Writing for My Reader

Writing to a prompt, i simply focus on a word or phrase and let my pen scribble down what i am thinking or saying to myself as quickly as i can make the pen move over the paper. No editing. No second guessing. Simply gushing and letting the spillage go where it will. I am often amazed at what i then read on paper. Who wrote that? Me?

And then, after a while, i return to those pieces of gushed intensity which resonate after a pause. Because invariably they make broad leaps in logic that only i could follow because of my own experience. I know what i meant, but no one else would have any way of understanding. I am writing for my reader now. Choosing vocabulary that will be comfortable for my expected audience. Explaining and giving examples for clarity. Rewording to bring out the humorous or unexpected, if appropriate. Checking for spelling and grammar errors that would imply i had no respect for my reader's intelligence.

Because of these two varied processes of doing my work, the resulting piece is quite different in form, but carries the insight or inspiration that first made me spill my thoughts onto the paper. It is now a piece that will show my respect for the person who has graciously taken the time to read my writing and, hopefully, to gain something from it.

ethereal mustard southwest of Yamhill

wide field

deep to the distant tree line

velvet with mustard plants

glowing in the slanted sun

ethereal golden yellow

lifting my heart in joy

alone on the Oregon coast

we feel so alone

but generations

have crouched beneath the sound

of wind
moan-seeking among
withering branches

have started as shrill
fledged murres
shriek ‘me!’
above the roar of incessant
wave upon wave

have heard sobs

in the rain

before knowing

they

were weeping

Reading to Understand

I have been reading a number of books about racism, both to try to grasp what people were feeling in the 1940s and how we are doing in the 2020s. Most of what i have learned is overwhelming. To be honest, much of it i have known but not acknowledged to myself, it is so painful. Yet it is what my characters lived. And my loved ones. It has been a part of my own definition.

A few of the books recently read that have bid me learn:

1. Lowell Greathouse - Rediscovering the Spirit

2. Bev Walker - The Sailmaker

3. Thomas Dixon, Jr. - The Leopard’s Spots

4. Richard Wright - 12 Million Black Voices

5. Cynthia Carr - Our Town

6. Ina Whitlock - Stories of a Midwest Childhood, 1930s - 40s

7. Burns Mantle, ed - Best Plays of 1939-40

8. Lawrence Leamer - The Lynching!

9. Frederick Bassett - South Wind Rising

10. Frederick Bassett - The Old Stoic Faces the Mirror

comments on mj’s poetry and newsletter

“Your writing and poetry is excellent mj. I explored your work and am impressed. I love the way you wrote about your husband…very moving and poignant and funny which is an unusual combination of talents. I am fascinated by the Nandria series description as well…and you have written a lot of books! Writers in the Grove and the events you create are truly creating community. Thank you for reaching out and congrats on the publication of CAGED! C. Hanlon, Oregon

“[MaryJane,] you’re amazing! No subject escapes your creative touch.” S.A., Oregon

“Truly exceptional. I read it and found my mind wandering many places, some joyful, some sad but all that contributed to my life.” J.M., B.C., Canada

“I love this. Please always keep sharing, you bring light into a world very much in need of it.” C.O., Oregon

“I am loving your poetry - as I read through, I recognize parts of your life and parts of the life that goes on for each and all of us. My favorite so far (and I will be rereading many more times) is ‘As He Lay’ [in Frail the Bridge]…very creative. Your poetry is deep and requires study and rereading - I really like that.” P.D., Oregon

“Good second issue.” F.B., N. Carolina

rose-gold promise

streaked blue-purples

el Greco dramatic sky

gentleness hinted

by dawn’s warm rose

Don’t forget to add a Category, a one sentence Excerpt and change the URL.

sunrise and sunset are two promises made each day

comment about FLOAT

“Some very beautiful and naturalistic writing… not only do you have strong central characters, but you have also given a real richness and context to small characters.” Kay Snow Award judge

Alternative Facts

The concept of “alterative facts” haunts me. Turth is difficult enough to approach, let alone define. How can we work from a stable foundation if that foundation can be altered by anyone to redefine the basics to suit personal wants or fears or needs? How can we share or communicate if we cannot agree on facts or reality? How can we construct on chaos?

sky change

gray nights without stars

layered gray mornings

but today’s dawn

brilliant orange and gold

rising sun heralded

by trumpets of color

twisted gladness

watching the photos

of their cruise of the Greek islands

of their safari in Africaand tour of Maine

i am glad for them

they earned it with years of intense schooling

and weary hours of work at their careers

but a pinprick of something—

a longing perhaps—

twists my joy for them

as i remember our years of school and hanging on

hoping, dreaming—

and then you left

mj Haiku

random acts of nature

yearly kindness renewing

our souls and spirit

after hearing Billie Holiday

fear and anger gnaw

what might grow compassionate

yield instead strange fruit

comment about FLOAT (Copy)

“Some very beautiful and naturalistic writing… not only do you have strong central characters, but you have also given a real richness and context to small characters.” Kay Snow Award judge

Fist or Open Hand

how to reach persons
convinced they are victims
angry with their oppressors
filled with hate
or blinded by self
righteousness
all ages
all colors
all abilities
how to reach out
when i, too, am unsure
of my own worth
needing to feel
i am better than someone
even individuals
i have only known
by criteria which may
be irrelevant
to who they are

Letting Me Know

Have you ever been yelled at? By a fictitious character?

