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A New Endeavor & a Writing Prompt

Last month, I facilitated my first writing workshop, one that included an atypical group of writers. Those who sat around the table weren’t budding undergraduates or emerging writers in an MFA program. They weren’t even a group of Moms on the run, searching for tips on finding time to write (my imagined first audience). The people I led in workshop were of an older generation, men and women from a retirement community, who came together simply because they love to write. And, they needed a guide.

I’m a good forty years younger than most of the folks at the table, and on that first day I wondered what I might have to share, really. How I might relate. Sure, I write daily, have a few stories out there, but my stories – and my style – must be so different from theirs.

During our hour together, they read their stories and then we talked about creative fiction versus non. I got all fired up: stood up and started waving my arms and talking too loud. It was a necessary display in some ways, because one person was having trouble hearing. Still, I might have waved my arms regardless.

What I learned, then, is that age nor difference matters. Writing brings people to a common ground and good stories are ones we can relate to, in theme and in character, even if not in exact details.

Once I saw that they were eager to come back, I gave them an assignment for the next time we meet.

And, as something different here (and to keep me on my toes there), I’ll be posting our monthly writing prompt. This assignment is yours, too, if you want it.

The Prompt

Last month, Sarah Baughman wrote a post about moving to a new place, and about nostalgia, and she explained for me, in just a few sentences, why I return again and again to a certain time or place in my past:

I’ve lived on four continents in my adult life, more than I ever thought I’d even see. It has been my good fortune but also my heartache. A character in one of John Cheever’s many strange and wonderful stories says, “When you’re in one place and long to be in another, it isn’t as simple as taking a boat. You don’t really long for another country. You long for something in yourself that you don’t have, or haven’t been able to find.” The statement rung partly true but also puzzled me until today, when I realized that in my case, the things in myself I always look for are, in fact, the pieces of myself which have surprisingly grown and taken hold in all the different places I’ve lived, and which will never leave me.

nostalgiaThink about a time or a memory that you return to again and again. Write about that event/experience/person you left behind. If you’d like to write this as fiction, consider embellishing the story or creating a new character in place of yourself.

If nothing else, go read Sarah’s post.
You can’t help but be inspired.

* Photo credits: kakisky and cohdra on morguefile.com and Zaprittsky on flickr.com

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Parallels in Music & Writing

Last week, I sat on a committee assigned to interview someone for a choir director position. There are two things you should know about me and choir:
1) I don’t sing. Unless I’m alone or trying to get my kids’ attention;
2) “choir” – and “committee” – mean interacting with others in close quarters. I’m a writer. I hang out on the fringe. I observe, take notes, sweat at the thought of “small talk.”

Still, for unknown reasons, I was asked to join the group of interviewers, and, even more surprising, I said yes. Sometimes it’s good to get out of your comfort zone.

The person we interviewed was as passionate about choir and music as I am about writing, a testament that creatives aren’t that different, no matter the medium. He spoke of music in ways I understood. I sat there, smiling, nodding, almost imagining myself in the ranks, singing alto, belting a tune or two.

Almost.

I definitely took notes on how he viewed music.

Music as invitation.

Music keeps us engaged, he said. Once the notes fill our ears and graze our hearts, there is an irresistible pull to lose ourselves in song. Music begs us to participate.

Much like a good story that hints at questions and prods us to seek answers. A good story, with vivid images and inescapable narrative, stimulates our brain with “sights, sounds, tastes, and movement of real life,” as Lisa Cron says in her upcoming book, Wired for Story:

That’s what accounts for the…visceral reactions we feel when we can’t stop reading, even though it’s past midnight and we have to be up at dawn.

When was the last time you stayed up late to finish a book? Or to listen to one more song on your favorite album? And, what was it about that story or song that held you?

Music as relationship.

Music is the glue that connects us, a medium that brings us in communion with each other with notes and harmonies that surround us and instill one message or another.

RE:Union - A story of cancer in the familyWriting, too, brings us together through experiences shared in a memoir or in the empathy and emotion evoked in poetry or fiction. A small detail or a passage strikes a chord with us; we immerse ourselves in the story, because we relate.

Music as spiritual experience.

The melody in a song has, at times, taken hold of my heart and squeezed it a little bit, just enough, then released it so I may catch my breath again. Other times, it the words intermingled that strike me and stay with me.

