posted by Noor
We have all encountered this beast at some point in our writing careers. Sometimes you can fight it head-on; other times you have to cheat it, find a way around it, and give it a surprise defeat.
These techniques may work for you!
1. Start with Chapter Two. Pretend that you have already given all the background information about your characters. Start writing the second chapter.
2. Dessert First. When you're just writing, write the delicious parts, write the parts that you like.
3. Resist the rapture of research. Stay away from Google, the library, reference books. Look up information later. Write now.
4. A good idea that doesn't happen is no idea at all.
5. XX factor. When you don't know a fact about your story, don't stall to ponder it. Put XX there and move on. When you are ready, go back and fill the gaps later.
6. Listen to your characters. How do you know who they are?
7. Interview your characters.
8. Take a shoebox and put physical things in it that remind you of your character. For example, you see an easy chair in a catalog and your character should be sitting in that chair or you can imagine him/her sitting in it, cut it out and put it in the box.
9. What if? Ask creative what if questions that might just jump start your story.
10. Even if you feel like life is interfering with your writing, remember that you need that life and its activities in order to write.
11. Banish the devil on your shoulder - the critical voice. You need a critical voice at some point, but certainly not when you're blocked.
12. Write letters. Besides being an emotional catharsis, it also leaves you with a bank of emotions that you can withdraw from later.
13. Responsive writing. Keep asking yourself questions, they can be random questions, and keep answering them. Question-answer loop on a page to break out of the block answer by answer.
14. The Hemingway Technique. Hemingway often stopped writing at a high point, frequently even in the middle of a sentence. Instead of writing and writing until you get stuck so that the next day you're dreading the point where you left of, you should perhaps stop when you are in the zone and you're loving to write, so that you will be looking forward to the writing the next day.
15. Sometimes writer's block is a message to you that you have picked something inherently wrong to write about - emotions, material, characters, voice, it can be anything. Once you have recognized and acknowledged this message, the writer's block becomes a building block.
16. Sometimes the silence of the black screen is really a shout - it's the silence of incubation.
Useful Resources, Good Books, Websites:
JEFF HERMAN'S GUIDE
Publisher's marketplace http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/
Halldor Laxness - Independent People
Art of Racing in the Rain - Garth Stein
Enzo - book written from the perspective of a dog - Garth Stein
http://theopening.org/
What If?: Writing Exercises for Fiction Writers - Anne Bernays, Pamela Painter
The Paris Review Interviews (3 volumes)
Bird by Bird - Some Instructions on Writing and Life - Anne Lamott
The Official DWL Blog: an encyclopedia of random thought
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
My friend: The Social Media
posted by Ayesha
The ever changing social media vs. the conventional word of mouth advertising was the debate I read recently on a blog. Not a known blog, just a random rant of an advertising professional who had retired to blogging to pass his time.
On most of these blogs that analyze the impact of social media, while the writers rave on about the role of tweets in changing the world to a well informed, well read contruct; I read on for some heady stimulation that will tell me something I don’t already know.
Or something that I have not already read (Not that I am suggesting I am a reading addict, far from it actually - just imagine my disappointment thus).
Maybe I am jaded but then I know this for sure, from the blogs that I follow to the Facebook likes that I love to click on, I am yet to find a real place for social media in my world.
Other than filling my free moments, I have yet to see if it really fits the role of a life changing, an opinion shaping, an earth shatteringly strong/ mild dose of information inject that it is perceived to be by the analytics. Does it shape my opinion? Yes.
But I don’t think I can *share* it yet. Maybe I can do it on the next Tweet that catches my attention.
But then that’s the whole point. Social media is offering us freedom and superfluous socializing opportunities.
The idea behind this particular article that I read was about interaction having become two way through the medium. One relevant point that I am all for; of course it’s all about clicking submit.
The writer managed to convince me that conventional advertising through word of mouth was in an incomplete campaign in itself. The consumers when now have the chance to use a product and then comment on it, have the power to now change the dimension of advertising completely. I totally agree.
What I do have a problem with is the fuss that is being made about the social media in the process. Fully aware of the fact that it is a medium that cannot be controlled in any of its dimensions, how much can we trust an entity that is absolutely free?
I understand how one relevant opinion piece by Fasi Zaka is repetitively *shared* on facebook for that mere percentage of our youth who can read and ARE able to connect on FB.
I also appreciate how it serves to highlight an issue that would probably not find its due share of attention on traditional media. bBut what happens to an anonymous writer who makes a point and is not able to put it on an authentic blog; does he/ she find h/is/er trust with the reader? Just a random thought.
In his 3 dimensional advertising theory, the writer talked about the content spreading like a wild fire. I then wondered about the fires that do spread in our part of the country.
The wondering being that I am, I couldn’t help but also wonder about the use of the word ‘wild’ by the author.
How wild is the news we read on social media. Oh better yet, how wild are we to believe it? And how many of us are wild enough to write it? Okay that last question is perhaps better left unanswered.
While I am ABLE to comprehend the power of social media in the small, budding life of the PR industry in my country where literacy is little and internet penetration a small seed; I often think about how significant is social media for us?
Here I am referring to the US - Us who are the elistist facebookers and are linked on the In. With our supersonic broadband / wiresless connections, we who are the real people affected by the social media in this time and place, WE - who can read and write and rewrite. Wonder some more and then wonder again.
I am wondering still.
