Showing posts with label Big Questions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Big Questions. Show all posts

Friday, July 8, 2011

Poetry Friday: What gives us shape?

Elizabethan clothing
 (or what gave bodies shape in those times)

Last week, I attended No Kidding Shakespeare Camp for the second year in a row. (You can read about last year's rowdy adventures here.) This year was less rambunctious, perhaps due to the overarching theme (structure), but absolutely satisfying all the same. We heard from the architect who designed the lovely Blackfriars Playhouse in Staunton, talked trapdoors and lighting and costuming and rhetoric in the early modern theater, and saw a rehearsal of Hamlet and two plays---Shakespeare's The Tempest and Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest.

The structure of the ceiling of the Blackfriars Playhouse
in Staunton, VA

As last year, I was awed by the actors' generosity, both in their performances and in their interactions with guests at the American Shakespeare Center. Watching the rehearsal of Hamlet was like watching a fabulously scary and wonderful roller coaster assemble itself on stage. In addition to the complex characters being built from Shakespeare's twisty and highly structured language, the cast is also constructing the ride's special effects. The ASC has no tech crew or elaborate sets; so when the ghost walks, it's the actors who create the supernatural atmosphere, from eery wind noises to the cock crowing to the trumpets that signal the change of scene. It was amusing and impressive to see the director call for someone who could do a cock crow and have the actors sort it out from backstage; ditto for the trumpet volley, which was offered vocally in three different riffs for the director to choose from. All the while, between these bursts of practical machinery adjusting, the actors played on, creating the emotional tracks on which the audience will rise and plunge. I can't wait to go back and see this Hamlet, which previews July 10.


Actors Ben Curns and Allison Glenzer also came to our camp sessions on rhetoric and played out, on the spot, variations to monologues they had so securely in their heads and bodies that no matter what we threw at them, they absorbed it and reflected the change back to us.  Ben's portrayal of Caliban in The Tempest was nearly overwhelming to watch at close range---he creates a "monster" so piteous and clearly abused that you ache for justice and some human dignity for him, and yet by turns, he is reprehensible, ridiculous, and soaked in such a lust for revenge and love that he will commit to anyone that will give him a taste of it. In a later session, we circled Allison, as she invested Trinculo, the jester, with swaggeringly false wisdom and hilariously shaky bravado as he inspects the "half-man/half-fish" of Caliban's hidden body.  She then shared her clown training and how she "vacuums out" the female characteristics of herself to reveal the men she's often cast to play. It was a rare gift to watch both of them.

A camper tries on the French wheel


As to the two play performances I saw, they were brave and lovely and funny, and I highly recommend you get to Staunton and see them for yourself.  The Importance of Being Earnest, while not Shakespeare, certainly has the language chops, and the troupe served up Oscar Wilde's witty skewering of humanity with relish. The entire cast was wonderful, but I was especially fond of Rene Thornton's Jack, whose sincerity in pursing love to its confused ends was a foil to all the brittle barbs flying about. It turns out earnestness is endearing. :)

Equally as strong, The Tempest opens with a stunning storm, created by the actors out of not much beyond thin air, strong rope, and a broad sheet of cloth. The players then go on to invest the play with waves of comedy, more than usual for The Tempest, I think. The performances include a sympathetic Prospero---a feat accomplished by James Keegan's calm-in-the-center portrayal---and a cleverly funny Miranda/Ferdinand romance, courtesy of Miriam Donald and Patrick Midgley, and of course, Ben Curns's heart-wrenching Caliban and Allison Glenzer's boisterous Trinculo as mentioned above.

A completely hand-sewn ruff

To me, Shakespeare's The Tempest asks us: okay, so what would YOU do if you were in charge of the world? Or if that's too much, a little island? Or for that matter, a stage? Or, say, even smaller, our own bodies? How many ways do we want to be master of our fates and yet choose the most unworthy ways to structure our lives?

Which brings me, at last, to Poetry Friday. Having Fridays filled with poetry is a sound way to anchor a week, I think. Poetry asks us to give shape to our days.  To ask what we're playing at.

