Light My Fire - Tracy Krauss

As I thought about this month's prompt - "Who started it all for your creative spirit" - I had trouble narrowing it down to just one person. Who lit my creative fires? I think the creative gene is well embedded in my DNA, so I could say I was born with it.

My mother was an eccentric artist renowned in our community for her sometimes off-beat artsy ways. (You can read about 'The Doreen Method', as our family likes to call it.) I also wrote a tribute to her here called 'Passing On the Legacy'. It was her direct inspiration that led to my children's book THE SLEEPYTOWN EXPRESS. 

Her mother, my grandmother, was a voracious reader and lover of words who could quote long passages of poetry from memory. I can still see the look on Grandma's face as she closed her eyes to recite the prologue for Longfellow's Evangeline. "This is the forest primeval, the murmuring pine and the hemlock, bearded with moss and in garments of green, indistinct in the twilight..."

However, if you will indulge me for a few minutes more, I'd like to share the story of writing and directing my first stage play. It is an article I originally wrote for 'Bookfun Magazine' in August of 2014 called 'A Pivotal Point In Time' (page 163) and is a tribute, I suppose, to my Grade Four teacher, Mrs. Goldie Sullivan. Enjoy.

A Pivotal Point In Time

Who doesn’t love a good stage play? The immediacy and intimacy of a live performance beats a motion picture any day. Anything can happen – and often does. From an early age, I participated in school and church productions, and later, once I was in college and beyond, I started writing and directing as well. My ‘real job’ is teaching Drama at the secondary school level. You could say I lucked out when it comes to a career. I get to do something I love each and every day I go to work. 

I credit my fascination with drama to a few key people. My high school drama teacher, Mrs. Rees, was an inspiration – albeit a taskmaster. Before that, though, I can pinpoint an exact moment in time when my love for the dramatic arts came into being. I wrote my first play when I was in Fourth Grade – a dramatized version of a book I’d read called Ghosts Don’t Eat Sausages by Marion Koenig. For some reason that now escapes me, I loved that book and decided to make it into a play. I then convinced several of my friends to act it out during recess time.

It’s a wonder the ‘actors’ could even figure out their cues, let alone read my writing. I corralled my chosen cast every recess - either outside or at the back of the classroom if our teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, would let us stay inside. I think I was a hard taskmaster as a director. I remember feeling frustrated on more than one occasion when people didn’t know their cues. No wonder - there was no such thing as photocopying at that time and I didn’t even bother with a typewriter. I just hand wrote the entire thing and then recopied individual parts and handed them out on scraps of paper.

Thankfully, the cast was patient, and there must have been something about the project that inspired them as well, since we persevered for weeks, perfecting and rehearsing a plot that was likely full of holes at its inception. When we started, I don’t think I knew exactly what the final objective would be – just that this was a good story and it needed to be told! Mrs. Sullivan must have seen something of merit, perhaps in my tenacity in doggedly whipping my actors into shape. It wasn’t long before she suggested that we perform the play for an actual audience – the entire school population, if we were up for it.

Say no more! That spurred us on to even greater efforts as we added costumes and props and continued to perfect the line delivery and action. Finally, the day of the show arrived, and an assembly was called. I don’t remember if we were the only item on the program or not. It really didn’t matter, since for me, this was like getting recognized at the academy awards. As I recall, the show went off well. We got a full page in that year’s yearbook and I was credited as the ‘writer and director’.

All these years later I still look upon that seemingly insignificant experience as a pivotal point in my development as a writer. I've gone on to write and direct dozens of stage plays, some of which are published and have enjoyed a measure of success across stages in North America. If it wasn't for the encouragement I got from my Grade Four teacher, I wonder if I would have gone on to write another play. It's something to ponder.

_______________

Tracy Krauss continues to write plays, as well as other things, from her home in Tumbler Ridge, BC. http://tracykrauss.com 

How Creativity Avoided Death - Bobbi Junior

As a young teen, journalling was writing unleashed, a means to try to make sense of the confusion that came from living in a family functioning on half-truths and unshared motives. No one was going to read what I wrote. Consequently ideas were free to flow independent of a censuring inner-editor.

In Grade 11 my English Lit teacher assigned a poem using personification. My bitter self rose to the challenge.

     Mr. School is one of the better citizens of this fair town of ours;

     Keeping students busy throughout the day, and in general out of the way.