In the PR industry where I am a professional content developer, I understand and realize the constraints that research resources of the noble social media bring with them. When I speak of constraints here, they are not lack of speed or how I cannot stream enough. They are a wee bit more complicated than that.
For one, authenticity of content is such a huge issue for people like moi that I’d probably never be able to whine enough about it. Maybe someone else out there can scream for me.
While having the internet is such a great blessing, Google being the best thing that happened to man since the telephone, I am also faced with the downside of the blessing.
In the big bad world of internet, for me nothing is real and nothing is safe. Everything I see is a creation (not always in a good way) or a re- creation and I don’t mean recreation there.
With all due respect to inspirational writers on the social media and the analytics of its impact, I believe that the this untamed world belongs to an intelligent user/ writer/ reader.
A person who understands that not everything on the social media can be *shared*. Not everything is credible and not everything is correct.
I don’t believe we can entirely keep up with the pace of the changing phenomenon but what we can do is be a part of it. However little is the feedback we can provide, we must do our part at least. Interactivity could be the key.
One thing to note is the communication we make - It reflects on us, on what we portray; the world of internet is only visual, a little care to choose the interaction could go a long way. Choosing the interaction means two things:
One - Choose a platform that helps you.
Two - Choose your words wisely.
When the flood relief news broke on the channels, I was already a little informed because of the industry I am in, but the way the information spread over blogs, Facebook and websites gave me a fair idea of what a wild fire actually is.
The same content that I had prepared was all over Facebook and telecom blogs. Even now I see it being replicated and pasted, even in places I wouldn’t want to be seen but there it is. I have no control and little control is what drives this form of media. Whether I like it or not it is *shared*. A great way to make noise but is noise all we want to make?
So while I am jaded and a little old fashioned, a wee bit wary of the content I find on my RSS feeds and a little fed up for the lack of real NEWS on news feeds, I am a little hopeful too.
Maybe the social media will evolve into some kind of a process or an institution in itself. It is possible that we will give birth to the intelligent user who will not be carried away in the fire but use its warmth and light to see the way.
And carry it too. More power to interactivity and a little wisdom to us - the users!
The ever changing social media vs. the conventional word of mouth advertising was the debate I read recently on a blog. Not a known blog, just a random rant of an advertising professional who had retired to blogging to pass his time.
On most of these blogs that analyze the impact of social media, while the writers rave on about the role of tweets in changing the world to a well informed, well read contruct; I read on for some heady stimulation that will tell me something I don’t already know.
Or something that I have not already read (Not that I am suggesting I am a reading addict, far from it actually - just imagine my disappointment thus).
Maybe I am jaded but then I know this for sure, from the blogs that I follow to the Facebook likes that I love to click on, I am yet to find a real place for social media in my world.
Other than filling my free moments, I have yet to see if it really fits the role of a life changing, an opinion shaping, an earth shatteringly strong/ mild dose of information inject that it is perceived to be by the analytics. Does it shape my opinion? Yes.
But I don’t think I can *share* it yet. Maybe I can do it on the next Tweet that catches my attention.
But then that’s the whole point. Social media is offering us freedom and superfluous socializing opportunities.
The idea behind this particular article that I read was about interaction having become two way through the medium. One relevant point that I am all for; of course it’s all about clicking submit.
The writer managed to convince me that conventional advertising through word of mouth was in an incomplete campaign in itself. The consumers when now have the chance to use a product and then comment on it, have the power to now change the dimension of advertising completely. I totally agree.
What I do have a problem with is the fuss that is being made about the social media in the process. Fully aware of the fact that it is a medium that cannot be controlled in any of its dimensions, how much can we trust an entity that is absolutely free?
I understand how one relevant opinion piece by Fasi Zaka is repetitively *shared* on facebook for that mere percentage of our youth who can read and ARE able to connect on FB.
I also appreciate how it serves to highlight an issue that would probably not find its due share of attention on traditional media. bBut what happens to an anonymous writer who makes a point and is not able to put it on an authentic blog; does he/ she find h/is/er trust with the reader? Just a random thought.
In his 3 dimensional advertising theory, the writer talked about the content spreading like a wild fire. I then wondered about the fires that do spread in our part of the country.
The wondering being that I am, I couldn’t help but also wonder about the use of the word ‘wild’ by the author.
How wild is the news we read on social media. Oh better yet, how wild are we to believe it? And how many of us are wild enough to write it? Okay that last question is perhaps better left unanswered.
While I am ABLE to comprehend the power of social media in the small, budding life of the PR industry in my country where literacy is little and internet penetration a small seed; I often think about how significant is social media for us?
Here I am referring to the US - Us who are the elistist facebookers and are linked on the In. With our supersonic broadband / wiresless connections, we who are the real people affected by the social media in this time and place, WE - who can read and write and rewrite. Wonder some more and then wonder again.
I am wondering still.
In the PR industry where I am a professional content developer, I understand and realize the constraints that research resources of the noble social media bring with them. When I speak of constraints here, they are not lack of speed or how I cannot stream enough. They are a wee bit more complicated than that.
For one, authenticity of content is such a huge issue for people like moi that I’d probably never be able to whine enough about it. Maybe someone else out there can scream for me.
While having the internet is such a great blessing, Google being the best thing that happened to man since the telephone, I am also faced with the downside of the blessing.
In the big bad world of internet, for me nothing is real and nothing is safe. Everything I see is a creation (not always in a good way) or a re- creation and I don’t mean recreation there.