Months ago, I attempted a sestina at the urging of my Poetry Sisters, but never shared it. It's a terrifying kind of poem, shaped by a scheme that asks you to repeat the same set of six words over and over in a rotating pattern.  I learned a lot by writing it, mostly that rules are how we begin the game.  After that, it's play on, as hard as you can.




Play on (a sestina)

I was made, as all, to make a mark,
made hasty fast, BANG! here
on floorboards cast,
a slight of light
hooked by barb of sperm with crooked line
to tender egg, in open-mouthed want.


I want for want
of what’s marked
as mine, biting at the flick of line---
Quickly there! No, fast, hold to here!
Chasing lapping rounds of light
shedding mortal coil and wormlike cast


til I’m a roil of slurry caught in rigid cast
to drain of stinging want;
fettered, I’m released as light---
a fellow of “no likelihood or mark.”
Is there nothing of me here?
Shut up; you distress the line.


Speak trippingly as tongue can master line;
for the die is---oh the drama!---fatal cast;
soon we’ll be---as they say---anywhere but here
where patrons queue to satiate their want
in gilded halls as barren as St. Mark’s,
while we make part with shadowed light


and in full sight of all our breath do heat til we light
a raw-birthed tempest between the ordered lines;
crack winds! blow cheeks! we overtop the given marks
end-stopped by neither fixed form nor as by words forecast;
filled---after---with wanton wonton want---
hey! ho! nonny! absurdity follows brilliance here


Lost in the now and here
in wasted light
tell me you didn’t want
it and I’ll make the words align.
I’ll release, as falconer does, the pairs as cast:
On the mark, by the mark, to the mark, we were such an easy mark

All we want is here
unmarked by time and reformed by light
Line to line, we ourselves recast.

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Elaine at Wild Rose Reader




What does it all mean?
Talking about the play 

More pictures from Shakespeare Camp are here. A snapshot of the week's schedule is below.


Wednesday, May 12, 2010

"I haven't got a clue, but . . ."

Those of you who read this blog regularly know that I have a fondness for Big Questions, and indeed, several of my posts are tagged with that label. Occasionally, in a writer's workshop, I'll lead an exercise called 100 questions. Being able to ask crazy questions is one of the reasons I'm glad I'm an author. And if I were a punctuation mark, I'd be .... you guessed it, a question mark.

So you'll know why I loved this bit from David Almond, who recently received the 2010 Hans Christian Andersen Author Award.

(from the interview in Shelf Awareness by Jennifer Brown)

Brown: It does seem as though we lose track of the big questions when we enter adulthood, doesn't it?


Almond: Because we realize that the questions are unanswerable. There's a tendency to turn away from them, to say they're boring or beyond solution. One of the things about writing for children is you look at the world through their eyes, and the world remains astonishing. I haven't got a clue what it is, and it seems to me more and more beautiful, but more and more unanswerable.


My yoga practice this morning was centered around the idea of releasing fear in order that there be more room for love. We hold both in our chests, in our hearts and lungs, which tighten when we're afraid. The Big Questions (along with a few Cow or Fish poses) are those that untangle that fear of the unanswerable and open our hearts and minds to the astonishing. It seems to me that if we uncurl, our question marks become exclamations.

Me: ?
World: !

Maybe David Almond hasn't "got a clue," but I don't think it's an accident his books explore "The Art of Transformation."

Thursday, March 4, 2010

On ignorance

"Whoever said "ignorance is bliss" was, perhaps, correct, but he or she was not a photographer." ---Jacquelynn Buck, blogging at The Journey

Jackie is asking the Big Question here: when is it okay to document the world's misery? Read her post and comment if you have a mind to.

This brings to mind the photographs from Sept. 11th that I saw as part of an exhibit at the Newseum. One was of a person jumping from the World Trade Center. I can't ever forget it.

In happier news, my book club has decided to read both the adult and one or more of the kid/YA versions of Three Cups of Tea. Which is a good thing in itself, but then my friend Quinn Byrnes wrote to say that her school read one of those kid editions, "Listen to the Wind," and planned a 100 Pennies for Peace project for the 100th day of school.

