WRITE WHO YOU ARE: THE VALUE OF AUTHENTICITY
Ellen Hopkins is the award-winning author of twenty nonfiction books for young readers, fourteen New York Times best-selling YA verse novels, two middle grade verse novels, and four novels for adult readers.
Ellen shares a bit of her own personal story being adopted, and we get the treat of hearing from her upcoming book FINDING OLIVIA which includes impressions from her experience.
Sit down with this as Ellen gives us different exercises to explore who we are to use in our own work.
*The idea is to just job down impressions.
Starting with OUR FAMILIES. List your family members. What comes to mind? Jot down the impressions, sensory details (scent, taste, sound). Take a few minutes for each.
Then follow with:
Where you grew up
Your schools
Places you've lived
Places you've visited (What about those places standout in your mind? Ellen notes that it's hard to write about a place you've never been.)
Activities/Hobbies
Sports/Games
Vehicles
Music/TV/Movies
Take all of those impressions and write an I AM poem. (Writing an I AM poem is an exercise you can find in THE WRITE TO READ by Leslie Roessing.)
Ellen shares her I AM poem with us, with all of her wonderful sensory and specific details (generated from this exercise) which show us an amazingly full view of who she is, impressions she infuses into her work. And, Ellen has generously allowed me to share the poem here. It will give you a great example of the kind of impressions she pulled from the exercise. Thank you, Ellen.
Introduction
by Ellen Hopkins
I am the daughter of ambition,
the mother of addiction,
the guardian of outcomes
of choices poorly made.
I am chin stubble met with a straight
razor. Skin Bracer, pipe tobacco, Irish Spring.
Weekend Johnny Walker Black. Church
every Sunday. A deep freeze stuffed
with venison, beef. Mama’s fried chicken.
Tide scented sheets, snapping dry
on the clothesline beneath an olive tree.
Stories read out loud every night before bed.
I am the Owl & the Pussycat,
Great Expectations, Treasure Island.
Disney’s Wonderful World of Color.
Lou Grant. Mash. Cheers. The X Files.
Sound of Music. Butch Cassidy. A Clockwork Orange.
A Day in the Life. Bohemian Rhapsody. Dark Side of the Moon.
I am literature, theater, choir, piano, dance.
Self-taught. Well taught. I am educated.
I am Lamaze, breastmilk, fresh blender
baby food. Miscarriage. Ectopic loss.
Parent teacher conferences. Lessons.
Little League. Soccer. Blue ribbons.
Report cards. Kidnapping. Reunion. Disabilities.
I am palms. Pines. Citrus and sequoias.
Mist and sun showers, filtering down
through cedar canopies. Live oaks
and alfalfa, wine grapes and prune plums,
hot and sticky sweet when summer smiles.
I am freeway. Highway. Byway. Bike path.
Snow to shovel. Wood to stack. Soil to turn.
I am granite cheeked mountains. Pacific coast
melodies. The low glow of high desert wetlands
beneath the thunder of wild horse feet.
I am grumbling trains. Listing covered bridges.
Windmills that turn for no reason. Waterfall
plunge, geyser liftoff, a rift in the face of the earth.
Breeze blown canals, tulip mosaics, castles
and harbor bridges. Spire, glacier, and sand.
I am rodeo. Gymkhana. Horse shows.
Bareback excursions that last all day.
German shepherds, teddy bear puppies.
I am hoeing, growing, weeding. Encouraging
bees and butterflies. Tomatoes and salsa.
Cucumbers, pickles. Pies and bread from scratch.
I am in the zone, on pavement and trail.
Dropping over the cornice, air beneath skis.
I am Say Hey Candlestick, PacBell Posey.
Football scorekeeper, riding the team bus.
Monopoly in front of the woodstove,
snow buzzing against the windows.
Yahtzee by lantern light, with smores,
lukewarm cocoa, hotter toddies.
I am enduro maneuvers, quads over boulders.
Cross country van trips, solo.
Downshifting the big block, going eighty.
Never looking in the rearview mirror.
I am word weaver. Life giver. Caretaker.
Lover. Partner. Hands that blanket pain.
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