by Joe Bunting |
A few years ago I taught at a high school with a strong Arts program. At the end of the school year, the fruits of students’ labour were put up for sale in a silent auction. I remember walking through the room, mouth agape and eyes bulging in awe of the talent I saw.
Later in the staff room a colleague and I, both of us English teachers, both aspiring authors, were fawning over the accomplishments of our students and I remember saying, “I wish I had talent like that.” My colleague assured me that I did. When I protested that I couldn’t even draw a wiggly line, she said to me, “You’re an artist; you paint word pictures.”
It was a moment of epiphany, one that’s stayed with me to this day.
by Joe Bunting |
The day Marston was born, we found out my wife’s grandmother had cancer. They said she had six months to a year to live. Three weeks later, she was in critical condition, and my wife was flying up to see her. It’s now four weeks after my son was born and I’m here in Pennsylvania, Amish country, for the funeral.
Never before have I seen life and death in such close proximity. Cormac McCarthy once said these are the only two subjects worth writing about, life and death. After experiencing it first hand this month, I get it.
by Joe Bunting |
Are you using photographs as a tool in your writing? No matter how good your imagination may be, looking at the setting, the character or the mood you’re describing can only enhance the task at hand. A nicely taken portrait can reveal much about the character – his/her vulnerabilities, moralities, moods and feelings, origins – and suggest a story behind it. By looking into the eyes of a photographed subject, you’re looking into this person’s soul. You, as a writer, are to catch this and put it into your art: words.
by Joe Bunting |
ou’ve been told over and over that we writers must read to improve our craft. Over at the Write to Publish course, we’ve been practicing critiquing. I’ve learned writers can’t just read, we must critique!
by Joe Bunting |
In allegiance to Stephen King’s writerly maxim, “The only requirement is the ability to remember every scar,” I’m considering writing a new series of stories about my father’s five year struggle with Chronic Fatigue Syndrom.
I was ten when my father had to quit work go on disability. His body was hurting all the time and he couldn’t think he was so tired. Ten is an age you need a father, but for five years he was largely absent, both physically and mentally. My mom was preoccupied and stressed bearing our family’s financial burdens. I went through the first, confusing years as a teenager all but alone.
But the question is: should I write the stories from this period of my life as non-fiction or channel them into my fiction?
