Alan Cook's Blog - Posts Tagged "writing"
Writing for Your Descendants
I have published one children’s book—"Dancing with Bulls"—but I have written a dozen stories for my grandsons, Matthew and Mason. Thirteen if you count the one I’m working on now. Actually, the new one is more of a young adult or YA story. After all, they’ve become teenagers. Children do that, I’ve discovered. They are the heroes in these stories.
They save the stories and hopefully will still have them to read to their children. I’m not seeking immortality, but I do believe this is a good way to connect with them. I also write poems for them. I suggest that all of you who are writers and would-be writers can do the same. What better legacy can you leave your descendants than something you’ve written.
Many of my stories are available to read free at http://authorsden.com/alancook.
To help get your creative juices flowing, I’ll tell you a bit about some of them. The first story I wrote for them was called “The Case of the Missing Presidents.” Mason, the younger boy, hears some older boys talking about trading presidents in the school cafeteria. He thinks they’re talking about trading cards, but when he tells Matthew about what he heard they figure out that the other boys are really talking about money—bills of different denominations with the pictures of presidents on them. They help to bust those boys who are stealing from the cafeteria.
In the second story, called “Homerun,” Matthew catches a homerun ball at a baseball game and returns it to Tank because it was a record-setting ball for him. When Tank believes the ball has been stolen, Matthew and Mason help recover it for him. In another story, Matthew helps save a boy who has fallen partway down a cliff, and then becomes a detective to find out who pushed him.
One of my personal favorites is called “The Secret of Nim.” I like it because I’m a sucker for games. It starts out like this: “Mason couldn’t believe his eyes when Sue Ellen disappeared from the school playground. One second she was there, walking across the balance beam; the next second she was gone.” This is the first story in which the boys are transported into another time, or, in this case another world. Matthew and Mason have to figure out how to get to this world in order to rescue Sue Ellen, and they have to solve a number of games of Nim, a mathematical game. One of the characters in the story speaks only in rhyme.
Another story is based on a real experience I had. The boys find a box full of money. (No, I didn’t get to keep it.) I also wrote a story based on the Greek myth of Echo and Narcissus and one about my great grandfather who was in the Civil War. Matthew and Mason have to save his division from ambush at Antietam.
Many of my stories have a cute girl in them, but the one I’m working on at the moment has a genuine romance. As I said, the boys are teenagers now. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
They save the stories and hopefully will still have them to read to their children. I’m not seeking immortality, but I do believe this is a good way to connect with them. I also write poems for them. I suggest that all of you who are writers and would-be writers can do the same. What better legacy can you leave your descendants than something you’ve written.
Many of my stories are available to read free at http://authorsden.com/alancook.
To help get your creative juices flowing, I’ll tell you a bit about some of them. The first story I wrote for them was called “The Case of the Missing Presidents.” Mason, the younger boy, hears some older boys talking about trading presidents in the school cafeteria. He thinks they’re talking about trading cards, but when he tells Matthew about what he heard they figure out that the other boys are really talking about money—bills of different denominations with the pictures of presidents on them. They help to bust those boys who are stealing from the cafeteria.
In the second story, called “Homerun,” Matthew catches a homerun ball at a baseball game and returns it to Tank because it was a record-setting ball for him. When Tank believes the ball has been stolen, Matthew and Mason help recover it for him. In another story, Matthew helps save a boy who has fallen partway down a cliff, and then becomes a detective to find out who pushed him.
One of my personal favorites is called “The Secret of Nim.” I like it because I’m a sucker for games. It starts out like this: “Mason couldn’t believe his eyes when Sue Ellen disappeared from the school playground. One second she was there, walking across the balance beam; the next second she was gone.” This is the first story in which the boys are transported into another time, or, in this case another world. Matthew and Mason have to figure out how to get to this world in order to rescue Sue Ellen, and they have to solve a number of games of Nim, a mathematical game. One of the characters in the story speaks only in rhyme.
Another story is based on a real experience I had. The boys find a box full of money. (No, I didn’t get to keep it.) I also wrote a story based on the Greek myth of Echo and Narcissus and one about my great grandfather who was in the Civil War. Matthew and Mason have to save his division from ambush at Antietam.
Many of my stories have a cute girl in them, but the one I’m working on at the moment has a genuine romance. As I said, the boys are teenagers now. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Grief--How Writers Get it Wrong
“Your father was just killed. I’m very sorry. Get over it.”
