WHAT INSPIRES OUR WRITING?

PART I: THE PEOPLE WHO FILL OUR LIVES

Whenever I do book readings, or speak informally to other writers, I’m often asked where my inspiration comes from. My two published books—one a short story collection and the other a poetry chapbook—as well as my new unpublished ones (also in these genres) actually sprang from the same source of inspiration:  People.

The people around me: those dear to me, those only slightly known by me, and even strangers I read or hear about. People, everyday, ordinary people, are my major source of inspiration. How ordinary people navigate their lives—their losses and triumphs and everything in between—is a source of unending amazement and inspiration to me, especially when the lives being navigated are deeply challenging or downright tragic.

Starting with my own family, going back through generations of relatives and what they endured in a family history that is humble and disadvantaged, I reflect on how these folks survived and thrived, or survived and reinvented themselves to deal with what they faced daily. I reflect on my childhood, my evolution and lack thereof as old memories sometimes fail to metamorphose into new understandings. I think about friends and neighbors, about people I see lonely on bus benches, or lovers locked in embrace in a parked car.  I read about and see strangers on television and in local news and wonder why they’re currently entangled in whatever brought them to our attention.

What causes us to be as we are? What are motivations that may be so locked into our selves, that no one else has an inkling regarding who we really are? What goes on behind those wooden doors we pass, house by house, block by block in our daily rushing about or meandering about in our neighborhood and elsewhere? Why do people do what they do?

I’m not speaking about psychology here. I’m not a therapist. I’m speaking about what we might be able to decipher through our intuition and observation, coupled with what our imagination can fill in beyond that. For that is what separates a writer from a non-writer: the willingness and ability to take the known and transform it, expand it, embellish it with our imagination that takes us into the unknown...and creates something new.

This unknown territory, in the writer’s hands, becomes compelling, new territory, if the writing is good. And, if the writer is really good, he or she can imbue a story’s characters with motives and experiences, hidden from quick recognition perhaps, that the reader might not have anticipated. In real life, we often attribute reasons for others’ actions when we only know part of the story, when we have no clue as to what else moves that individual, what else hurts his or her heart, what else lifts that individual from the daily grind into the sublime. We never know an individual’s full story, do we? But in real life, we all readily make assumptions and even make judgments.

In another blog, I’ll tell more about this latter point. But for now, I’d like to touch upon another topic I’ll develop more fully in the future: telling true stories about people who deeply touch our hearts, who move us, inspire us to tell their stories with fidelity to the truth, rather than reliance on imagination, because the truth is, in these people’s cases, infinitely more compelling than fiction.

One such engaging case is the book Special  by Michael P. Raff.

Book Review:

Special

by Michael P. Raff

The death of a young person is one of the greatest tragedies on earth. The death of a young person we deeply love is even more brutal a pain to bear. Michael P. Raff, a California author, convincingly and poignantly captures that pain in his biography, Special (Aventine Press, 2011), a tribute to the great love of his life, a radiant, beautiful young woman named Jill Adams, who died in a car accident at the age of 19.

This is not a spoiler alert. Michael’s book starts with this sentence: “Three weeks after her funeral, I woke up and saw Jill standing by my bedroom doorway.” Then, for the rest of his meticulously narrated book, he recreates the brief but glorious love he shared with Jill for the four years they knew one another. Their first meeting was inauspicious, she being a gawky, timid 15-year-old to his 19 years; but she quickly blossomed into a stunning woman whose overpowering beauty was as much internal as external: a devout Mormon who was virtuous, sensitive, compassionate, and insightful beyond her age.

         

The book takes the reader through the highs and lows of their chaste love affair. As much an autobiography as a biography, we witness Michael’s coming of age as he awkwardly but lovingly shepherds Jill into adulthood. Coming from a humble background, Michael faced rejection from some of Jill’s family and friends, who felt Jill “deserved better” than what Michael as a financially struggling young man could offer. But Michael, buoyed by Jill’s devotion to him and her faith in his devotion to her, persevered in his courtship of the only woman who had ever boosted him above his own relentless self-doubts. At the time of her death, they were engaged to be married a mere five months hence.

