Tips from a Teenage Author
Meet Laala Kashef Alghata, on the one hand, a regular teenager wrestling with too much homework and bothersome brothers; on the other hand, a twice-published author and poet. Here Laala gives parents a little advice on how to encourage their children to write.
[INTRO by CHRISTINA FERNANDES]
“So, what are you hobbies besides writing?” I ask Laala. Immediately, it dawns on me that the question, aside from being downright lame, is not very well phrased. Considering Laala has two published books under her belt, it’s probably a little insulting to call her writing a hobby. Nice going. Luckily, Laala doesn’t take offense.
She likes all the things many teenagers do – watching TV, going to the movies and especially painting (she’s taking A Level arts). But “People are the most important part of life, so whenever I have free time, I get on the phone with my friends or meet them,” says Laala.
She’s not your average girl. On the one hand, she is a regular teenager wrestling with everyday problems, such as too much homework and bothersome brothers. On the other hand, she is a twice-published author and poet, all the while maintaining top marks in school.
She might be one of those kids you would really hate if you were still in school; you know the ones that make you feel inadequate because they are such overachievers? But fortunately for her, Laala is much too nice to be disliked. She’s quick to smile, her eyes light up when she talks of her friends and her laugh is more contagious than chicken pox.
Laala’s feelings towards her first two books couldn’t be more different. Of her first, ‘Friendship in Knots’, she says: “I’m almost a little bit embarrassed about it. It’s very simplistic and doesn’t reflect my writing style now.” Nevermind that she wrote it when she was eleven. “But it was my starting point and in that way I’m proud of it.”
When she talks of her second book, ‘Behind the Mask: A Folded Heart’, Laala seems a lot more enthused. “I’m really proud of publishing it; even a year later,” she says.To some, it may be intimidating that she has achieved so much at such a young age, but Laala has stayed grounded and easily relates to other teenagers – WTM couldn’t have found anyone better to give parents a little advice on how to encourage their children to write.
Meet Laala
When confronted with people curious about my interest and ambition in writing, I am generally asked two questions more than any others: What made you begin writing? And, why do you write?
I’ll start with the former. At the time, it didn’t feel significant at all. It was incredibly simple: I was given a creative writing assignment for class, a fantasy story. I was nine, eager to please and enthused by the subject matter. I started writing and realised I didn’t want to stop.
I began writing outside of school. I would write four-page stories about mischievous children and talkative animals, print copies and amuse my relatives by handing them out. Needless to say, the stories themselves were poor, but I was beginning to find immense joy in the world of imagination, of shaping a world to what I wanted it to be.
As for the latter, I tend to return a baffled expression, and reply, “Well, why [ITALS] not write?” A friend once pointed out that this reply isn’t an answer. I’ll attempt to be clearer. To begin with, writing and seeing myself create, was like a high. When I pressed the stories on my friends and family, I received praise and smiles, though no one took it too seriously. Eventually, it became a release and an attempt at eloquence. Finally, it became familiar and as essential as water.
Once, when a teacher asked me what writing meant to me, I delivered an answer I believe is the most accurate description I could give: “Writing, for me, is like breathing. It may sound cliché, but it doesn’t change how vital it is for me. Writing is a release; when I’m upset and turn to it, it’s like a cool breeze on a hot summer’s day; but when I’ve got writer’s block it’s as uncomfortable and painful as wriggling out of a stronghold.”
Naturally, when I started writing my vocabulary was limited and dry; I didn’t give much thought to sentence structure or grammar. However, I was an extremely avid reader, and if I was to give only one suggestion it would be this: get the kids reading. As a tool, it was indispensable – my vocabulary increased exponentially, even my punctuation and grammar worked itself out. I would sound things out in my head, and know whether or not they were correct.
A good way to get children reading is to have books around them. I was lucky to love reading – I curled up in my bed and read Little Women when I was nine and cried my eyes out. I’d read at least a hundred books before I’d even left primary school. Reading lent an escape, a place to push the boundaries of imagination.
When I was ten, I began the first draft of Friendship in Knots, the children’s novel that made me the first Bahraini to publish a book directly in English, and the youngest to publish a book. At the time, the idea was rather loose, and I stumbled my way through the first half of the story. After completing it sometime when I was eleven, I abandoned the book for a while. I eventually got around to editing it and publishing it two years later.
