Write about what’s really happening with you, not the polished version of what you wish were the truth. How do you know what that is?
The shooting deaths of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling made headlines last week, pushing their way even into my headline. I don’t like to jump into hot political topics, but I read a riveting blog called “The Conversation We Must Have With Our White Children” by Courtney E. Martin. She said to make the reality of white privilege “a part of your daily consciousness, even when it seems tiring and burdensome.”
Story is everything! Begin your blog, article, newsletter, whatever you’re writing, with a personal story. Watch this short video to find out why.
So here’s a pet peeve of mine. I like to listen to Hay House Radio, but inevitably, when callers say to my favorite radio host (Alan Cohen) “I have a question for you…” they never ask a question! Instead they launch into a detailed story, while I wait and wait for the promised question.
In my last class on “Crafting an Inspirational Blog” I asked how many of the participants read their writing out loud as part of the editing process.
The answer? None.
Am I the only one who stands at the head of my dining room table and delivers my prose to an imaginary crowd of fans? I’m kidding– I don’t do that. But I do read a finished piece aloud before I send it into the world and you should too.
Once again, I’m in a Cook County Courthouse. How many times have I been here over the last 5 years? I’ve lost count. Anyway, these are not visits I want to remember. Judge Lopez is a gentle looking man, and soft spoken. But he’s been the arbiter of my shattered marriage and, no offense to him, I never want to see him again.
Words to avoid in your writing:
SO: used as an intensifier, “so” can often have the opposite effect, making your adjectives less punchy. So, don’t strive to be so clever. Just be clever.
VERY: should be used very, very sparingly. In fact, see if you can give it the week off in your writing. It’s very tired of holding up words that are strong enough to support themselves.
It was a summer day in 1977; I was watching “Days of Our Lives” with my mom while she folded laundry. The announcer broke in. “Elvis is dead,” he said, and my mom cried. I was too young to follow politics, and two years later, I would barely register the upheaval in Iran, but in my world, Elvis Presley reigned supreme. So I cried too.
This week I went to a Meet-up event for writers– something that’s been on my to-do list for ages. There were seven of us at the Village Tap in Roscoe Village. We sat on the back patio with a noisy crowd of Cub fans. Above us a section of the cloth roof was rolled back like the lid of a sardine can, showing us a sliver of sky. We took turns posing questions to one another and shouting our answers down the length of the picnic table.