         

Special  is punctuated throughout with Michael Raff’s simple but deep ruminations on life. He writes, for example: “Isn’t it strange how we can measure the miles around the equator, or the miles to the moon, but we can’t measure something so simple as the pleasure of being kissed by the one we love?” There is a mystical quality to the book, as a Mormon elder had once prophesied to Jill that she would die an early death, and her belief of this runs like a knotty thread throughout the book. This prophecy haunts Jill and Michael, who hears the sad tale, and who, shortly before Jill’s death, has a vivid dream of her accident that turns out to be spot-on accurate.

         

Though we, the readers, know from the beginning that Jill died an untimely death, we still benefit from reading everything prior to and after this tragedy: learning about the graciousness and gentleness abiding in Jill, and of how her true love of Michael surmounted obstacles, and of how Michael learned to trust in his own worthiness. We can see ourselves in this story, because this couple’s trials and tribulations mirror those many of us suffer in this life.

         

In short, this book reminds us all of the fleetingness of things, the transiency of life itself, and the huge importance of loving deeply, of appreciating simple events in the company of our beloveds, of not taking life for granted. Yes, we’ve heard these admonitions before, but we often forget. We can be grateful to Michael for sharing his grief and love with us, and for reminding us to be mindful of all this.

Michael's book can be ordered from amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com . Contact the author at http://www.mraffbooks.com/ .

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FOR THE LOVE OF POETRY: STARTING EARLY, OR STARTING LATE

In my 16 years as a high school English teacher in Pasadena, CA, I knew several students through the years who kept notebooks of their writings. I remember one young man in particular named Carlton, a shy, studious tenth-grader who always carried around a thick blue canvas binder filled to the brim with looseleaf sheets that sometimes poked out around the edges of the notebook.

An Early Bloomer, a True Poet

Carlton honored me one time by allowing me to see what was inside his blue notebook. After school one day, he asked me if I wanted to see his writings. Of course I said yes, because I'd been curious since he'd first walked into my class with the fat book under his arm. I knew he loved poetry, and I knew he wrote it, too. I just had no idea how long he'd been writing and how committed he was to mastering this art.

Carlton had dozens and dozens of poems written in pencil, in his handwriting, that he had evidently put his heart and soul into writing. The pride and joy in flipping through his book and sharing tidbits with me about this poem or that one were very clear in his face and voice. Some of his poems mimicked the style of old classics. He said: "I know it's not good to copy other writers' way of expressing themselves, but I want to understand famous poets better, so I practice writing like they do. Of course, I'm trying to develop my unique style along the way." How astute this was! I was impressed with his approach and noted, also, that most of the writings were poems reflecting his own thoughts in his own way.

Carlton was absolutely right that what he was practicing was wise. By the end of the year, when he showed me his new collections of poems in the now-fatter notebook, I saw his growth and knew he'd be a well-regarded poet someday. Carlton lived and breathed poetry. He read and wrote it every day, throughout the day. He loved discussing poetry and analyzing it privately.

I came to learn that he came from a poor family, which I suspected by the way he dressed and the shoes he wore. His hair was often unruly, uncombed. I also suspected he didn't bathe daily. I noticed that he wasn't a social student and was often alone during lunchtime and after school. He was a loner, basically. But he always carried himself serenely. He had a kind smile on his face and spoke softly and courteously to others. He seemed, to me, a gentle soul, and I was happy that he was my student. I wondered, sometimes, if he was a poet because of a limited social circle, or if his dedication to writing created his isolation. At any rate, he did not seem unhappy with how he had chosen to live his life through literature.

Unfortunately, I lost contact with Carlton after a couple of years. Did he give up his love of poetry? Did he go to college? If so, did he graduate? What line of work did he go into, for few poets can make a living from their poetry. I wish I knew what happened to Carlton, because I felt in my heart when he was in my class that he was a good human being who enhanced his world in his own quiet, shy, creative way. He didn't seem to share his poems with many people, but he did share with others occasionally. In class, he shared openly, and my other students showed appreciation of his talent. I wondered how Carlton's family felt about his passion for poetry, and if they openly nurtured it. I hope they did.

