Sunday, July 15, 2012

How to Write: Jump In!


            After years of teaching freshman college English and writing books, I know a thing or two about the writing process.  I consider myself rather an authority on the subject, but I’m not too full of myself to think that differing opinions from mine are incorrect.  I do, however, know what works for most students when it comes to composing coherently-written thoughts.  And I certainly know what works for me. 

Here’s a bit of my own take on the writing process:

1.  No right or wrong way exists to the approach of and during the process of writing.
 
            Many scholars of writing composition believe that students must begin by slogging through pre-writing activities: brain-storming, outlining, jogging the thought process by word associations, word association trees, and journaling, to name just a few.    They insist writers start with pre-writing, as though they need to warm-up--stretch their pens and computers—before beginning the actual creation.  For some students, however, this could be a larger barrier than the writing itself.  I, myself, envision these exercises as more taxing, even annoying, than the writing because, to me, pre-writing is a waste of time and thinking. 
            Other instructors of writing will insist that each essay or story be outlined in detail, and only after an outline is accomplished should the student begin to write the meat of the story.  Some instructors will encourage students to write by long-hand first and correct sentences for structure, detail, and punctuation right on the spot.  For some students this advice will be helpful; for others it is dead wrong advice.
            No one way of creating is the end-all and the be-all of written creation.  Why?  Because each person has his own way of writing, and no one way is the correct way, and no one way is the wrong way.  Writing is as individual as are preferences for ice cream flavors,

2.  “Git ‘er done!”
            Perhaps I’m making my advice here too simplistic, but I can’t help it because of observing my own writing process.  My motto is, simply, like that of Larry the Cable Guy: “Git ‘er done!”  That’s the easiest way for me to get words on paper: by just starting—jumping in the lake cold and warming up to it.  I encourage my writing students to do the same.   I don’t want to agonize over pre-writing activities, though if writers need to engage in these activities for a jump start on a paper or article, they surely should if they feel it’s helpful.    
            So, in order to “Git ‘er done!” I recommend writers face their raw, vacant computer screen, piece of paper, or typewriter paper (yes, some writers prefer to write on a manual typewriter), grit their teeth at that blankness, hunker down, begin thinking of the most shocking, interesting way to get at their topic and JUST JUMP IN. 


And now I’m going to change to second person in order to get more personal:

BEGIN WRITING.  Let the consciousness take care of itself; allow the movie screen in one’s mind to dictate the words describing the scenes on that screen; see it, and write down what is happening.  Just “Git ‘er done!”  Don’t worry about grammar, punctuation, types of sentences, or any of that little technical stuff. 
            Get the big picture down on paper first.  Go with the flow; create; let it roll out of your mind.  If one must, just use what some very famous authors have used: the stream-of-consciousness technique—few sentences, just all thoughts that blend and blur together.  As long as you get the idea, the thought, the gist, down, despite how awkwardly put, you can go back later and clean, tighten, and brighten it up so that the reader can better understand and see the “movie” from your perspective.

3.  “Clean ‘er up”:
            Delete unnecessaries and edit for detail and correctness.
            All writing is meant to be read, or it wouldn’t be written, right?  So, you must keep your reader in mind during editing, as well.  You should, once you’ve “got ‘er done,” attend to coherence and unity of effect so that your audience easily gets the perfect picture and tone—never ask a reader to struggle over your writing, neither in trying to understand your ideas nor your sentences.  If he has a hard time understanding or feels he  could be misunderstanding your intent, he will become frustrated and abandon you. 
            To insure this doesn’t happen, you should go back over the “mind-flow” with a correcting and deleting pen.  Delete anything that does not contribute to the unified effect you’re trying to accomplish.  Choose fewer words to say the same thing.  Edit out unnecessary words, details that don’t contribute to the overall effect.  And, then, after deleting the extraneous, think smaller, more technical, and attack and fix sentence structure, punctuation and grammar errors.

4.  Edit for the musical effect.
             See that your writing has a musical effect, much like ocean waves.  Writing-- even prose--has rhythm.  Punctuation and qualifiers, such as “by the way,” ”on the other hand,” ‘rather,” etc. (find them in an old grammar book) create suspense in writing just by creating a pause.  For that microsecond of a pause that a semicolon makes, for example, (“for example” is also a qualifier) the reader subconsciously awaits the final thought of that sentence with some kind of micro-anticipation.  And that is fun for the reader.

