Reading, writing...that's what I do.

Love for the printed word, love and belief in ideas.

We Writers Listen to Donald Maass and Others. We Do Our Research

February 16, 2025 4 Comments

I follow a blog for writers that is blessed occasionally with a piece by literary agent and author for writers, Donald Maass. He offers insights into the writing process, but he also lives in the real world. So in answer to a writer’s post he wrote: (Note: the response has been edited) Stories do not require a consensus. They do not legislate. Their purpose is to persuade. But persuade us of what? And how?

In a novel, (or screen play, script that becomes a film) to prove others wrong, it is first necessary to acknowledge that they may be right. Thus,

create characters who represent divergent ways of thinking and doing–actually opposing ideas are represented by opposing characters. (Brilliant and basic. Every television drama presents tension–because people with differing points of view are interacting.)
create characters to be strong, as each must face his or her weaknesses. (As writers, our characters often face what we are afraid of). As readers, we will not be moved unless we see humanity first. The character must fail. And then to persuade us to change, the character must change because of the failure. In other words, they see the light.

Maass states:

Writers must create antagonists whose case is excellent, and heroes who are flawed.
But in order to truly be a hero, those characters must learn and then change.
Thus, the power of storytelling to change us (the reader) lies in the courage writers summon to see things as others do. It depends on creating heroes who are flawed and must learn. Most of all, it requires that authors humble themselves, writing not out of resentment, but out of twined compassion and conviction about what is right.
( I think that is brilliant.)

Maass asks: What is the bell you will ring in your writing? What clear and simple truth does it sound? Words are strong when you know their purpose. Stories speak loudest when the storyteller first listens.

OKAY, I AM LISTENING

Writers speak through their characters. They use their so-flawed-ideas and their closer-to-perfect ideas. Both are on the page!

My novel-in-progress presents a crack in the foundation of a marriage: one of the partners decides to forget an initial pledge to be compassionate in life and help others. He is turning away. She is not. But that doesn’t make her an angel. Maybe she is going overboard, and thus wrong in her belief that she can change people through empathy and compassion. It helps me to grapple with my own fears and insecurities, while getting into the skin of my characters.

FINDING COMPASSION THROUGH SELF-TENSION

Recently, Erin Aubry Kaplan published a piece in the LA TIMES, entitled A New Reckoning for Whiteness. And I found a connection between the hero of any novel or story wrestling with his or her flawed-ness, before becoming a hero-again. And thus, I am wrestling with my own lived life. Kaplan writes that our current president’s “both-sides” problem just might make some citizens grapple with a crucial question: What does it mean to be white? Or, what does it really mean?

It was a hard piece to read. But necessary. Kaplan asks: “It (the question) requires individual answers to intimate questions: How do I feel as a white person? What advantages do I take for granted based on my skin color? How do I see nonwhites? Or do I see them at all?”

Kaplan writes that if white people struggle with these questions, she has struggled with similar ones all her life: “What sort of black person are you? Middle class or ghetto, articulate or down-home, educated or irrational, bourgeoisie or radical?”

She writes that currently, “no one can indulge in the illusion of togetherness. He’s (POTUS 45& 47) disrupting a surface that needs to be disrupted, for good.” (or for The good)

She’s saying that in order to write the best American story, each of our “characters” has to look and acknowledge our flaws, before we can go back to believing in the “prefect union” we so desire. And thus (if we do) we become the heroes of our story. Reading the entire article and seeing the whole of her argument, might be disruptive — but then, now we are becoming used to that EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Thus, I have been examining my whiteness. Yes, I benefited from living in a middle class Chicago neighborhood, attending private schools. I knew few black people growing up. My high school was integrated, but barely. Did I make an attempt to befriend my fellow black students? Again, barely. Maybe I felt myself absolved by the literature I was reading and analyzing, CRY THE BELOVED COUNTRY. Big deal.

When Martin Luther King was assassinated, black students referred to themselves as the “worms in our apple.” By the time I was teaching in an integrated high school that pulled from neighborhoods of poor whites and blacks–I was more awake. (I don’t like that term, but it works.) I did fight to stay awake, but even now, I wouldn’t give myself an A plus. And my Conclusion…..as a writer:

I must read widely, question my beliefs, work toward openness. As a citizen, I must do the same, use my brain to see lies, prejudice, rule-breaking, downright evil. AGAIN, we find ourselves in a time that requires QUESTIONING. Writers, teachers, parents, leaders…we cannot accept the status quo. We must believe in what Maass suggests above: it requires authors to humble themselves, writing not out of resentment, but out of twined compassion and conviction about what is right.

