So, I’m stoked they are getting this exposure now, from both a linguistic and a cultural viewpoint. Bring on the hola and the ni hao!

One thing that’s amazed me, particularly with the Chinese, is the girls’ pitch-perfect accent. Asian languages have tones the average Germanic or Romance language speaker can’t easily replicate. Ever try to pronounce the names of the menu items at a Thai or Vietnamese restaurant? There’s a reason they generally have numbers beside each entrée.

“Can I have the…Mwwnnaatrraaa….the number seven, please.”

My kids, however, at six and eight, come home singing Chinese songs with perfect enunciation. They’re not shy or self conscious about it. They spit out the numbers one through twenty as easily as my four-year-old sings his ABC’s. It’s amazing to me how easily their little tongues wrap around tones that I couldn’t replicate if I tried. I’d produce sounds somewhere between a lowing cow and a dental patient emerging from anesthesia with a mouth full of Novocaine and a few less teeth.

We all know children with bi-lingual parents. They can switch between languages in one conversation, never missing a beat or dropping a cookie. Everyone knows that the younger one is, the easier it is to pick up a language. And here’s where this idea becomes relevant for writers.

I started reading adult novels, the ones my mom brought home from the library, around age eight. While some of that subject matter was a little intense (as I’ve stated before, Stephen King’s IT gave me nightmares for months at age ten), I truly believe that early exposure to novels shaped whatever ability I possess in creating long form fiction.

In reading (adult) novels from such a young age, I was absorbing, without realizing it, the basics of good storytelling: plot, character, dialogue. How scenes flow from one to another. Foreshadowing. I was learning the language of novel-writing at an age when I could easily take it in. Make it part of my native tongue.

If I loved a book, I’d read it over and over (sometimes thirty times over the years, as in the case of All Things Bright and Beautiful, The Stand, Pride and Prejudice, and later, Angela’s Ashes and Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood). This re-reading…the repetition…sealed the voices of these stories in my head, and in turn blended them into my own narrative voice.

I developed a habit, around age six, of telling myself stories to help me fall asleep at night.  Made-up scenarios, running through my head, every night. I’ve never stopped. Nowadays, as I drift off I write the next day’s scene in my mind. Character and dialogue. Intro, build up, climax, closing. Usually in the third person. As if I’m sitting in front of the computer typing away. Weird, yes…but also very effective for a writer. I’ve been practicing non-stop for twenty-nine years.

I always wonder about “writers” who say they don’t read. Reading is practice for writing. The idea of learning a new language now, when my brain is set in a very specific communication pattern, is daunting…not matter how envious I am of my bi-lingual friends. So how do those who don’t read, and have never really read, suddenly expect to be able to understand the language of novels?

If I tried to learn Chinese now, my accent would be bad. I would be self-conscious. My words stilted, unnatural. Even if I wanted to say something a certain way and knew the correct words, it probably wouldn’t come out right…and it certainly wouldn’t be eloquent.

So, if you’re toying with the idea of writing a novel, and you’ve never been a reader, stop and think. Are you at a point where you can realistically devote the time to learning a new language? Is your mind still flexible enough?

If not, there are many accomplished novel-speakers out there. Grab a book and experience the beauty of fluency.

Take Me In, Let Me Wonder

Today I like:  Sullivan’s Island
Not so much: Wrapping paper

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in
Are you aware of the shape I’m in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins
Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in
–The Avett Brothers (I and Love and You)

My second daughter, she of the white blond hair and blue eyes; she who looks nothing like me, is a child after my own heart. I think she might have a writer’s soul. She takes it all in.

Songs, for example. She always asks me, “Mommy, what is this song about?” This is her reaction to every artist from Kesha to Bob Dylan. Usually I can come up with a pretty succinct, child-friendly answer. (“She’s mad at her boyfriend! He wants to go to a big party! He likes big butts and he cannot lie!” Ok, really, I change the song on that one…) Sometimes I’m stumped…and the above song, I and Love and You, by the Avett Brothers…which I have recently discovered and with which I have fallen in love…is an example of such a song.

When I had that inevitable question, this time I said, “Why don’t you just listen to it, and tell me what you think at the end?”

Load the car and write the note
Grab your bag and grab your coat
Tell the ones that need to know
That we are headed north
One foot in and one foot back
But it don’t pay to live like that
So I cut the ties and jumped the tracks
Never to return

She kept up a commentary. “So he’s going on a trip? North…it will be cold. Is it Christmas?”

When at first I learned to speak
I used all my words to fight
With him and her and you and me
Oh but its just a waste of time
Yeah its such a waste of time
That woman shes got eyes that shine
Like a pair of stolen polished dimes
She asked to dance I said it’s fine
I’ll see you in the morning time 

“He messed something up. Maybe his girlfriend is mad.”

Three words that became hard to say
I and love and you
What you were then, I am today
Look at the things I do

“I and love and you. That’s like I LOVE YOU.”

Dumbed down and numbed by time and age
Your dreams to catch the world, the cage
The highway sets the traveler’s stage
All exits look the same

“What kind of exits?”
“Like the ones on the highway.”
“They do look the same. But they have numbers. What number is Brooklyn?”

As we were listening, I thought of how the best songs tell a story. Like novels do, but in the very shortest, simplest form. Sometimes the most eloquent and emotional. It made me think of that old writers’ adage: Show, don’t tell.

Songwriters tell their tales in emotion, and give the reader room to interpret the details and the message in an individual way. What one person hears, where he or she finds some commonality, might not be how the songs resonates (no pun intended) for the next listener. So, as long form writers, I think the lesson we can learn from great songwriters is this: Don’t over explain. Give your readers a chance to come to their own conclusions, and maybe even leave them hanging a tiny bit. Tie it up, but keep the sense of wonder. Give your readers credit for having individual points of reference and creative intelligence. And of course…tell the story in as few words as possible. Just make sure they’re the right ones.

So, at the end of the song I asked my girl what she thought it meant.

“He’s sad. He misses home. He wants to go back and fix things.”
“Do you think he did?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, definitely.”

I’ll let her tell me the rest of the story when she’s ready.