5.  Edit for grammar and punctuation.
            I have the ability, honed from much self-discipline during my college days when professors failed compositions for incorrect punctuation, to work the punctuation into my larger thoughts.  You may or may not be as adept; however, (another qualifier) if you are  not proficient in using all the marks of punctuation, you need to make yourself an expert.  You need to find an old-fashioned grammar book with the rules of punctuation and sit down and learn the rules and grammatical structures that command punctuation.  And—yes—you need to memorize them and then be able to use them.  Nothing is more distracting to a reader than having to plow through writing that is poorly punctuated.  Incidentally, you should not be placing commas wherever you feel you need to pause or take a breath.  Attacking punctuation in this way is by hit-or-miss, and for a reader, reading such slush is a thrill-killer.


**** The above is my advice, not the final word, on how go about the writing process.  Other instructors may take exception; however, I know what works for me and what has worked for my students of writing.  Think large first; “git ‘er done,” and, then,  clean ‘er up.

www.goodreads.com/Glballiet

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Faster than a Speeding Fly

I had just stepped out of the shower the other day and was drying off when I heard the buzz of a very large fly.  "Oh, no!" I thought.  "I sure don't want that loud thing bouncing off the walls of the bedroom all night."

I wrung my towel tight in a futile effort to snap it at him as he zoomed by, but I couldn't even follow his Airbus 350 body with my eyes, so quick and agile was he, let alone take him down with a towel.    As though high on Mountain Dew, the huge fly zoomed from one light to another, hitting the mirror, and I soon decided I could never target him with my damp towel.  He was just too lively.

My cat, Evie, sat on the floor, her eyes following the loud blowfly as he flew into the wall like a kamikaze, dashed to the next light, and sped, roaring, past my head.

"Get him, Evie," I said, standing back.


Suddenly the fly made a fatal mistake.  Oblivious, he tore a path right past Evie.  I saw a paw as a blurred swipe, and, then, she pinned the pest to the floor with both paws.  I giggled into my towel.  Next, she hunkered down, carefully opening her paws, her face right over them, and sucked him into her mouth.

"Chomp, . . . chomp, . . . chomp."  Evie gulped twice, and the big and, apparently, fairly juicy snack disappeared down herSpeeding Fly feline hatch.  I cheered, and she just looked at me, nonplussed.


The moral of this story is "Cats are quick, and humans are very slow."
https://www.amazon.com/author/gayballiet

The Centered Moth

Do you see the little "heart" in the center of my front door?

It is a moth.

When I came down the steps and saw this moth aligned so perfectly in the middle of that pane of glass, I truly marveled at the tiny creature.  I think he put himself there deliberately, intentionally, organizationally--right in the center in order to attract my attention.  He may even have been thinking and acting artistically, dare I say?

Whatever his motives or intentions, however, the sight of this centeredness of a moth struck me in a way that not much else ever does.  Could an insect with lesss than a pea brain possess enough self-consciousness to position him or herself just so on this window?  Was he trying to disguise himself from possible predators by looking deliberately placed, as though he were a part of the whole door and not a creature that could be swallowed up by a spider or bird?

Beats the hell out of me.

One thing I know: seeing the moth so strategically placed on the outside of my doorway made me appreciate the possibility of a moth having more than a brain the size of a pencil tip.  As well, I realized that art arises in so many different ways.  Yes, I do consider this finding a work of art--by Nature.  Others may not even have noticed the creature on my door, but I perceived its presence in so many different ways, another one of them being the possibility of a spirit of, possibly, my dead grandmother or grandparents, visiting me.  I know that's far-fetched, and I'm not really into spiritual happenings of this kind, but, after all, the moth does look like a heart, doesn't it?  My grandma Eckensberger would try to contact me in this way--through nature.

Just thought I'd share this strange occurrence.

Our world never ceases to amaze.
https://www.amazon.com/author/gayballiet



Thursday, June 28, 2012

New book out as ebook!

My new book, THERE'S A BEAR IN THE BASEMENT, came out a few weeks ago.  The publisher and I talked about it during his blogtalk radio show on Tuesday night.  If you'd like to listen to us talk about my writing process, a few characters in the book, and animals and pets, in general, go to http://www.trestlepresspublishing.com/ and click on the words about his blog talk radio, the G-Zone.  After that comes up, look to the right where you will see archived blogs and click on that of Gay Balliet and Jeff Bennington.  I think you'll be happy to hear that it's quite entertaining.  Thanks.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

link to my review of There's A Bear in the Basement in Goodreads.com

There's A Bear in the BasementThere's A Bear in the Basement by Gay Louise Balliet
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Terrific read! But what more would an author say about her next book? Truly--it is very entertaining. Upload this to your electronic device, grab a towel and some goodies, and head out to the beach. Don't forget the sunscreen!