As Quinn said, "The best part is that the kids got it.  They knew why we were doing it.  It was for other kids to learn.  They were really moved by the thought that there are kids somewhere doing their math problems in the dirt with sticks." 


Here's to combatting ignorance, one penny, word, or photograph at a time. 

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

School Visits: Have your answers ready

Yesterday, my son volunteered in a second-grade classroom.  As soon as he entered, a hand shot up.

"Can we ask him questions?" 
"Huh? Can we?" 
"Please?"  

The teacher knew enough not to say no. So my eighteen-year-old son was bombarded with  these inquisitive missiles:

"What's your favorite color?"  Blue.

"What's your favorite food?" Pizza.

"When was your first kiss?"  Whaa...t?  I don't know how he answered that. He didn't tell me. 

One girl proudly told him that EVERYTHING he liked, she liked too.  And then they all proceeded to quiz him on whether or not he knew their older brothers or sisters.

It was very amusing to hear my son tell the story of his introduction, and I responded with something like: welcome to the world of school visits.  Except as an author, kids don't want to know if I know their siblings. They want to know if I know R.L. Stine or Judy Blume.  Truly, if that line of questioning opens up, I can't stop it. The litany of "Do you know?" goes on and on and on while I desperately try to divert the conversation back on course.  

I wonder if kids think all authors live on the same street. Or work in the same large, comfy building.  Or meet each other in the park for a game of freeze tag. That would be fun.   

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Marcelo in the Real World

How many YA novels have you read with a voice that comforts you? 


I just finished reading Marcelo in the Real World, by Francisco X. Stork, and frankly, I don't want to talk about it.  I don't want to dissect it or review it or analyze it. I just want to tell you to read it. 

But I'll try to say a tiny bit more than that, because some of you might need convincing.

In the opening chapter, Marcelo talks to his doctor about hearing "internal music" and like the doctor with his carefully worded questions, I struggled to understand what Marcelo meant, to imagine such music, because...well, because I liked Marcelo. And I wanted to believe in such a beautiful thing as music that can be "remembered" and dwelt in and that is always with us. But I didn't really get it.

Meanwhile, I fully enjoyed the story as it unfolded, not in doctor's visits or dissertations on music, but in Marcelo's matter-of-fact telling of his summer in the "real world" of his father's law firm. Nothing there happened exactly as I thought it would, and I often laughed.  Best of all, the characters were built layer by layer through Marcelo's considered observations of them and their behavior.  When he says that he doesn't know how to "read" people's reactions, and that he has to train himself to make the right responses, I knew it was his self-described Asperger's-like syndrome manifesting, but it never felt like a literary artifice. More like I was abiding with him, in the sense of "dwelling or sojourning."

Then, in almost the last chapter, Marcelo talks about the internal music again, and I suddenly realized that not only did I know what he was talking about, but I had experienced it! Not by reading this book; I don't mean that. I mean that I recognized the state of being he was describing even though our language for it was different.

Spirituality is an extraordinarily difficult thing to write about. But if a story can help you access what you already know...can help you remember...well, you should read it. 

Told you.
 

Thursday, December 4, 2008

A Poll: Juicy Memories or Big Questions?

Over Thanksgiving, I had a conversation with my sister and my mother-in-law about writing. Both of them said that questions about the past, and specifically, questions that sparked memories, inspired them to put words on the page. 

No. Not me. I despise writing exercises like:  Describe the ceiling of the first room you remember sleeping in.  Tell about a time when you should have stopped talking, but didn't. List all your favorite toys, in the order you received them. 

 I would rather write about what could be, not what was.  I know my sister and my mother-in-law are in very good writerly company. Generations of writers have drawn upon memories to spark new stories.  But I still rebel. What inspires me (no surprise to those who read this blog regularly) are the Big Questions.  

 
I think I'm in the minority, though. To investigate this, I'm running my first poll. It's in the sidebar there. Vote for Juicy Memories or Big Questions.  

