Dear Fellow Writer, A blank piece of paper can be exciting and intimidating . Probably every writer knows both reactions well. I know I do. I wanted to include a letter to you in this book because I wish I could talk to you individually. I’d say: Listen to your inside self, your private voice. Respect your thoughts and feelings and ideas. You—yes, you—play with sounds. With language(s), explore the wonder of being alive. Living hurts, so sometimes we write about a miserable date, a friend who betrayed us, the death of a parent. Some days, though, we’re so full of joy we feel like a kite. We can fly! Whether we write for ourselves or to share our words, we discover ourselves when we truly write: when we dive below the surface. It’s never easy to really reveal ourselves in school, but remember that writing is practice. Without practice, you will never learn to hear and sing your own unique song. I have always been a reader, which is the best preparation for becoming a writer. When I was in grade school in El Paso, Texas (where I was born), I read comic books and mysteries and magazines and library books. I was soaking up language. I’ve always liked to write, too—but I was a mother before I began to create regular time for my writing. Was it that I didn’t think that I had anything important to say? Was it that I didn’t believe that I could say anything that well? Was it that when I was in school we never studied a writer who was like me—bilingual , a Mexican American—and so somehow I decided that “people like me†couldn’t be writers? I have a large poster of an American Indian storyteller right above my desk. Children are climbing all over her, just as my sisters and my brother and I climbed over nuestra tÃa, our aunt, Ignacia Delgado, the aunt we called Lobo. She was our storyteller. Who is yours? Would you like to be a storyteller? Would you like to write or paint or draw or sing your stories? I became a writer because words give me so much pleasure that I have always wanted to sink my hands and heart into them, to see what I can create, what will rise up, what will appear on the page. I’ve learned that some writers are quiet and shy, others noisy, others just plain obnoxious. Some like enchiladas and others like sushi; some like rap and others like rancheras. 1 Some write quickly, and some are as slow as an elderly man struggling up a steep hill on a windy day. I’ll tell you a few of our secrets. The first is that we all read. Some of us like mysteries and some of us like memoirs, but writers are readers. We’re curious to see what others are doing with words, but—what is more important—we like what happens to us when we open a book, how we journey into the pages. Another secret is that we write often. We don’t just talk about writing. We sit by ourselves inside or outside, writing at airports or on kitchen tables, even on napkins. We’re usually nosy and very good at eavesdropping . Just ask my three children! And writers are collectors. We collect facts and phrases and stories: the names of cacti,2 the word for cheese in many languages. In the last twenty years, I’ve spent more and more time writing my own books for children and adults. I have received many rejections and will probably receive many more, darn it. I just keep writing—and revising. Revising is now one of my favorite parts of being a writer, though I didn’t always feel that way. I enjoy taking what I’ve written—a picture or a book or a poem—and trying to make the writing better, by changing words or rhythm. Sometimes by starting over! Writing is my way of knowing myself better, of hearing myself, of discovering what is important to me and what makes me sad, what makes me different, what makes me me—of discovering my own true name. And writing makes me less lonely. I have all these words in English and Spanish whispering or sometimes shouting at me, just waiting for me to put them to work, to combine them so that they leap over mountains on small hooves or slip down to the sandy bottom of the silent sea. And you? Maybe these poems—taken from my collections Chants, Borders, and Communion, along with some new poems written for this book, for you—will tempt you to write your own poems about a special person or a special place, about a gray fear or a green hope. What are your blooms, your thorns, your roots? Remember, my friend, never speak badly of your writing. Never make fun of it. Bring your inside voice out and let us hear you on the page. Come, join the serious and sassy family of writers. 1.What is the most interesting idea about writing Mora expresses? Support your explanation. 2.Does Mora think it is easy or difficult for most students to reveal their thoughts and feelings in papers written as school assignments? Why does Mora address this issue 3.According to Mora, what is the most important reason for writing? Do you agree with her? Why or why not? 4.Write your own poem now—of at le please please help! the first part is the poem and then when you see the numbered questions,those need the to be answered by reading the poem. Hope i cleared it up. Thx I really appreciate your help!
Poetry - 2 Answers
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1 :
not sure
2 :
Okay, first this is long and has so much going on, I'm confused. Where is the poem? Mora is obviously a writer/poet but how do I know that. I looked back to see if I should be answering the questions based on the letter to fellow writer
s but your name is Mimi. Clarify for me and I will answer.