View all my reviews

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Skippy's Escape

Now that I have found myself with a rather large farm to tend and manage on my own, time is certainly precious.  Lack of hours is the reason I have been visibly absent from my blog.  Your forgiveness is greatly appreciated.  Those of you who have lived and survived divorce know exactly what I mean.  What work was usually done by two people falls heavily on the one left behind.  So, no one should be surprised that my shoulders are loaded with farmwork right now.

Mowing grass this time of year and with the amount of rain we've been having is an arduous task.  I am driving a Kabota, full-size tractor with a five or six foot finish mower behind.  On a good day when I don't bash into a fence post or tree, I can accomplish the task in a minmum of four hours.  But when the horses can't keep up with "mowing" their own pastures, I must get out there and cut their grass, too, just to make it manageable.  That one pasture, alone, takes me two hours.  So, one day a week must be devoted to cutting grass for six hours on this eight-acre farm.  And I won't even mention the weed-whacking around the fence posts and trees. 

Yet I do my chores here because I love this place and love, in a strange way, all the work it takes to keep it going and looking pristine.  It doesn't matter that at the end of my mowing stint I'm sweaty, sticky, and icky all over.  I have lovingly coiffed my farmland.  Passersby can only note that the person living here loves her property and all that goes with taking care of it.

So, the other day when I began the first hour of mowing, I unexpectedly came upon Skippy who was eating some of the farmer's alfalfa next to my patch.  When he heard the diesel chugging toward him, he became alarmed, probably thinking he was being a bad boy for sneaking alfalfa and that this big machine was coming to forcibly remove him from the field.  I laughed to myself as I kept driving towards him, and he looked each way, honing in on the sound of the tractor so that he could decide how to escape.  And I just kept going on my cutting route around the woods.  I certainly wasn't going to run him over with the tractor.  But he didn't know that.

I could see Skippy about fifty feet ahead of me, listening and deciding what to do about being caught between the alfalfa field and my tractor.  And, then, I could see that he had made a decision for escape.  Very deliberately he turned toward the woods, away from the alfalfa field, and began a slow bee-line towards the trees.  He took the shortest path--straight across--and before the tractor crossed his footsteps, he was already safely inside the woods where no loud machine could reach him.  Skippy's mad dash to the woods entertained me for the rest of the day.

Monday, December 19, 2011

I'm back!

Sorry for my absence: life has a way of pulling nasty tricks on us, thus shutting down the normalcy of everyday work. My response to the shock that came my way was to focus on the solution, to the ignorance of everything else, including my blog.

But I'm up and running again. One of the nasty things biting at my ankles like an annoying chihuahua was Death. I hate Death, the Grand Ruiner of all things.

In just a matter of a few months I lost several friends. Death broke into my home and took away several cats: Little Eggie, Bonnie the Bitch, and Maggie--all old felines but still helpless in the grip of the Grim Reaper.

Within a few weeks I had to invite unforgiving Death into my home and put to sleep the first of a number of aging pot-bellied pigs. First, he took Chico, a good-natured soul who could not keep weight on and simply deteriorated with each passing day. Then, Lowell, my first swiney friend who I bought for $50 back in 1994, looked at me with a pitiful face, a face begging me to take him from this life of aging misery and into a space of nothingness. With the nothingness came freedom from discomfort and pain. So, much to my own misery, I accommodated his request: I had him put to sleep.

This past Saturday I had Annie Louise sent into Death's skeletal arms. She, too, was old and had lost complete control of her back end. Death gladly took her despite my trying to hold on and extend her life.

As I grow old, so do my pets. What began as a farm housing fourteen pot-bellied pigs, now remains a home for my last seven, with Pauly, another elderly fellow, already knocking at Death's door. Every morning and evening and sometimes during the day, Pauly loses his balance, falls over and waits for me to come right him. He is much appreciative. But as he grows thinner and thinner and weaker and weaker, I realize he's not going to be able to sustain himself much longer. I expect him to live no longer than about two weeks. However, I promised him and myself that I would not let him suffer. And I won't.

I am sorry that I had to come back to my blog with such a sad, despairing tale, but Death is a part of life on a farm, not a farm for butchering animals but one for allowing them to live each's life to his or her natural end. Though Little Eggie, Bonnie, Maggie, Chico, Lowell, and Annie had good, full lives here and appreciated the good life on the Balliet farm, they didn't fear Death as I did. In fact, I feel they welcomed the monster. Behind the horrid face of Death lay calm and peace, and freedom from pain. And though Death took each one in slightly different ways, they suffered no fear because I was with each one at the Moment. I became the strength whereby they could say "Good-bye" without apprehension.

Death cannot intimidate or scare when someone is whispering "I Love You" in the dying animal's ear. In that moment, Death loses all his strength, his ferociousness--his mystery.