Or another way to say it: WHEN YOU WRITE, OPEN YOUR HEART AS WELL AS YOUR EYES.

Erin Aubry Kaplan

Living A Good Life Requires Empathy: My Brother, My Other Self

February 9, 2025 5 Comments

THIS IS A STORY ABOUT LOVE, LEWY BODY DEMENTIA & ICE SKATING.

When do we truly become ourselves? I would answer it happens in stages. And we all have them…time being plastic, moveable, that feast of life that carries us forward, but often pulls us back. And the one thing that might help each one of us cope with the circus or circle of life: EMPATHY.

But also: the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree.

A definition: EMPATHY, the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

BUT WHEN AND HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?

Probably immediately, in the home, the place we are being raised. Someone is crying or we are crying, and someone comes, asks about the source of the tears. And thus we learn to go to another, discover what the event was that led to our sister’s, our brother’s tears…”Mom, Bill’s crying, he needs you.”

Maybe Mom scolded you; Mom grounded you…at school, a teacher, a student made you feel small or incapable. Sadness fills you. You share that sadness with your brother, your sister. Or you listen to the fears and worries of a friend. And as these actions repeat, you are listening, you are becoming empathetic. YOU!

It’s not a story of words said with forced cheerfulness before leaving a room.

It’s a story of truth, true actions. But when does this happen? When do we grow to feel sad for others; when do we begin to experience empathy? I would answer: from the beginning. Though sometimes we need others to show us the way.

PAIN IN CHILDHOOD

My mother was kind, loving. I thought all mothers were. But the boy at the end of the block was watched by his grandmother, who screamed at him constantly. And thus, this boy learned to scream back, and he did this so often, that he became known as The Screamer…so unfair. The child was unhappy. He wasn’t getting the love, the empathy he needed to grow, to love his life, his home, his very self.

We’ve all have known someone like that. Hopefully, that child might have created stories to sooth himself. We might see them as lies, but I would lie too, if every night I had to deal with alcoholism, cussing, screaming, being sent to bed with a slap on the head. I would create a story, a dream about a family of love and tenderness. Though for some….where would they find the role models?

FALLING IN LOVE WITH EMPATHY

Growing up, we lived with love. My mother read to us. My grandmother, my aunts gave us books. And we even had an apple tree in our back yard that we could climb. It was simple, it was wonderful. We hunted fire flies in twilight; we had red rain boots to muck around in puddles. WE WERE KIDS and WE WERE LOVED. And because we were loved, we learned how to love, understand others…maybe not perfectly, but at least we never made fun of the Screamer. We knew he was hurting.

MY BROTHER, MY OTHER SELF…WHERE DO THE MEMORIES GO?

If this were a story about a brother and sister, no editor would read it.

But this is a story about a sister and a brother and Dementia, so it’s not a comedy, and the strength we are all feeling prevents it from being a tragedy. Because Bill is strength itself.

But again, the story must ask: where will the memories go, though I am convinced people will read it, as day to day, I record and love all the memories I have shared with Bill.

I have already written a short essay about growing up in Chicago, about our walking to school together, coming home for lunch as latch-key kids, making tomato soup, sandwiches. And given such responsibility, we never burned the house down; never lost our house key. Day to day we built on our love for each other, so that he could run out to play catch after school, and I could walk to the park, hoping to see a certain “guy” play baseball. Many years later I married that guy; my brothers were in the wedding.

But living in Chicago meant winters and no walks to the park.

But there was Bill, a wild and crazy ice skater, using the declivity around our apple tree to create a skating rink. Truly! Bill got out the garden hose, and that determined kid stood outside for hours pouring water into this hole to create an ice rink. AND HE DID THIS, every winter. Wild child! Damn good skater!

And yes, the two of us were a pair. And we always will be, no matter what. Actually, he just called me. He and his wife are going to take a walk. I LOVE HIM SO, MY BROTHER BILL.

When You Sit Down to Write, Some Choices to Make

February 2, 2025 8 Comments

THE MIRROR or the ARROW

In a recent post on Writer Unboxed, Donald Maass, writing guru, wrote about the content of our stories….whether they serve as a mirror or an arrow of fate, destiny; and how they reflect the writer’s orientations to the human experience.

He states clearly, that some of us are pro-active, but that others are reactive. Some of us become wary and watchful, others are eager and on-attack. He also sets anger and forgiveness as opposites.

To help us clarify our writing, and where it is taking us, he asked questions.