I'm fully prepared to be labeled odd.

Monday, November 17, 2008

What is the Worst Problem Writers Face Today?

I took an Authors Guild survey, mostly about health care and financial issues that affect writers. But one question stopped me cold:

What is the worst problem writers face today?

I had trouble answering this. 

Writers have been imprisoned.
 Executed.
 Mocked.
 Shunned.
Ill-paid.
Deceived.
Dumped.
Pressured.
Dissected.
Over-glamorized.
Under-glamorized.
Milked.
Bilked.
Brushed-off.
Used.
Banned.

and yes, 
Celebrated, Read and Adored.


What's your answer to this impossible question?

P.S.  Consider this my plug for the Authors Guild. Whatever the worst problem turns out to be, they are probably already battling it. They reviewed my first contract before I had an agent and they helped me set up my website in about two days.  They just won a huge settlement with Google to share online profits with writers. They help writers in financial or legal trouble. They run free seminars. Their quarterly bulletin is juicy reading. And Judy Blume is the VP of the board



Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Context and Randomness

Should you be able to take a random page out of your book (or any book) and have it make sense? If you can, does that mean that you're telling too much, and not showing? How much of your story should rely on what has gone before? All of it, right?

Then how do those authors do it: read a scene from the middle of their books? I know, I know...they do a little setup, and then they read. But I've tried to do it, and the setup gets longer than the actual reading! So I give up and read the very first chapter, every time.

I look at the manuscript I'm working on now, and I think: if someone read page 93, would they have any idea what's going on? I want to say that most experienced readers would. But I also hope that any reader, no matter how clueless, would get something out of it, too.

It's like a really good comic strip, like ZITS. You could never read it, then see it one day, and totally get it. But it's even better if you've been reading it all along, like I do.

Which is a very long way of getting round to saying: Hey! Did you read ZITS today?

Jeremy and his dad are playing catch.

Frame: Dad?
Frame: Yeah?
Frame: This is great. Yeah.
Frame: (Mom) You had a meaningful conversation with Jeremy?? How???
(Dad) First you have to get over the idea of using words.

That's what I mean right there! By page 93, you shouldn't have to be using so many words. The more your readers understand, the less you have to say. One small action carries with it the weight of all the pages before it.

At least, I think so. What do you think?

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Oh? You were expecting a post today?

I was too busy answering a few questions, which led me to the answer I already knew. (Although if interrobang were a choice, I'd want to be that.)



You Are a Question Mark



You seek knowledge and insight in every form possible. You love learning. And while you know a lot, you don't act like a know it all. You're open to learning you're wrong. You ask a lot of questions, collect a lot of data, and always dig deep to find out more. You're naturally curious and inquisitive. You jump to ask a question when the opportunity arises. Your friends see you as interesting, insightful, and thought provoking. (But they're not always up for the intense inquisitions that you love!) You excel in: Higher education. You get along best with: The Comma

What Punctuation Mark Are You?

Also see the fun links over at Big A, little a about the demise of the semicolon. Root for your favorite punctuation mark!

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Ten Breaths

Yesterday, I had my toenails painted by a former Tibetan monk. And he told me the secret to a less stressful life.

That sounds like a zippy opening for a chick-lit novel, doesn't it? But it is, in fact, what happened to me yesterday afternoon. The funniest thing is that I'm still marveling at how my life can surprise me. I somehow had the idea that I knew where the surprises in my life would come from---and isn't that the dumbest thing you've ever heard? They wouldn't be surprises if I knew which corner of the sky to look for them in. They wouldn't be unexpected if I could anticipate the moment they would happen. And yet, I'd grown comfortable with my "surprises" happening on days like Christmas, when I finally open the gifts I have carefully been avoiding knowing too much about. Or surprise! I won the snowflake I had been actively bidding on in the Robert's Snow auction. Surprise me! I might say to the sushi chef, knowing full well that he would put delectable, fresh sashimi on my plate.