Sarcasm dripped, but Mrs Moar was gracious.  “Well written” she scribbled on the page in red, “but I hope this isn’t how you really feel.”  

It was, but that was irrelevant. I held her ‘Well written’ in my heart.

In most areas of my life, I was perceived as a failure, a troubled youth, a disappointment. My writing was private, though. People critiqued me, but never my writing. Was God protecting it, a seed he would begin to grow when the environment changed? Looking back, I think there's truth in that. My creative spirit and it’s expression through writing was his gift to me. My desire now is that I honour him and all he’s done as I exercise that gift.

To God be the glory!

Conference Reaction by T.L. Wiens

Last night I felt a sudden sharp pain in my toe. When I reached down in the darkness I realized an insect was having a meal. After taking my revenge, I thought about the different biting insects.

That brought up thoughts of the Brown Recluse Spider. This small creature’s bite goes from a small itchy red spot to massive swelling, loss of skin,  difficulty breathing, permanent nerve damage, and in small children, can lead to death. One little spider bite.

That sent me to thinking about the conference. For me, an introvert, the thought of going to conference is very much like that spider bite. It starts with the pain of travel, meeting people and then I think about sitting in workshops where my attention deficit will kick in. Unlike the spider bite, the long term effects are not debilitating but positive.

So I’ll push myself out of my comfort zone, let the pain come and likely meet a few other writers who are suffering the same symptoms of conference attendanceitis. Then I'll head home with some new strategies for my writing and maybe even a few new friends.

See you all at the Inscribe Fall Conference!

"Write For Me" by Glynis M. Belec

When I first saw the prompt for our blog posts this month I thought to myself, "That'll be an easy one."

Then I started thinking and I realized trying to figure out who was my greatest influence in writing wasn't going to be as easy as I first thought.

I was always good at English and Composition according to my early report cards. All the way through both elementary and high school, my marks reflected my love of writing. Math - not so much. But creative writing and oral reading were definitely my strengths.

I attended my first school years in Scotland and although I don't recall names, I remember teachers appreciating my little stories.

Then when we emigrated to Canada, I remember, better, Addy McLeod. Mrs. McLeod was my grade six teacher and was very protective of me. She drove the bullies away who made fun of my British accent and school uniforms. She told me to take no notice of them and to concentrate on my school work instead. I tried. She rewarded me with genuine praise and when she saw I could write, she was always looking for opportunities for me to pursue.

I remember one time when our class had to write speeches. My piece impressed Mrs. McLeod and I was selected as one of the finalists for the public speaking contest that year. Her words still have an impact on me today as I remember how she encouraged me in so many ways - turn the other cheek; be proud of who you are; always write from the heart; enunciate and punctuate, even when speaking.

When I hit high school I also remember well, both Mr. Magee and Mr. Brown. Mr. Magee once wrote on the board, "A gum-chewing girl is like a cud-chewing cow" because one of my classmates was nabbed with her Bazooka bubblegum. He was tough but he was a gem to me. His passion was for Shakespeare and the English language was rampant and contagious. I learned to love it, too. The way he strung words together fascinated me and he often told me how he appreciated my stories.

And Mr. Brown - my Latin teacher. He was a little doddery - I think he walked on his tip-toes, if I remember correctly. But I loved him and his passion and expertise taught me to love Latin. He always had a lovely smile and the patience of Job.  Mr. Brown helped me to realize the structure and declension of Latin and how it laid the foundation for the English language. I was fascinated and was hooked on root words.

Then later, as part of my entry exams into the nursing program, I was required to write an essay on some aspect of health or safety. I  passed that part with flying colours (I wrote a humorous piece about standing on a razor in the shower) and scored an A+. Later the prof told me it was funny, profound and well-written. It started me thinking!

Then final confirmation that writing might just be a good second career choice, happened after I was married and a stay at home Momma Bear with two busy cubs. I took them to the library one day and it was there I spotted the poster for the county wide contest. I entered it and won!

The path was cleared and my heart was stirred.

One more thing. September 3, 1987 - I gave my life to the Lord and I committed my head, heart and soul. Shortly after that life-changing experience, the doors started to open and bought my first Smith Corona. . .

"Write for Me," He whispered. That's been my greatest influence and motivation, ever since.

“My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer.”  Psalm 45:1

Glynis