Below is the question and then MY PERSONAL ANSWERS. (you can provide your own as you read. Please note: they don’t just apply to writing…they apply to LIFE.

1. What factor most produces success, security and happiness: randomness and luck, or effort and reward? My answer: Effort and reward

2. What is more important to have: means or virtue?

Virtue

3. Which better describes you: warrior or survivor?

Survivor

4. Do you see yourself as more: strongly enduring or courageously fighting?

Strongly enduring.

5. What better describes your life’s mission: to rescue or to win?

I find myself in a Rescue mode.

6. What is more important to do: preserve what is good or change what is bad?

In these days, Preserve what is good.

7. What is the better goal: to do justice or to practice forgiveness?

Practice forgiveness

8. What we face every day is mostly…peril or opportunity?

Opportunity…thats a positive answer.

9. What is better to have…individual freedom or group cooperation?

Group cooperation I think it will get us farther.

10. Which is better to have…faith or reason?

In these current days, I choose faith.

11. What guides you is…mainly God or mainly yourself?

Myself

12. Works of fiction should primarily show us…how we are or what we should do?

How we are!

Now, let’s think about the Application. After answering these questions, how do our answers apply to our writing, or life goals?

My novel sets up Jude, who cleans floors in the hospital, against, Ella, a labor and delivery RN;

Ella is a rule follower…she has succeeded by being this person. Jude breaks rules to survive.

Ella would hate her world to come apart because someone broke society’s rule, which is what Jude does.

To be strong and stand for something, is also to stand strong against something else.

Stories with impact take a definite stand.

Stories ask: what value do you wish to uphold? What virtue do you try to live by? How far would you go to uphold what you believe?

FINAL THOUGHT

When writing a blog post or a novel, Donald Maass is stressing that: our natures unconsciously underlie how we approach a story. He stresses that there is NO RIGHT WAY.

But he also wants writers to be aware. If a writer knows which way he or she leans…being an arrow or a mirror…the writer can realize that what comes onto the page, will often reflect how he or she reacts to true human experience.

Now let’s summarize:

Mirror/Stories of Fate: randomness and luck, virtue, survivor, strongly enduring, rescue, change what is bad, practice forgiveness, peril, group cooperation, reason, guide yourself, show us who we are.
Arrow/Stories of Destiny: effort and reward, means, warrior, courageously fighting, win, preserve what is good, do justice, opportunity, individual freedom, faith, guided by God, show us what we should do.

Thanks for reading. Are you writing from an Arrow or a Mirror perspective? Would love your comments, Beth

CAN YOU REMEMBER YOUR CHILDHOOD?

January 26, 2025 3 Comments

Memories can sparkle. And they can STING…when we unbury them, stumble upon them. We might even cry, become angry. Memories are like that. Because WE DO NOT FORGET.

When I ask myself what I do remember, my life seems to have wandered through a long dark tunnel that wasn’t lighted by memory, until I started school. But there are exceptions…hazy memories that were planted because of loss, sorrow: my father’s death when I was only three.

But from Kindergarten on…the memories are vey clear. Because then most of us have markers to help us remember: the name of our teachers; the names of the children we met, befriended. And how strange….those names are still bright, fervent. But someone we met causally a few days ago…now what was her name?

I know my childhood history, because my mother relayed it to me. At such an early age, I could not have remembered all of it on my own.

But if my father’s sudden death, when I was three, is mentioned, I have memories… sun pouring through a western window, my older brother John crying, unconsolable in my aunt’s arms; something has happened, the two huddled in the brightness of a flowered chair.

The second memory must be part of the same day. I can’t sleep. There is noise downstairs, people talking. Then voices come upstairs, my door opens and someone holds me…In the flow of memory, these two pictures are related. Only when I am old enough to understand, I learn that the two images are from the same day & that night….June 4th, when my father died in our living room: major coronary. Yes, these are MY memories. No one sat me down and described them to me.

WHY DOES IT TAKE TIME FOR CHILDREN TO FORM MEMORIES?

Because there is something called childhood amnesia.

Sally Goddard Blythe, director of the Institute for Neuro-Physiological Psychology (INPP) in the UK, author of books on child development, states that we don’t have the ability to talk about things that happened to us before we are fluent in a language.

She says that language ability doesn’t happen until we have reached the age of three. And without the ability to TALK about what happened, use the words to “match” the memory cemented in our brains, we are unable to store those early memories as easily as we store later ones. And that’s because later, we have language skills to go along with our memories.

This is fascinating, especially the storage part. Because as children, we have lived a lot in those early years, though: “Children do have these kinds of memories; they disappear really quickly,” says Dr. Rachel Elward, PhD.

