"3 Ways Writing and the Visual Arts Inspire Each Other" 🖊📓📸
Thrilled that my craft article, “3 Ways Writing and the Visual Arts Inspire Each Other,” was featured today through Women on Writing. [Article below.]
Also check out my July-August online Imagery Power: Photography for Writers class that starts Friday, July 16th. Sign-ups open for a limited time! I’d love to work with you and your creative friends. 🙌📸📕
“3 Ways Writing and the Visual Arts Inspire Each Other”
By Melanie Faith
Over the years as a writing teacher, I’ve discovered that many of my talented writing students are also visual artists. From fellow photographers to sculptors, painters, and collage artists, there’s something about the skills used to write vivid imagery and/or scenes that also translate well into other art forms, and vice versa.
So, what can a writer learn from photography (or another visual art) that will enhance their prose or poetry projects?
· Focusing on bite-sized portions create resonance. When you write a scene, chapter, stanza, or paragraph, there’s a format you have in mind—after all, a single chapter or poem can’t last forever. Just as you can’t include everything into a single scene or chapter or poem, you can’t include everything in visual art. A visual artist focuses on parts of a scene for a landscape photograph or painting; it has to stop somewhere. As writers, we make decisions, especially in later drafts, about both what details are extraneous to the whole as well as details or images that must remain to create a unified whole that speaks to a reader’s/viewer’s own experience.
One of the many definitions for “resonance” at Dictionary.com, states: “The ability to evoke or suggest images, memories, and emotions,” while Merriam-Webster.com defines the term as “a quality of richness or variety” and “a quality of evoking response.” Ultimately, in both writing and visual arts, this is exactly what we want: layers of meaning from the writer/artist that are interesting and hook the reader/viewer so much that the imagery presented stirs their own emotions just experiencing our art.
Made with my ‘90s Canon and Kodak Gold 200 film: “Curlicue L3.” 📸✨
That’s one of the great joys of reading, writing, and making art: the more specific and focused our own works are, the more others will click with the work and want to spend time with it. Creating bite-sized portions of art informs, entertains, and captures the human need to be understood. What could be better than that?
· Layer it up: the more meaning the merrier! In an essay or poem or novel, no matter what the theme is, there’s more going on in the writing than just a sentence-or-two synopsis of what literally happens or what its main idea is. Reaching into the grab bag of literary analytical terms, there might be one or several concurrent elements that contribute to make a scene, chapter, poem, or visual arts piece seem so real-to-life, including but not limited to: symbolism, auditory or taste or visual imagery, synecdoche, metonymy, juxtaposition, simile, and/or metaphor, and more. Below the immediate level of what the work is “about” literally, the deeper, gooier, more subterranean meanings reside and represent where the creator does some of their best work.
Working subtly to show something deeper about human life beyond the immediately obvious—indeed, the word crafting is splendidly apt here—writers and artists work emblematic representations of ideas, emotions, and conflicts into their work to deepen and connect with reader/viewer experience. Real-life ain’t easy or simplistic, so our writing and art better not be either—there should be more-than-meets-the-eye occurring concurrently with the easier-to-spot initial image or dialogue.
As writers/artists, we shape and sculpt ideas so that they are both what they appear to be and also much more than they at first suggest. That kind of composing requires both literal and figurative decisions that make the utmost of each word, each line, each paragraph/stanza, each page, or each canvas, digital chip/pixel, and/or paint.
· Both writers and visual artists actively compose reality. That is, we consider how parts of a whole interact with each other, we leave in necessary imagery and crop out unnecessary or cluttering details, we omit and/or change the pace of reality by slowing down/zeroing in focus on some elements so that others fade into the background, and more.
The element of careful and mindful composition is somewhat subconscious (at first draft, before editing, anyway), and it’s also where a lot of the plain fun of being a writer or artist occurs in the conscious stages of making.
Some subjects, themes, and ideas we might be innately drawn to, such as trains, but the majority of our work revolves around recurring ideas or symbols from an array of life experiences that seem to recur, both in our lives and later in our work—to take the train example further: the artist’s father might have been a 9-5 commuter for many years and so the recurrence of trains in the artist’s work may suggest a whole host of ideas from family responsibility related to jobs, feelings of missing a parental figure, to what it means to live in the suburbs but work in a city, and more.
