Archive for the ‘writing-exercises’ Category

Instructions for Boys

Monday, June 28th, 2010
Listen up, boys!

Listen up, boys!

Writer Abigail Thomas offers on her blog various assignments for writers — budding writers, experienced writers, any writers, really. She sets forth a task, and the writer writes. Today, I grabbed this assignment:

Two pages of instructions to the child

Here’s what I wrote in my black and white composition book that I’m calling my summer journal. I write almost every day with my boys, who are penning their summer journeys, and while they wrote about boating and building a basketball hoop, I filled two pages with instructions to them. Here’s what I wrote:

  • Listen. How many times have you heard that word?
  • Follow the rules. They are meant for your safety, or someone else’s safety. If there’s a rule for something, it means someone has tried doing things another way, and it didn’t work out so well. Mostly, anyway.
  • When someone says, “Stop,” please stop. Right then. Not after you pester a few more times.
  • Love. It’s so much easier than hate.
  • Be honest. You’ll always be in less trouble for telling the truth than if I discover you have lied.
  • Admit when you are wrong. Not many people can do this, so you’ll be a winner if you do. Plus, you’ll feel so much better about yourself in the end.
  • Aim for peace in everything you do, not conflict.
  • Find something that helps you cope with life — talking to someone, a jog, a good book, singing (Danny!) — because there will be lots of bumps in the road. Getting over them is key.
  • Be your own person. Don’t copy what you think you like about someone else. Just be you.
  • Don’t bully, and tell us if someone is bullying you, so we can help you nip it in the bud right away.
  • Don’t hit, punch, bite, or harm in any way another person or animal. Even the teeny, tiny grasshopper you think would look nice squashed on our back porch. Just leave living things alone. Please. Even though I’m aware that you are boys and that’s kind of what you do — squash things.
  • Tell us everything. We’ll love you no matter what.
  • Learn to take care of yourself. Example: Master the chore of laundry before you leave for college.
  • Try new things, and finish what you start. If you don’t like something, don’t go back for more. But don’t quit midstream.
  • Pick nice friends. If your radar says someone is a little shady, listen to it.
  • Listen to your gut. If it tells you something isn’t right, it probably isn’t.
  • Eat healthy most of the time. I know you love bunches of candy, and ice cream, and cookies, and cake, but use them sparingly, because what you burn off your little bodies now won’t disappear so fast when you are something like 40. Believe me. I know. Oh, and healthy food keeps you, well, healthy.
  • Exercise as much as you can, because it’s good for just about every part of your body.
  • Wear your seat belt, because it just might save your life. Oh, and I’m sorry I’m keeping you in the backseat until you’re 12, even though I was up front as a wee one (and without a seat belt, too). The back is just the safest place for kids, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you sit near the airbag and it hurt you.
  • Wear helmets. And mouth guards. And whatever safety gear is recommended for all the sports that worry me so.
  • Don’t cheat. It’s never worth it.
  • Always work your hardest. It’s always worth it.
  • Don’t tattle unless someone or something is in danger. Translation: Try to settle your scores all by yourself. You’re old enough to do this now.
  • Rest when your body needs it. You’ll know when this time comes, because you’ll be cranky and crabby and little red lines will appear across the whites of your eyes, just like they do for Daddy.
  • Wash your hands after the potty. Magic soap is OK, but real soap and water is my preference.
  • Brush and floss well. Trust me, you don’t want to pay the dentist for more than cleanings. Dental work is expensive. Way expensive!
  • Clean out your ears. That wax is yucky.
  • Cut your nails. I know you try to get away with growing them long, but it’s not attractive. Promise.
  • Keep your hair tidy. I realize you want it long and hanging in your face, and swirled here and there, but a clean, short cut is so much more impressive, and it helps you see better, too. Remember that lady in Publix, Joey, who complimented you on your nice, short haircut? My point exactly.
  • Help others. It makes them feel happy, and it will soothe your soul, too.
  • Say please and thank you. Always.
  • Write thank-you notes. I mean real notes with your beautiful handwriting, pouring out your gratitude.
  • Speak when someone speaks to you. I’m talking teachers, and other kids’ parents, and, well, not strangers who make you feel uncomfortable.
  • Never approach someone’s car, or accept a ride, or agree to anything unless your dad or I tell you it’s OK. Joey, I am so proud of you for walking in the rain that day, even though a neighbor had offered to bring you home.
  • Know your address and phone number.
  • Stick up for your family members at all times. There’s safety in numbers, and we are a strong 4!
  • Before you take any action or make any decision, ask yourself if it’s worth it, and determine what the consequences might be if you move forward. Regret is a horrible thing.
  • Learn from my mistakes, and Daddy’s mistakes. That’s why we tell you stories about hiding glasses in the bedroom closet in first grade and the horrible vision that may have resulted from not wearing them — so you see what a silly thing it was to do.
  • Find a job you love. That way, it won’t really seem like work.
  • And remember this key instruction: No matter what, no matter when, you can always come home.
  • Oh, wait, one more thing: Don’t ramble on. Just get to the point. Like I clearly did not do in this post (hey, I had to write two pages, just following the rules). OK, I’ll stop instructing. You start living.

