You Have to Weave in the Metaphor, Most People want the Cold Water in the Face.

You have to weave in the metaphor, most people want the cold water in the face. 

The hazard of writing is that for some it is a necessity, for me it a necessity. While reading is an escape, I love to read because it gives me an escape from my necessity to write.

Not everyone wants to read personal blogs- not everyone gets a book. The brutal reality of your life is just that, something for you to figure out, some of us write to help with that. The hazard of writing is we think someone else might want to read it. The mercy of it, we only need to write for ourselves. Our truth is boring. Their truth is fascinating. There is far more choice in writing for yourself, than in reading someone else’s writing. You can write poetry, non-fiction and biographical essays. You can write a journal or a story. You can scribble notes or take time to write for days- free flowing or precise. Words only have meaning for you, unless you make them relatable to someone else’s perspective. Sometimes when we read, we veraciously read the entire book, eating up the words like morsels of personal inspiration. Others we struggle to gain insight from and put on a shelf never to be completed. Yet, from both experiences we gain knowledge. They shape our writing.

So read, a lot and write a lot- it is those stories that shape us.

                               

Words are like the thin white paper they put between layers of deli meat- when you aren’t looking, you try to separate a piece of sustenance, but all you get is the paper. Then you turn to look, and you notice you didn’t pull the paper apart. The whole process makes you hungrier and more frustrated. Sometimes, I feel like the paper, others the meat. Now I know, big metaphor, woven in just now, I can’t help myself. I am a water in the face gal, when it comes to reading someone else’s truth, their personal story. But writing truth, involves not only words for me, but images and thus imagery. I think more in color and nuance than words. My mind forms sentences from both exterior and interior visual input. Thus, my story often becomes metaphor on its own. As much as I try to ‘stick to the fact’s mam’, - I tend to ‘hey, did you see that?’ It’s just the way I think and express myself.

Just write, not for them, whoever they are, but for you. That is the only way the words will actually form logical sentences. When you try to make it funny or poignant- they fall short. Because to you, you are always funny and poignant. My favorite person to talk to is me. Not because I feel I am the smartest or wittiest person I know, but because there is a layer of refinement and subtlety just for my ears, my synapses, my cerebrum- I always know exactly what I mean. I can be harsh, rude, hurtful and then turn right around and be supportive and caring. I forgive quickly. I expect the turnaround, embrace the roundabout’s because to me that is how people should talk to each other, yet we learn early on the reasons why we don’t. Shame, distrust, humiliation. So, we fake smile, look one another in the eyes and lie. We hide our honesty because if we didn’t, we would be outcasts. Not by our own choosing but by the consensus of them. Them, whoever they are. We often write for approval not to tell a story.

I build my exterior wall, full of graffiti and advertisements, all on an image. Not a fashionable or trendy one, a visual one. Again, I need the colors, shapes, mental artwork. We all do this of course. We want to seem ‘put together’ and confident. Some do. Some don’t. But whether we do or not is beside the point. The only thing, deep down, we are looking for is acceptance, approval, admiration, in any form. We yearn for this- we construct beautiful foundations on which we hang our perceived masterpieces, well-lit and on display. As they, whomever they are, pass our framed life experiences, our attempt at approval. Some stop and take a glance, others pause to really take it in. While, others completely ignore us, knowing their destination is the neon, flashing, trendsetting exhibit, just down the hall.

They, whomever they are, do so with judgement: praise or criticism they judge. Even ignoring us entirely is a judgment. But if we don’t create pieces of bright, colored, mainstream, widely accepted forms of art, we stay on the back walls of a very large museum. The only way to be prominently displayed, is to take a risk. Be obscure just enough to attract attention. Change the shape, color and nuance of our exhibition. Part may be antiquity, others conventional- but if every piece is personal, meaningful, relevant- we may just get an audience. How can you keep every piece modern and new? Simply you can’t. Your exposition can only be illustrated by your own dialogue- the words you choose, your voice, you need to listen to it, you speak to it every day, it is literally your best friend. Trust it. It won’t lead you astray. You have to weave in the metaphor, most people want the cold water in the face.

