January 1, 2024

The first potpourri post of the year--

First, Congratulations to one of our writers here, Wanda John-Kehewin!

Wanda released a wonderful novel for middle-graders and young teens (Amazon says “grades 8-12” but I think more mature readers in grade 6-7 will appreciate it too). If you don’t have a young person sharing your home, consider ordering a copy to gift to your local school.

It’s the story of Nevaeh, aka Eva, and it’s published by Portage and Main Press in Winnipeg. Here is the ISBN (International Standard Book Number) for easy ordering from your favourite local independent bookstore: ‎ 978-1774920831

Wanda has published a number of books, including other works for young people and and volumes of poetry; check out her site: https://www.wandajohnkehewin.com/

The cat, Toofie, has to be one of my favourite characters in the story! (Have you written a story with a pet/animal?)

Recently, another writer here, Amy Whitmore, published a book review (different book) in the provincial review journal, British Columbia Review. In it, she mentioned how she reads books she is working with more than once; that’s inspiring dedication to the art of reviewing!

In working with Wanda, and hosting her launch, I ended up reading Eva’s story three times. Each time went deeper, and the third time felt layered in ways I’d missed on first read. There were details that came into clearer focus. I wonder to what degree plot takes over for first read. Am I reading too quickly? Or is it that, once a reader knows the outcome, they see more of what has gone into bringing that about?

Life is not dissimilar; reflect on a time in your life that was one of some resolution, and travel mentally and emotionally through what led to that time. You’ll rediscover details and cumulative moments of transformation. As we write we grow such. Often we’re not sure what the reader will pick up on; we write such bits subconsciously, I suspect, mostly unaware of them as we work. This is why we can’t begin to edit until several drafts—at least—into a project.

Yes, a reader reading your work should get more out of a third read than a first.

• Let me know if you have publishing news that you’d like for me to share. email: alison@alisonacheson.com. Can’t promise that I can include everything, but will do my best. It’s good to celebrate!

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Photo by Fernanda Greppe on Unsplash

On Beginnings/First Steps

I was never a fan of holding my children’s hands so they could take first steps—or not like this. I thought they’d take those steps as they were ready. I’m not partial to walking around with my own arms up in the air—so not sure why they would be.

I never held my boys up to grasp monkey bars either; that too they’d have to do when ready.

And they did.

There’s always the Thing of being ready to do something, to do something new, something of growth. You might have plans for a writing project for 2024. But maybe it should sit. Yes, I’m still on that theme of “sit” from the mid-December post.

Sit. Wait. When it’s ready you’ll feel it. And in that period of time, mentally, emotionally preparing, some mystical piece happens. (Really, as writers, such pieces are happening all the time, even as we either attempt to articulate and label—if of teacherly or analytical persuasion—or leave it all alone—if not!—and get on with it…)

Through my lived-experience of this though, I find it almost always happens just before I think I’m actually ready. It’s as if, once the thought is in mind, there’s some building urge to begin. It seems that more often than not, “just before” is the time to begin.

In the case of walking a baby, it may be that they’re ready. They’ve found their feet, their balance… but just need a hold on. A writing project might be at that phase. For me, that might be the, “I’m still researching” phase. Or the scribbling-notes phase. Or at times, I’ll write one pivotal scene, and let it sit while I’m gathering… what? I’m not sure. (Isn’t “wool gathering” a wonderful phrase for mulling?) It might be the courage for the thing, the looming months that I know will become years. But I need to tell myself they’ll be mere “months” as I set out. I’ve often said I’m so glad no one was able to tell me just how long a project will take at the outset. They always take far longer than expected.

I’m working on my post for the coming week: it’ll be about my writing through 2023. I’ve long promised to write about the most recent acceptance of an adult novel titled Blue Hours. That process of contract and the beginning of editing will be included. This writer’s-life trip is a strange one, and there’s no point in you being here with me not letting you in to see what it’s about; I’m realizing—over and over—how those who have committed to support my work here on the Unschool are the same reader-writers who are also deeply committed to their own work. I’ve heard from some of you, and read comments, and have come to the conclusion that those who stay with me here are equally committed to the written word—and all the work that means.

So an extra Thank you for your encouragement, and your commitment to your art form and your self, too. I’m looking forward to pulling together words about the past twelve months. A year ago at this time, I had one completed book in hand, and a second about-to-be-finished. “Readiness” will be a theme!

Onward—

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Prompt and new projects

Share you thoughts for one project you’d like to work on in the coming year.

Let’s dispense with the prompt thread, just for this month, and share right here. This is not “resolution” or “goal”; it’s just putting words to—possibly vague and in formation-stage—thoughts. Maybe even working with the “you don’t know what you think until you hear what you say” (or see what you write, in our cases).

Whether or not you’re on board with “Resolutions,” there are natural rhythms for times to begin and times to close, as well as times to work on doggedly, and times to chill.

January, or a time of post-holiday or intensity, can form a rhythm to starting something new. What does that look like? For each, it’s unique but there are commonalities.

Reading is frequently a foundation-builder for a project. I have a stack of books for my next: books both by and about ex-President Jimmy Carter, a book or two about theology, and I’m feeling a definite tug to reading more about Islamic thought and knowledge. Where is this going? I have some ideas, and am paying extra attention to when something particularly grabs me; paying close attention even as I “let it happen” is key to this kind of time and research. So often, as writers, we’re doing two things at once, and those two things can seem like—and even be—complete opposites. Pay close attention; let it be.

To pay close attention to something that you are not allowing ‘to be’ is to be attempting to manipulate. Allow it ‘to be’ outside of your self; your story connects with you, but it is not you. Let it feel as if it is not even of you.

