Hi, I'm Ralph Fletcher. I’m a writer. For the most part, writing is private and invisible. In this blog I'll give readers an inside view of the writer I know best: me. Every few days I'll share my musings, habits, daily schedule, brainstorming, snippets from my writer's notebook, drafts, revisions, finished pieces, correspondence with editors and readers. It’s my hope that writers of all ages might find this useful.
Friday, May 16, 2014
In this video clip, I talk about an important discovery I made while writing
my YA novel Also Known As Rowan Pohi:
https://asuonline.wistia.com/medias/yrg2i69ckb
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Writing Habits
What
are some helpful habits I’ve developed as a writer?
Check
out this short video clip:
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
How do writers find our material?
Check out this two-minute video clip
where I talk about where I find my
stories.
https://asuonline.wistia.com/medias/u8k598wnlz
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Where Can You Find A New Nose?
Where Can You Find A New
Nose?
by Ralph Fletcher
If you want a new mouth
Check the mouth of a cave.
If you want some new curls
Check the curl of a wave.
If you’re looking for hands
Try the hands of a watch.
But where can you find a new nose, a new nose?
Who knows where to find a new nose?
Do you need a fresh face?
Try the front of a clock.
Would you like a new lip?
Try the top of a cup.
There’s a nice soft shoulder
On the edge of the road.
But where can you find a new nose, a new nose?
Who knows where to find a new nose?
You can find a new tongue
Tucked inside your shoe.
You will find extra teeth
On the next saw you use.
There are plenty of ears
In a tall field of corn.
But where can you find a new nose, a new nose?
Who knows where to find a new nose?
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Skipping Stones
Skipping Stones
Dad
skips breakfast
Elizabeth
skips rope
I
skip stones
George
skipped fourth grade
Brian
skipped out of school
I
skip stones
Flat
stones sharp stones
Skinny
as potato chips
ing wrin
Kick up
kles
the smooooooth
on
glass
lake
from Water Planet
Monday, April 28, 2014
Family Photo
Family Photo
One
last picture
before
we head off
in
different directions.
One
last group shot of
all
of us, smirking,
with
rabbit ears.
Three
generations:
kids
on shoulders,
a
baby cousin in my lap.
And
in the middle
Grandma
and Grandpa
who
started all this.
We’re
all ripples in a pond
spreading
out
from
a stone they threw.
from Relatively Speaking: Poems About Family
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Bad Weather
Bad Weather
They’re
predicting a big term paper
due
to arrive on Monday morning.
Tuesday
the forecast looks bad:
intense
DOL and grammar drills.
Wednesday
will be a scorcher
when
the state writing test arrives.
Thursday
there’s a high probability
of
five-paragraph essays.
Friday
should bring some relief
when
scattered poetry blows in.
from A Writing Kind of Day
Saturday, April 26, 2014
First Kiss
First Kiss
I’ll
never forget
that
empty barn
smell
of dry hay
those
long columns
of
dusty light
for
one whole minute
you
and I breathed
the
same breath
from I Am Wings: Poems About Love
Friday, April 25, 2014
Scary Poem
Scary Poem
This poem frightens me
from the first simile.
Each metaphor
strikes fear to my core.
I’m deeply disturbed
by one evil verb.
The rhymes of this verse
make me fear the worst.
No use pretending…
I’m dreading the ending.
from
Crawl Space: Poems About Scary Things
Thursday, April 24, 2014
This Is Not A Love Poem
This Is
Not A Love Poem
This is not a love poem no way
you need big words for that
like luminous and eternity
you need lots of serious rhyme
maybe even iambic pentameter
you need merciless stars
deserts on moonless nights
foamy surf on gusty beaches
you need to get smashed
into such tiny fragments
you can use only the small i
when you write
i love you
from Buried Alive: The Elements of Love
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
myriad
myriad
I’ve
learned a new word
(myriad: many, countless)
and
fly it like a new kite
when
I hike these woods
myriad tiny twigs
myriad swollen buds
myriad insects stirring
beneath the muddy earth
from Ordinary Things: Poems
From a Walk in Early Spring
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Weeds
Weeds
by Ralph Fletcher
Weeds in the sunlight,
swaying in the breeze.
Weeds pollinated by
hordes of hungry bees.
Weeds softly whispering,
spilling secret seeds.
Weeds multiplying:
weeds, weeds, weeds.
swaying in the breeze.
Weeds pollinated by
hordes of hungry bees.
Weeds softly whispering,
spilling secret seeds.
Weeds multiplying:
weeds, weeds, weeds.
Dandelion,
ragweed,
Queen Anne’s lace.
Weeds in my dreams,
weeds in outer space.
Weeds on vacation
but more staying home.
Sneaky little weedlings
sprouting in this poem!
Queen Anne’s lace.
Weeds in my dreams,
weeds in outer space.
Weeds on vacation
but more staying home.
Sneaky little weedlings
sprouting in this poem!
Monday, April 21, 2014
Tapeworm
Tapeworm
I don’t mind snakes
or wriggling worms
though there is one critter
that makes me squirm.
In your intestine
the tapeworm waits
and eats the food
fresh off your plate.
No need to hunt—
it takes your food
and steals the meat
that you just chewed.
Tucked in your gut
it eats and eats;
tapeworms can grow
to fifty feet!
Most snakes are cool
and worms, no doubt,
but tapeworms
I could live without.
from Crawl Space:
Poems About Scary Things
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Shaky Reassurances
Shaky Reassurances
What’s that mysterious knock?
It must be the grandfather’s
clock.
Did you hear that twig snapping?
Must be a branch on the window,
tapping.
I heard a soft scream or a howl.
