Telling Tuesdays 01/17/12

Welcome to Telling Tuesday, a day reminiscent of those in school when I looked forward to seeing what everyone brought for show and tell. This weekly feature was inspired by an article on WriteToDone.com, called "How to Show (Not Tell): A Writing Lesson from John LeCarre."


It is one of the best articles I've seen on the rule all writers know--show, don't tell--because it doesn't just tell us how not to tell, it shows us some of LeCarre's very own examples.

" . . . descriptions can set the scene, convey the inexpressible, and turn the reader into a witness, instead of remaining a mere bystander." -- Mary Jaksch, author of the article

Each week, I'll give a "telling" prompt, and invite you to show us, to make us a witness, not a mere bystander.

THIS WEEK'S PROMPT:
We had a bit of a mishap at the bonfire on Saturday. One of the lanterns we released into the air caught a down draft and the lantern came crashing down into the grass. At first it looked like it would burn itself out, but then we could tell the grass caught fire. With the wind blowing, it wouldn't be long before the tiny fire got out of control. This gave me my prompt for the week:

Smoke got in her eyes.

     Only moments before, the group of friends had circled around a bonfire. Into the flames, they had each tossed notes jotted with things they wanted to be rid of in the New Year.
     Hers was fear.
     Now, they watched lanterns they had released into the air, filled with aspirations and blessings for the New Year. Up the bright red lanterns drifted. Up, up, up, carrying each into the Universe.
     But the wind whipped and blew one to the ground, bringing a chorus of "oh no" from the group.
     Whose lantern had crashed? She watched it begin to burn out, until another gust of wind blew.
     The embers turned the flames! The grass was ablaze!
     She ran. Ran hard, her mind filled with images of an out-of-control blaze. Breathless, she arrived at the circle of flames that danced like devils in the wind. She stomped the orange heat, but it continued to grow around her, so she stomped harder. Faster.
     Water. A shovel. She needed something. Anything. The flames spread. Smoke burned her eyes. Fire scorched her shoes.
     It was out of control.
     Then, someone came beside her and began slamming the ground with a coat. She stomped, the person next to her slammed. She didn't know, didn't care who it was. She was only glad not to be alone.
     "Don't worry, Jan," the person said, "I got your back."
     Ruth!
     "Oh, please, God," Ruth whispered. "Please help us put out this fire."
     Slowly, slowly, the flames died. Jan kept stomping. Ruth kept slamming. Until at last, every ember had burned out.
     Relieved, they hugged each other, each reliving the experience through breathless phrases.
     "Can't believe . . ."
     "Brave . . ."
     "Got your back . . ."
     "Thank God . . ."
     As they walked away from the blackened circle in the grass, Jan smiled, remembering that piece of paper she'd tossed into the bonfire.
     Fear.
     And the blessing she had released into the Universe.
     Friendship.


Okay. That was my slightly creative non-fiction of an actual event. Show me yours!


As always, feel free to offer critique (ie, was it suspenseful? Did you "feel" it? How can it be improved?) And I always invite you to include a link to your blog in your comments.

It's a Small World After All

It's a world of laughter

A world of tears

It's a world of hopes

And a world of fears

There's so much that we share

That it's time we're aware

It's a small world after all 

 

When I was a child, my family made annual treks to Disneyland, where my favorite ride was "It's a Small World," a magical boat cruise through world villages, serenaded by the theme song in a variety of languages. True, it might have been considered cheesy by some. But I still remember gazing at the happy faces of the singing dolls and feeling a lump in my throat as I wished the world really could be that happy.

Every once in a while, though not often enough, I experience a moment that makes me realize that our world really is small, and I am grateful to find how similar we can be, even to someone who lives half a world away.

On Friday, I met Zehui, a University of Arkansas student who is here from China to obtain her master's degree in Communications. She is working on a research paper on the Japanese-American internment camps and after finding my blog and website, emailed me to ask if we could meet to discuss my research.

I don't know what was more exciting - that someone other than friend or family had spent some time on my website or that someone was interested in the subject matter of my book, Broken Dolls.

I asked Zehui how she became interested in the internment. She told me she had originally planned to do her paper on the Nanking Massacre, but while researching the special collections of the university library, she became intrigued by information she found on the internment of Japanese Americans. I understood, having also found fascinating archives, including journal entries, letters, newspaper articles, etc.

Zehui told me she was surprised that so few people know very much about the internment, and that most did not know there had been two camps in Arkansas, Jerome and Rohwer. In doing my research, I too, have been surprised at how unfamiliar people are with this part of our history. However, most people I've spoken to have a desire to learn more about it.

But my real "small world" moment came when Zehui told me she thought it was important for history to be reported objectively and without personal opinion or emotion. It is the very thought I have had myself about history, an opinion that was born fom reading the book, "Lies My Teacher Told Me," as well as traveling to other countries and seeing the contrasts in how history is reported.

Zehui and I both believe that the past must be reported objectively. It's tempting to teach historical events with a "nationalistic" tone, and I will admit that I have been one to be drawn to the nationlism. But we both agreed, that if we don't report history as it happened, without spin or fear of how it will "make us look," we will not learn its lessons and are destined to repeat it.

Zehui's and my histories are likely very different. Not only are we from different countries, we are from different generations. In fact, she is probably younger than my own two children. But, I left our meeting feeling we had much in common, and I was grateful for the chance to get to know someone who is from the other side of our very small world.

There is just one moon

And one golden sun

And a smile means

Friendship to ev'ryone

Though the mountains divide

And the oceans are wide

It's a small world after all