So, I deserved what I got when I took my toes into that salon. I deserved the slightly confused, weird feeling I got when a man instead of a woman walked out to say he'd be giving me my pedicure. I deserved the first fifteen minutes of watching him, tensely and critically, to see if he could handle the delicate job of smoothing my exercise-roughened feet. It wasn't until I mentioned that I did yoga that who he was emerged.

He told me that he did yoga, too. That he had studied metaphysics as a Tibetan monk for eighteen years. That he had come to the US to be part of a Buddhist community that had since moved. That he had had several other jobs, including caring for Alzheimer patients and preparing sushi for Whole Foods. He told me, when I asked, that the traditional Tibetan diet doesn't include small animals, like chicken or fish, because each animal's life is considered equal to every other, so it's more ethical to kill one large animal, like a yak, which can feed an entire village.

He also shared with me a quick tip for stress relief: Ten Breaths. No special breath, he warned. That's too tiring. And don't think that more than ten is better...more is just intimidating, and you won't do it. Just STOP what you are doing, count ten of your normal breaths, and then resume your life. Repeat, if you need to. He said it was like rebooting your computer, running one program to quiet all the other ones that had become locked up.

This guy wasn't a guru. He did kind of ramble. I wondered why he had left the Buddhist community. But I can tell you that he surprised me. Every time I look at my freshly painted toenails, I think:


Ten toes.
Ten breaths.
Can it really be that simple?

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Who thinks about this kind of stuff?

Writers struggle with timelines. We established that yesterday. Today, I'm grateful that I'm not an artist. Then I'd have to wrestle with questions like:
Hoo-boy. I would so be getting an "F" in that class. Every semester.

Have you ever thought about how the world (and your life) would be different if you were judged a success or a failure by a completely different standard than the one you're coping with now? I do. If the world were based on musical talent, for instance---if a child had to sing on key to pass first grade---I would be in deep trouble. What if language were musical notes? What if job applications required that you sight read music and harmonize a capella with your boss? What if the driver's license examiner used a xylophone to convey her instructions to parallel park?

Or what if being able to re-build a car engine were the most important thing? What if all high school students had to master the rumba in order to graduate? What if you had to tame a wild boar before you could vote?

Yes, people, these are the things I think about. I also imagine what would happen if I were whisked off to another world with only the items in my pocket. Could I survive with only a rubber band, a cough drop, and a Target receipt? Maybe those items would have magical properties in the new land. Maybe I would find a hole in my pocket, through which I could reach into another dimension and pull out more useful stuff. Maybe I would meet a strange bear, who was really an enchanted prince, and he carried in his bearcoat pocket a scarlet piece of silken string that he...

Oh, it is a good, good thing that there are books in this world. And that I'm allowed to write them.

Monday, November 26, 2007

I'm at Becky's today

Becky (of Becky's Book Reviews) interviews me at her blog today. She asks great questions, so if you want to know "my favorite time and place to read" or what I think "makes a book a classic," run on over to Becky's and join us.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Rx: Books?

When you're feeling bad, do you want a book that matches your black mood or one that, with its grace and lightness, might cheer you up? Do you prefer to escape into a book for several distracting hours or use it as a deliberate guide to the "whys" of it all?

Sometimes, I need beauty. Pure, unadulterated beauty, but usually, I go straight to nature for that. Or to the ice cream in the freezer. Sometimes, though, I need there to be a butt-ugly billboard that I can stare at. It simply says: Life Reeks. Or I need a dip into the blunt words of Ecclesiastes, which--no disrespect--could be that billboard, only thousands of years old: "Senseless! Everything is utterly senseless!"

In fact, I think my pattern might be: I want the visual, tactile, sensory experience of art, nature, and ice cream if I'm looking for the Beauty Cure, and I want the structure, intelligence and intimacy of text when I want the Blunt Truth Cure.

What about you?

BTW, this post has nothing to do with my writing life. I found out my niece has to go back for more cancer treatments after just sixteen weeks in the clear.

Monday, August 27, 2007

P.S. Let me expand on that...

