I have adopted seven sons over the course of nearly forty years. Now I'm starting to journal about the process of how the boys became sons. Edwards story is perhap the most powerful for me for a variety of reasons so I'm stating with his story. I was living in Iquitos Peru, along the Amazon River, a place which had become a second home. I had actually moved to Iquitos to celebrate the end of an era...I thought. The youngest of my first five sons was out on his own and I was free to move around. I decided to have an adventure. I'm putting this out here because I fear my writing style is dry and stilted. Please offer thoughts and ideas as to what I could/should do to bring it more to life. Thanks During the year that I was living in Iquitos I was privileged to observe a variety of events that have left their mark forever on my soul. As part of the telling of Edward’s adoption these small episodes are noteworthy glances of the whole experience. The Plaza de Armas in Iquitos is a people magnet at all times of day and night. In the middle of the plaza is a memorial to some war hero, across from that a fountain. The whole of the plaza is laid out with gardens and walkways, benches for resting, open areas for gathering. All in all it’s an inviting place. Street entertainers perform there, politicians jabber away and vendors of all sort display their wares. Local folks meet with friends there and tourists soak up the feel of a place that is warm and rich while at the same time being quite “other”. Restaurants anchored two corners of the plaza, while the third was occupied by a large ornate church. The forth corner was a site of perpetual construction, some hotel or business that sprung up and died out quickly. On this day we were hanging out, killing time before we went to eat. Edward had a class at a nearby internet café that offered programs for people to improve their skills on the then new world of personal computers. It was just after noon and the plaza was busy with all sorts of people passing through. Among those was a boy we knew, he called out to us and joined us on a bench chatting and laughing. Juan was one of countless street urchins who hang out near the Plaza de Armas. These boys, it almost always is boys, range from as young as 6 years old up into their late teens. Many have family of sorts, someplace where they can call home although it often is place empty of love. Poverty, abuse and neglect drive these boys to the street. They come here looking to fill their bellies, to join with their friends, other street kids. Most of these kids have some kind of business, often they are shoeshine boys, carrying a little box with their supplies in it, ready to clean someone’s shoe for a few cents. Juan was about the age of Edward, 12-13, a bright-eyed kid with a hunger to learn more about life. He studied the tourists who passed through his world hoping for some key to a better life. Though they seldom left a trace for him to hold on to, still he watched. Hope is powerful in young hearts. Edward and I often ate at the Iron House, a restaurant in a massive iron building designed and built by Eiffel of Eiffel Tower fame and one of the corner anchors. In the base of the building was a sandwich shop that featured local dishes. It was a kind of Mom and Pop place with the local taste of home cooking. Good food and a good price, you always left with a full belly. We asked Juan to join us. The street kids were always hungry and always grateful. Besides, Juan was more of friend than just another street urchin. We had gotten to know him well enough to trust him if we needed some small favor done. He would run messages for us or go make purchases if we needed help. It gave him a bit of change in his pocket but more important it gave him responsibility and status. He was valued and it felt good to him to be attached to us in some way. These are the foundation stones a boy must lay as he builds into manhood; work, trust, respect and purpose. We had dawdled instead of eating, Edward and Juan chattering away as boys will do. Edward heard the nchurchbell, 3 o’clock and he was at least 5 minutes away from his class. Although nothing seems to start on time in Iquitos he was never-the-less anxious to spend as much time as possible in class and so was off in a dead run. Juan and I still had most of our meal in front of us and now turned our attention to eating. Juan was a bright boy and had picked up some basic English; I had enough Spanish to maintain a basic conversation so the two of us chatted away. We covered the various people we knew in common, his progress in school and other aimless topics. I sensed a change in his tone after a few minutes. “what about Edward”, he asked. “What do mean, what about Edward”? I returned the question. “Are you really going to Adopt him” he wanted to Know. “Yeah, I am” I said.” We’re working with lawyers and soon we’re going to Lima to get the paperwork done in court”. He let this sink in between drinking his refresca and finishing off Edwards abandoned sandwich. “How come you’re adopting him” he asked with the innocent directness of a kid? “Well because I love him”, I offered. His look plainly said I needed to explain myself better. “He’s smart, he studies hard and he’s a good kid” I added. “plus I’ve known him for a long time” “And he’s a handsome, healthy boy”. I was completely blindsided by Juan’s next question, never saw it coming. “Why don’t you Adopt me”? I’m a good student, I’m smart and work hard, why don’t you love me”? This from the mouth of a beautiful copper skinned boy, clear-eyed and sweet in his innocence, I was dumbstruck. I don’t recall how I attempted to answer. Indeed, how could I answer such a request? It was a great question, why didn’t I adopt Juan. He was absolutely right in his assessment and until that moment I guess I hadn’t even though about the bond that had grown between us. I fed him, I trusted him, I asked him to work for me. We smiled whenever we met up. We laughed and talked together. He felt safe with us. To him, I had become significant. He felt a sense of belonging. Edward returned from his class, we had another drink, then headed our separate ways. The topic never came up again. A few weeks later Edward and I headed to Lima to finish the last of the adoption process. After that we were off to the new world of the United States, a country seen for the first time by my new son and seen afresh by me. Over the years we’ve gone back to Iquitos to visit. Juan was still on the streets, he had grown a bit but still was small, probably still hungry. We talked some; it was obvious the street was taking its toll. There came a visit when he was no longer to be found. I asked the fresh crop of boys if they knew Juan, “si, Claro” they said although it was plain they had no idea who this Juan was that I was asking about. I didn’t linger, it was apparent they were smart kids and cute and I knew I didn’t want to have that question come at me again.
If its too long, too boring, too poorly written, i'd like to know. I have several pieces of this written/in draft. As much as anything it is written for the boys (now men) to know more of there own history. They were all aware at the time because they were all older. This will tell them more about what my thoughts and feelings were at the time. Iwant to hear how it is so I can improve it.
well I read it earlier and thought Juan is the story in this one...you didnt say much about Edward..but I didnt post anything because I don't know much about writing.
You asked,so here it is-- Your paragraphing blows. each character deserves their own paragraph as a general rule, unless they share a specific action or simultaneous moment in time. Also, ask yourself, where's the story? Is it about Juan, or you? it's not about adoption or adjustment or whatever-- stories are about people, not places or events. Tighten you focus and try again.
More paragraph breaks and space between each would certainly help the cause. I found it difficult to keep track of the players and the program. You especially need to learn how to format your dialogue. There are several useful writing-related sites on the net. Most of their forums offer a critique area. (Warning: some are harsh and not for fragile egos.) Spend time lurking and reading past posts. You'll not only learn more about the process, but also the overall demeanor of the site itself and whether you'd be comfortable posting work there. I'm uncertain what the HF policy is on posting links to other message boards so I'll try to err on the side of caution. Some of these sites are message boards. Some are strictly informational. Google is your friend: AbsoluteWrite forums. Writers Weekly. Writer Beware. Preditors & Editors. Writers.net. Writer's Digest. Agent Query. PM me if you need more info.
Good. Thanks both of you. I could read it and knew it was lame but I couldn't see how. Thats a problem because I know the story but I'm blind to the use of detail in presenting it. I'll check out the sites for their help. As far as thin skinned, nah, too old to care...I wanna communicate, not jack off my ego. Again, thanks.