This is outward looking; this is letting a dog come up to you and sniff your hand and decide whether or not he likes you… as opposed to you diving in and petting… and getting your hand nipped off!

I read by my gut, moving from topic to topic, writer by writer, usually completing the book, but open to not, and to dipping in and out. Also open to re-reading, even more than once if I feel I’m not getting it or there’s more to be wrung from the thing. (The Scent of Time, a book I’ve mentioned a few times this year, I’m now into for a fourth visit, a rich little volume about the nature of time, the de-accelerating of it, and the art of lingering.)

So you might share some of the foundational rabbit-holes or intentional steps you’re taking as you venture into a project. As you wish. As you find useful to “talk” about.

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Craft review - Metaphor

Is metaphor a writing-basic or not? For some it’s a natural way to think and to see the world, and it emerges in their writing with a seeming ease. Others struggle with it, and some have asked me to speak to it.

The capacity to see and think in metaphor expands our story-telling, our story absorption, our language, sense of humour, imagination… and more. It expands us. But, like anything about creative life, if we’re struggling with it, it can feel to be unwieldy or too much; struggle long enough and it can begin to feel bullying, and we’ll push back at it in our work. We’ll go without.

It can take time to find and allow this element to be in our work. There are ways to build it, build the awareness of it, if it doesn’t come naturally or easily.

Gateway metaphor!

Simile can serve as a gateway. Back in grade school we were taught that when we see “like” or “as” we can recognize it as “simile.”

The dog smiled like a hyena.

Hyenas, to my mind, appear to be grinning. But I need to explore further:

The hyena grinned like an old man with the last sugar cookie.

It’s the piece you’re comparing to that can take time. What is it you want to evoke? As always, it’s not just the words: it’s the meaning and the image and the feel of whatever it is you’re trying to place in your reader’s mind and heart.

From Twas the Night Before Christmas: He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. The words “bowl” and “jelly” do it. The fact that, combined, they’re “belly,” works on another level, too. Simple, effective.

Another example, from Sylvia Plath: Love set you going like a fat gold watch. An amazing line to open a poem about a birth—the idea of a baby and “gold watch”—something we used to associate with retirement, oddly. But there’s a richness here—as one most often feels with an infant. Even in a line with mostly one-syllable words. It’s from the poem Morning Song and closes with a simile, too.

If you struggle with metaphor, start with simile. It’s a step. Allow yourself to compare things, to pull up pieces into your mind’s eye—first connected things, then increasingly disconnected things. Let your mind rove. Do you recall the exercise we’ve done a couple times now, with noting at least a dozen things instead of coming up with one or two? (It’s in the May 2021 Newsletter, under “Prompt.”) Pushing yourself to see and note in this way exercises your mind. Explore the odd bits, the ridiculous, the absurd. Have fun. Or scare yourself.

If you have a toddler to hang out with, do that: young children, if they haven’t been discouraged, often have the capacity for simile more than us old ones—possibly because they are in that phase of making connections and seeking patterns. See what you can take from this idea, even: imagine you are a child again, and see through a child’s eyes.

Look around, and talk rambly thoughts aloud: That January Christmas tree’s branches are hanging heavily, like an old woman’s tired arms. That stack of books sits as if it’s going to topple like a melting snowman.

Move on to metaphor

Lose the like and as: The January Christmas tree is a tired old woman; the stack of books is a melting snowman toppling...

Use was and is instead. Sometimes it is that simple. See and feel the shift in this as the whatever-it-is is about to be compared or held up as something else.

One thing is another.

We experience the reality of this throughout life. Maybe this is why metaphor terrifies! Why we might push it aside, and try to tell things “as they are.” We live in a world increasingly devoid of mystery. Mystery frightens. We try to escape it… even as we, artists, need to meet it with the grain of our existence, know that it is a large part of us—the part of us that connects us to our world and to meaning.

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Re-cap of December posts

As I took the second half of the month off for a holiday break, the re-cap is quick, starting of course with the first-of-the-month post and a list prompt.

The following post was the poetry discussion closer for 2023, looking at chapters 10 and 11 of the Finch tome, A Poet’s Craft, “Poetic Experiments & Hearing the Beat” respectively.

I posted a handful of markets, including a submission call for work (fiction, nonfiction, and poetry) by women over 50 (Canadian, or “have lived in Canada”).

And we “closed for the holidays” with a post reminding (all of) us to “sit.” Can’t be reminded of this to often!

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Poll

“Stuffing” was the hands-down winner for the December poll! (The question being “stuffing or dressing—what do you call it?”)

I’m curious to know where/how you learn about writing. I believe you can click on more than one option in the poll below, so click on all that apply for you. This is the max number of options I can provide; and there are so many missing: “reading in your genre/form/area” for instance, or “face-to-face informal teaching,” or “writing workshop outside of institution”… and more. Maybe note more in the “comments,” if you have some other path I’ve not mentioned. “Listening to stories,” comes to mind, too. Stories from relatives or people you work with or stories shared on a subway or bus. So many ways to learn writing and story-telling. Is there one that stood out and worked for you this past year? Or that you want to explore in the coming?

Yes, the Unschool is an option! I’m always curious to know its role in your learning, and the questions on your mind—and attempt to grapple with them.

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From the Archives: A post about “knowing” and “knowing about”

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Next up…

After the looming post (by the 7th or 8th) about my own writing in 2023, the following week we’ll look at one of your (an Unschool writer) questions of wanting to change up one’s work. It’s a solid question to explore. I think almost all of us experience the urge to burst out from how we work to something else… whatever that might be! So thoughts on that are coming…

Expect that piece mid-month! In the meantime, write on.

Wishing you the writing best in 2024.