Writing and the visual arts integrate many decisions at both the conscious and subconscious level of creation: exciting and complex composition that continues to inspire, mystify, challenge, and motivate our work from the first experiments in each medium through all of the works we produce and share.
Clearly, writing and the visual arts are meaningful, rich explorations into self-discovery and also important genres for commenting on and sharing ideas about the complexity of human experience. One art form—writing—can inform and inspire growth in visual arts as we reach to become better self-expressing writers and insightful communicators to a wider audience.
📚🖊My Flash Article Published Today🖊📚
It's a great news kind of day! My article, "The Inherent I: 4 Reasons for Using Fabulous First-Person POV in Flash," was published by Women on Writing today. Read the whole article below, as well as a free prompt to try. 😎
Interested in more? I’m taking sign-ups for my April Flash Fiction course: clickety!
“The Inherent I: 4 Reasons for Using Fabulous First-Person POV in Flash”
By: Melanie Faith
Both flash fiction and nonfiction often feature first-person narrators. What are the advantages of using I speakers when writing flashes?
First person is focused. A speaker in first-person narration showcases their own inner landscape, feelings, and outlook. Whether fiction or nonfiction, a first-person speaker follows one person’s tightly-woven motivations, blinders, opinions, hopes, and goals. There’s no head-hopping involved!
Since flash is so small, it’s helpful to have a narrow, beam-of-light approach rather than several POVs competing for the very limited space available under 1,000 words, but often much less.
First person is natural to the ways we think and already form stories. From the time we start to talk, I, me, and my are some of our first words we learn to speak or to write. When we tell friends about the picnic we enjoyed or the meal that went terribly wrong, chances are very strong we frame our anecdotes in first-person. It’s often our default mode when communicating via text, email, or video conferencing as well. Humans inherently express our own experiences using I statements. Why go against the grain in our writing?
First person includes room for surprises. Yes, it’s first-person narration, but in the case of flash fiction especially, that doesn’t have to mean the character presented has to share all of your own experiences, feelings, or beliefs. In fact, it might be more fun to play devil’s advocate and writing a character who is your polar opposite.
Say, you are a marathon runner who’s just had an injury and has been limited to moderate exercise and no training for the next six months during physical therapy. You’re itching to get back on the track, back to your passion for the sport, to your next race. Flip it and reverse that energy as you recuperate. What if your protagonist has never run a marathon in his life? What if he actually detests running? What if someone dares or even bribes him to run a marathon or else there will be consequences? Yep, you can write this in first-person POV to see life from his perspective. Or perhaps from the perspective of his coworker, Meghan, who has issued the challenge/bribe. What’s her perspective like, and why is she making this request/demand?
First person could include any of these details, just not all of them at once. You never know what you’ll learn about yourself—or others—or your favorite sports, hobbies, pastimes, and more through leaping into another person’s eyes.
First person includes promising limits. Yes, first person can be limited, but that’s also part of its charm.
In a nonfiction flash essay, for instance, the reader does not get to delve deeply into the feelings or actions of many others, unless those are in relation to—and shed important light on—the first-person speaker’s journey. It’s all about the speaker, baby!
The reader gets to intuit and experience the speaker’s limits and foibles as well as their strengths and fears.
What a writer reveals in first person as well as what must be left out because it is told in first person provide a compelling insight into human behavior, both for the individual and for people in that setting or time period or group the speaker belongs to, or wishes to, or never will.
Try this prompt! Set a timer for fifteen or twenty minutes. Write in first person about a time when the I speaker—whether you or a made-up character—felt left out of a group. Do not use the word disappointed anywhere in the flash; instead, demonstrate it with the I statements the person uses, their astute observations about why they wanted this inclusion but it hasn’t come to be, and/or in their actions or refusal to act. Go!
Photo courtesy of Nathan DeFiesta on Unsplash.com
"3 Ways Receptivity Leads to Authentic Writing" 🙌📕
Great news! My article about authentic writing was featured today at Women on Writing. Read on!
“3 Ways Receptivity Leads to Authentic Writing”
By: Melanie Faith
We writers tend to be natural observers. Sometimes, that means noticing little nuances of behavior or movement that others might not pay attention to at all. Other times, that includes thinking about an overheard conversation or wondering about the tension within someone’s voice minutes, hours, or even days later.
This receptivity often leads to amazing results and renewed vitality in our writing. According to vocabulary.com, “Your receptivity is your ability and willingness to take in information or ideas.”
