6 or 7 or 17-Word Memoir

You may have heard of the 6-Word Memoir--from the book bearing the same name, the YouTube marketing video, the Page-A-Day calendar, the t-shirts.

Ernest Hemingway, known for his terse style, mastered the art:  "For sale:  Baby shoes, never worn."

Powerful.  Leaves us wondering, doesn't it?  

Writing a 6-word memoir serves as an effective exercise in the budding writer's attempts to practice the "economy of language," i.e. the discipline of distilling language to the pure essence of meaning, through the elimination of unnecessary modifiers, prepositional phrases, determiners in giving voice to  our intention.  

I always like to start my Writer's Workshops with this exercise.  

Now I'm going to give you a tad more freedom to choose from 6, 7, or 17-words in writing your Memoir describing the phase of life in which you find yourself.

       "Sandwich generation?  Tired of being ham."

Or you can narrow your focus by viewing your life through the lens of this day, the last day of September 2012.

Or make it thematic--write about Sunday dinners or siblings or leaves, while trying to throw in a twist, like Hemingway's.  Leave the reader wondering.  

"Grandma passed.  Sunday dinner now MacDonalds."  

Now it's your turn, and don't forget...I would love to see your response.  :)

Beginnings

Due to tuggings on my heart (and recent reader feedback), I feel led to take on a more inspirational and instructive role with this blog.  I have always been and will forever be a teacher of writing--I feel one of the reasons I have been put on this planet is to serve as a guide on the side, helping budding writers, young or seasoned, discover their "author within."

So I invite you, dear reader, to dust off your journal, nestle into a favorite spot, and join me on the pathway to discovering the authentic voice which lies within each of us.
It doesn't matter your age.
It doesn't matter your gender or your ethnicity or your creed.
It doesn't matter your blood type or your birthplace. 
It doesn't matter your level of education or the size of your vocabulary or even your knowledge of grammar!
Just take out a writing utensil and writing surface, whatever they may be--
Lipstick on mirror,
Chalk on driveway,
Finger on dirty back window of your SUV,
Bic pen and restaurant napkin,
No. 2 pencil and composition notebook.
Just do it.
Just write.
Don't worry about punctuation or spelling or grammar of any sort.
This is first draft writing only.  Later, you may choose to make it pretty, but for right now, just write.
15 minutes.
The topic is "Beginnings..."
I invite you to share your writing, if you feel like it, as a "Comment" to this post or you can message me on Facebook.

Wired to Distraction

[A note to the reader:  The sing-song rhythm and rhyme pattern 

of this verse, written in a loose iambic pentameter, seems most 

suited to my humorous observations of life in the 21st century.  

The longer pentameter, as opposed to the simpler trimeter, takes 

thinking deeper and thus, makes the humor a tad subtler.]

Drivers on their cell phones are texting while they swerve.

Hiphopping to his mP3, Jay Walker’s got his nerve.

My students tend to wait until the night of the full moon

to start their projects due next day—are conferences soon? 

Primetime TV line-up keeps them from assignments in their planner.

Shanay tried saying her essay got eaten by a spammer.

When Sue’s Calc teacher calls on her to give a final answer,

she offers an excuse about her grandma having cancer

as the reason for her faux pax in misunderstanding the equation.

Maybe what she thinks she needs is some Starbucks libation.

In her mind, the caffeine might jolt and jumpstart her success

And lessen consequences of her Mom and Dad’s distress

because her grades may indicate that she seems kinda dumb,

but in reality, dear Folks, she's contracted iPhone thumb.

© 2012, Katherine L. Szerdy

Japanese Tankas under an Afghani Moon

Tanka poems are a form of Japanese poetry, similar to haiku.  The originators of the form wrote elegant haiku, tanka and renga poems on the subject of nature.  These, however, have almost an Irish limerick spin with a Japanese accent--LOL!

Haiku has 3 lines--1st line (5 syllables), 2nd line (7 syllables), 3rd line (5 syllables)

Add two more lines of 7 syllables each (those two lines are called "ageku") and you have a tanka.  Pair two tanka poems together and you have a renga.  

Now try writing a few of your own--on any topic you choose.  After awhile you will start thinking in 5 and 7-syllable thought-bytes!  (For inspiration, try googling Tanka or Renga poems).

I jotted these down last year (2011) while two of my three children were deployed to Afghanistan. 

The first two are based on my daughter's experiences, and the last, from my heart.

"Sunni Tali-boy"

"Choco chocolate!"

Soldier's pockets are empty.
Naughty boy throws rocks.
He has such excellent aim--
Soldier had to quickly duck.

"April in Afghanistan"

Allergies kicked up.
No flowers, no trees blooming.
That's Afghanistan
Ahhh Ahhh Afghanistan Ahhh
Choo Afghanistan Bless you.

 I wrote the following very early this AM --

Up at two thirty
God wakes me: "Come on, let's pray
for KK today."
Just thought I'd let you know that
You're embraced in mother's prayers--

Held within her heart
That's what Moms are for, you know.
Praying in the dark
Imagining her soldier
in Jesus' arms, safe, warm, loved.

Lesson Plan on writing Renga poems for Grades 4-12:  Have your students work in groups of 4.  Each student writes a Haiku on any topic they choose or which you assign.  Once finished, students pass their poems clockwise to the next student who adds an Ageku (see notes above) following the theme of the originator.  When finished, they pass their papers again clockwise and next add another haiku, again following the theme of that poem.  One more pass, for the final ageku to be added by the 4th student.  Then the poem goes back to the originator.  Each student has a completed Renga poem.  The originator may now check for correct syllabication and consistency of theme.

