Green
is washing over winter’s wan fields in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, where I
live, teach and write. I have some goats, and like them I am using the changing
landscape as fodder—literally, in their case, as they tug at each new shoot for
nourishment; figuratively, in my case, as I look to the awakening pastures to
inspire my prose. I’ve recently taken to setting my fiction on these hills I
call home, and I’m finding this to be a fruitful strategy. One such short story
will be published in June in Chautauqua, a literary journal that showcases work
each year by both adult and youth writers.
It
seems that what I hear students frustratingly refer to as “writer’s block” is
just a manifestation of being overwhelmed, of not knowing where to start. So,
consider having the young writers in your life begin with what is in view, what
they call home. Don’t think story. Just think setting and use
simple words that first come to mind. The tree out there is bare and gray.
Later, with the help of a thesaurus, it can become exposed, ashen. Then, some
sounds might arrive when a March gust blows through the branches. (See MaryQuattlebaum’s “Vivid Words and Actions” for ideas on writing the aural.) And
someone will surely plod through the mud to get to the tree. (See Jacqueline Jules’ “Follow the Snowprints” for ways to invite characters in.) Let the story
grow in this way—slowly, steadily, like spring’s greening outside your window.
Common
Core Connections: CCSS.ELA-LITERACY.W.3.3; 4.3; 5.3; 6.3; 7.3; 8.3.
No comments:
Post a Comment