With all due respect to inspirational writers on the social media and the analytics of its impact, I believe that the this untamed world belongs to an intelligent user/ writer/ reader.
A person who understands that not everything on the social media can be *shared*. Not everything is credible and not everything is correct.
I don’t believe we can entirely keep up with the pace of the changing phenomenon but what we can do is be a part of it. However little is the feedback we can provide, we must do our part at least. Interactivity could be the key.
One thing to note is the communication we make - It reflects on us, on what we portray; the world of internet is only visual, a little care to choose the interaction could go a long way. Choosing the interaction means two things:
One - Choose a platform that helps you.
Two - Choose your words wisely.
When the flood relief news broke on the channels, I was already a little informed because of the industry I am in, but the way the information spread over blogs, Facebook and websites gave me a fair idea of what a wild fire actually is.
The same content that I had prepared was all over Facebook and telecom blogs. Even now I see it being replicated and pasted, even in places I wouldn’t want to be seen but there it is. I have no control and little control is what drives this form of media. Whether I like it or not it is *shared*. A great way to make noise but is noise all we want to make?
So while I am jaded and a little old fashioned, a wee bit wary of the content I find on my RSS feeds and a little fed up for the lack of real NEWS on news feeds, I am a little hopeful too.
Maybe the social media will evolve into some kind of a process or an institution in itself. It is possible that we will give birth to the intelligent user who will not be carried away in the fire but use its warmth and light to see the way.
And carry it too. More power to interactivity and a little wisdom to us - the users!
Saturday, September 25, 2010
On The Dock
posted by Jalal
- in which the author discovers a new condition to his life, attempts to develop a whole new communicable disease, tries to change, is targeted by Halliburton, out does the Pakistani Cricket Team, takes a hike and socks it to big Pharma.
It starts innocuously enough.
There’s a pounding in my head, my vision is swirling, I have a shooting pain in the left side of my chest and three fingers in my left arm go instantly numb. So I chalk it up to:
a. Stress
b. Bad posture (damn those office chairs)
c. Last night’s, not-gas-attack-inducing-at-all, masala daal fry
d. The horrible project briefing my team is giving me
Until it gets scary and my colleagues are staring with giant ‘O’s at my face.
“Eeeerrr…boss?”
His voice is a whisper in the thundering now emanating from my ears.
“What?”
“You look pale,” my colleagues have a gift for understatement I discover.
And from that moment, from my desk to the emergency room, it took only twenty minutes to be introduced to the rest of my life as a blood pressure patient.
My dad was using the car when I called for it so he came along for the ride. Distinguished elderly gentleman that he is, the doctors and orderlies all assumed that it was he I was accompanying and not the other way around. So they all looked at me funny as I lay down on the bed when the doctor ordered, ‘Will the patient please lie down!’
‘What’s the issue?’ says he.
‘I feel funny,’ Says me.
‘Oh holy crap! Why are you not dead?’ says he, ‘You call this a BP?’
British Petroleum has instructed me inform you that they disavow all knowledge of the unnatural disaster that is this post and besides…it was all Halliburton’s fault anyway.
Halliburton at this stage have also instructed me to inform you that nothing is ever their fault. Nothing. Whatsoever. SAY IT BITCH! OR THE US ARMY WILL BOMB AND OCCUPY YOUR DILLHOLE!
You know you have a serious problem when your heart has a higher score than the entire Pakistani Cricket tea…DAMN YOU CRICKETING SCANDAL! NOW I CANT EVEN BE SURE OF MY JOKES ANY MORE! And here I had this awesome joke about how my BP hit 190 over 140…higher than our cricket team’s batting average.
HOW DO I KNOW! HOW DO I KNOW THEY WEREN’T MATCH FIXING THAT DAY TOO! Dirty Buggers.
The doctor in the emergency room put me on BP meds and gave me tranqs and told me to just lie there and go to sleep. Three hours later…I’m still not asleep. The doctor looks at the monitor and says that if the numbers don’t go down soon, I’m getting hospitalized. They go down. I go home. Word travels that Jalal was in an emergency room for three hours. Everyone, family and friends, gathers at my house that night, all concern for my brush with high blood pressure and soothe down me frazzled nerves and racing pulse with such comforting homilies like,
‘YOU GET A STROKE IF YOUR LOWER FIGURE GOES OVER 110!’
‘IT’S A SILENT KILLER, YOU KNOW THAT!’
‘BLOOD PRESSURE KILLS MORE PEOPLE THAN CANCER, AIDS AND RERUNS OF DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES! COMBINED!’
‘DUDE CAN I HAVE YOUR XBOX WHEN YOU DIE?’
What followed were constant trips to the doc’s to figure out the optimal chemical concoction that is to keep my BP within normal ranges and out of the stratosphere. And doctor’s room conversations with my beloved like the one below:
‘No salt.’
‘Really…just a little…from time to time’
‘NO!’
‘FUCK!’
‘Mind your language. And don’t get upset. You have high BP! You’ll pop a blood vessel! What will I do then?’
‘Well I wouldn’t be on edge if you let me eat a little salt.’
At this stage the doctor feels she needs to interject to prevent my then fiancé now wife from killing me with kindness and worry, ‘Actually, he can eat normal food salt. Just don’t sprinkle on more on the top like you have been doing…’
‘HAH! See?’
‘Shut up Mr. 190 over 140.’
‘Are you sure you two aren’t already married…?’
