I’m sitting on a deck chair at the Fairway pool, air-drying after my swim. I hear the little boy’s loud and excited voice and watch as his mother hoists him out of the pool. His father holds his hand as the toddler hurries up the slide.

“Come on James, you can do it!” his mother says, poised and ready to catch him.

Instantly, he’s zooming down, splashing into the water and then into her arms.

“Hurray!” she says.

“Again, go again,” James says, water streaming down his face.

James climbs up, sails down, splashing into the water, then toddles over to the ladder to go again. His parents seem tireless, cheering, marveling and applauding their two-year-old son for his bravery, joy and tenacity. Each time, they slightly refine the process, telling him to sit up straighter so he won’t fall sideways, moving closer to catch him, bouncing with him to the edge of the pool, singing his praises along the way.

Twenty, thirty times James goes up and down the slide, his delight unwavering.

 As I watch, I think about the thing I do 20, 30 times: editing my writing. Every time, I refine the process, making the piece stronger. But I don’t always have James’ sense of delight: instead I slog through, wondering why it takes so long, why it’s so hard to create a solid piece of writing.

“Again, go again!” James crows, his wet face beaming.

 I vow to bring that sense of wet and wonder to my work.

 How can you bring more joy to your own editing process?

“On this trip, amidst the warmth of the people I met, I was really and truly my authentic self,” she tells us. “I felt wonderful.”

I think about the moments when I am truly myself, not hovering on the outside, not commenting or critiquing from the inner balcony of my brain. And I wonder, what does it take to truly blossom?

Meanwhile, I notice the blossoms I most admire are often in inconvenient or perilous places. I adore the variegated iris that teeters on the curb outside of Ron’s house. It’s so near the street that a careless car door flung wide could destroy it. The sinuous threads of white within the deep purple speak a secret song to me.I applaud the wild daisies that boldly grow in the center of my lawn, unprotected from the ravages of the electric lawnmower. I admire the violet that pushes up between the cracks in a downtown sidewalk and the tulips that somehow made it to an otherwise weed and grass covered median in the center of a briskly trafficked boulevard. The undaunted chicory and black-eyed Susans that wave wildly from the sides of the freeway cheer me onward.

These flowers remind me that you can’t always choose the perfect location for a blossoming; you can’t always be safe, mulched and fenced in. A blossoming is a wild and perfect moment, growing out of instinct, intuitive and a letting go of fear.

What do my characters need to blossom?  I’m now wondering. And I imagine that feeling of perfect integration and blooming as I sink into my writing to figure that out.

Where are your blossoming places?

Later in the day, Ron and I drive to a large gathering. Ron asks me what the guest of honor looks like.

“Well” I say, struggling to retrieve an image of her from my Robert-clouded mind, “She’s medium height, with shoulder-length straight hair.”

“What else?” Ron asks.

“I think her hair is reddish,” I say.

I have seen this woman several times but I haven’t stopped to marvel at her nuances. My grandson is teaching me to look more deeply. I vow to really notice and appreciate her looks and her mannerisms so next time, I can describe her more fully.

This week, I’m trying a quick exercise in the art of noticing and characterization. Every day, I’ll focus on one of the people I encounter and  write a paragraph that attempts to capture his or her look and persona. And, of course, I’ll continue to work on my “Robert file.”

How about you? What are some of your tips for swiftly and vividly describing a character?

The writer does this and finds the experience ridiculous and humiliating.

But, according to the article, after several weeks, the writer began writing quickly and well. He overcame his block and went on to win an award for his writings. The worst sentence led him into his own brilliance.

Recently, a local philanthropist said, “Sometimes you just need to serve.”

I feel the depths of this wisdom and whisper to myself, “Sometimes you just need to write.”

Just write. Write the worst sentence or a mediocre paragraph or a grand phrase.

Give yourself permission to dance across the smooth white of the screen, even if you’re just going in circles.

Coming towards us, carrying our dinner, Mary is a worn-out woman one footstep away from giving up. Walking away from us, she’s a tender maiden, who still believes in true love.

Like most of us, she is a surprising mixture.

I think of Mary as I work on a short story that is stuck in the literary mud. My main character is interesting (at least to me) but she is not surprising. She does not have the long golden braid that keeps me wondering.

What have you seen recently that surprises you? How can you translate those mysteries to your characters?

Recently, in the Kansas City Writer’s Groups, we shared stories of how we became writers. Some of us had experienced a mentor or champion, who really encouraged us to write. Others had an intuition, dream or vision regarding writing. All of us had a burning desire to share our stories and a commitment to tell our truth.  We talked about how difficult it is to know and reveal our truth.

“I get a pain in the gut when I get too personal in my writing,” one said.

“I start falling asleep,” I said.

“I eat,” another  writer  said.

We talked about the emotional turmoil stirred up by such attempts at deep writing.

While we were talking, our faces shone; our eyes were bright. We leaned forward to our chairs. We were discussing our passion, mission, and dream.

