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#AmReading Patty Dann’s THE BUTTERFLY HOURS:
transforming memories into memoir

I found THE BUTTERFLY HOURS by chance. I had stopped in at the bookstore one Saturday afternoon for an author event. First thing’s first: I bought the author’s book (KRAZY by Michael Tisserand) and a new pack of stationary. Then, I settled into a plush chair two rows back from the speaker podium. I figured I’d thumb through the book while I waited, but I was twenty minutes early and the author had just arrived and people were still setting things up. So instead, I decided to browse the tables of good reads nearby.

With the store set up for author and audience, furniture had been rearranged. The table of current staff favorites that’s usually parked who knows where sat off to the side but steps in front of me now, with the last copy of Patty Dann’s book directly in my line of sight.

The book’s appearance, meek and thin with a simple cover, drew me in. Its subtitle, transforming memories into memoir, clinched my attention, since I’m in the last stages of editing Family Stories from the Attic with Lisa Rivero and in the midst of my online Flash Nonfiction course. After reading through the first three pages, I didn’t hesitate in my second run at the cashier; having finished the book, I’m eager to recommend it. Dann offers chapter after chapter of advice, encouragement, and examples of how writing prompts work–really, how writing in general works.

You have to do the messy part because even if you write ten pages and you only like one phrase, three weeks later, during lunch or in the middle of the night, you might feel compelled to continue that phrase. If you don’t have that one phrase written down, there will be nowhere to begin.

People sometimes freeze up at prompts, get stuck on the literal meaning of a word or the exact image in a phrase. But Dann suggests that the point of a prompt is to start. Write awkward; write clunky. Prompt or no prompt, just write. Last Sunday I “just wrote” the opening scene to a new story–200 words of awful and 10 words of “this might work” (with those 10 being part of a definition from the dictionary). Still, if nothing was written, I would nothing to revise.

Shut your eyes and listen to the church bell, the train whistle, and the snow falling on the roof. Open your eyes and see how children speak into one another’s mouths rather than their ears. Recall the lilac smell of your grandmother as she bent to kiss your cheek. Touch the dried snakeskin on the ground and imagine the way your throat burned the first time you tried hot peppers.

Paying attention to sensory details like touch, smell, and taste can bring a story to life or a memory back to life, benefitting the writer as well as the reader. For writers, such focus on our surroundings can “open us up,” as Dinty W. Moore says (THE MINDFUL WRITER, another of my favorite reads), “help us to see the story or poem or play or monologue or memoir in everyone and everything.” For readers, intimate specifics make way for greater connections with the work.

There are days, even weeks, or certain months of the year, when you simply cannot write. Don’t bother to feel deflated. Accept the fact that you have time off and fill the well.

Ah, there is my saving grace.

Taste new foods, listen to music from childhood, hike trails you’ve long forgotten, try your hand at watercolors, recite the names of the presidents of the United States, and interview your elders.

Because it’s been several months since I opened the draft of my novel. When anyone asks, How’s the book coming along? I cringe, silently berate myself, dance around my answer, hope they won’t notice the shame in my eyes. I wonder what’s wrong with me, worry about whether or not I will ever finish.

All good questions; all good food for though. But as Dann reminds us, nothing to be ashamed of.

digital sketch of woman looking out of window
self portrait: unfinished sketch

Look at the other creative things you’re doing during those quiet weeks or months. There’s much to be said for how a simple sketch or a twist in the recipe of your favorite meal or a day with the camera may feed your creative side. There are plenty of ways to engage in the work, even with your pen tossed aside. And we need that bounty as much as we need to fill the page.

Every essay I read brings me closer to my idea of how I want ( or don’t want) to write. Every story I edit reminds me of structure, what works and what doesn’t. Every book I find by chance re-energizes and renews my affection for the craft and for the power of story. Some might say this is not writing, but others, like Dann, would suggest that respite from one piece of work or another gives way for a writer to “fill the well” once again.

About THE BUTTERFLY HOURS (from Indiebound.org): Sometimes all it takes is a single word to spark a strong memory. Bicycle. Snowstorm. Washing machine. By presenting one-word prompts and simple phrases, author and writing teacher Patty Dann gives us the keys to unlock our life stories. Organized around her ten rules for writing memoir, Dann’s lyrical vignettes offer glimpses into her own life while, surprisingly, opening us up to our own. This book is a small but powerful guide and companion for anyone wanting to get their own story on the page.

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Inside | Outside, The Reading: Community in Action

Inside | Outside, the most recent anthology of work by the writers at Harwood Place, made its humble debut last Saturday. In front of a full house, the authors each gave a stellar reading of their pieces from the podium. They spoke with ease and with grace, and one spoke for a writer who was unable to attend.