Please tell me it’s only an
owl.
The night sky has turned on the
rain
but how do I turn off my
brain?
from Crawl Space: Poems About
Scary Things
Friday, April 18, 2014
My Updated Speaking Schedule
Writing
Teachers! I just updated my speaking schedule for the rest of this school year.
If you’re interested, and want to see if I'll be in your area, go to:
Then click on the Events page.
Owl Pellets
Owl
Pellets
by Ralph Fletcher
A month ago
in biology lab
you sat close to me
knee touching mine
your sweet smell
almost drowning out
the formaldehyde stink
which crinkled up
your nose
while I dissected
our fetal pig.
Now I take apart
this owl pellet
small bag that holds
skin and hair and bones
little skeletons
what the owl ate
but couldn’t digest
and coughed back up.
You sit with Jon Fox
ignore me completely
laugh at his dumb jokes
let your head fall onto
his bony shoulder
while I attempt
to piece together
with trembling hands
the tiny bones
of a baby snake.
Certain things
are just about
impossible
to swallow.
from I Am Wings: Poems About Love
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Undecided
Undecided
The
sun sprays
summery
light
but
wind speaks
with
winter’s tongue.
The
pond reflects
so
much blue
I
can’t quite decide
whether
it’s the sky
using
the pond
as
a mirror
or
the pond wearing
a
bracelet of sky.
from
Ordinary Things: Poems from a Walk in Early Spring
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Tumbleweeds
Tumbleweeds
You
see them in old Westerns,
tumbleweeds
blowing
across a dusty road.
Their
roots aren’t planted in soil
but
curled up so they roll along
wherever
the wind might take them.
If
we move away from here,
I
won’t be from Marshfield
or
from Massachusetts.
I
won’t be from anywhere—
just
a tumbleweed
blowing
across a dusty road.
from
Moving Day: Poems about Moving
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
The Bravest Deed
The Bravest Deed
I’m shopping with Mom
at the supermarket
and we see a woman
yelling at her kid
who looks about three or four.
She grabs the girl’s arm
smacks her on the bottom
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
about ten times, hard, then
CRACK! across the girl’s face.
The
girl is screaming
and the lady gets ready
to smack her again
but all of a sudden Mom
sort of steps between them
and asks: Is everything okay?
You’re having a hard time,
looks like. I remember…
Mom points at me, laughing,
actually calms the lady down,
with that girl still sniffling,
and me standing there hoping
no one will notice my
trembling hands.
from Relatively Speaking: Poems About Family
Saturday, April 12, 2014
forget-me-not
forget-me-not
on Grandma’s coffin
a single blossom
forget-me-not
as if I could
Friday, April 11, 2014
The Man-Cloud
The
Man-Cloud
In the buzzing morning meadow
when the sun was not yet high
I thought I saw a man-cloud
walking in the sky.
My brother saw it differently;
he told me with a laugh
that what he saw instead
was an ice-skating giraffe!
“Can’t you
see his long legs gliding?
Look close
you’ll see him riding.
I
distinctly see a tall giraffe
skating
through the sky.”
I did not want to argue
or tell him he was wrong;
I saw a man-cloud walking
and wished to go along.
The Elephants
The Elephants
It gave me
giddy thrill
to see
that creature
emerge
from the trees,
like a
live dinosaur,
mythic and
prehistoric,
with no
regard for
proportion
or
sensible scale.
It was
like how I felt
when I
first saw a whale
surface
right next to our boat;
my hert
seized
to see such
astounding bulk.
Human may
dominate this planet,
but we are
not the
largest
creatures on earth,
not even
close to it.
Just look
at them!
A line of
huge, trunked creatures
rumbling
along
like a
prehistoric train
with a small baby as the caboose!
making me
feel airy and light
and
somehow free
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Water Lily
Water Lily
I am famous: the sacred
lotus,
a
symbol of grace and purity,
though
to croaking frogs I am no more
than
a hang-out joint, an all-night store.
My
petals enfold stamens of gold.
I
float, serene, while down below
these
roots of mine are deeply stuck
in
the coolest most delicious muck.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Unmovable
Unmovable
I’m
not moving.
Uh-uh.
No way.
I’ve
made my decision:
I’m
staying right here.
Dad
and Mom can move,
and
Ray can go, too.
But
I’m twelve and I can
care
for myself just fine.
They’re
selling our house,
so
I’ll camp in the woods.
My
sleeping bag works great
down
to twenty-five below.
I’ll
fix hot dogs and soup
over
a campfire.
I’ll
bathe in the the stream
and
walk to school.
When
I need lunch money
or
my report card signed—
anyway,
I’m not moving.
from Moving Day
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Wildflowers
Wildflowers
Help
Wanted: sturdy individuals
interested
in grass-roots work
at
a number of rugged locations
(cliffs,
desert, some tundra).
Good
benefits. Must be strong
and
adaptable, self-starter,
persistent,
willing to relocate,
with
no fear of high places
and
no known allergies
to
bees.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Rainbow In Ice
Rainbow In Ice
I
found a little rainbow
trapped
in a chunk of ice.
Iced
rainbows are seldom seen;
I
don’t expect to find one twice.
It
stayed outside my window
where
the wind would keep it cold.
There
were seven strands of color
and
a tiny pot of gold.
All
winter long I studied it,
how
the yellow rubbed the green.
Red
and indigo made bookends
while
the blue nestled in between.
I
wondered where it came from,
this
orphan rainbow child.
And
though I longed to tame it
I
knew to keep it wild.
One
warm March day the rainbow left;
on
brilliant wings it flew.
Perhaps
I’ll see it, fully grown,
when
summer storms pass through.
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