Writing Circle

 

This week I started a 5-week writing workshop at a local cancer center. The flier for the workshop includes the following information:

 

Writing is a valuable tool for tapping into our memories, feelings, thoughts, and beliefs. Writing relieves stress, improves communication skills, and provides clarity, perspective, and potential solutions to life’s ongoing challenges.  

Writing is also a meaningful way to celebrate and record our experiences and life lessons for our children, grandchildren, and future generations to come.   

The Pen in Hand Writing Circle provides an opportunity for you to write in a safe, comfortable atmosphere. Grammar, spelling, and punctuation are on vacation while you write. This is not a therapy group though painful topics may arise in your writing. That’s okay. Release, clarity, and insight are often found while writing through the discomfort.  

Our time together will include guided writing exercises that invite reflection and discovery. Elements of nature, scraps of poetry, literature and music, art, photographs, dreams, and letters will inspire us. We may share our writing with the group if we wish though sharing isn’t required. We’ll write and discover what our souls are longing to tell us. 

If I write what my soul thinks,

It will be visible, and the words

Will be its body.

n  Helen Keller

Writing Muscles

I'm blessed to be a member of a writing group that has been meeting for ten years. We meet twice a month and provide each other with honest, constructive feedback on our creative projects. Writing exercises flex and tone our writing muscles. Recently, we responded to the following prompt: "I Am From . . ."

Here is my response:

I am from ancestors
who braved the sea,
waves of hope rolling
beneath their feet
and salting their prayers.

I am from a mother's dream
of love and redemption,
her breath and blood
spinning the alchemy
of time into the breath
and blood of my body.

I am from silence
before language
was found. I am from
words strung across
a landscape of years
spotted with laughter
and tears.

I am from a morning birth,
snow outside the window
singing a song of mystery.

The prompt was chosen from Writing Alone and With Others by Pat Schneider, a valuable resource for writers, writing groups, and those who wish to begin one.

Nature Note

PammieSue Beak is always searching for good eats in the grass.

Tin Heart

Each morning, between 4:30 and 5:00, an old sedan of some sort pauses at the blue box stationed across the road from our home. The driver takes five seconds—tops—to slide our newspaper into the box’s pocket. I’ve never glimpsed his face or heard his voice, but I’d recognize the tinny rattle within the car’s exhaust system in any lineup.

The carrier is a name scrawled onto a greeting card every Christmas, tucked between the newspaper's pages like a surprise gift. He’s a ghost on the periphery of my morning—there, then not there, a glowing afterimage behind my eye.   

I wonder whether he takes note of the lamplight shining in our kitchen and the darkness in the house next door. Who is awake? Who is brewing coffee? Pouring milk into a child’s cereal bowl before school? What is the hound dog’s name that bays at his approach and then settles back into rabbit-y dreams? Does the carrier listen to the radio, or does he listen to the silence?

Miles unspool beneath his wheels, heading west. What entertains his thoughts in the glow of the dashboard? What melody beats within his heart? Only he knows.

Bull Thistle (Cirsium vulgare)

It's thistle time. Usually thistles bloom in and alongside pastures and fields. This summer we have five bull thistle, or spear thistle, plants thriving and blooming in our backyard. A few tower above my head, and I don't stand much taller than 5'3".

 

The thistle's pink-purple blooms look like fuzzy conical hats against a landscape tiring of its summer's work of growth and production. 

 

The thistle is the national flower of Scotland. Unfortunately, in many areas it's considered an invasive weed and destroyed.

We encourage plants claiming a space in our backyard. Their beauty and value to the critters and birds with whom we share land and resources soon becomes clear. I avoid the thistle's sharp spines, but the American goldfinch eats its seeds and uses thistledown as a primary nest building material. Bees and butterflies feed on the blooms' nectar. We all win.

Once the bloom fades the seed pod turns brown. Soon parachute-like seeds will be dispersed and carried about by the wind to settle in a new growing location. They float by outside the window, small wisps of seed carrying the promise of life within themselves. Hopefully, as stewards of the land, we'll discover more plants finding a home in our yard.  

 

 

The ABC's of Thriving (Surviving) In A Writing Course

Thriving in a writing class can be achieved when armed with the proper tools and attitude. Writing well requires time, focus, and energy. The following tips will create a productive, positive learning experience for any student.