None of us mentioned getting published. None of us mentioned giving up.

How are you pursuing your writing truths?

“Every item in your mother’s pantry is worth writing about.” attributed to August Wilson

Recently, in the Kansas City Writer’s Groups, we shared stories of how we became writers. Some of us had experienced a mentor or champion, who really encouraged us to write. Others had an intuition, dream or vision regarding writing. All of us had a burning desire to share our stories and a commitment to tell our truth.  We talked about how difficult it is to know and reveal our truth.

“I get a pain in the gut when I get too personal in my writing,” one said.

“I start falling asleep,” I said.

“I eat,” another  writer  said.

We talked about the emotional turmoil stirred up by such attempts at deep writing.

While we were talking, our faces shone; our eyes were bright. We leaned forward to our chairs. We were discussing our passion, mission, and dream.

None of us mentioned getting published. None of us mentioned giving up.

How are you pursuing your writing truths?

Only minutes ago, I walked into the Thai restaurant and was shown to a booth so I could wait for my friends. The restaurant was quiet with only two other customers, two men each sprawling across half a booth. As I waited, my mind danced with undone details from the day. I stared ahead, a list forming in my mind.

Then the door opened and a young woman carrying a little girl of about 18 months flowed into the restaurant. The little girl’s eyes were wide, as if she’d entered a Thai palace instead of a restaurant in a Kansas strip mall. She reached out to touch the bright red vase that I just walked past without even noticing. She leaned toward a tall statue of a Thai woman in traditional dress, straining to embrace it. As the waitress handed her mom a plastic sack with a carry out, I thought glumly about the land fill. That baby giggled at the rustling sound of the plastic. Her mother got out the car keys and the child lurched toward them. For her, everything was new and worth noticing, an object of temporary wonder.

I began thinking about ways to inject more “awe, astonishment, surprise, or admiration” into my everyday life. A wonder- wander, when I walk outdoors and consciously look with a beginner’s mind at the astonishing world around me. A wonder break, where I take five minutes and look with awe and surprise around my office?  (This could have a side benefit: Perhaps I’ll wonder how I can stand such chaos and start cleaning!)

What is filling you with wonder these days?

I told our host, Jabulani Leffall, about writing Love in the Land of Dementia, the story of my mom’s journey through Alzheimer’s.

“My grandmother had Alzheimer’s,” Jabulani said. He shared a memory of his grandmother scooping up snow, adding a dash of vanilla so he could eat snow ice cream.

His reminiscence brought up a vivid image of eating snow ice cream in Memphis, where I grew up. My cheeks burst with the cold. I tasted the icy splendor of the vanilla-laced snow on my tongue. His story had transported me as mine had transported him.

This morning another of Jabulani’s images, his grandmother’s delicious fried chicken, popped into my head and took me on a different journey. I traveled down a bumpy dirt road to the Mississippi farm of Grammy Bell, my friend Susan’s grandmother. Saturdays we’d feed the chickens, play in the woods, and fish in the rock quarry with Granddaddy Bell. Sundays, we’d sit up straight next to Grammy in the small Baptist church, wasps lazily sailing through the open windows.   Grammy’s succulent friend chicken was often our Sunday lunch.

One image leads to another and when we add focus and meaning to those images, we may just have ourselves a story. And when we share those stories, we may just make a connection with another person.  And those connections make life sing.

What images are making you sing?

I learned that sweet piece of information from listening to an interview on KCPT’s Local Show with the renowned KC-based chocolatier Christopher Elbow.

Mr. Elbow discussed the components of designing and creating a new chocolate. He wants his chocolate to be clean, modern and organic.

He considers:

Flavor

Texture

Shelf life.

As writers and storytellers, aren’t we striving for that delicious combination where our style is clean, organic and rich with flavor and texture?  And don’t we want the longest possible shelf-life possible, as befits royalties?

But I don’t want to take Mr. Elbow’s words at face value. I’m going to the Roasterie in Brookside (which carries a charming array of Mr. E’s wonders) and try some of his exotic and amazing wares. As I bite, so shall I write.

(For those out of town, you can order your own taste test.)

“Grab us from the beginning.”

“Make us fall in love with your hero.”

“Give us the arc of the plot.”

“Don’t obscure the plot with too many details.”

“Show us your writing style.”

“Sell us a story that’s familiar but different.”

“Present with passion. Look at us.”

This was some of the advice I recently heard at the Plaza Library.  Pitchapalooza gave KC writers an opportunity to offer a one-minute pitch and be critiqued.

These pitch questions seemed like a great critiquing tool, for those times we’re stuck between the pages.

One of the presenters advised: “If you want to learn how to write a pitch, go to the bookstore, find books that are similar to yours and read jacket copy. Read one hundred jackets and you’ll know how to write a great pitch.”

So even if you can’t tell a book by its cover, you can learn about pitching from its cover.