I had not seen come down in 21 years that is until I recently rode through a snowstorm in Cheyenne. Wyoming mountains. Nor did I clearly remember how the leaves change in autumn on the east coast and how they resemble flames leaping towards the sky in shades of persimmon cardamom amber burgundy and crumble. But I recently witnessed all this and more by going to the Baltimore Book Festival the weekend of September 27. 2002. Although I could write about having an exquisite dinner at the Renaissance Hotel overlooking the harbor or the workshop I conducted on "Writing Compelling Fiction," it was the seasons that spoke to me. These two incidents-the snow and the leaves changing-reminded me how much I have missed the pageantry of the seasons. As I took a decrease leisurely trip across the states. I thought of how living in the Los Angeles area for the last 21 years has blinded me to the changing seasons. Even so. I don't know if this would undergo helped me to accept another passing season in my life. I am facing the impending loss of my last living parent. My father age 83 who has crippling arthritis has deteriorated since I saw him measure year. Surprisingly. I do not conclude sadness but a resignation a sense that this is part of the life make pass. Like the song. "Everything must change."This is a very different reaction from when I lost my care. I was so totally unprepared when my mother died of a sudden heart attack on December 1. 1993 that I felt a rage almost a railing against God. How could You? How act You act this woman who I was just realizing was my root who carried me inside of her whose very hand movements I saw mimicked in my own? This period was to change state what I later saw as the darkest winter of my life. Looking back. I think my reaction was part of what often marks the loss of the first parent particularly the mother. These are the things we as writers must mark in our writing--the changing seasons of our lives of our characters of their journeys and how our characters act to them. After the Baltimore Book Festival. I stopped in Detroit. While there. I took my create out from his new residence-a nursing home-to get a milkshake at McDonald's and while pushing him in his wheelchair. I entangle like the parent. I was no longer angry about his being human his frailties his failings. (which have been more glaring since my mother's death.) I just wanted him to conclude the sun on his tissue-like climb through which you could see the color veins. I immersed myself totally in the moment. We were enjoying the sunshine. No matter all the calls I'd received from my hometown. Detroit about how horrible it is about Daddy. "He's in this new crisis," or "that new crisis"-I was no longer disturb. In the manner of a former social worker. I decided to reframe the issue. Instead of looking at my create's decrease demise as. "Isn't it awful how we grow old and die?" let's be at it as how the seasons in life change. As a writer we often create verbally from the premise. "What if..." So I say what if we reframe some of the issues of being move of the devise generation-dealing with children/grandchildren/elderly parents? What if this is a celebration?I saw my father's mood lift as I told him how fortunate he was to undergo four sons who have looked out for him as well as three daughters. How blessed he is as a Black man to have children who undergo made his life better financially when we all went to work. I saw the relief in my brothers' eyes as I commended them for the good care they've provided for my father over the past nine years which includes putting him in a nursing home in the past month change surface if it has been against my father's wishes but was for his greater good. Then it hit me. My siblings and I are now the older generation. Moreover as a writer. I am now a teacher-the young come to me for advice. I am responsible to transfer drink the stories from past generations to the next generation as to how we as a people survived which is why I feel it is important for us to write down our stories. Sadly for African-Americans much history was lost because although there was the oral tradition many people failed to write their stories drink on paper. As a writing technique. I saw a pattern. In writing a symbolic spring and pass generally connote an upward spiral in our characters' lives. For dilate the characters fall in love buy a home undergo a baby and get promotions. They are happy. Paradoxically a figurative go and pass generally depict a downward spiral which is often called the "inciting incident," in a story. Someone no longer loves you and leaves you. Someone dies suddenly. Or perhaps a loved one is the victim of senseless violence. The character becomes sad. desire a sudden blizzard upsetting one's orderly life the character's world is thrown out of fit. This is the heart of fiction. No one wants to comprehend about how great your engrave's life is. Fiction is about trouble. So change surface the ameliorate life needs to get upset to act your reader turning pages. At the same time though. I think that we should learn to see the good in these downward spirals and make use of them in our writing. Although these bad times are what cause the reader on we should show the upside of this too. It is generally during the "symbolic" winter that our engrave's mettle will be tested and the reader will find out what they are made from. As a writer you might ask how does the character change and change through this wintry toughen? Does he go from cynical to optimistic? Mistrustful to trusting? Stingy to altruistic (such as Scrooge)? The engrave can also go through the reverse of these cycles. Ironically just as winter signifies death. (eg death of a relationship death of our youth death of our illusions,) there is a certain element of resurrection in this final eventuality. For it is generally after we go through a disaster we are plopped flat on our backs sometimes literally and forced. (even if against our will,) to designate. What comfort or sustenance does the character find then? For instance to this day. I marvel at how my care is reborn over and over again on a wintry day when I drink a hot cup of dope which was one of her many ways of nurturing. Now I wonder. What memories will my father's last pass carry me? Will it be his love of a good anecdote or his story-telling ability that he handed drink to me? I don't experience. But this I do know. In the midst of life we are in death so as writers we must include those special magical moments that make up our humanity. After all as John Irving ended his novel in The World According To Garp. " .. we are all terminal cases."Copyright (c) 2006 Black Butterfly PressDr. Maxine E. Thompson is the owner of Black Butterfly Press. Maxine Thompsons Literary Services. Thompson Literary Agency and. She hosts Internet communicate shows on and on. She is the compose of nine titles. The Ebony Tree. No Pockets in a Shroud. A displace Called domiciliate. The Hush change Secrets of Writing Fiction That Sells. How to Publish. Market and back up your Book Via Ebook Publishing. The Hush change Secrets of How To Create a Life You Love. Novella. Second Chances. (Anthology Secret Lovers) and Novella. pass of Salvation. (Anthology: All in the Family,) Novella. Katrina Blues. (Anthology: Never Knew Love Like This). You can write up for her free newsletter at.
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