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doug kurtz

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THE WRITE MIND
coaching newsletter for writers |
Winter 2009 |
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December is here!
I hope there's as much great stuff happening for you this
winter as there is at Write Life Coaching: new website, new
manuscript services, new workshops--even a new coaching model based on story dynamics.
It's called Life Writing, and we're looking for people
to test it out. If you're struggling with conflict in some area of
your life and want to move toward resolution, please
email so we can talk.
Speaking of conflict, are you
one of those writers whose left brain is always fighting the
right? This month's
feature article, Writing Intuitively, Part 3,
provides concrete
steps for developing intuition and giving your
creative side some extra punch. Give it a try, you'll be
amazed at where intuition takes you.
Have a writing or coaching
related question? Starting next issue we'll be choosing
some to answer in a new section of The Write
Mind. Anything goes. Anonymity
guaranteed. Ask yours here:
Happy writing!
Doug Kurtz
Writing Life Coach |
Word of (the) Mouth
Resolution
(rez-uh-loo-shuh
n): a solution, accommodation, or settling of a
problem; the act of resolving upon an action or course of
action; firmness of purpose; the end of conflict.
If conflict is
stress, disharmony, opposition, then resolution is ease,
relief, letting go. Both the means and the end, it's
what's required and what's attained when we confront the
conflicts that impede our growth and bring them to a
satisfying close.
Resolution. Make one. Get some.
Take motivated action on your own behalf and watch the new story unfold.
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Writing
Intuitively, Part Three |
Coaching tips,
techniques and resources for writers |
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Writing Intuitively, Part One
Writing Intuitively, Part Two
Writers use intuition in all
kinds of situations, from deciding what to write, to making plot
decisions, to following creative urges that make no logical
sense. Intuition is always trying to lead us to the right
destination, and to get there we must learn to follow it.
Shakti Gawain, author of
Developing Intuition, says that to capitalize on this innate
faculty, we must pay attention to what’s going on inside us, quiet
distracting thoughts and get in touch with that place where gut
feelings reside. In our logic-biased culture, this requires
discipline and practice, but the benefits make it well worth the
effort.
Here are some steps you can take to
start developing and applying your intuition (for more detailed
explanations, refer to Gawain’s book):
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Quiet your
mind. Allow 5-10 minutes for this exercise, and combine it
with numbers 2 and 3 below. Get comfy. Close your eyes. Take
deep breaths through your nose, exhaling slowly through your
mouth. Imagine nourishing air moving into and out of your
body. Focus it with each breath into a different body
part—feet, chest, head etc.—allowing each part to relax
completely. Let any thoughts that arise float away on your
exhalations.
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Review and
learn. With a quiet mind, review your day in as much detail
as possible, searching it for intuitive moments you may have
overlooked. Did you have any hunches today? Any feelings of
rightness or wrongness in your writing? Feelings of knowing
something without knowing why? How did you handle these
feelings? Did you act on them? Did you push them aside? How
did you feel afterwards?
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Shift
awareness. Imagine your mental awareness moving out of your
head and into your solar plexus or belly, where intuition
resides. With each breath, go deeper into this place. Ask
yourself, “What do I need to remember or be aware of right
now?” Listen for thoughts, feelings or images that arise. Be
aware of how your body feels during this process. With
practice, you’ll be able to ask more pointed questions and
become more adept at responding intuitively.
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Take action.
For one day, one week or longer, depending on your comfort
level, imagine that your intuition is infallible. Give yourself
permission to act on it every time it arises, in writing or any
other area of your life. Let go of doubt and fear, and see what
happens. How does it feel to follow intuition? To ignore it?
If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice a difference.
Once we’re
tuned in, intuition can become a reliable guiding force in
everything we do. You know those synchronistic moments that
happen in writing, those insights and connections that infuse our
work with meaning? They occur when we quiet our minds and
let intuition speak. When we trust it and listen, we tend to
experience an increased sense of aliveness, a sense that in spite
of the circuitous route we might have taken, we have somehow
arrived exactly where we’re meant to be.
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Reads for
Writers |
Doug's picks for
improving your writing life |
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SATURDAY,
by
Ian McEwan
(fiction/literary), review by
Cat Kurtz
Ian McEwan’s
Saturday is hardly hot off the press, but this year
I’m making an effort to read the literary greats of our time
and see what all the hype is about—and Saturday was
already on my bookshelf. The praise I always hear for McEwan
centers around his skill at lulling readers into the dreamy
reality he creates and about halfway through the book
slamming us with some outrageous, horrific catastrophe that
shakes that reality to its core. Since Saturday is my
first taste of McEwan, I can’t comment on his writing
patterns but I can say that the catastrophe in this story
didn’t make nearly as strong an impact as the lull.
