… all two days that are left of it, that is.

I confess to not being much of a poetry reader as an adult. I was drawn to poetry as a child– as all children are– reveling in imagery and metaphor and wordplay and rhythm. I loved studying poetry in my English literature classes in high school (my teachers were brilliant; college English classes were a disappointment afterward). They also instilled in me the tendency to quote The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock randomly at my husband. Now that I have children of my own, I have come full cycle as I watch them explore rhyme and rhythm, and beg to hear poetry and nursery rhymes.

As a young teenager, though, I was moved by several poems (and confounded by several others–I’m looking at you, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird!). The one that stands out in my memory, even after all these years is Gabriel Okara’s Piano and Drums. Back then it perfectly typified the identity struggle faced by so many of us non-white children living under a colonial legacy. Children who wore shalwar kameez and ate biryani and daal, and went to a prep schools complete with prefects, uniforms, and houses named after British dudes who expanded or governed the British Empire. Children who spoke fluent English, but spoke their native tongues haltingly and hesitatingly. Children who lay in the hot hot afternoon sun with mango and coconut trees whispering outside their windows and immersed themselves in stories of Toms and Janes at boarding school in chilly grey England.

Now that I’m older, my perspective of the poem has changed. For me, it is less of an identity struggle between cultures and more about the transition from childhood to adulthood. When I read it with my adult eyes, it fills me with a sometimes painful nostalgia for times that were simpler; simpler in their contrasts of black and white, simpler in their bold colors and emotions writ large. Now, I am an adult and my life is full of nuance and subtlety and complexity, like a piano concerto (ironically, I even play the piano now!). I look back at my childhood with mixed feelings, often glad that it is over, sometimes missing the comfortable simplicity of it. I am not lost in the mist, bewildered, as Osaka is, but often I’m reminded that I can never reverse time, never go back “home” to childhood again.

As I return to poetry through my children again, I have the added benefit of my adult tastes and perspective meshing with the freshness and playfulness of their outlook. My current favorite poem is one that Sir I. has been working on memorizing: Who Has Seen the Wind? by Christina Rossetti. It combines two things I find fascinating and fearful–wind and trees (ask me sometimes about how my stomach drops into a giant pit when I see our willow branches lashing about in a high wind); it’s simple and songlike; and we’ve had fun discussing its structure. It’s amazing what children will notice about poems.

How about you? What is your favorite poem? Why?

1. Create a book trailer. Check out this workshop to get you started.

2. Make a character collage. I did this for a costume design class I took in college. We used scraps of fabric, ribbons and other embellishments to create an abstract collage for each character. Think of what colors and textures fit your character. Is your character lace and floral patterns, or chocolate brown and corduroy? Don’t limit yourself to just fabric. You can incorporate foil, wire, buttons, pretty much anything that you can glue down onto your collage!

On a related note, Paperback Writer has a post on creating character crafts.

3. Make an ATC (Artist Trading Card) inspired by your fiction.

4. Walk a mile in your character’s shoes. If the protagonist of your medieval mystery is a blacksmith-detective, take a class in beginning blacksmithing. If your character likes to bake cakes when she’s upset, make a cheesecake or a tiramisu. If the hero of your romance is red-haired with an Irish brogue, buy a plane ticket to Dublin look at coffee-table books about Ireland.

5. Find some images of where your story takes place. Does your baker live in an ultra-modern minimalist loft in NYC or a rustic country cottage in Maine? Does your fantasy take place in a warm Mediterranean-esque country with olive trees or a cold tundra? What does your character see outside his window? This or this or this or something else entirely?

6. Speaking of Ireland (*wink*), find pictures of where your story takes place. Does your baker live in an ultra-modern minimalist loft in NYC or a rustic country cottage in Maine? Does your fantasy take place in a warm Mediterranean-like countrys or the tundra? What does your character see outside his window, tent, caravan, car? This or this or this or something else entirely?

7. Think of a material object important to one of your characters or your story. Describe it in words, draw it, make it.

8. Mindmap your story. Write your story name in the middle of a blank sheet of paper and write down whatever associated words come to you. This is a good way to uncover themes and recurring imagery.

9. Create a playlist for your novel.

Edited to fix the numbering, because I cannot count, apparently!

1. Write a scene or a short story in a different genre. Take a stab at a mystery if you write literary fiction, try romance if you usually write military scifi.

2. Set a dialog-heavy scene (a couple arguing, the hero finally catching up to the villain who betrayed him) in an unusual locale (like the vertical face of a mountain) or dangerous situation (the spaceship’s hull has been breached).

3. Write poetry.

4. Create an art journal page and write on it.

5. Do writing prompts. I’ve been using the Imagination Prompt Generator recently.

6. Be inspired by an image. Check out a photo site, take pictures in your neighborhood, look at coffee table books.

7. Research a (narrow) topic you don’t know much about. Write a story or scene using some of what you discovered.

What are the ways you like to play?

After a long day of companiable cooking, recipes that turned out great, generally cheerful children, and lots of dishes, I’m pleasantly full and tired. But it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without giving thanks.  As a writer, I am grateful for:

My husband, who has always supported my writing habit, and who didn’t even blink when I told him I wanted to stay home and write stories instead of getting a job early on in our marriage. He’s my cheerleader and sounding board and now he’s learning all about the craziness of writing life while NaNo-ing. He’s got less than 5K to go. Hurray!

My writing buddy, Jo, with whom I’ve been trading crits for years now (or at least it seems like it!). I can always rely on her honesty, her insight, and her support. The camaraderie we share in this often insane endeavor is precious.

One of my newest blog readers, Megs, also an aspiring author, who has cheered me immensely with her comments.

Living in this time and place, with the luxury of all these labor-saving devices so that I can work at my craft  instead of beating my laundry out on the river rocks or gathering firewood. Having a computer with a backspace key. Access to a library. Not having my creativity crowded out by worries.

The Internet, with its abundance of information. Writing workshops, writing courses, industry blogs, author websites–pretty much all I’ve learned about writing outside of actually writing has been via the Internet. I met my writing buddies online, I learned how to give and take crits online, I found all that I know about publishing online.

And my kids, who make me laugh, teach me it’s okay to try new and out-of-the-box things and fail, keep me humble and provide me with blog fodder.

There is so much more to be thankful for, but if I included it all, this list would be far too long. I’ll end with one last thing: I’m grateful for my almost-nightly mug of hot chocolate, provided by a loving husband, which fuels most of my wordage. Mmmm!

Happy Thanksgiving, readers and friends! May you be richly blessed today and all days.