And injunctions from all and sundry that the best thing for BP is constant exercise and the Miracle of all Miracle exercises, God alone knows how we ever lived without it, was…
Prepare yourselves
It may sound like crazy talk
The miracle, universal panacea, the Holy Grail cure for-every-frakkin’-thing is….
…Walking!
Doesn’t it strike you as strange as how the healing powers of tramping up and down are touted as nothing short of miraculous? Or that over 30 odd years of education to become a highly qualified physician and ‘talking a walk’ is the best that you can do for a patient? What next will you be prescribing?
‘Doctor! I’m Dying!’
‘Quick! Take two Nikes and one Reebok then call me in the morning!’
Well after spending 10 minutes circumnavigating the Aunty ridden walkways of Hilal Park, I called up my beloved, then fiancé now wife, and said,
‘Hi Baby! Guess what. I’m off to go shoot myself! Love you. Bye!’
And then life has since settled into a comfortable rhythm. I take my meds, watch what I eat and walk regularly…
Okay. Semi Regularly.
Okay. I walk sometimes.
FINE! I THINK about walking sometimes!
Oh have it your way Mr.Factanista! I lounge on my ass all day and play computer games in the evening and call it exercise. Happy?
And the BP has not been that bad to live with. It could have been much worse. Sure I have my episodes when I push myself or am irregular with my rest. Some days I wake up feeling low and like I’ve been running. The numbers are 150 over 110 and the office gets a phone call from me, ‘Hi team. I’m not coming in today because I’m sick. Don’t do anything that could make me get sicker. Just do what I’ve told you to do. Don’t use your heads too much and remember that I will yell at you if I see you haven’t used your heads at all. Enjoy figuring that out. Bye!’
I am now doing my best to turn high BP into the world’s first disease communicable over cell phone.
No Twitter, I am not talking about you.
At one point, when my episodes kept coming with more frequency, it was time to go get a professional consult. The cardiologist pooh poohed it and told me to get an ECG. That resulted in a rather humorous episode involving a cell phone, two tubes of Anne French, Magic Carpet Rides and perhaps the most bizarre trip to the loo I’ve ever taken.
The ECG is clear so the doctor advises that I quit smoking,
Oh yeah! Absolutely. Tomorrow.
That I keep up with regular walks
Uh huh. Yup. As soon as there comes out an XBOX Walk. Till then…will lots of guitar hero do?
And that I maintain a Zen like calm and inner peace to manage my stress.
Now those of you who know me also know that in my head I am much akin to the hyperactive squirrel from Ice Age, on speed, and crack, with ADD, trying to decide between the world’s biggest pile of nuts or Mad Donkey Stud Monkey sex.
But methinks I have discovered the ultimate groove to mellow out in. Once in that groove not even work can harsh my calm, bro.
It has to do with the Missus. I can come home raging like a lion, pace the floor like a tiger and tirade against the world like Hitler addressing Berlin. Then all she needs to do is go,
‘Aw Poor Baby! Did yoo haz a bad day?’
I pout.
‘Aaaawww,’ she melts. ‘Did the big bad world eated your cookie?’
‘It did! It did eated my cookie.’
‘C’mere!’ she holds out her arms…
…
Hah! Suck on THAT big Pharma!
- in which the author discovers a new condition to his life, attempts to develop a whole new communicable disease, tries to change, is targeted by Halliburton, out does the Pakistani Cricket Team, takes a hike and socks it to big Pharma.
It starts innocuously enough.
There’s a pounding in my head, my vision is swirling, I have a shooting pain in the left side of my chest and three fingers in my left arm go instantly numb. So I chalk it up to:
a. Stress
b. Bad posture (damn those office chairs)
c. Last night’s, not-gas-attack-inducing-at-all, masala daal fry
d. The horrible project briefing my team is giving me
Until it gets scary and my colleagues are staring with giant ‘O’s at my face.
“Eeeerrr…boss?”
His voice is a whisper in the thundering now emanating from my ears.
“What?”
“You look pale,” my colleagues have a gift for understatement I discover.
And from that moment, from my desk to the emergency room, it took only twenty minutes to be introduced to the rest of my life as a blood pressure patient.
My dad was using the car when I called for it so he came along for the ride. Distinguished elderly gentleman that he is, the doctors and orderlies all assumed that it was he I was accompanying and not the other way around. So they all looked at me funny as I lay down on the bed when the doctor ordered, ‘Will the patient please lie down!’
‘What’s the issue?’ says he.
‘I feel funny,’ Says me.
‘Oh holy crap! Why are you not dead?’ says he, ‘You call this a BP?’
British Petroleum has instructed me inform you that they disavow all knowledge of the unnatural disaster that is this post and besides…it was all Halliburton’s fault anyway.
Halliburton at this stage have also instructed me to inform you that nothing is ever their fault. Nothing. Whatsoever. SAY IT BITCH! OR THE US ARMY WILL BOMB AND OCCUPY YOUR DILLHOLE!
You know you have a serious problem when your heart has a higher score than the entire Pakistani Cricket tea…DAMN YOU CRICKETING SCANDAL! NOW I CANT EVEN BE SURE OF MY JOKES ANY MORE! And here I had this awesome joke about how my BP hit 190 over 140…higher than our cricket team’s batting average.
HOW DO I KNOW! HOW DO I KNOW THEY WEREN’T MATCH FIXING THAT DAY TOO! Dirty Buggers.