My inner wall, well it is precise, in my eye at least. Every brick fit’s together perfectly, flawlessly, yes, I know another metaphor. If I can see any chips or nicks- I have to spackle over them, sand them down and pretend they never existed. This my friends, causes many problems. I am Dyslexic and what many people describe me as, on the spectrum. So, nothing is ever without the need of repair, everything is shaky and off balance, all the time. Trying to evenly space the bricks and align my inner wall with my exterior wall- is well, impossible. The two blend. I have the mind images in abundance, and they accompany the words- enhance them so to speak. When I write a simple sentence, it doesn’t stay simple for long, if in fact there is an accompanying illustration. If there is, then the sentence becomes more visual, a metaphor emerges, most often without me even trying. So thus, my writing has a lot of metaphor- but for it to be palatable, relatable, it needs to be more of the water in the face.

Conundrum.

You have to weave in the metaphor, most people want the cold water in the face.

Why not write two stories and merge them, weave them together, tighten the strands, amplify the patterns and cross-stitch. I am going to give it a try… bear with me…I am going to use some metaphor, and for good luck, splash a little water on you too. Get a towel, you may get wet.

                                          

Dinner Parties and Dandelions (Metaphor)

The dining table is endless, every seat taken, conversations thriving. Placeholders have arranged this configuration. The host gave the order a lot of thought, planned the menu down to every detail. Each guest engaged, each course, on time and delicious. Those who have similar viewpoints, seated side by side, to keep the repartee light and purposeful.

Fancy candlesticks and centerpieces adorn the white tablecloth, every few feet.  Although beautiful, shiny and decorative, they block many from having conversations, steering glances to those next to them, rather than across from them. The conversation switches from commonality, big ideas, to quiet differences.

The table is beautiful, the food distinctive, delectable, delightful, and this becomes the focal point, not the dialogue. The once vibrant din of laughter and connections dwindles to thousands of private exchanges. Are they meaningful? Its difficult to tell as a host, they are overpowered by the clanking of utensils devouring the fabulous provisions. It is no longer about the delicacy, but about the nourishment. The courses, one after the other, blend rather than remain distinctive and impressionable. The evening has become a rapid, moveable feast, tasty and flavorful- but, after every layer it becomes muddled. The discourse, individual and instigated by candlesticks and centerpieces, has gotten the whole dinner party off course.

This beautiful, well-staged dinner party ended up a memorable soiree, but for the wrong reasons. It was meant to be a scrumptious synergy of delicacies and independent thinking, but in the end fell short because it was a labor of personal hosting, not an event centered around reciprocal action. If the tablecloth, the candlesticks and centerpieces had been removed and small arrangements of dandelions added- the dinner party would have been about the simple act of talking, sharing and even making some wishes.

We see the connection, correlation yet imagery was at the forefront.

                                            

The Dinner Party Mentality (Water to the Face)

Desks arranged, some congruent, others linear. Students prefer to choose how they sit, a standing desk, at the end of a table, even cross-legged on the floor if that suits their fancy. I tend to let them move themselves and chairs around, until they have sussed out a comfortable spot, to rest for the period. This removes any obstacles from their path. If conversations, indeed, are to be purposeful, students often need to be with people they choose to converse with. Yes, side bar conversations will occur, but not as much as you think. If given a prompt, they will discuss the topic at hand- it’s all in the timing. Too much and they will get distracted, too little and they lose the beauty of the flavor, the subtlety of discourse. They need time to loosen the thread, see the nuances- this may be quick for some, slower for others.

The menu is key. A few courses work best for middle school students. An appetizer, a main course based on a few options and then a dessert. This is manageable for any palate. Simple, yet effective. Most students want an order, a course list. They like to know what’s coming- this makes the conversation more effective. They are less worried about the details of the assignment and more open to problem-solving it.

If we convert a dinner party style to a learning style party, each stage is more meaningful. It is more personal because they had a say in where they sat, who they talked to and most of all- the menu was to their liking. No one wants to go to a dinner party with a set menu of food they hate and being forced to sit beside someone they don’t know or want to know. The most meaningful, relatable, lessons are those based on choice and pace. Not tall chairs, placeholders, candlesticks and centerpieces. All we have to do is pull out the tablecloth (yes, we are magicians after all) and even if the table is disheveled a bit, our guests will adapt and move to a comfy chair for the rest of the evening.