Why receptivity? Overall, we writers are meaning-seekers and meaning-interpreters. Not only do we have to choose (or be chosen by) our subject matter, but also we write and edit to bring out symbolism, metaphors, and resonance so that readers will connect to the main ideas and themes we explore. People who are closed off, even partially, tend to miss countless excellent ideas that come their way. The world is jam-packed with ideas waiting for you to notice them.
Here are three top tips for staying open to quality material you might be bypassing:
1. Receptive writers cast their nets widely first and narrow down later.
Since March, millions of workers around the world have worked from our home offices. Conferencing online at a distance has become an ordinary new feature of how the workplace functions in 2020 and into 2021. It can be pretty easy to feel isolated and in one’s own bubble when the majority of social interactions after the workday are also often at the click of a button rather than in our living rooms or at restaurants.
As much as my inner introvert rejoices at a good curl-up-and-read fest, I recognize the need for hanging out and absorbing ideas from friends and fellow creative makers. Nobody is an island, even with Covid-19 social distancing. We need to keep coming into regular contact with others’ everyday conversations about hopes, dreams, fears, complaints, and even the seemingly silly minutiae or anecdotes that used to be more commonplace before quarantine.
Art thrives on community and the spontaneous mingling of ideas. Cast your net wide and get a few recommendations to keep ideas flowing.
If you’re not conversing or overhearing juicy, disparate, random or rambling conversation on the regular, you’re probably missing out on some very important ideas that could positively impact your writing. Don’t immediately scroll past an argument or debate on Twitter or Facebook—read through strands of comments, even if you don’t comment.
Put your favorite podcast on while you work out at home or take a quick run around the block. If you don’t have a favorite podcast or book or song at the moment, text a friend or ten and find out what they’re listening to or reading recently.
2. Slow and steady: receptive writers listen and give themselves time to reflect before creating.
I’ll admit: this is a hard one for me. My mind is almost always bursting with ideas, and never more so than when I read an article that inspires me or watch a video or overhear a conversation that strike a chord. It helps my writing, though, to remind myself that when I come across new inspiration that I need to tune in and give the information a little bit of time to settle before reacting.
Give yourself some time to take in new ideas by keeping a notebook handy to jot down initial impressions, conversation snippets, or notes, but then give that information some hours or even days to rest in your notebook before using them in a new piece. This little grace period between gleaning exciting ideas and integrating or exploring them will deepen your pre-writing period. Your subconscious mind will make connections between ideas that may surprise and delight you.
Great news: often, in the hours or days in-between first hearing or learning of something and beginning to write, several other tangentially- related ideas or pieces of information will also cross your path and enrich or change the focus of your initial idea, enriching your theme in the process. We’re a fast-paced culture, but our writing process doesn’t have to be rocket-launch speed.
We hear not nearly often enough: slow it down, reflect. I’ll say this again because it’s just so soothing: slow it down.
3. Receptive Writers don’t put too much pressure on a single idea.
Here’s something we don’t tend to talk about much, but it’s as true today as it was a hundred or even a thousand years ago for scribes: don’t expect your entire writing career or reputation to be built on one magnum opus. Realize that there are many, many ideas out there and likewise a multitude ways to interpret, structure, and create art from those ideas.
Think of your writing as a marathon run, rather than a sprint. Explore each idea to the best of your ability with what you know now, but realize that you have many chances to edit and/or add to your ideas during the course of your writing career. Also, if the piece doesn’t immediately gel or if it changes focus or shape, that’s a natural part of the process. If this project doesn’t pan out after endless weeks or months of struggling, it’s okay to let it go and begin another project. There are endless other possibilities to pursue at any given time that may refresh your writing—remain flexible and open-minded about beginning again.
Ease off the pressure for the latest project to showcase every single one of your writing talents, and ease into the openness to each idea’s potential to bring out new qualities in your writing during the writing process.
Using our natural observational skills will deepen our writing. In addition, such receptivity will work wonders for creating fresh, authentic writing again and again.
Care to learn more? Clickety-click: Developing Your Authentic Voice. Starts January 8, 2021. Sign-ups now open!
"3 Common Myths about Writing Graphic Novels"
Thrilled to say that my article about writing graphic novels was published today by Women on Writing. Ta-da!
