Raymond Garfield Dandridge
If I had mighty wings to fly,
I d soar aloft in youder sky,
And paint with fire, to never die,
One word—Mother!
Then far out on the desert waste,
In glist’ning sands again I’d trace,
So deep that naught could e’er erase,
One word—Mother!
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
All people dream, but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,
Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.
But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people,
For they dream their dreams with open eyes,
And make them come true.
All in the world know the beauty of the beautiful,
and in doing this they have (the idea of) what ugliness is;
they all know the skill of the skilful,
and in doing this they have (the idea of) what the want of skill is.
So it is that existence and non-existence give birth the one to (the idea of) the other;
that difficulty and ease produce the one (the idea of) the other;
that length and shortness fashion out the one the figure of the other;
that (the ideas of) height and lowness arise from the contrast of the one with the other;
that the musical notes and tones become harmonious through the relation of one with another;
and that being before and behind give the idea of one following another.
Therefore the sage manages affairs without doing anything, and conveys his instructions without the use of speech.
All things spring up, and there is not one which declines to show itself;
they grow, and there is no claim made for their ownership;
they go through their processes, and there is no expectation (of a reward for the results).
The work is accomplished, and there is no resting in it (as an achievement).
The work is done, but how no one can see;
‘Tis this that makes the power not cease to be.
When the Shy Star Goes Forth in Heaven by James Joyce
When the shy star goes forth in heaven
All maidenly, disconsolate,
Hear you amid the drowsy even
One who is singing by your gate.
His song is softer than the dew
And he is come to visit you.
O bend no more in revery
When he at eventide is calling.
Nor muse: Who may this singer be
Whose song about my heart is falling?
Know you by this, the lover’s chant,
‘Tis I that am your visitant.
Michelangelo reputedly said, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” Writers must free their angels as well. But first you need the marble. The marble in this case is all the primary material that will come to form the basis of your novel. For many of us, that involves research.
Cooks know there’s something called a mise en place: You read the recipe, if there is one, and assemble your tools and ingredients. It’s another way of saying that the cooking begins before you begin cooking.
The same thing is true for writing. The writer’s mise en place is in fact a place. Do you have a place where you can think, where you can dream and explore? A private office is wonderful, but it isn’t essential. I’ve written several books on various dining room tables. . . . Your writer’s mise en place will help you settle into your creative mind, reduce outside distractions, and signal to your subconscious that you’re about to begin. Instead of avoiding all the heavy thinking and struggling that you might be putting off, you can let the physical world gently lead you into the story.
The best thrillers stab the heart, throughout. They do it by getting readers to experience the emotions of the scenes. How can you do that? First, by experiencing them yourself. Sense memory is a technique used by many serious actors. Here’s how it works: You concentrate on recalling an emotional moment in your life, and recreate each of the senses in your memory (sight, smell, touch, sound, etc.) until you begin to feel the emotion again. And you will. The actor transfers that to her role; the writer, to the page.
Another method is the old Raymond Chandler advice: When things slow down, bring in a man with a gun. It doesn’t have to be an actual man with an actual gun, of course. It can be anything that bursts into a scene and shakes things up. Here’s the key: Get your imagination to give you the surprise without justification.
Make a quick list of at least 10 things that just pop into your mind. For example:
- A woman runs in screaming.
- The lights go out.
- A car crashes through the wall.
- Heart attack.
- SWAT team outside.
- Marching band outside.
- TV announcer mentions character’s name.
- A baby cries (what baby?).
- Blood drips down the wall.
- Justin Bieber comes in with a gun.
Some things on your list will seem silly. That’s OK. Don’t judge. Look back and find the most original item, and only then find a reason for it.
There’s nothing like a stunning twist or shock to keep readers flipping, clicking or swiping pages. Part of the fun for readers is thinking a story is going one way, and getting taken completely by surprise.
Harlan Coben is one of the reigning kings of the art of surprise. “I’ve rarely met a twist I didn’t like,” he has said. His method, if it can be called that, is to write himself “into a lot of corners” and see how things work out. That’s one way to go. Forcing your writer’s mind to deal with conundrums is a great practice.
