Once in a while, someone in your sphere offers an interesting glimpse into their or your own psyche through some sort of exercise. Be it Rorschach’s ink blots or some open-ended question, these exercises can sometimes offer you moments to slow down and really ponder an issue.

     Such is the case with the 123 Meme exercise that blogger Michele posts at http://writingthecyberhighway.blogspot.com. It’s simple. The rules are:

     1) Pick up the book nearest you
     2) Open to page 123
     3) Find the 5th sentence
     4) Post the following 3 sentences
     5) Tag five others (I skipped this one. I don’t tag people.)

     The book nearest me at the time was The New Nation by Joy Hakim. It’s the fourth book in the series A History of US, which is part of my eldest daughter’s course on American history. It is an excellent series, by the way; thoroughly researched and written just for the child’s ability. Page 123 speaks of Sequoyah’s attempts to understand written language and create just such a working system for the Cherokee nation, in the hopes of preserving their history and knowledge, as well as learn to speak from a distance, through the use of correspondence.

     Here are the sentences following the fifth: “A white man would take words, turn them into shapes, and scratch them on a slate or draw them on a piece of paper. Then another man could look at those shapes and say the first man’s words. Was it magic?”

     It took Sequoyah more than a decade to succeed in creating a writing system for the Cherokee language. What an incredibly lofty goal, to create “talking leaves,” yet what an amazing success to have a written language, something we perhaps don’t often consider amazing.

     May we all cherish the gift — in every language.

     Why is it that adult writers have such a hard time letting go of details? Why do we slow down the free flow of ideas — even in a first draft — to get bogged down trying to find just that perfect word?

     I was so pleased watching my daughter write a story this evening. After fifteen minutes of hearing the scratch of pencil on paper, I saw her walk up to me, notebook in hand, to get my take on her story. She was quick to say it was a first draft, unfinished, grammar not taken in account, etc. I suppose she expected me to start correcting misspellings.

     I wouldn’t have dreamed of it. How wonderful to see her write! How liberating to see her just go with it!

     Sure, young children generally have neither the grammar skills nor the vocabulary to write flawless works with words concise enough to match every nuance. That doesn’t make their effort and especially the “imperfect” execution less wonderful. In fact, many of us adult writers could learn from their example. We could just write and worry about the fixes later. No need to sink into that quicksand of “correction.”

     I love writing accents. Giving a character a voice that really fits him is so satisfying — and fun.

     And there are many different accents. There are the national accents, the regional dialects, the local twangs, the tradesmen’s lingo. There are variances through education and age. Real people even “tweak their speak” on a whim, favoring whatever suits their fancy, depending on the situation.

     An accent greatly inspirits a character. We’ve all read books whose characters’ voices were unique. So how to make that happen? Listening and repeating in my head works well enough for me. The problem comes in putting it on paper in such a way that English grammar doesn’t alter the pronunciation.

     I’ve written several characters possessing voices so distinct that they almost speak their parts before I can write them. They leave me trailing behind them, transcribing as fast as I’m able. It’s sublime when that happens.

     Years ago, in journalism school, we students were taught to choose our verbs with great care. Verbs, we were assured, were to express action, but not nuance. For example, we were not to write, “Politician Paul claims to be working on the problem,” or “Politican Paul professes to be working on the problem.” Instead, we were to write, “Politican Paul said he was working on the problem.” The idea behind the less expressive verb was to show the action being taken, but not allow the broadcast or publication of any perceived or actual writer bias.

     The rules have since changed, for a host of reasons, including, I suspect, a desire to give the audience more of a sense of what’s really happening. The journalist with twenty years experience in the market, who knows he’s being snowballed by someone, doesn’t want to become that person’s mouthpiece by reporting action without context.

     It’s also a simple matter of writing more interesting copy. Ninety said’s in one newscast is pretty dull, indeed.

     I was trained to be unexpressive in verb choice and still, generally, use neutral verbs in my news copy. Writing fiction, however, is a whole other matter, and we writers can and should break free from the bondage of boring verbs and pen / scribble / jot / scratch / type verbs that are exact and lively. Like that?

     Great writing comprises great verbs, we know. The verbs should mesmerize us; possess us to feel the emotion and see the imagery that the author exudes. So when creating the story, get yourself a great thesaurus and simply go crazy. Watch your writing burst to life before your eyes. I did.