In my last post, I briefly mentioned the curiosita section of How to Think Like Leonardo daVinci. Here's more on the "100 questions exercise" from that chapter, in case you feel like playing around today.

Here's what to do:

Make a list of 100 questions. They can be about anything, large or small, personal or universal. Do this as if you were free-writing. (Or pretend you're a two-year old, riffing as only they can, on the themes of WHY? and HOW COME?)

Set the list aside; then, come back to it and choose ten of the questions for further thought.

Set the list of ten aside; then, come back again, and choose one of them---whichever one is poking you in the arm, or yanking at your shorts. (I once saw a poor mom whose arms were busy holding an infant get her shorts tugged down in a grocery store by her toddler.)

Now here's the tricky part: Once you have the one question you're going to deal with, don't answer it! Don't even try. Instead, re-frame the question. See how many different ways you can ask it.

Here's an example:

ORIGINAL QUESTION: Why is the universe so immense?

QUESTION RE-FRAMED: Is the universe as immense as I think it is? Why is the universe so much larger than I am? Are there others for whom the universe is not so immense? When will the universe stop being so immense? Why can't it be small? Does it have something to do with time? Does everyone who figures out the secret linking the immenseness of the universe to time die at that moment? (Ooooh, I sense a plot in that last one...)

I offer this exercise to you because I think that at the heart of every great story is a great question. What would it be like if...? Who would help me if... Where did he find...? Why is she so...? When did they start...? How come you never see...?

So, 100 questions! Surely that's not too much to ask.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Why is a Bicycle?

"Why is a bicycle?" my father used to ask me. I know the answer now: "Because a vest has no sleeves." You disagree? Fine. Please write your own answer. I'm really more interested in the question, anyway. I like to collect questions. Here are a few of my favorites:


For more fun with questions, see: Curiosita, How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci by Michael Gelb

And if you feel like answering any of the questions above, or adding your own favorite questions in the comments, well...I say again: Why not?

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Am I Living My Life For an Audience?

Did you ever find yourself knowing the Right Answer to a Big Question, and then flat out refusing to write that answer in the space provided?

The question is: Am I living my life for an audience? (Sounds like something Oprah would think up, except of course, she lives in front of an audience, so I'd have to give her a bemused glance if she ever asks me this. You know, when I'm on her show. With Ralph Fiennes. And Stacy London. He asks me for a date. She gives me free shoes.)

I know what the answer to this one is supposed to be. Everyone has internalized someone--- mom, dad, college professor, religious guru, ex- boyfriend/girlfriend, super-critical driver's license examiner with badge that reads Officer Law---who WATCHES you. ALL THE TIME. And if you are ever to be rid of this scrutiny, you must name this watcher, and banish them, and live the rest of your life, free, oh so, free.

Except....I don't want to give up my audiences. I love them. When I was a kid, I had a floor-length mirror in my room. I think this was because it matched the furniture, which was way too nice for a kid and...holy crap! I'm just now realizing...was actually guest room furniture. Anyhow, I also had a long, purple, nylon nightgown, which could be stretched and twisted into a variety of costumes. In front of that mirror, I practiced being a belly dancer, a wicked witch, a nun, a beggar, a rock star, and countless other characters who could be conjured out of thin air. That mirror was my first audience. I have it still. Last week, I did an awesome interpretive dance to Paul Simon's Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes in front of it.

Later, I did some theater in high school, and for my church, but now, my performing is limited to reading out loud. Lots of times, I read out loud to myself. My favorite thing is the Cold Read. Attempting something I've never seen before, letting the words themselves cue me and carry me along, and I'm telling you, if the writing is good, very good, this works every time and gives me a solid buzz.

But, Sara, you're saying, a mirror? Reading out loud to yourself? There are no audiences there! But we're talking about the audiences in our heads, remember? I'm sure my parents are in there, and the grammar police, too, but there's also an excited crowd of fabulous art-loving, word-hugging, purple nightgown-admiring people in there too. And if they weren't there, writing or reading out loud or singing in the shower wouldn't be half as much fun.

So, do you have an audience for your life? Are you trying to get them to leave or to stay?