The doctor in the emergency room put me on BP meds and gave me tranqs and told me to just lie there and go to sleep. Three hours later…I’m still not asleep. The doctor looks at the monitor and says that if the numbers don’t go down soon, I’m getting hospitalized. They go down. I go home. Word travels that Jalal was in an emergency room for three hours. Everyone, family and friends, gathers at my house that night, all concern for my brush with high blood pressure and soothe down me frazzled nerves and racing pulse with such comforting homilies like,
‘YOU GET A STROKE IF YOUR LOWER FIGURE GOES OVER 110!’
‘IT’S A SILENT KILLER, YOU KNOW THAT!’
‘BLOOD PRESSURE KILLS MORE PEOPLE THAN CANCER, AIDS AND RERUNS OF DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES! COMBINED!’
‘DUDE CAN I HAVE YOUR XBOX WHEN YOU DIE?’
What followed were constant trips to the doc’s to figure out the optimal chemical concoction that is to keep my BP within normal ranges and out of the stratosphere. And doctor’s room conversations with my beloved like the one below:
‘No salt.’
‘Really…just a little…from time to time’
‘NO!’
‘FUCK!’
‘Mind your language. And don’t get upset. You have high BP! You’ll pop a blood vessel! What will I do then?’
‘Well I wouldn’t be on edge if you let me eat a little salt.’
At this stage the doctor feels she needs to interject to prevent my then fiancé now wife from killing me with kindness and worry, ‘Actually, he can eat normal food salt. Just don’t sprinkle on more on the top like you have been doing…’
‘HAH! See?’
‘Shut up Mr. 190 over 140.’
‘Are you sure you two aren’t already married…?’
And injunctions from all and sundry that the best thing for BP is constant exercise and the Miracle of all Miracle exercises, God alone knows how we ever lived without it, was…
Prepare yourselves
It may sound like crazy talk
The miracle, universal panacea, the Holy Grail cure for-every-frakkin’-thing is….
…Walking!
Doesn’t it strike you as strange as how the healing powers of tramping up and down are touted as nothing short of miraculous? Or that over 30 odd years of education to become a highly qualified physician and ‘talking a walk’ is the best that you can do for a patient? What next will you be prescribing?
‘Doctor! I’m Dying!’
‘Quick! Take two Nikes and one Reebok then call me in the morning!’
Well after spending 10 minutes circumnavigating the Aunty ridden walkways of Hilal Park, I called up my beloved, then fiancé now wife, and said,
‘Hi Baby! Guess what. I’m off to go shoot myself! Love you. Bye!’
And then life has since settled into a comfortable rhythm. I take my meds, watch what I eat and walk regularly…
Okay. Semi Regularly.
Okay. I walk sometimes.
FINE! I THINK about walking sometimes!
Oh have it your way Mr.Factanista! I lounge on my ass all day and play computer games in the evening and call it exercise. Happy?
And the BP has not been that bad to live with. It could have been much worse. Sure I have my episodes when I push myself or am irregular with my rest. Some days I wake up feeling low and like I’ve been running. The numbers are 150 over 110 and the office gets a phone call from me, ‘Hi team. I’m not coming in today because I’m sick. Don’t do anything that could make me get sicker. Just do what I’ve told you to do. Don’t use your heads too much and remember that I will yell at you if I see you haven’t used your heads at all. Enjoy figuring that out. Bye!’
I am now doing my best to turn high BP into the world’s first disease communicable over cell phone.
No Twitter, I am not talking about you.
At one point, when my episodes kept coming with more frequency, it was time to go get a professional consult. The cardiologist pooh poohed it and told me to get an ECG. That resulted in a rather humorous episode involving a cell phone, two tubes of Anne French, Magic Carpet Rides and perhaps the most bizarre trip to the loo I’ve ever taken.
The ECG is clear so the doctor advises that I quit smoking,
Oh yeah! Absolutely. Tomorrow.
That I keep up with regular walks
Uh huh. Yup. As soon as there comes out an XBOX Walk. Till then…will lots of guitar hero do?
And that I maintain a Zen like calm and inner peace to manage my stress.
Now those of you who know me also know that in my head I am much akin to the hyperactive squirrel from Ice Age, on speed, and crack, with ADD, trying to decide between the world’s biggest pile of nuts or Mad Donkey Stud Monkey sex.
But methinks I have discovered the ultimate groove to mellow out in. Once in that groove not even work can harsh my calm, bro.
It has to do with the Missus. I can come home raging like a lion, pace the floor like a tiger and tirade against the world like Hitler addressing Berlin. Then all she needs to do is go,
‘Aw Poor Baby! Did yoo haz a bad day?’
I pout.
‘Aaaawww,’ she melts. ‘Did the big bad world eated your cookie?’
‘It did! It did eated my cookie.’
‘C’mere!’ she holds out her arms…
…
Hah! Suck on THAT big Pharma!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Problem of Imagery
posted by Noor
“There is a simple trick at the heart of imaginative writing…The trick is that if you write in words that evoke the senses, if your language is full of things that can be seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and touched, you create a world your reader can enter.”
-Imaginative Writing – The Elements of Craft by Janet Burroway. Second Edition. Page 3. (Not following a standard citation method here).
I have often belabored a singular point in my critique to poets who must have come to detest it by now: introduce more concrete images to your poem. When you create a poem, no matter how commonplace the language written, it evidently transforms into a masterpiece in your mind. It is the same instinct that makes a mother love her child beyond its physical appearance. Obviously, the devotion to the poem from the poet is of (slightly) lesser magnitude.