Attendance: Classes cost money. Get your money's worth by attending class.

Balance: Success requires balancing sleep, work, writing, and play. 

Calendar: Mark a calendar to prioritize your time and track assignment due dates. 

Dictionary: It’s still your best resource for finding out how to spell words correctly.

Email: Contact your instructor if you must miss class. It’s the polite thing to do. 

First drafts: You can fix a first draft, but you can’t revise a blank page.

Goals: Setting a specific goal or two will help you plan where you want to go.

Heart: Write from your heart to create meaning for your audience.

Ideas: Explore your interests.

Jokes: Laugh loud and often. 

Knowledge: Write about what you know. Learn about what you don't know.

Listen: What do you hear? Describe a sound using your five senses.

Motivate: Give yourself a reward after completing each assignment.  

Notes: Take notes in class. They help at two o’clock in the morning when a paper is due at eight.

Open Mind: Keep an open mind during class discussions.

Plagiarism: Don’t.

Quiet: Seek out moments of silence. Breathe.   

Read: Approach assignments with your opened mind. 

Syllabus: It's your map for the semester.

Tutors: Take advantage of the extra help a tutor can provide.

University policies: Learn them. They will keep you on track and out of trouble.

Visualize success: Yours.

Walk: A brisk walk will clear your head if you’re feeling overwhelmed. 

X-rated material: It's not appropriate in academic writing - ever.

Yum-o: Mom is right. Eat your fruits and veggies. 

Zero grades: Passing in something is better than passing in nothing.  

Brainstorming, drafting, and revision is up to the student. Professors want students to succeed, but students must earn success on the page.

New Beginnings

September is a glorious month of harvest, mums, apples, cider, and cool sleeping weather. During the early morning hours of September 1 - the day my classes started - a waning moon cast moonlight through my open bedroom window. A lone cricket chirped outside in the grass. The sweet scent of a freshly mown lawn wafted in on the cool air.

A few hours later, students strolled or strode into my classroom. They carried backpacks, phones, tablets, laptops, and water bottles or coffee cups.  I welcomed everyone, and we began the task of getting to know one another. We'll spend the next fifteen weeks writing and learning each other's stories. We'll read essays and laugh and joke and be serious when seriousness is called for and be sad if it's time to be sad. We'll discuss the values and contemporary issues of our time. We'll think and agree and often agree to disagree.

In public speaking, students will slowly shed their fear like an old skin. They'll learn about speaking outlines, visual aids, analyzing their audience, ethics, and the art of speaking behind a podium and in front of it.  They'll speak to us of places they've traveled or places they dream of visiting after graduation. Many will wait until much later when they're carrying a fledgling career in their back pocket and perhaps a toddler in their arms. I'll hear about their hobbies and their families and their goals. I'll admire photographs of nieces and nephews, sons and daughters, cats and dogs, and the occasional prized car or motorcycle.

The possibilities remain endless and exciting, and I savor the diversity. It's an honor to hear students speak about what is important to them in life. I'm left longing to know the rest of their story as time unspools the ribbon of our lives. I content myself with the memories I'll carry and wonder about during my morning walks. Each week, through the processes of writing essays and speeches, we'll examine and celebrate our commonalities and differences. Both enable us to learn and grow together and enhance our living.

Walking Through Time

Thirty-one years ago, during the summer of 1984, I started walking 3-4 miles a day for fitness. A long family history of heart disease and diabetes motivated me to lace up my sneakers that first morning and head out into the early morning air. I walked along the streets of the small rural town I lived in at the time. Soon I found myself enjoying the quiet solitude before responsibilities and chores claimed my attention. Walking settled into my bones and stayed.

 

Today I walk in sunshine, rain, sleet, and snow. My limits are fever, icy conditions, and a wind chill or temperature of ten degrees or lower. I wish to avoid a nasty fall or frostbite. In a pinch or while traveling, I'll settle for a treadmill at the local gym but I know I won't see a deer nibbling grass in a pasture nor hear a chickadee calling to its mate nearby. I won't smell wet leaves or taste rain in my mouth.