Okay, but let’s have examples to support this:

While creating a STORY, 3-year-olds were asked to talk to their mothers about six past events from their lives. They were then asked to remember these events when they were older. The researchers found that between the ages of 5 and 7, the children remembered more than 60% of the events, but by the ages of 8 and 9, this had fallen to less than 40%.

However, these memories aren’t always gone for good. “Conscious memory is thought to develop from about 3, but before that, there is sensory-emotional experience which may be revived in later life, when similar events or sensory triggers are present,” says Blythe. “A pleasant example of sensory memory may be a particular smell (the most evocative of the senses), which, many years later, conjures an image or even a sense of presence of our mother.”

WHAT WE REMEMBER AND WHEN

Dr. Kenn Apel, states that Four-year-olds take leaps and abounds: they can tell you a story; relate what they did in preschool and do it so well, that people outside their family will understand them. A child who is four should be able to name colors, shapes, and letters. So whenever possible, explore different letters and words with them, Dr. Apel suggests. “You can take any moment, such as eating breakfast, as a chance to teach something new. For instance, explain how Cheerios is a long word, but milk is a short one. It might take a few minutes, but a child can learn a lot in that short amount of time.”

WHEN A CHILD IS FOUR

Though four-year-olds are not be able to tell time, they should understand the general concept of ordering moments throughout the day—like breakfast in the morning, lunch in the afternoon, dinner at night. “It’s important for kids to have some redundancy in life,” Dr. Apel explains. “Doing the same things each day is good, because it allows children to concentrate on picking up the language around them, not the task.”

Following More Complex Commands

At 4, your child should be able to follow three-or four-step commands, such as “Put your book away, brush your teeth, and then get in bed.” Your child should also be able to verbalize their own wants and needs, making requests such as “I want pizza for dinner, and I want to watch a movie before bed.”

Pediatricians and speech pathologists are always on the lookout for issues with receptive language, so if your child or grandchild can’t follow instructions or doesn’t seem to understand what you’re saying, it’s advised to consult a healthcare professional.

The Bottom Line

It’s important to remember that all children are different, and every child develops at a unique rate. Milestones are an estimate, and not an exact guidance. That being said, if you find you have questions or concerns about your child’s language development, be sure to reach out to a pediatrician or health care provider for further assistance.

Despite trump, Brilliant Thoughts from Ken Burns

January 19, 2025 No Comments

The following post focusses on ideas and the brilliance shared by Ken Burns.

Who is Ken Burns? Kenneth Lauren Burns is an American filmmaker known for his documentary films and television series that chronicle American history and culture. His work is often produced in association with WETA-TV or the National Endowment for the Humanities, and distributed by PBS.

A VISIT WITH KEN BURNS…

A famous actress once said: “Put down the measuring stick.” I LOVE THAT. Because we know when our stories contain truth. So while listening to Burns, I jotted down statements he’d made. Why? Because I put down the measuring stick, enjoying his wit and intelligence. You will too.

BURNS: Dr. Martin Luther King…he believed in love, the sanctity of human life. He approved of the rich giving up things. His marches underlined activism, the building of HOPE. He had passion for the possible.

Dr. King spoke of what people were feeling, and maybe what King was feeling, before he was assassinated. He talked about the mountain top, that in the darkest of nights, we see the stars even better!

He spoke of Brian Stevenson, a human rights lawyer, who still shares some hard truths about America’s justice system. Because Stevenson believes there is a massive imbalance along racial lines: a third of the country’s Black male population having been incarcerated at some point in their lives.

And…these issues, which are wrapped up in America’s unexamined history, are rarely talked about with this level of candor, this insight and persuasiveness. But Ken Burns KNOWS WHAT NEEDS TO BE SAID. And he will applaud and record those who will say it.

On a very different issue, Burns says: Baseball is about family; it’s about American Destiny. We need to sing together: the national anthem, Sweet Caroline. Because there is NO in-difference in American Baseball. Yes. Truth! A brilliant thought, whether you love baseball or not.

Burns also states: Don’t blame “them”. We are living our human nature. We need to stop violence and learn how to live together. ONLY OUR STORIES CAN CONTAIN OUR TRUTH. Thus: Have courage. Use your parents as examples. The sky is not falling. Find humility in some Americans…and go on living. Write books. Remember those in the past that helped forge the future: Samual Johnson and patriotism; how to stop wars; Edmond Burke. And Demi Moore. She being the one who instructed: put down the measuring stick.