During my years at DWL, I have come across countless poems that hold great potential. The themes may be very strong and refreshing, the idea nothing short of genius, but more often than not, the poems fall flat once written. The most important thing that the poet must understand is the importance of getting the reader involved. No one cares about your personal suffering, plight, identity crisis, break-up, et cetera, if it doesn’t somehow pull them into the theme of your poem. If readers can’t hold on to the poem by some kind of tactile imagery offered to them, they will not give a damn about the story you have to tell. Essentially, they want to be able to find a world they can enter – aptly phrased in the quote above.
In my experience, the best way to check a poem for its impact and quality is to take yourself out of the poem. Invariably, my poems are in first-person. Empathy dictates that a large ratio of a random sample of readers should be able to relate to my experiences as written in the poem. If I am to write about my life however, without giving them a chance to be a part of it, chances are empathy will be flushed down the toilet in 2 seconds flat. Even if I am writing about something that is of extreme personal significance, I must make the poem “friendly” for my readers. I generally try to do this by introducing the reader to my world, getting them acquainted with my life and surroundings. I mention the pile of dirty laundry at the foot of the bed in passing. A bamboo bowl of two month old potpourri on the nightstand – almost completely scentless, except the times when a wayward breeze from the broken window teases it. A red lampshade throwing diffuse light on a dried ring of stale chai on the coffee table. These are concrete images. Something the reader can recognize and hold on to. Now if I throw in a hurtful fight with my significant other somewhere between the dirty laundry and the caked ring of chai, with the emotional outburst highlighted metaphorically by the red lampshade – aha! I have a poem and I have pulled. You. In. I do this by writing out what exactly I want to say in the poem (the fight) and slowly fleshing it out with images, metaphors, and similes – figures of speech do wonders for your poem. Be creative with them. The way to flesh out your poem is best done by trying to look at what you have to offer beside yourself and your personal experience. So if you take yourself out of the poem, what is left? If you’ve got a handful of articles and a weak line of introduction, then you’ve got work to do. Build a world around yourself in the poem and you’ve got what you are looking for.
I am going to leave you with a short poem by Yusef Komunyakaa. It is a very personal poem (as most of them are), but please try to look for concrete imagery that he cleverly introduces along with spectacular metaphors and similes. Enjoy – and of course, happy writing!
Facing It by Yusef Komunyakaa
My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn’t,
dammit: No tears.
I am stone. I’m flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way – the stone lets me go.
I turn that way – I’m inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap’s white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman’s blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird’s
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet’s image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I’m a window.
He’s lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman’s trying to erase names:
No, she’s brushing a boy’s hair.
“There is a simple trick at the heart of imaginative writing…The trick is that if you write in words that evoke the senses, if your language is full of things that can be seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and touched, you create a world your reader can enter.”
-Imaginative Writing – The Elements of Craft by Janet Burroway. Second Edition. Page 3. (Not following a standard citation method here).
I have often belabored a singular point in my critique to poets who must have come to detest it by now: introduce more concrete images to your poem. When you create a poem, no matter how commonplace the language written, it evidently transforms into a masterpiece in your mind. It is the same instinct that makes a mother love her child beyond its physical appearance. Obviously, the devotion to the poem from the poet is of (slightly) lesser magnitude.
During my years at DWL, I have come across countless poems that hold great potential. The themes may be very strong and refreshing, the idea nothing short of genius, but more often than not, the poems fall flat once written. The most important thing that the poet must understand is the importance of getting the reader involved. No one cares about your personal suffering, plight, identity crisis, break-up, et cetera, if it doesn’t somehow pull them into the theme of your poem. If readers can’t hold on to the poem by some kind of tactile imagery offered to them, they will not give a damn about the story you have to tell. Essentially, they want to be able to find a world they can enter – aptly phrased in the quote above.
In my experience, the best way to check a poem for its impact and quality is to take yourself out of the poem. Invariably, my poems are in first-person. Empathy dictates that a large ratio of a random sample of readers should be able to relate to my experiences as written in the poem. If I am to write about my life however, without giving them a chance to be a part of it, chances are empathy will be flushed down the toilet in 2 seconds flat. Even if I am writing about something that is of extreme personal significance, I must make the poem “friendly” for my readers. I generally try to do this by introducing the reader to my world, getting them acquainted with my life and surroundings. I mention the pile of dirty laundry at the foot of the bed in passing. A bamboo bowl of two month old potpourri on the nightstand – almost completely scentless, except the times when a wayward breeze from the broken window teases it. A red lampshade throwing diffuse light on a dried ring of stale chai on the coffee table. These are concrete images. Something the reader can recognize and hold on to. Now if I throw in a hurtful fight with my significant other somewhere between the dirty laundry and the caked ring of chai, with the emotional outburst highlighted metaphorically by the red lampshade – aha! I have a poem and I have pulled. You. In. I do this by writing out what exactly I want to say in the poem (the fight) and slowly fleshing it out with images, metaphors, and similes – figures of speech do wonders for your poem. Be creative with them. The way to flesh out your poem is best done by trying to look at what you have to offer beside yourself and your personal experience. So if you take yourself out of the poem, what is left? If you’ve got a handful of articles and a weak line of introduction, then you’ve got work to do. Build a world around yourself in the poem and you’ve got what you are looking for.
I am going to leave you with a short poem by Yusef Komunyakaa. It is a very personal poem (as most of them are), but please try to look for concrete imagery that he cleverly introduces along with spectacular metaphors and similes. Enjoy – and of course, happy writing!