Carlton was one of the more pronounced cases I've personally known of someone showing, early on, a deep love of poetry and engaging in poetry writing at a young age. I've known many students who kept diaries or journals, or who started collecting their writings while in high school. No one, however, was like Carlton: he had obviously been writing for many years before I met him, and he very clearly was totally dedicated to honing his art, his craft, to being the best poet he could be. It was in his blood. This student was a true poet in his heart and soul.

Other Poets Start Later

I am also much inspired by people who take up poetry writing later in their lives. Perhaps they happened upon a book that moved them deeply and transformed their lives. This happens, you know.

Or perhaps the late bloomers in poetry took a class and were motivated or inspired to write poems. Perhaps they suffered a crisis in their lives that was assuaged through the act of writing poetry. Perhaps a love of songs, of music, metamorphosed into writing poetry for the sake of the poetry, without music. This happened to Rod McKuen, a famous singer and songwriter in the 1960's through the 1980's who also published poems as poems in the 1980's. Sometimes success in one genre of writing, such as short stories or novels, spills over into new territory: poetry. This happens, too, such as with Ray Bradbury.

Whatever the reasons, sometimes people decide they enjoy writing poetry when they're not teenagers anymore, or are not such young adults either. They may be grandparents. They may be retired from their occupations. Perhaps it's because now they have time to think, to slow down the hectic pace of life, to savor moments with greater attention to what these moments hold and represent.

These poets, too, are worthy of admiration. Starting late, they may not have the big fat notebooks of poets like Carlton. But what these late bloomers lost in quantity, they gained in focus and dedication.

A Case in Point:

A Texan Named Rosalinda

Rosalinda Vargas recently published an e-book of poetry titled Not Only Dark Poems. This is her first book-length publication of her poems, since one was published as a single poem in The Writer's Gallery Magazine in 2009. Rosalinda is a silver-haired, regal-looking lady who also happens to be a proud grandmother. In her native Texas, she is supported in her new venture by her husband and family.

The e-book is a skillful blending of poems either in English or in Spanish. There is a buoyancy, a sense of whimsy throughout Rosalinda's poems. She does justice to her title. These are, by and large, not dark poems, but poems her grandchildren or other young people can relate to and enjoy. Some are tongue-in-cheek, as in these lines: "In the morning I drink coffee/In the evening I drink tea/Today nothing bothers me/Tomorrow we shall see."

The topics Rosalinda covers are topics we all know well and care about: family routines, romantic attraction, nature, dealing with change, children's fears, animals in our lives. Rosalinda sees these topics through fresh eyes, as an innocent child might see them, and describes them in clear language and catchy rhythms. She likes rhyme, and her poems' consistent embracing of rhythm and rhyme make these appealing to younger audiences. I can picture Rosalinda reading her poems aloud to audiences and relishing the descriptions she has created.

Rosalinda's poetry is a labor of love. She may have come to poetry late, but she has embraced it and takes joy in her creations. I can visualize her devoting more and more hours to writing poetry as she savors the rewards of a poet expressing herself in ways comfortable and dear to her. More power to Rosalinda! Her e-book is available at http://www.offthebookshelf.com/ .

Let Us Not Be Afraid to Create Poetry

Carlton and Rosalinda have one big thing in common: They were not afraid to begin creating poetry. For each of them, there was a moment, or many moments, that called to them and exhorted them to take pen to paper and to express themselves in a poem. For each of these writers, there was that all-important first poem, their first effort, their first creation.

One of my favorite aphorisms in my adult life has been this:  The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Sometimes attributed to the ancient Chinese philosopher, Lao Tzu, this simple statement captures so much of our lives. Everything must begin somewhere. Whether our poetry writing journey spans hundreds of poems over decades of time, or whether our poetry writing began last year and resulted in only three poems written thus far, the important thing is:  We have written poetry. For this, we are better off in this life.