Okay so a little imagery in there, but I got drenched, did you?

   

A Dinner Party, No a Learning Party (A blending)

The dining table is endless, every seat taken, conversations thriving. Placeholders have arranged this configuration. The host gave the order a lot of thought, planned the menu down to every detail. For fancy dinners, this is preferred but in a classroom, is it the preference? I don’t like dinner parties- too much pressure to be social. In my classroom, desks arranged: some congruent, others linear. Students prefer to choose how they sit, a standing desk, at the end of a table, even cross-legged on the floor if that suits their fancy.

Fancy candlesticks and centerpieces adorn the white tablecloth, of most dinner parties. Although beautiful, shiny and decorative, they block many from having conversations, steering glances to those next to them, rather than across from them. The conversation switches from commonality, big ideas, to quiet differences. Yet, in a classroom, I tend to let them move themselves and chairs around, until they feel a comfortable spot to rest for the period. This removes any obstacles from their path, their conversations. Students often need to be with people they choose to converse with, for meaningful conversations to occur.

The table, at most dinner parties are beautiful, the food distinctive, delectable, delightful, this becomes the focal point, not the dialogue. The once vibrant din of laughter and connections dwindles to thousands of private exchanges. Are they meaningful? It’s difficult to tell as a host, they are overpowered by the clanking of utensils devouring the fabulous provisions. Transform the dinner party to a learning party and yes, side bar conversations will occur, but not as much as you think. If given a prompt, they will discuss the topic at hand- it’s all in the timing. Too much and they will get distracted, too little and you lose the beauty of the flavor of discovery, the subtlety of discourse. They need time to loosen the thread, see the nuances- this may be quick for some, slower for others- a comfortable dinner party allows for this too.

If every detail is in place, it is no longer about the delicacy, but about the nourishment. The courses, one after the other, blend rather than remain distinctive and impressionable. The evening has become a rapid, moveable feast, tasty and flavorful- but, after every layer it becomes muddled. The discourse, individual and instigated by candlesticks and centerpieces, has gotten the whole dinner party off course. Yet in a learning party, the menu is key. A few courses work best for middle school students. An appetizer, a main course based on a few options and then a dessert. This is manageable for any palate. Simple, yet effective. Most students want an order, a course list. They like to know what’s coming- this makes the conversation more effective. They are less worried about the details of the assignment and more open to problem-solving it. Thus, tasty blends with preference- a wonderful combination.

Our well-planned, well-executed dinner parties often end up a memorable soiree, but for the wrong reasons. They were meant to be a scrumptious synergy of delicacies and independent thinking but in the end fell short, because they were a labor of personal hosting, not one of reciprocal action. Had we removed the tablecloth, the candlesticks and centerpieces and added small arrangements of dandelions, then the dinner party would have been about the simple act of talking, sharing and even making some wishes.

In a learning party, each stage is more meaningful because students had a say in where they sat, who they talked to and most of all- the menu was to their liking. No one wants to go to a dinner party with a set menu of food they hate and being forced to sit beside someone they don’t know or want to know. The most meaningful, relatable, lessons are those based on choice and pace. We can make every class period more meaningful and productive, not with tall chairs, placeholders, candlesticks and centerpieces. All we have to do is pull out the tablecloth (yes, we are magicians after all) and even if the table is disheveled a bit, our guests will adapt and move to a comfy chair for the rest of the evening. Not because we tell them too, but because the conversation is engaging, the food delicious and the learning unavoidable.

We have beautiful stories to tell. Personal, brutally honest, a bit of fiction and mystery. But, no matter our voice, our imagery of choice, as long as they are genuine and honest, someone will connect with them. Like Hollywood, getting something published, takes connections. You just need to keep making them. You have to keep writing and posting on your blog. You have to keep your voice sincere and your mind open. If your words, your synergy of symbolism and succinctness are real, magical and meaningful to you, they will be to someone else- because in fact we are all connected. We all face the same fears, blessings and doubts. We all have stories. We are all writers.

You have to weave in the metaphor, most people want the cold water in the face.

I like all three- sometimes I like the analogies and similes of life…organic and thriving beside the specific and succinct. But, the blending of the two, the synergy of surreal and succinct- it’s pretty cool too.