Facing It by Yusef Komunyakaa
My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn’t,
dammit: No tears.
I am stone. I’m flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way – the stone lets me go.
I turn that way – I’m inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap’s white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman’s blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird’s
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet’s image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I’m a window.
He’s lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman’s trying to erase names:
No, she’s brushing a boy’s hair.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Piled Higher and Deeper - writer's block of an unusual kind
posted by Shehla
I once watched a documentary on Leonard Cohen and was struck by his discipline in writing. He insisted that to be a writer, he had to "go to work" every day, and therefore, to write every day. I'm much more liberal in my approach to writing, choosing to wait for revelation, the right mood, the perfect environment. It is one of the main reasons why I often tell people I am not a "real writer".
So imagine the gravity of the task at hand. Writing the introduction chapter of my Ph.D. dissertation. Is there ever a perfect environment to sit down and regurgitate facts about prostate cancer and molecular signaling pathways? Can one ever be in the mood to describe, in great length, the zonal anatomy of the prostate, the gaping holes in knowledge about the disease, and the dearth of treatment options available for advanced stages of said disease? No prizes for guessing the right answer.
It hasn't been all that bad. I've learned some very intriguing things, which 5 years of doing experiments and reading the literature never taught. Did you know, for instance, that prostatic intraepithelial neoplasia - the precursor lesions that lead to prostate cancer - can be present in men as early as at 20 years of age? Now there's a reason to be grateful I'm not a man. Sadly, this documented, reference-able fact takes up only one line to communicate. I'm supposed to write an entire CHAPTER. It also makes for very strange conversations, as I go around punctuating dinner with my treasure of "believe it or not" prostate cancer facts.
As stuck as I'm feeling, this is a very exciting time in the life of a graduate student. Years of hard work has finally shaped up to form a coherent theory. And nothing can match the feeling of coming up with and proving a novel hypothesis. My thesis mentor told me writing the intro will be hardest part of the process. I couldn't imagine what would be so hard about collecting background information on a topic I have lived and breathed for years. Turns out (as always) he was right. It's not so much collecting the information than figuring out how best to summarize it. Gives a whole new meaning to the term "writer's block". For inspiration (or for lack of it), I have resorted to perusing my favorite comic website, www.phdcomics.com. Yes, it's real. Yes, they really do put up comic strips on the life of graduate students. I can safely credit them with hours of procrastination, and in addition to providing the title to this blog post they have also been an amazing support group over the past half-decade. Too bad they can't summarize the different stages of metastatic adenocarcinomas.
I once watched a documentary on Leonard Cohen and was struck by his discipline in writing. He insisted that to be a writer, he had to "go to work" every day, and therefore, to write every day. I'm much more liberal in my approach to writing, choosing to wait for revelation, the right mood, the perfect environment. It is one of the main reasons why I often tell people I am not a "real writer".
So imagine the gravity of the task at hand. Writing the introduction chapter of my Ph.D. dissertation. Is there ever a perfect environment to sit down and regurgitate facts about prostate cancer and molecular signaling pathways? Can one ever be in the mood to describe, in great length, the zonal anatomy of the prostate, the gaping holes in knowledge about the disease, and the dearth of treatment options available for advanced stages of said disease? No prizes for guessing the right answer.
It hasn't been all that bad. I've learned some very intriguing things, which 5 years of doing experiments and reading the literature never taught. Did you know, for instance, that prostatic intraepithelial neoplasia - the precursor lesions that lead to prostate cancer - can be present in men as early as at 20 years of age? Now there's a reason to be grateful I'm not a man. Sadly, this documented, reference-able fact takes up only one line to communicate. I'm supposed to write an entire CHAPTER. It also makes for very strange conversations, as I go around punctuating dinner with my treasure of "believe it or not" prostate cancer facts.
As stuck as I'm feeling, this is a very exciting time in the life of a graduate student. Years of hard work has finally shaped up to form a coherent theory. And nothing can match the feeling of coming up with and proving a novel hypothesis. My thesis mentor told me writing the intro will be hardest part of the process. I couldn't imagine what would be so hard about collecting background information on a topic I have lived and breathed for years. Turns out (as always) he was right. It's not so much collecting the information than figuring out how best to summarize it. Gives a whole new meaning to the term "writer's block". For inspiration (or for lack of it), I have resorted to perusing my favorite comic website, www.phdcomics.com. Yes, it's real. Yes, they really do put up comic strips on the life of graduate students. I can safely credit them with hours of procrastination, and in addition to providing the title to this blog post they have also been an amazing support group over the past half-decade. Too bad they can't summarize the different stages of metastatic adenocarcinomas.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Watched a Movie Lately?
posted by Ayesha
Well-written scripts should be given a well-deserved round of applause. But how rare it is to come across a script that meets expectations, let alone exceeds them.
Most times when I am watching a movie, I am pleasantly surprised if the script manages to add texture to the plot. More than often, the interaction between characters is either overly done or is way too cliched.
As I watched an Indian movie only recently (Once Upon a Time in Mumbai) I realized how thoroughly disgusting over-the-top lines spoken in intense situations can become - especially when you have the likes of Devgan and Imran Hashmi delivering them. In addition to the experience being quite ridiculous, I could not help but marvel at the loss of common sense on the part of the director when he had decided on this match between the screenplay and his super-star cast.