Here’s the basic
plot. Henry Perowne, successful neurosurgeon and family man,
wakes up early and feeling weird. He sees a plane about to
crash and this surfaces his fears about his family’s fate in
a post-911, pre-Iraq-war era. Later, on the way to a
squash game, he gets into a minor car crash with a man named
Baxter who seems not only violent but ill. Perowne leaves
the scene unscathed but after his squash game, at the end of
the day, Baxter re-appears at the Perowne’s home during a
small family reunion and the consequences are pretty
rattling. Still, at the end of the day, that’s what you’re
left with—a day in the life of Henry Perowne.
The climax of the
book is nowhere near as interesting as the way McEwan lulls
readers into complacency on the way there. He weaves
seamlessly between physical, psychological, and emotional
observation. Not much seems to happen in the plot and yet
the narrative moves expertly forward because of the impact
each seemingly inconsequential moment has on a character. In
bad fiction and even more so in bad non-fiction a writer
includes pointless, endless detail just to show off how much
research she did or to paint a vivid picture. While McEwan
spends an entire chapter on a squash game that squash game
is doing narrative work.
He establishes
character by showing how each of the two men plays squash.
He observes the relationship between the two men by stepping a little
further back and focusing on the exchange between them, analyzing competitive drive and their
similar/dissimilar motivations. He develops the novel’s
themes by showing the influence of the events prior to this
game on the protagonist’s mood, actions, and revelations
during the game. And finally, he establishes the
authenticity of this fictional world by showing every last
detail of the game. I don’t know a thing about squash, nor
do I have any real interest in learning, but by the end of
the chapter I was on the edge of my seat in anticipation of
how it’d turn out. That’s because McEwan could make me see
exactly what was physically happening (he also does this
with a surgery, a blues concert, and poetry) while dipping
into characters’ psyches and showing why each step is
narratively and psychologically significant. This is what
makes McEwan the king of nuanced detail.
What a writer can
learn from him is how and where to linger in your plot, how
to make description both beautiful and useful, how to toggle
between the external and internal landscapes of your story,
and how to realize your particular writing talent and fully
exploit it. According to the choreographer Twyla Tharp “All
of us find comfort in seeing the world either from a great
distance, at arm’s length, or close-up. We don’t consciously
make that choice. Our DNA does, and we generally don’t waver
from it. Rare is the painter who is equally adept at
miniatures and epic series…” If your focal length is
close-up, learn how to paint scenes from McEwan.
Amazon link
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Characters in Conflict |
Monthly writing,
skill building and problem solving exercises |
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In real life, conflict is a drag, but in fiction it's the
driving force of story. Without it, plots lose momentum,
characters lose motivation, readers lose interest and the whole machine grinds to a halt.
When conflict resolves in life we're free to move unburdened to
other things, but when it resolves in fiction the story is over.
To infuse our writing with a driving sense of purpose, we have to
identify the most compelling conflicts--internal, external,
interpersonal, etc.--and develop them to maximum
effect. Good writers do this intuitively, investing
characters in conflict with motivation and capabilities equal to
those of the adversary. Remember Cormac McCarthy's protagonist
in The Road? If he didn't
have his son's well-being to motivate him across the
cannibal infested landscape, how far do you think his weak heart
would have gotten him? If Superman didn't have criminal
genius Lex Luther to go up against, he'd be sitting at
home watching reality TV. The point is, conflict does
nothing to drive story if the oppositional forces are unbalanced.
The following exercise
is a great way to
ensure that the characters you put into conflict come equally
armed. To get started, think of a conflict from your own
life, a time when you were in a
serious disagreement with someone and felt they were in the wrong.
Once you have a conflict in mind, write a letter to yourself from
the other person's point of view. Take on the voice and
perspective of the adversary as he or she explains why you
were the one in the wrong.
This exercise
works best for interpersonal conflict, but can be adapted for
other types as well. Try writing a letter to your
protagonist from her manic depression; to your hero from the
hostile tundra he's stranded on; to your antagonist from the rabid
dog that finally does him in. Forced to consider the
motivation and capabilities of the opponent, you will see that
sustained, hard-to-resolve, driving conflicts--the ones that make
compelling stories--have to be well-balanced; otherwise, they
relinquish their grip with barely a whimper.
*adapted from Now Write!,
edited by Sherry Ellis
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Powerful
Questions |
"Quotes" |
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The right question can change your outlook, challenge your
assumptions and set you on a new course.
How would you answer these?
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What internal, external, and
interpersonal conflicts are you experiencing in your life
right now?
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To confront these conflicts
head on, which of your character traits will you have to
embrace, embody, develop?
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What specific, concrete actions can you
take this month to move yourself definitively toward resolution?
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"The
engine of fiction is somebody wanting something and going out
to get it. And if you let him get it right away, you’re
killing the story.” –Sol Stein
(American novelist and publisher; 1926-)
"It
is hardly possible to express strong feelings or to arouse the
interest of an apathetic listener without conveying to some
extent this sense of conflict.”
–S.I. Hayakawa (writer, teacher; 1906-1992)
"The
series of problems that a character faces and her attempts to
solve those problems are what makes a story interesting.”
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Othello Bach
(children's author, motivational speaker; 19??-?)
"Resolve and thou art free." Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(American poet; 1807-1882)
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