Comfort From a Boy

Wednesday, July 8th, 2009

Writer Abigail Thomas offers in her book “Thinking About Memoir” the following writing exercise: Write two pages (one post) in which a child comforts an adult.

That’s easy.

The child was Joey. The adult was me. And it happened in February, 2005, one day after I realized my hair was shedding from my scalp faster than I could say chemotherapy. It had been 13 days since my first treatment with the toxic breast cancer drugs Adriamycin and Cytoxan, and not a rubber band nor a hat could hold my wisps in place. My scalp was sore, each hair still attached to my head hung with a weight that was nearly unbearable, and it had become abundantly clear that the moment had arrived: It was time to shave my head.

“Don’t worry, mom, you’re not going to die,” announced my almost 4-year-old boy, who was taking his turn shaving away the last of my chemo-stricken hair. “It’s only a haircut,” he assured me.

Whether he knew it or not, Joey was absolutely right. It was only a haircut. I didn’t die. And while some of his comments during my years fighting breast cancer weren’t as comforting — “You look like an alien,” he revealed while visiting me in the hospital in March of that same year — this is the one that still brings tears to my eyes, because, well, it was innocent, it was real and most of all, it was damn comforting.

joey-shaving-head-400jd07081

The child, almost 4 years old

The adult, 34 years old

This post can also be found at my Breast Cancer blog.

Writing About Boys

Saturday, July 4th, 2009

My mom just shared with me some writing exercises that come from writer Abigail Thomas, and I’m going to practice some of them here. Basically, I’ll list a topic set forth by Thomas, and I’ll write. I’ll relate my stories to boys, because, well, this is a boy blog. And while Thomas recommends writing on topic for two pages, I’ll adapt that to post length. Here goes:

Write one post on fighting about food.

joey-birthday-cake-259jnd07We have fought about food in our house since the very day I fed Joey his first spoonful of baby mush — rice cereal, I think it was. I put it in; he spit it out. And it’s gone pretty much just like that for the eight years he’s been alive. Now, there are some foods he’ll happily eat — candy, cakes, brownies, ice cream — but for the most part, he rejects what we give him. He might like it at first — he loved salmon the first few times he ate it — but in short time, he’ll start gagging over the mere mention of foods he could once list as favorites. A big fan of steak for a long time, Joey now has no urge to eat the stuff. Pasta and meat sauce: He liked it so much a while back, we added it to our dinner rotation. Now he frowns when I bring out the jar of pasta sauce, because it has little green things in it, and chunks of tomatoes. And he doesn’t like turkey burgers (beef is OK), he refuses to eat any sort of sandwich, apples are a thing of the past, watermelon has too many seeds (even the seedless ones) and I could go on and on — which incidentally, is another one of Thomas’ exercises:

Write two pages (one post for me) that end, “I could go on and on.”