 

Walking sustains my heart, mind, and spirit. Walking centers me and clears my head for the day. My thoughts loosen and float where they will, or I plan a writing project or a lesson plan or pray or sing a hymn to myself. I'm never bored. Walking tones my muscles, and it's the most natural thing in the world to do. I don't need lessons or a trainer or special equipment. Sturdy shoes with decent tread and thick socks are my biggest investments and necessities.

 

I've walked through presidential elections, the endless war on drugs and crime, my parents' deaths, a life threatening illness, break-ups, employment changes, successes and failures, and joys and disappointments. Walking never fails to soothe or comfort or refresh or celebrate life's happenings.   

 

The anticipation of experiencing something new within the familiar pushes me out the door every morning. Spring rains turn to summer's heat to autumn's russet leaves to winter's slush. Each season offers gifts and blessings for the senses.

 

I've encountered white-tailed deer and red foxes and chipmunks and squirrels and porcupines, each of us going about our business. I've watched ducks and geese and crows and blue jays honk, squawk, and fly overhead. This morning I discovered fresh moose tracks in the roadside's damp soil. I'm still not sure whether I'm elated or disappointed that the moose and I didn't cross paths. And that's the heart of walking: to observe the landscape for surprises, to know one tree intimately, or to love the sun's slant through one patch of forest like I love my husband's face in sunlight or shadow.

 

Each morning work and chores await, but for a little while it's simply the road and me. Someday, when I'm gone, I hope the ghosts of my footsteps will remain throughout time. 

Writing Remains My Calling Card

Earlier this year I applied for a modest grant in order to "further my writing career." I worked diligently to create thoughtful replies to the required questions listed within the application guidelines. I read drafts aloud to the cat, the refrigerator, and the spider plant living near a sunny window. Members of my writing group graciously provided constructive feedback. I revised, and then I submitted my application.

Today I received - via email - a polite rejection notice that I am not the chosen one for the award. The missive also reiterated several times: keep writing, keep trying, don't give up, you're creative, you're wonderful blah blah blah...finally I tapped the DELETE key. The timeworn platitudes seemed intended to encourage; I found them patronizing. A helpful comment I might consider for future grant applications would've been more welcome.

I've been published enough times to savor the sweetness of publication. The thrill when someone sees merit in my words warms me inside like hot ginger tea. Rejection stings like a bee: swiftly white-hot. After the pain passes, rejection can motivate or shut down my writing. I'm mindful of this when I provide students feedback on their speech or essay drafts.

My proven remedy is to take a brief break to play with patterns, textures, and colors through the art medium of assemblage. According to my American Heritage dictionary, assemblage is "an art work consisting of an arrangement of miscellaneous objects, such as pieces of metal, cloth, and string. While my ego is still smarting, I tend toward the quick and simple: scrapbooking paper, stickers, and images gleaned from magazines. Cutting and pasting and discerning a pattern and motif gives the rejection release. I'm ready to face the page again. After all, one editor's dandelion is another editor's rose.

Writers commit. We practice our craft. We read widely in a variety of genres. We learn from other writers' process and work. I learn from my students' mistakes and their successes. They learn from mine. I teach what I know, and I don't pretend to know everything. I mistrust writers who do. At the end of the day, all writers, whether we're published or not, award winners or not, understand that writing is still our calling card.

Summer Wanes

Summer is leaning toward autumn and the beginning of a new school year. Outside, the last of my Black-eyed Susans are blooming. Goldenrod and ragweed fill pastures and roadside ditches. Insects and crickets chirp in the grass, seeking mates. Gardens are rich with harvest.

Inside, I'm revising syllabi, planning class activities, and thumbing through new textbooks to get a feel for their weight and content in my hands. Next week I'll begin my 14th year of teaching at the college level. I'm excited about greeting new students and welcoming returning ones. This weekend they'll arrive on campus carrying hope in their hearts and sporting equipment, pens, notebooks, laptops, and thumb drives in their luggage. For many they're the first in their family to attend college. They want to make their parents proud. It's my job to help them do so, and I don't shrug off the challenge lightly. I've learned it's a privilege and honor to teach.

Therefore, I'm tucking away summer's memories for revisiting when winter's winds howl through the trees and snow ticks against the windows. I'm applying a fresh shine to my sense of humor, positive attitude, and checking the wattage of my smile. I'm buying new shoes. Attitude is everything.