I’m paraphrasing, of course, but this is the way grief was handled in a television episode of “Hawaii Five-O” I watched recently. Steve McGarrett’s father (this is a flashback) is the first person to arrive at a murder scene. He confirms that the man is dead and then immediately says some version of the above to his young daughter.
My observation is that this is the way many writers handle scenes of grief. It’s easier to spot them on television shows than in books, since everything is netted out in a TV show. (“You’ve got one minute for the grief scene.”)
Another favorite phrase of the policeman/detective/relative/friend is, “Everything’s going to be all right.”
How ridiculous can you get? Of course, everything’s not going to be all right. Everything’s never going to be all right. You’ve just lost a loved one.
So how should a writer handle scenes of grief? I work as a volunteer listener at a crisis hotline where we take phone calls from people who want to talk about their problems. Many of them are grieving. We teach a class in listening for our new volunteers. Everybody should take this class, especially writers.
Our listeners handle calls from people who are grieving by listening to them. Grief-stricken people aren’t looking for advice; they want somebody to understand their feelings—to empathize with what they are going through. They want someone who is there for them, not preaching to them.
They don’t want to be judged about whether they are grieving properly. “You’ll get over it.”
Wrong.
They are never going to get over it. The grief from losing a loved one is always going to be with them in some form.
There are supposedly five stages of grieving: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. That reduces grieving to something mechanical. “Get past these stages and you’ll be fine.” Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. People may go through these stages in any order. They may skip some, altogether, and return to others, even much later.
One television show that at least gets it partially right is “Crossing Jordan.” My wife and I came late to this show and watch it on Netflix. At least it has a grief counselor who listens to people who come into the morgue to identify a loved one. That doesn’t mean the show doesn’t fall into the trap of advice and judgment from time to time.
A writer who has a character consoling a person in grief, assuming that character is doing it correctly, would have the consoler do the following: really listen to the person who is grieving, acknowledge his feelings, empathize with him—but don’t preach, give advice or judge him.
Doing those things takes time, and television shows don’t have much time, but that is no excuse for getting it wrong.
I shouldn’t say this because I have relatives and friends who are therapists, but if everyone learned how to listen properly we wouldn’t need as many therapists.
I’m paraphrasing, of course, but this is the way grief was handled in a television episode of “Hawaii Five-O” I watched recently. Steve McGarrett’s father (this is a flashback) is the first person to arrive at a murder scene. He confirms that the man is dead and then immediately says some version of the above to his young daughter.
My observation is that this is the way many writers handle scenes of grief. It’s easier to spot them on television shows than in books, since everything is netted out in a TV show. (“You’ve got one minute for the grief scene.”)
Another favorite phrase of the policeman/detective/relative/friend is, “Everything’s going to be all right.”
How ridiculous can you get? Of course, everything’s not going to be all right. Everything’s never going to be all right. You’ve just lost a loved one.
So how should a writer handle scenes of grief? I work as a volunteer listener at a crisis hotline where we take phone calls from people who want to talk about their problems. Many of them are grieving. We teach a class in listening for our new volunteers. Everybody should take this class, especially writers.
Our listeners handle calls from people who are grieving by listening to them. Grief-stricken people aren’t looking for advice; they want somebody to understand their feelings—to empathize with what they are going through. They want someone who is there for them, not preaching to them.
They don’t want to be judged about whether they are grieving properly. “You’ll get over it.”
Wrong.
They are never going to get over it. The grief from losing a loved one is always going to be with them in some form.
There are supposedly five stages of grieving: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. That reduces grieving to something mechanical. “Get past these stages and you’ll be fine.” Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. People may go through these stages in any order. They may skip some, altogether, and return to others, even much later.
One television show that at least gets it partially right is “Crossing Jordan.” My wife and I came late to this show and watch it on Netflix. At least it has a grief counselor who listens to people who come into the morgue to identify a loved one. That doesn’t mean the show doesn’t fall into the trap of advice and judgment from time to time.
A writer who has a character consoling a person in grief, assuming that character is doing it correctly, would have the consoler do the following: really listen to the person who is grieving, acknowledge his feelings, empathize with him—but don’t preach, give advice or judge him.
Doing those things takes time, and television shows don’t have much time, but that is no excuse for getting it wrong.
I shouldn’t say this because I have relatives and friends who are therapists, but if everyone learned how to listen properly we wouldn’t need as many therapists.
