Published by Harlem World Magazine
Ideas flood the mind like a jukebox showcasing songs. I sit in my living room corner ready to write but pressure to fill white space with word pearls or catch eyes with the lead overwhelm the insight that writing’s a process.
Abraham Lincoln took long to craft public statements, Ronald C. White reveals in The Eloquent President. “Lincoln, who had an auditory sense for words, was fond of alliteration, which produced connection within the paragraph for the hearer.” His artistry had assonance, mixed high and low syntax, even when lengthy was concise and concrete. One such element takes me time to plan and practice when drafting, but puckish second guessing makes sweet prose seem stale.
Lincoln edited as aides read aloud. With him in mind I practice for open mic readings to writers whose feedback strengthens my stories’ substance and style. I click our kitchen stove timer to rehearse the National Writers Union's seven minutes each Thursday or the Writers Mic Meetup’s five minute third Tuesday outings.
I delete discordant words, vary the pacing and cadence, make eye contact with pigeons that land at the window. Though attentive they have no suggestions, yet their presence prepares me for human listeners.
Six months together built trust in both writers groups. Member feedback is honest, pointed, wise when they hear me. Having taught history I can obsess over evidence. Share your experience, someone said when an essay on “Why I Couldn't Embrace the Catholic Church” bogged down in excess quotations. Deletion made space for insight from an early church memory, inducing wholesale revision into what The Write Launch has published.
I reciprocate what I welcome. Did an essay lay it all on the line or seem superficial? Is there a theme along with each week's surprise in a novel? Could changing the line break pattern improve a poem? We take heart as we grow, cheer each other's success, trade tips on where to submit or who responds quickly, since literary journals may take as much as six months.
A Gotham Writers course on writing nonfiction book proposals bred a “family” of four writer friends who've been a balm for political and pandemic anguish while sharing market plan and sample chapter critiques. The Paragraph Writers Space hosts agent roundtables and craft talks for “big league” boosts from live FAQ with folks one would rarely access alone.
I retired in June 2019 to center myself in the right spot and write. The tree by my window and a crushed coffee cup in the street trained my eye to perceive them in context. Beyond the tree's leaf type or bark pattern what role may it play in our lives? What has it witnessed, having lived longer than I? Who made the cup? How far had it come for how long, to fulfill its function, then lie discarded?
Aware that no writer in truth works alone, I've learned there are always more craft aspects to master. Recently, La Fortaleza del Barrio, an open mic festival in Manhattan's East Harlem, featured videos of the Uptown Sisters Bookshop's Festival del Libro 2019, musicians and authors jointly performing with joy. Never before had I witnessed that mode. I didn't want it to end!
The National Writers Union's Alexandra Faiz (who hosts Thursday night readings) had asked me to “to say a few words” that morning, then feel free to leave, but as La Fortaleza's Felix Leo Campo warmly led the event I felt eager to stay! By sunset I’d savored the stimulation of a new writers group plus a performance tip for my next open mic. I don't play guitar, drums or cello but might find a tambourine in my closet!
The nest where I write with a Tibetan prayer wheel and French coffee close by. The cup’s ancient Athenian coin image symbolizes its early democracy.