I later became fascinated with language itself, which is when I branched off into poetry. My first attempts at poetry I would label disasters if it weren’t for the fact that I was thirteen and experimenting. Poetry was a new world – it was through this medium that I communicated my displeasure and grievances, spilled my thoughts onto paper and began to understand myself. There have been several instances in my life where the first place I would recoil to or fall back on is my poetry. It served a channel of communication primarily between me and myself – at times, poems personal to me are almost more raw than my thoughts. These poems are rarely seen at the time, though once time passes I’m more liberal with them.
I’ve been asked if my poetry – my writing – has given me a sense of confidence or has increased my self-esteem. I’m a pretty confident person; I was before my writing. So I can’t attribute that to it. Self-esteem, however, I can. As I began to get progressively better, I felt a sense of elation, of doing something that included a certain level of talent. One has to have some conviction in themselves, though, when writing – it has become unfashionable. Poetry is considered by many to be dead.
I find this endlessly sad – people glance at Milton’s verses, for instance, and expect all poetry to be equally inaccessible. The ordinary beauty has dissipated. I want to stand and scream, “IT HASN’T!” The beauty is still available in plentiful supply. You just have to learn where to look. Poets such as E. E. Cummings are much more appealing to people being introduced to poetry. For instance:
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
My first two years of poetry were cliché-imbued or prose broken up by line breaks. It was only when I was close to turning sixteen that something clicked and my poetry took on a whole new meaning, a different level. I worked frantically at it, producing more work than I had ever done before, spent the summer editing and by the end of last September, I published again.
Behind the Mask: A Folded Heart is a work I am incredibly proud of, produced with plenty of passion and emotion. I genuinely believe it to be an interesting and easy read. I frequently flip through the pages for inspiration in my newer work.
To end, though, I say this: first, the reason I am so completely in love with writing is that it is mine. I was encouraged but never overtly, and I was left to improve myself in whatever way I saw fit. While diffident or fastidious children will need more support and praise; in my opinion, forcing them will do little to help. Second, while writing does – of course – require talent and dedication but it begins in children’s tales, as most authors will readily tell you.
Laala’s 10 Tips to Help Your Children Write:
1. Make them read. Then read some more.
2. Don’t force it, but encourage them and give small rewards to those who have finished a book, for instance.
3. Don’t make them read something you know they will have no interest in.
4. Encourage them to write down thoughts, ideas, and to keep a diary or notes of their day. Let this be private, unless they wish to share it.
5. Understand that their imagination works in different ways than yours, and go along with it.
6. Read through drafts of stories and praise them. If they’re young, or are just beginning to experiment, do not criticise as this will make them feel like failures.
7. As they grow up, or grow better, begin to point out weaknesses or flaws. Keep pointing out the good things, too.
8. If they show interest, don’t let them drop it because they’re grown up.” Persuade them to write about different things and let their mind wander.
9. Understand that sometimes they will write things that they will keep from you, either because it is personal, or because they don’t think it’s good enough.
10. Let them see that you, too, read and occasionally write. You are their primary model, and if you encourage them without expressing an interest yourself, or if they never see you with a book, it won’t reinforce the ideas.
Two Poems printed alongside the article:
Texts of Emotion and Unique Fingerprints
My senses are imbedded deep within my mind’s monastery
with monks scribbling in focus to copy texts of my emotions
to record feelings and lies into my subconscious and desert
me in my reality, to make me able to wake from dreams
of all-consuming darkness, of my heart disappearing
and dissolving with acid to corrode life, those that I hold precious
unavailable, miles in between some of us and lies between
the others, such tight knots that life knits in the canvas
of our skin, irreplaceable prints of significance making
everyone unique unto themselves, a fingerprint to the world,
but an identity to me.
Just This Moment
A shimmer in the corner of a half-closed eye
deceives and perceives a wave of anguish,
falling, rolling, splashing on the shore.
Pushing back the golden yellow sand
because nothing is that pure,
that small and fine. Digging into beauty
and throwing it back up in the air,
messing around with it,
changing it into something it’s not.
Lips crash violently against the tide
and try to hide the passion and anger
that birthed their power.
Just grip, hold on, and perhaps
you’ll stay and not end up
in some random world,
where everyone talks, walks,
and even strays the same.
Lose yourself in pointless beauty
and pinpoint the time that your life
took its turn for the better,
and forget every twist it took
that left you lost, cold, and hungry.
Catch and stroke a butterfly,
in another lifetime or this one.
Paint all the colours
that you see in the sky
to create the world’s one masterpiece,
then hide it amongst the clouds.
Live, breathe, and forget how
to curse, for a mere moment.
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