okay, how do one start writing? Where do we get our inspiration? Well, some of my favorite probes are images and poems. I have actually noticed that according to what you use, you’ll come up with something of a complete different nature. For example, using an image tends to make us sound more descriptive, whereas some text usually stirs more depth in us. Anyway, here is a good example of probe. Don’t forget to let the child writer speak in you! You know what? I’d love to read your writing 
I am from clothespins,
From Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush,
the Dutch elm
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I’m from fudge and eyeglasses,
From Imogene and Alafair.
I’m from the know-it-alls
And the pass-it-ons,
From perk up and pipe down.
I’m from He restoreth my soul
With a cottonball lamb
And ten verses I can say myself.
I’m from Artemus and Billie’s Branch,
Fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
To the auger
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under my bed was a dress box
Spilling old pictures,
A sift of lost faces
To drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments-
Snapped before I budded-
Leaf-fall from the family tree.
by George Ella Lyon, (from her book by the same title).
This is what I got in about 20 min.
One doesn’t choose his parents,
One doesn’t choose his family,
One doesn’t choose the sidewalks of Manilla, Paris or Alger
To learn how to walk.
Be born somewhere, be born somewhere for the one who is born, is always Providence.
(Translated from a French song)
What makes an individual? What makes a person individual? What gives the colours to the leaves and makes them change as the season go by? Why was I planted in this forest, rooted in this soil, overlooked by this climate. By the way, which specy of tree am I and what kind of fruits do I bear?
I know only a part of the story.
A little over 23 years ago, the wise Farmer decided His backyard needed to be embellished. Two big trees were already planted on each side of the lawn, but in His wisdom, He thought He would combine both species to create a new kind. So He planted a fragile stick in the ground. In the beginning, everything went smoothly. With the help of the good soil and the rain, overlooked by the adult trees, the youngster started growing rapidly. The Farmer would come often and lovingly surround the new tree with care and tender words.
As time passed by though, the weather turned moody. Storms and drought would follow eachother, hardening the soil to a point that the little tree could hardly get food out of it, its roots being still tiny. The two big trees started loosing their leaves, leaving the baby one without protection from the elements. The Gardener watched in desolation his beloved tree turn into a dry stick. Whenever visiting, his neighbours would mock the bare tree. “Cut it off, ” they said. But the wise Gardener loved his little tree. When He’d look through the window, He’d wonder what could save it.
One day, He decided He could no longer let nature do the whole work by itself…
(to be continued)
2 Comments
December 12, 2007 at 11:43 pm
hi,
where is that image of the tree and roots from?
thanks,
d
January 30, 2008 at 11:38 am
I’d also really, really like to know where you got that lovely picture of the tree and roots!
Thanks,
Valerie
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