Evaluation:  Consistency of theme, accurate syllabication.  With intermediate grades, tying this language arts lesson into a science lab  or social studies lesson can be a wonderful alternative assessment by requiring that students include a certain number of facts learned in the poem.  In higher grades, the assignment can be made more sophisticated by requiring students to tighten their poetic voice by avoiding words such as linking verbs and indefinite pronouns.  

***This lesson was highly successful for me--from 4th grade to middle school gifted to high school seniors.

Copyright 2011 Katherine Harris Szerdy

The Other Danger of Text Messaging

I sincerely apologize from the bottom of my heart

For allowing myself to get caught up in this miasma of negativity,

an environment nurtured by a medium of cowards

which robs interlocutors of the beauty of discourse 

the old-fashioned way, the way God intended--

face to face, human voice to human voice.

It will not happen again.

The devil is in the medium [of text messaging]

where even prepositions seem to cast aspersions

and modifiers are misinterpreted and

the exclamation mark points the finger of executioner

and repeat exclamation points become

in-your-face, boundary invasion,

where the in-the-heat-of-the-moment

instantaneous reaction to meaningless text whining

breaks down communication

and strikes pain into the heart of the recipient.

I hereby declare my independence from it.

The Gift of 30 Hours

This piece is comprised of heart-impressions of the last 30 hours of Dad's life and is dedicated to Pastor Tina Green and the loving caregivers of Holy Family Hospice in Parma, Ohio.  I have never had the honor of being at a loved one's side at the time of their passing. On the eve of Father's Day, the presence of all three of his kids was our final gift to our father--a send off full of love--into the arms of Jesus.  It is a verbally impressionistic piece--an auditory and tactile reflection.  I invite you to allow the words, the font, the spacing, to direct your reading from speaker to speaker, from moment to moment.

June 15-16, 2012

Talk to him.  Don’t stop. 

Always act as though he knows

exactly what is going on.

Dad, we’re all here with you. 

We won’t leave your side

We’ll hold your hand and won’t let go.

He seems to be holding on for some reason

Is he waiting for someone? 

Daddy, are you waiting for someone?

No, I don't think so...we’re all here, his three children,

But he knows the only woman he ever loved can’t come.

Dad, are you waiting for Mom? 

You know she can’t come,

but we promise you—we’ll take care of her.

His temperature is up again.

There's a peace I've come to know...
Hearing is the last thing to go.

Though my heart and flesh may fail...
Talk to him.  Sing to him. 

There's no anchor for my soul...
Heartbeat steady, his heart is so strong

His hands still warm, breath uncertain…

He has moved into Cheyne-Stokes breathing

What kind of breathing?

Cheyne-Stokes—abnormal respiration of active dying active

dying active dying active

dying active

dying

the letting go breath

Mr. Harris, I’m going to give you morphine by mouth

.I will rise when He calls my name
No more sorrow, no more pain I will rise on eagles' wings…

Heartbeat slower  s l ow I  y    s   l   o    w   i     n       g

S l i p p i n g   a w  a  y    daddy don’t go

sis go get brother hurry daddy we love you daddy no matter what

its ok to go don’t be afraid we will take care of mom we’ll be fine

i can’t hear his heart I can’t see it beat its ok to let go run

daddy run into the arms of Jesus daddy he’s waiting daddy

rise on eagle’s wings

we love you so much tell  ahhh    grandma we love her tell grandpa

too its  ok we’re here we love you can you hear we

ahh   l o v e    y o u  nothing else matters we

love you no matter what   ah    w  e   l  o   v   e     y   o   u    s o        

last breath synced with final beat

soul not to be trapped by pacemaker can’t even

keep the rhythm when its time

of death 9:03 PM Father’s Day Eve, June 16, 2012.

Don’t look back it’s not him

Victory disguised as void, dark, still

                          Silence

We three huddle at his feet in the dark hold tight sobbing tears falling

       F

         A

           L

           L

              I

                N

                   G

            S

              L

              I

            D

         I

   N

G

into one pool

Don’t look back

Do you want to stay with him for awhile?

No we don’t want to stay it’s not him he did not remain we

sent him off on eagle’s wings with 1000 kisses and

hugs and I love you’s across 30 hours

Free.      No more pain.      To Jesus

Nothing else matters...Lord, may we never forget this moment.

Nothing else matters but this bond…of family,

Nothing else matters the only thing Dad ever  

wanted was for us to come together—one heart, family,

Untethered by chains of

resentment

presumption

misunderstanding.

Two soldiers salute flag draped casket

13 folds

White gloved hands precision snap sweep the corners sharp

stars sewn not silkscreened

TAPS play on the hill by the Sergeant at arms

“On behalf of the President of the United States…”

the Lieutenant presents the flag to the eldest of the three

Final

Turn away, don’t look back

orphans walk, arms linked, under an

Infinite Blue sky

Mid-June sunshine

Gentle warm breeze

Peace



*Lyrics from "I Will Rise" by Chris Tomlin

Happy 200th Birthday, Edward Lear!

So today, Mother's Day, May 13, 2012, I learned that I completely missed Limerick Day, which I discovered is on May 12 every year in honor of the birthday of the poet Edward Lear.  When it comes to crafting poetry, however, it is never too late.  So here is my tribute to the creator of the form which seems to naturally evoke a certain silliness out of the holder of the pen and which has tickled our funny bones for the past couple of centuries.  Thank you, Edward, for all the giggles and Happy 200th Birthday!

There once was a poet in England
Who everyone thought was from Ireland
Edward Lear was his name
The limerick brought him fame
And Shakespeare really hails from Greenland.

Now it's your turn to give it a try...
Haven't written one since grade school?  Don't lie--
If you don't you'll be cursed
A leprechaun will whisper a verse
That'll be stuck in your brain till you die.


Now try your hand, and post it here....  :)