Certain stories have done the same for me, shifted my perspective on the world. I’ve read a particular Stanley Kunitz poem over and over, because, each time, it soothes a pressing ache.

While the person we interviewed spoke of music and its effect within the walls of a church, so much of what he said translates into a broader spectrum of understanding, in music and in writing. In this interview on The Rumpus, Nikki Lane hints at what must have been a spiritual experience for her, with music, and she wasn’t anywhere near a steeple (I’m guessing):

I remember the day I first heard Neil Young; I remember what everything looked like, what tennis shoes I was wearing. It just blew my mind.

You know it’s good, the story or the song, when, years later, you still remember the shoes your wore.

* Photo credits: imelenchon on morguefile.com and mescon on flickr.com

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2 Questions That Will Stunt a Writer’s Progress

ConfusedWriters are inquisitive people. We’re always asking questions, about our characters, our story, plot points and structure. About the spelling of that word we read every day but that looks all wrong as soon as we type it on the screen. There are two questions, though, that writers should be wary of asking too often:

  1. Am I a writer?
  2. Am I any good?

Spend more than two minutes obsessing on those two questions, and you’ll find yourself shutting your laptop and watching Netflix movies that you’ve seen a hundred times already. Or knitting dishrags. Not that I’ve done either one of those things.

Am I a writer?

This question kick starts a writer’s insatiable search for the perfect qualifier: a blog that people read, a published piece, then two. Maybe an award. Yes, that’s it. When I win an award, then I’ll be a writer.

I’ve been calling myself a writer for a few years now. I even have a t-shirt blazoned with Mother Writer on the front, and I wear it. On occasion. When I’m feeling extra brave. You see, even with my work published and an Honorable Mention on my resume, I still let that question sink its teeth into my confidence. I don’t get paid to write, and, as Carolyn Roy-Bornstein says in this post on Beyond the Margins, “Here in America, [doesn’t] that still disqualify me from calling myself a writer in public?” Sometimes I let it.

Am I any good?

This one gets me even more. Just when I stake my claim as a writer (which should have been self-evident already by all the books, pens, and paper I carry in my purse), “Am I any good” creeps on up to the surface of my conscious and brings with it a nasty little lackey: “You’re probably just wasting your time.” On a bad day, I check my email with the sole aim of finding a message in my inbox from the universe (or some editor of this or that) that will confirm my late-night efforts at this writing business, give me a boost of confidence, and keep me going for another year. Because, as long as I dwell on these kinds of questions, I can’t find that confidence in myself.

What helps is to read what others are saying….

Jody Hedlund, on the brinks of publishing her third novel, addresses negative self-talk in her post, “Is All the Hard Work Really Worth It?”:

[I]f we ever want to ‘make it’ we have to practice the power of positive thinking. . . . when we fill our minds with ‘is this really worth it?’ we’re essentially talking negatively to ourselves. While we’re wise to evaluate our situations from time to time, we can’t let those negative thoughts cloud our view—at least for long. We can’t walk around threatening to quit every time something discourages us. . . . the writing journey is a marathon not a sprint.

…and to listen to sage advice from those who’ve gone before us.

This month, The Sun reprinted excerpts from Citizens of the Dream, Cary Tennis’ book of advice on writing and the creative life, and that very question – “How can you tell if you have talent?” – is answered with these wise words:

[Writing] is an important act regardless of whether it garners fame or praise. So your question about talent is moot. It is more a question about how to persist in writing through the fear, discouragement, and disappointment that are endemic to the activity. . . . All the practice you get makes you better. Whatever stops you from practicing makes you worse. One thing that may stop you from practicing is the belief that you are no good. So the belief that you are no good may prevent you from becoming good — unless you persist in writing despite it.

Then, and most importantly, he says:

For reasons psychological, spiritual, and philosophical, one must learn, through practice, to regard one’s creative work with some compassionate detachment and not to equate it with one’s worth as a person.

Negative mind-chatter will kill my creative energy and ruin my day. I can choose to listen to it, or I can recognize it for what it is: fear, and a bit of a bruised ego at times.

One final note from Carolyn Roy-Bornstein’s post:

Attitude is important. We may be what we do for a living, but we’re so much more than that. We are our goals.

How do you turn off that negative self-talk?

*photo credit: Guudmorning! on flickr.com