« December 2009 | Main | February 2010 »
Whenever I asked my mom for a ride when I was growing up and she couldn't (or wouldn't) swing it, I always followed my initial question "Can you take me to _________?" with the inevitable "Well, how am I going to get there?" (often accompanied by a whine and a preteen foot stomp).
To which my mom always gave the same answer: "Shoe leather express" (in other words, start walking).
Back then, that often meant that I walked to my best friend's house via the trolley tracks, the mall via the road that went past our church, and the swimming pool along one of the most commercial streets in our town. Along the way, I learned a lot. I always knew who was getting ready to have a yard sale, where the best wild blackberries grew, and how to avoid the biggest potholes. The long, solitary walks also helped me learn to pay attention...to the little things...to the aspects of a place that helped to tell its story.
So while my mom had no idea that one day I'd be living on the other side of the world writing about my far-flung life and helping others learn how to do the same, her solution to my travel woes--Shoe Leather Express--has become an important part of my writing process.
Whether I land in a new place or a place I've been many times before, I always put on my most favored, mostest comfortable walking shoes (in my case, Keens...those are my "winter" Keens [above] and my "summer" Keens [below]) and start walking.
During my first two years in China, I estimate I walked 1.75 million miles (give or take a few). In Shanghai, I walked on major thoroughfares, down old lanes, and through funky neighborhoods. I walked through the panda reserve in Chengdu, wandered about the Muslim quarter in Xian, and hiked on the Great Wall. Along every step, I paid attention to smells, colors, sounds, and the old woman selling knobs of ginger on the corner. I noted what I saw up close and what I noticed in the distance. I noted facial expressions and gestures. I gathered bits and pieces for the stories I would tell.
Sure, sometimes walking is not the easiest mode of transportation. (In Bali, I ran into so many not-so-friendly dogs, I ended up toting a big stick, and in Vietnam, dodging the scooters is not always fun.) But walking gets you up close and personal to people, food, language--the essence of a place.
So my advice to far-flung writers?
Next time you're deciding how to get from your hotel to a museum or your B&B to the beach, skip the taxi or the shuttle. Take my mom's advice and go for the Shoe Leather Express.
So my daughter Tulliver is two years old today. I'd ask where the heck time has gone, but that would sound cliche. (But really, where has time gone?)
Tully's a hoot. A lovely, sparkly, funny, chatty, climbing-like-crazy, creative hoot.
Currently, I'm trying to teach her not to touch other people's nostrils (figured starting with others' nostrils is best; we'll get to her own soon enough). She's now obsessed with the "nostril" game. It goes like this:
"Is this nostril?" she asks, pointing to my forehead.
"I don't know, is it?" I ask in response.
"No!" she shrieks, laughing. "That's forehead!"
"Is this nostril?" she asks, pointing to my ear.
"I don't know, is it?" I ask in response. (Clearly I know my role by now.)
"No!" she shrieks, laughing. "That's ear."
"Is this nostril?" she asks, pointing to my left nostril.
"I don't know, is it?" I ask in response.
"Yes!" she shrieks, laughing. Then she gets a very serious look on her face and says (as she sticks her finger up my nose), "No touch Mumma's nostril."
Oy.
When you're writing about a far-flung life, your job is to get readers to see what you see. Remember, many readers have never been to the place or had the experience you are describing...and many never will. So...lure them in.
How?
The #1 Way to Lure Readers In...
As for me, I'm rarely intrigued by the "big stuff." Sure, Shanghai's Oriental Pearl Tower is cool and interesting, and yup, the World Expo is coming to our fair city in May, but I'm drawn to smaller moments. Like the Chicken Man! He's one of my favorite characters in my neighborhood, and just this morning, my daughter and I ran into him on our street. (Okay, okay, I admit it, we were out looking for him...as we often are.) We were lucky enough to happen upon him just as a customer was picking out his chicken. Check it out.(Example: If you're traveling in Milan, Italy, you may be captivated by the spires on the Duomo. Lots of folks are. If so, dig in and have at it. But maybe you don't give two hoots about the spires [or anything else] on the Duomo. Maybe you're more intrigued by the wacky folks who like to get the 1.22 million pigeons in the piazza to land on their heads for photo opps or the cranky old woman who sold you a strawberry tart. If that's the case, write about the pigeon people or the cranky old woman. Forget the Duomo and its spires.)
The Chicken Man on the left. A discerning customer on the right.
"No, I like this chicken," says customer, taking matters (and a chicken) into his own hands.
"Why does this crazy laowai (me) follow me around Shanghai taking pictures of me?" says the Chicken Man. "She must have thousands of pictures of me now."
And the Chicken Man kills and defeathers the chicken right there and then.
I tell ya what...he's good at it, too. He can kill and defeather a chicken faster than I can pick out a package of drumsticks at the grocery store.
This is the hard part...friends looking on.
WRITERS CHALLENGE: I haven't yet written a formal piece about the Chicken Man, but I know that eventually he will work his way into an essay or memoir. Your challenge this week? Find your own Chicken Man. In whatever place you're writing about, choose a person who intrigues you. Then write about him/her. A paragraph...a page...whatever it takes to see him/her clearly.