To learn more, check out my Fundamentals of Graphic Novel class. Sign-ups open now through the first day of class: Friday, October 30th.
“3 Common Myths about Writing Graphic Novels”
By: Melanie Faith
I’ve enjoyed reading graphic novels for the past ten years. These character-driven books are often humorous and fun-loving, but they can also be thought-provoking or even gritty and dramatic page-turners. They might explore historical landscapes, our current world settings, or a future planetary colony.
The astounding variety of graphic novels earns this genre a coveted spot on my overflowing bookshelves, always.
If you’re anything like me, though, you might initially have thought, this is so cool, but I can’t even draw a person to scale. I could never do that.
Let’s dive into three of the biggest myths about crafting graphic novels and take heart that not only can we read graphic novels, but we can write our own quite well, too:
1. You have to be a great artist who gets compliments on their drawing talent. False. By far, this is the myth I hear most. The thing is, if you can draw a stick figure, you can craft a comic. If you can sketch a caricature, you can create a comic. If you can run computer software, you could also make a graphic novel using software. If you have a pal who loves to draw, you could team up (you craft the story, they craft the illustrations) or you could hire an illustrator to bring your dialogue and characters to life for a collaboration that way.
Comics are an elastic, vivacious art form, made in all of these ways and more. For example, sometimes elements such as photographs and collage are also the art in “drawing” a comic.
There are as many styles of comics as you can imagine: from hand-made photocopied zines to computer-drawn animations and figures, from works produced on a shoestring budget of a single author with a day job in another industry to comics backed by an international corporation or a local small or regional publishing house, and everything in-between. Best of all: they are all legitimate art forms.
Just as we wouldn’t say that Gertrude Stein was any less of a poet than Shakespeare, they just both had vastly different literary styles and subject matter, a one-person, hand-sketched comic still belongs to the art form.
We can always take art classes later to improve our drawing skills if that’s our aim; what’s most important is that all of us, starting where we are, today, with whatever our native talent, can create an outline or caricature with personality and have fun exploring just what and where that drawing will take us and our stories. With the skills we have at this very moment.
2. You have to have an earth-shattering plot to begin a project like that. False. There are graphic novels about as many happenings under the sun as one can imagine, from cooking (Relish: My Life in the Kitchen) to living with mental illness (Mania, Depression, Michelangelo, and Me). While some awesome comics do celebrate celebrities (Josephine Baker and Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide) or are set against a backdrop of political revolutions (Persepolis), just as many great comics detail what it’s like to be an everyday person with hopes and dreams that are frequently dashed in this topsy-turvy world.
There are graphic novels that explore familial and relationship turmoil, what it’s like to be a teen or a college student living away from home for the first time, or an immigrant learning a new language and culture, or a struggling middle-aged father who has lost a child, or someone living with an infertility struggle.
If it’s happened to you or someone you’re close to or if you’ve observed a truth about life, it could make an excellent graphic novel. Comics are about human experience, and the range and breadth of human experience is vast and breathtakingly promising for a writer.
3. You have to have the entire plot figured out before even bothering to start. False. One of the great aspects of writing comics is that you can begin by brainstorming a protagonist. Someone with a personality. Someone with struggles. Someone with a set-back and hidden (or not-so-hidden) dreams. And that protagonist’s little (or big) corner of the world (aka: setting). And that protagonist’s antagonist. One spark of inspiration builds and leads to the next.
And hey, you don’t even have to create a fictional character from scratch if you don’t want to—you can be the protagonist of you own story in graphic memoir. Many established and award-winning graphic artists, like Alison Bechdel and Lucy Knisley, are heroine characters in their books. Graphic memoirs can be autofiction, too. What a diverse genre!
It bears repeating: it doesn’t take a degree or special talent in art per say to create a narrative that meshes with artistic imagery to develop story. If you can doodle some forms in a margin, you can create a comic sketch. If you can pen a vignette or a short story-length tale with some conflict and characterizations and setting, you can develop the working start for a great graphic novel.
Whether you chose to buddy up with a trained artist or collage the scene yourself or incorporate photos or draw outlines and squiggles of your own or explore computerized software to craft drawings, you already have the basic building blocks to begin in this fascinating genre.
Photo courtesy of Unsplash, by: Mahdiar Mahmoodi
"Sharpen Your Sensory Writing with Food Writing" Article Published :)
Great news! My article was published today at Women on Writing. Read on, and savor the prompt at the end.