AND WHAT DO YOU THINK?

In our world today there are no ordinary people. And there is no indifference in American Baseball. We hear and cheer the Star Spangled Banner and the game begins. And we are blessed with this wonderful thinker, Ken Burns!

So thanks for reading…and if you have some statement that we need to hear, SHARE! Brilliance is fleeting. The thought comes and goes. Hold on to it, put down the measuring stick. We are all thought-full people.

I’ve Seen Fire, I’ve Seen Rain

January 12, 2025 8 Comments

FIRST THE RAIN PART

Having weeks before given birth to our son, our third child, a neighbor recommended an itinerant plumber to just check out everything in the basement of the beloved but older home we were living in. The guy came, I led him to the basement, going right back to care for my baby. He appeared soon after claiming all was in order, I paid him and he left.

That night we had a rain storm in Chicago like no other…sheets and sheets of rain. And we did not know that the cap on a pipe in the basement had NOT been tightened correctly by this worker guy, so that water was pouring into our basement, affecting our phone line.

It was why a neighbor rang the doorbell early the next morning, telling my husband John that he had received a call. John’s father, after a long illness, was dying, but no one was able to reach us. John dressed, hurried to drive to his father’s house, calling upstairs to me that we now had six feet of water in our basement.

SONGS AND SORROW

At the time, there was a popular song, the singer had not been with his father when the man died. The song: THE LIVING YEARS. The artist: Mike and the Mechanics. As days passed and we heard that song, we would cry. Our son had been born; a father had died. In the living years.

Yes, these things happen. And I blame myself for being busy with my new son, not caring what some guy at the door had accomplished or not accomplished in our basement. Thus we lost: old books that had been in the family for many years; all my teaching materials from my first career; and the keepsake letters I had received: those my husband had written to me over the years, and the formal letters I’d received after I wrote to Queen Elizabeth II. Yes, I did this three times, always getting a proper answer written by a Lady in Waiting, Rose Barring. I looked her up. She was a real person.

NOW THE FIRE PART

After my mother died in 2013, we moved to California. My younger brother had moved there after college. My mother’s brother had lived there with his family most of his adult life. And our middle child, our daughter lived in the beach communities with our grandchildren. This was the time to embrace California and all it had to offer. And we did love it, every moment of it…except the fires.

How many times did I pack up my big red car? Probably three times.

We lived in a courtyard community. The neighbors would come out and tease me.

“Why are you packing your car? There won’t be a problem. We are fine here.”

Until the night we were not.

The fires started west of us. We had actually driven friends to the airport that day. It was very windy when driving home. John had gone to bed early, but then the police drove into the community, shouting at all of us over their bull-horns. We had to get out.

I’d already packed my computer, some files, clothing…I can’t list it all, but the back of my car was full, making it difficult to see on the back window. Police stood in the cul-de-sac waving us out.

But then John realized he had forgotten some medicines. We had to go back! Luckily, the police let us in, John grabbed what he needed, and I grabbed jewelry that had been my mother’s. Again we drove, this time to Playa del Rey to be with my brother and his where we sat watching TV, watching the areas around our home burn.

We didn’t sleep. John got calls from family, from friends. Then in the morning, we checked the news, convincing ourselves that we could drive back. Which we did, taking a very long way to get there.

And what did we see? Firetrucks from other states. Firemen and woman still using hoses on fires or digging trenches to stop others. They had been there from the beginning, with no breaks. They had saved our little community and the houses around it. We emptied our car, thankful to be back home.

Days later, a neighbor organized a small dinner to celebrate our safety, the conversation devolving down to the disparaging some minorities….not a good way to celebrate our safety. Ah life.

So yes. I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen firetrucks from other states parked in my neighborhood. I have loved the banners hung across our major streets…thanking the fireman. And probably two or three more times, I have watched the news with caution as a fire started….near the Ronald Regan Library….but what direction are the Santa Annas blowing? Will we be in danger again?

Probably. It’s California. There are fires, and what they truly need is more rain.

Because there is no way to stop the Santa Ana winds from sweeping down from the deserts and across coastal Southern California, pushing dust and smoke from wildfires far out over the Pacific Ocean. It is nature, it is what it is. If you live there, you adapt. And if you are like me, you pack your car. Take your computer. Be ready.

And where am I now? Back in Chicago. Yes, many days I truly miss California. But I do not miss the fires. And thanks to James Taylor.

Reading, writing...that's what I do.

We Writers Listen to Donald Maass and Others. We Do Our Research

Living A Good Life Requires Empathy: My Brother, My Other Self