It is a rare situation when the script is exactly the way it should be: defining the story, tapering the edges and moving it along. A good script, while focusing on the story, challenges the skill of acting just enough. The right words simply add some spice; they do not steal the limelight from anywhere else. Most importantly, it is evidence of a worthy story when the screenplay can provide more than one dimension to its viewers.
A screenplay that I found quite amusing and rather original was of the much celebrated Peepli [Live], which I managed to watch over the weekend. With a pint of sarcasm and shadowed treatment that borders on comedy, the movie is not mainstream to say the least. A thorough bashing of the media made for an interesting watch and definitely a fresh POV for an audience that is deprived of originality and the right kind of film making.
In a day and time when bizarre technologies, special effects and twisted psyches have rendered us insensitive to story plots and screenplays, it is a relief to watch a movie with a fresh perspective, whether it is the director who has visualized the concept with a real lens or the writer who has managed to take the time to write an original story line.
In a country where we have hardly any recreational activities, a handful of cinema screens feed my appetite for the love of this art. Only recently have I realized how thoroughly disappointing all the movies I have seen in the past few months have been. I wonder then about how these movies are chosen to be put up on the big screen; are there any criteria at all? Do we realize the impact this media has on our culture/the audience? Who is to be accountable for the disappointment we take home?
This brings me sadly to the conclusion that our audiences don't really give a crap about what goes up, as long as it has some tasteless nudity, at least a few scenes full of senseless action and at most the hint of a story. We have been watching the art for many decades but our sensibilities have not really seasoned.
Perhaps we can't really complain, as who do we know who would want to write for a film? Literature as it is, suffers from a lack of quality writers - script writing is a long shot.
Well-written scripts should be given a well-deserved round of applause. But how rare it is to come across a script that meets expectations, let alone exceeds them.
Most times when I am watching a movie, I am pleasantly surprised if the script manages to add texture to the plot. More than often, the interaction between characters is either overly done or is way too cliched.
As I watched an Indian movie only recently (Once Upon a Time in Mumbai) I realized how thoroughly disgusting over-the-top lines spoken in intense situations can become - especially when you have the likes of Devgan and Imran Hashmi delivering them. In addition to the experience being quite ridiculous, I could not help but marvel at the loss of common sense on the part of the director when he had decided on this match between the screenplay and his super-star cast.
It is a rare situation when the script is exactly the way it should be: defining the story, tapering the edges and moving it along. A good script, while focusing on the story, challenges the skill of acting just enough. The right words simply add some spice; they do not steal the limelight from anywhere else. Most importantly, it is evidence of a worthy story when the screenplay can provide more than one dimension to its viewers.
A screenplay that I found quite amusing and rather original was of the much celebrated Peepli [Live], which I managed to watch over the weekend. With a pint of sarcasm and shadowed treatment that borders on comedy, the movie is not mainstream to say the least. A thorough bashing of the media made for an interesting watch and definitely a fresh POV for an audience that is deprived of originality and the right kind of film making.
In a day and time when bizarre technologies, special effects and twisted psyches have rendered us insensitive to story plots and screenplays, it is a relief to watch a movie with a fresh perspective, whether it is the director who has visualized the concept with a real lens or the writer who has managed to take the time to write an original story line.
In a country where we have hardly any recreational activities, a handful of cinema screens feed my appetite for the love of this art. Only recently have I realized how thoroughly disappointing all the movies I have seen in the past few months have been. I wonder then about how these movies are chosen to be put up on the big screen; are there any criteria at all? Do we realize the impact this media has on our culture/the audience? Who is to be accountable for the disappointment we take home?
This brings me sadly to the conclusion that our audiences don't really give a crap about what goes up, as long as it has some tasteless nudity, at least a few scenes full of senseless action and at most the hint of a story. We have been watching the art for many decades but our sensibilities have not really seasoned.
Perhaps we can't really complain, as who do we know who would want to write for a film? Literature as it is, suffers from a lack of quality writers - script writing is a long shot.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
A Sombre Update
As an unimaginable disaster unfolds in Pakistan in the shape of massive floods, the Desi Writers Lounge community is planning an initiative to take part in the relief efforts as best as it can. We have several ideas brewing on the forums. Primarily we are focusing on ways to get the international community to take note of the horrific plight of millions of Pakistanis. The biggest source of distress right now is the weak response and media coverage internationally, and what that means in terms of aid money that is required urgently.
We have issued a call for articles and eye witness accounts from members based in Pakistan who have the means to visit relief camps and collection centers, which we intend to promote on international blogs and online publications. Another idea in the pipelines is that of a writing competition with an entrance fee in the form of a check made out to a specific relief organization (we have not decided which one yet). We are thinking of promoting this writing competition in universities outside of Pakistan, and roping in guest judges who are established authors and journalists.
These and other ideas are being discussed on the forums currently, and we would love to get feedback and input from you.
sincerely,
The Desi Writers Lounge Team
We have issued a call for articles and eye witness accounts from members based in Pakistan who have the means to visit relief camps and collection centers, which we intend to promote on international blogs and online publications. Another idea in the pipelines is that of a writing competition with an entrance fee in the form of a check made out to a specific relief organization (we have not decided which one yet). We are thinking of promoting this writing competition in universities outside of Pakistan, and roping in guest judges who are established authors and journalists.
These and other ideas are being discussed on the forums currently, and we would love to get feedback and input from you.
sincerely,
The Desi Writers Lounge Team
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