“Sharpen Your Sensory Writing with Food Writing”
By: Melanie Faith
Photo by Brooke Lark at unsplash.com
Food, glorious food! I’ll tell you a secret: I’m certainly not the world’s best or most adventurous cook, but I adore food in all of its gooeyness, crispiness, savoriness, sweetness, smoothness, chewiness, cheesiness, and freshness. I even sometimes love its greasiness (here’s looking at you, beloved French fries with a dollop of salty-sweet Heinz ketchup).
Food is variety and memory and creativity. Food is innovation and tradition and resilience. Food has meant even more recently as it’s meant comfort.
Since quarantine and COVID-19, I’ve found myself, like many writers and creative folks, considering the great value of any certainties and peace-givers amidst the many uncertainties. Food has brought structure to days that, otherwise, would have felt adrift.
Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks happen every day, however much our schools have closed and gone online, our jobs have gone away or gone online, and our everyday activities, like meeting friends at our homes or at the movies, have been reduced to streaming alone on a phone.
Food remains a constant that has cheered my days, and I’m not the only one—many of my writing friends have noted the uplift food has brought them. We’re trying new recipes or breaking out older ones. Families now spend more time at home without getting take-out and as a result are cooking together, making amazing desserts, main courses, and side dishes that have filled my Instagram with awe.
Friends and family from afar have had motivating, friendly “competitions” to see whose chili recipe or chocolate cake turned out the best; some of us have even Zoomed or Skyped our creations, like a long-distance picnic, while talking or watching TV together. It’s a new world, and yet food shows us that it is also still a connected, social one.
I don’t even have to make or eat the meal myself to enjoy it. Lately, I’ve been watching lots of Netflix cooking shows and the Food Network: from The Great British Baking Show, Crazy Delicious, and Nailed It! to Beat Bobby Flay; Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives; Chopped; Amy Schumer Learns to Cook; and The Pioneer Woman. Some of these shows are competitions while others take viewers into restaurant or home kitchens (or sound stages) where the host offers pleasant explication and a feast for the eyes every time.
As writers, we don’t have to own restaurants or host shows to be experts on the topic. We all eat numerous times a day. We have all eaten hideous dishes that we’re not anxious to repeat as well as delicious food we wish we could eat every day. We all have had the dish that turned out great and the recipe that, despite our best efforts, bombed. We all have memories of food connected—for good or bad—to friends, family, and places (school and hospital cafeterias certainly have their own distinctive tray-bound dishes).
Authentic human emotions are often tied to eating. Many of us have experienced food anxiety, food disorders, food pressures, or struggles with our weight—this is meaningful terrain that can be incorporated into food-writing pieces.
As creatives, writing about food awakens our senses. Food descriptions, symbolism, and images are often profound and resonate with readers. Food has the obvious plate appeal, but it also has scents, textures, and sounds: that sizzling of steak or fajitas, for instance.
One of many things I savor about teaching my Food Writing course is the vast variety of writing food inspires. Writing about food is a wonderful way to deepen our descriptive skills in many genres (fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction essays, to name just three), because writing about food includes incorporating many senses and sensations. It’s also often very, very fun to write.
Food writing is a scene from a novel where characters partake in a protagonist’s going-away potluck dinner. Food writing is a poem about plums in the rain. Food writing is the creation of a new recipe or an essay exploring the cultural and familial history of a beloved tried-and-true recipe.
Food writing is also a short story where a character must learn how to cook within two weeks to impress his in-laws. Food writing is a review of the paneer and the chicken tikka masala at your local Indian restaurant. It’s also a blog about missing your mother and never quite being able to replicate her recipe for macaroni and cheese no matter how hard you try.
Food writing is all of these genres and more; its variations are endless as well as its enjoyment. Food writing is available to refresh the writing of every writer in bite-sized portions or by the baker’s dozen.
Care to learn more? Join my Food Writing class. No previous cooking experience necessary. :) More details here: Food Writing for Fun and Profit.
Try this exercise: Write a list of three or four of your favorite foods. Now, write a list of three or four foods you find obnoxious. Pick one food from your favorite list and one from your least-favorite list and compare them in a scene, a story, a poem, an essay, or any other genre of your choosing. Go!
Photo by Cayla1 at unsplash.com