The people in my NANDRIA Series are strong individuals in my mind. When I write a line of dialogue or set them to do an action that they believe is not right, they tell me. “That’s not me talking!” or “I wouldn’t do that. I’d do it this way.”

If I don’t listen, they yell.

Even other authors laugh when I tell them that. But a few look sheepish or nod in agreement, and I know they have had a similar experience. Their characters, too, have enough back story and individual traits to begin to assert their own ways of doing things.

Complex Classical

though unschooled
about the nuances
of classical music
i find its complex
rhythms stimulating
as background
as i write my books

Morning Visitor

vivid florets, dark brown
squared face with perked
triangular ears
too stocky, too muscular
for a housecat
the young bobcat
awkwardly stalks a vole
nearly to my porch

Books that inspired Nandria’s War

To best represent the times, struggles, and opinions of the 1930s and 40s, I read many books. A few played a pivotal role in creating the characters in Nandria's War, including No Ordinary Time.

No Ordinary Time by Doris Kearns Goodwin is an extraordinarily detailed work subtitled "Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt: The Home Front in World War II."

Its chronicle of public events is enriched with behind-the-scenes information of what it was like to live those events. Different people evaluated the circumstances and possible consequences from their own, strongly personal points of view. Their reactions and responses needed to be considered by leaders, such as the Silver Shirts referred to in Nandria's War.

Acknowledging such varied opinions allowed me perspective into views beyond those expressed by my immediate family as I grew up. Understanding that decent, thoughtful, ordinary persons legitimately held those wrong opinions has given me insights to round out the characters in my books.

My copy is stuffed with bookmarks to remind me of the issues and reactions that continue to enliven the tensions of those who lived in the 1930s and 1940s.

NO ORDINARY TIME

Find more at doriskearnsgoodwin.com

Below are a few additional books that helped write the stories of the characters in the Nandria Series. As the series continues to grow, I continue to seek additional history and education to bring the characters to life.

Writers in the Grove

Writers in the Grove started about a decade and a half ago from my teaching classes of Older Women’s Legacy. Several women insisted that their husbands would like to join us. Since the group that had licensed me to teach did not allow that, we decided to start our sessions to welcome men and women.

We met in the local Methodist church and eventually found a home at the Forest Grove Senior and Community Center in Forest Grove, Oregon, on Monday mornings.

All are welcome, from “I’m not a poet” to “I’ve only ever written for business” to “How do I turn on my computer?” We write from prompts and share if we wish. Individuals can also bring in work they would like feedback on. And what a joyful, supportive group it has become.

Members have ventured into genres they never thought they would ever attempt with honest response and encouragement. What a difference thoughtful feedback can make as each of us grows as a writer.

Many members have now been published, from letters to the editor to poems or stories accepted for anthologies or online issues to complete books.

Diana Kay Lubarsky has brought out a laugh-out-loud novel, Dante’s Angels.

A small group of older women meets weekly for lunch and supportive camaraderie. Each character has strong opinions and foibles that cause interactions so amusingly true and human that I found the book difficult to put down. I wanted to keep reading all the way through. I found myself wiping my eyes for poignant moments and whispering heartfelt warnings from the trouble I could see that they were getting themselves into.

Find it on lulu.com.

Spousal Support – Sort’of

My husband Earl joked that I would take pen and paper with me to the grave. He’d tolerated a lot of time when I would sit at my computer to type while he played golf. Most mornings, I would finish about eleven and walk out on the golf course to join him as he finished his last four or five holes.

We had both retired when we married. He’d been wintering in southern California, enjoying 18 to 36 holes every day under the endless blue skies of the desert.

He had earned the privilege, having started in the woods as a boy. He was a high climber while in his teens and had spent decades logging, buying and selling land.

An avid reader, he was never an author—with one exception of which he was very proud. He kept a copy of his letter to the editor that had been printed years before. But if writing wasn’t his forte, he smiled at my endless hours trying.

You can read more about the wonderful, charismatic man Earl was in my book EARLY: Logging Tales Too Human to be Fiction here.