April 1
the monthly potpourri for all readers--thoughts on teaching and learning to write; prompt-of-the-month; from the archives. And more.
Hide and seek
In my recent post about “Sweaty Pliés,” I asked about your thoughts on being taught and learning to write.
In the comments of that post, Joan mentioned how the constant correction throughout a dance class is what she learns from, and how this differs from writing. True… no one can be there, reading over your shoulder, and telling you how to do it. Although, once you are on stage, performing, no one is there either. You’re on your own.
Learning how to work together with your own manuscript is a lot like playing hide’n’seek.
Remember how you developed your hide’n’seek chops as a child? When you thought hiding in the open would do it? Don’t laugh—we’ve all done it. But you were spotted and even gently—if you were lucky—mocked.
Next step, maybe you thought camouflage would do it!
Then behind a tree—as in the photo. Or maybe behind a curtain. Before you realized your feet, sticking out, were a dead giveaway!
Eventually you got so good the sun would go down and you still weren’t found and you’d be scaring those looking for you.
That’s how we learn to write, bit by bit, learning about playing the game and creating. There’s you, the writer-hider. You create a story in how and where you choose to hide. Your “seeker” is your reader. In the beginning your struggle is exposed. Your stories are finding their way. Slowly. As a child you are not so conscious of this learning taking place, and you were not terribly impatient with yourself (what a gift!) even though you know you’re not quite where your older siblings or neighbour kids are at with their knowledge. You’re learning, and it’s okay. Remember how being in this state works, and embrace it, even as you strive to move on.
Eventually, your hiding places and tactics—your capacity to find others—grow more complicated; your reader has to work harder, and is drawn deeper into the game.
With writing, it can be hard to know if and how you are learning, and how much you are learning. It can be discouraging. On a recent post, Amy noted how she’s held on to all of her writing drafts to look at and even to know she has written. I think, too, that to look back at an older piece is to see and experience what you have “learned.” It can feel immeasurable in the ways we are used to qualifying.
Sometimes it feels less like learning, and more about peeling away layers of “not-writer” to get to the writer part of you. Be open to this—it might surprise you.
There’s not a lesson plan for this. It’s much like being young and hiding your eyes only to believe you are in the hiding game. Then picking up from those around you (reading those around you?), or beginning to understand how the “good spots” work. Reading, and the application of picking up on what others do, and what works for you and your stories. For ages—I do remember—I wondered how my big brother found the hiding places he did. I’d feel so frustrated that he would find them, and that he could always see immediately where I was hidden.
Learning to write is to read and observe, and then take risks. I was reading about Thomas Merton, speaking of someone he knew going to school to study theology, then emerging from his studies some time later, but “he learned nothing dangerous.” Maybe we’re not used to thinking of “theology” as dangerous, but it should be—maybe more so than other areas!
Really, what is meaningful should have some element of danger; it means we are stepping out, taking risks. You can’t live and love and create without risks, without danger.
Just like hide’n’seek and early lessons with “danger.” I also remember climbing high enough into a tree—to where no one thought I could climb, being there for hours, while on the ground they searched everywhere. There was a sense of anxious glee when I realized what little stir I’d caused. Before our readers feel the depths of our work, we should.
And so I appear perhaps to have wandered off the topic of “teaching” and “learning.” But I haven’t. It’s something that we “talk around,” not to.
Because we can only dissect the dead. We can study the living. And we need to keep our writing alive. Study and experience. Embrace the danger. Don’t erase it from the words.
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PROMPT
Let’s stay with childhood games for our prompt.
I was listening to a young astronaut being interviewed on CBC. He will be the first Canadian on the moon.
As kids, my older brother and I—who grew up without television—would play with the enormous pieces of cardboard that my dad would bring home from work. We would stand them in hexagon shapes, almost up to the ceiling, and they would be our “rocket ships.” That was the era. We would also cover the ironing board with a heavy quilt, and sit under it… our “submarine.”
What were your childhood games? Who did you play them with? What was the adventure? What stories come from that time, and those activities? What realizations?
Share a poem or short story, or a memory. And post here in the comments.
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Re-cap of March posts
For those of you who are new readers, the “first of the month” posts are always free, and include a few notes on the previous month’s posts. You can see if you’ve missed something.
The first post for March had thoughts on ‘pain vs discomfort’ in writing, and connected thoughts for the prompt.
The post for week 2 was lengthy, and a look at the final and contractual edit for my new novel, due for release in Spring of ’25. I work with the elements of presence and absence when I’m re-writing, and this post explains what that means. I also appreciate the “find” capacity when I’m at this point in the manuscript process, and I share that, too. Do check out this post, if you have questions about edits of a work, especially when preparing for the last round-draft before sending to to the world.
Third week, we continued to work with this final edit, with a revisit of all my original generative notes.
And the “sweaty pliés” piece, mentioned in the opening here. I have learned so much about writing from dance—in my case, flamenco. But studying other art forms always informs our writing. Please share thoughts on other art forms that connect with your writing.
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Annual Q&A - bring ’em on
So far three questions have been shared for this series:
publishing — in a general sort of way, for both long and short fiction
looking for reliable and easy-to-use for speech-to-text writing (if any of your have knowledge on this one, please weigh in! I’d love to hear about your experiences with this bit of technology).
ways to promote first novels
Please add to this list. I’ll be putting together answers and thoughts. (“Thoughts” because sometimes there isn’t a set of “answers.”)
Note your questions here or send me an email: alison@alisonacheson.com
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FROM THE ARCHIVES
I first posted this a year and half ago, and it seems timely, as we are about to do some hiking out here on the road. Hiking always brings something to my writing work—it’s not just other art forms that do this!
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Write and unschool on—
In the fifties, life was a gas, a real cool blast
We played outside from dawn to dusk, the days went by so fast
Hopscotch on the sidewalk, drawn with chunky chalk
Jumping, hopping, skipping, we never liked to walk
Hula hoops around our hips, spinning round and round
Trying to keep them twirling, not falling to the ground
Marbles in the dirt, we'd flick and aim with skill
Collecting cat's eyes, agates, our pockets we would fill
Jump rope chants and hand-clap games, we sang with glee
"Miss Mary Mack," "A Tisket, A Tasket," "Cinderella, Dressed in Yella"
In the streets, we played kickball and Red Rover
Racing on our bikes, pretending we had four-leaf clover
After school, we rushed home to catch our favorite shows
"Howdy Doody," "The Lone Ranger," "The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet" in neat little rows
We read "The Hardy Boys," "Nancy Drew," and "Curious George" too
Our imaginations soared, each page bringing something new
Dick and Jane taught us to read, with Sally, Spot, and Puff
We learned our lessons well, though sometimes school was tough
At the drugstore counter, we'd spin and sip ice cream floats
Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry - each sip a heavenly note
On hot summer days, we'd cool off in the sprinkler's spray
Running through the water, laughing all the way
Life was simple then, filled with innocent delight
Playing till the streetlights came on, then saying goodnight
Those were the days, the fabulous fifties, oh what a time
Carefree and joyful, a reason and a rhyme
Though decades have passed, the memories still remain
Of a childhood filled with laughter, sunshine, and no rain
So here's to the fifties, a time of fun and play
When life was a game, and we cherished every day!
For the annual Q&A, for speech to text writing, it has to be Dragon Naturally speaking. It's expensive - $350 USD for a one-time purchase - but it's leagues ahead of anything else, and I've tried them all. In some ways, I owe my writing career to it, because I couldn't write nearly as much as I do without it.
They have an internet-connected cellphone version, but it's garbage. Get the real one for a proper computer, and it will change your writing life.