Earlier in the week, I received a phone call from a long-time participant, Richard, who said he couldn’t make it. He’d been down and out for the last several weeks, was recuperating well, but knew he would not be at the event. This reading highlights our year as writers together, so I understood, even before he said it, that missing the afternoon was a great disappointment. For all of us, really. Richard is the patriarch of the group–and he’s quite tall; his absence would be a void. So we did the next best thing: looked for someone to stand in for him and read what he had written.

Finding a proxy didn’t take long. Richard is not only a leader in the group but a good friend to many and a cheerful spirit for all. I had a response to an email request within an hour and assurance that his piece would not be left out. But what happened next speaks even more to the heart and temperament of this group.

As is my custom at these events, I run around sweating and testing the mic and helping the writers find their order in the line up. I make sure everyone is settled, and then I always begin the reading with a little introduction. But before I could take my place at the podium this time, I had to check on the lemonade and cookies, which were late to arrive, which are as critical to the afternoon as a strong mic for an older generation of men and women whose voices sometimes fall to a whisper. So I slipped away for a second in search of the refreshments.

When I walked back into the room, Chuck, another compatriot of the group, had picked up the mic to ready the audience with a little ad-lib and a smile. Then, he spoke of Richard, who had “gone AWOL,” as he said–absent without leave, excused but still–and gave a beautiful tribute to him by reading “An Ode to Richard.” Steady and most gentle of men. It became clear that absent or not, Richard was still very much a part of the event.

Beginning this year, I am sharing my teaching duties with a colleague, who will alternate months with me. While this frees up my time to pursue more of my own writing, I won’t lie: it’s tough to let go of this group even a little bit. I may be their teacher, but as is often the case, I am their student as well. They continue to serve as witnesses in the ways of community, cherishing stories from every corner of the table, vowing to ensure each person’s words are heard, honoring that connection, and taking care of one another. An important lesson these days.

Community in action with gratitude of the time spent together.

From left to right: Mary, me, Val, Chuck, LaVerne, Betty, Ruth, and Mary.
Not pictured but greatly missed: Richard.

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On the Spaces We Inhabit: Meet #Writer Mary Lewis

Yesterday’s social media explosion on the Badlands National Park twitter account gone rogue reminds us about the value of the spaces we inhabit and the places we take for granted. Our sense of place, and the attention we give it, defines who we were and gives insight into who we are. Whether you think of the world on a large or small scale, place–and our relationship to it–is paramount.

For the past few months, I have been compiling and editing a fourth anthology of work by the writers at Harwood Place on exactly this theme. Entitled Inside | Outside, this year’s collection of stories and poems honors the idea of place both inside and outside, from the shelves of a room called “the den” to temporary living quarters in the barn, from a camping excursion as seen through tiny eyes to the fauna and flora dressings on a patio. While the anthology isn’t available to purchase in bookstores, we share it among friends, family, and fellow Harwood Place residents at a special Reading. The contributors for Inside | Outside will showcase their work from the podium this Saturday, January 28th, at 2pm.

To give you a taste of what you will hear if you attend, I welcome Mary Lewis to the blog. Mary has been a regular in the writing group for several years now, and her work always delights me. A former children’s librarian, she knows the power of words, and her pieces often hint at the playful side of a good story. Here, she writes about the intricacies of a treasured room.

My Favorite “Then” and “Now” Room

By Mary Lewis

Currently my favorite room is a diminished version of my favorite room in the home where we lived for fifty-six years. We called that space “the den,” a curious word, as defined by Webster: “the lair of a wild animal, a comfortable, usually secluded room, a subdivision of a cub scout pack.” Harwood’s floor plan calls it the second bedroom. I declare it a Den, happily opening its hide-a-bed to welcome guests when they arrive.

Expanded by a mirrored wall, which is opposite the windows, this small room on the sixth floor is always filled with sky wonders–storms and colors and mist and darkness and changing moon shapes. I can add music to the environment or just keep it absolutely quiet. It’s the right place for a pen and a clipboard to journal or to follow a writing group prompt. There’s a globe to spin and speculate and a modest TV screen tucked on its own shelf on the bookshelves along the wall. Books which were boxed for the Harwood move are survivors, culled for another read. More recent titles pop up in other rooms.

Ledges and corners in the den call out “these are a few of my favorite things!” Many of them are carved pieces. A parade of guinea hens marches across a shelved collection of books from Zimbabwe and Namibia. Two small human figures make eye contact in conversation. She was carved in Quebec, and he in Central America. I like the profile of their faces. Another carver had shaped a large tagua nut until it became a parrot in simulated ivory. There’s a gourd from Peru with a carved border of llamas, and a plump Baboushka doll hiding her children until a squeaky twist will set them free for their line-up. The paintings on the walls were brushed by artist friends, and the wide window valence was cut from the Batik fabric of a tablecloth.

The Den–it still says heart and warmth, comfort and contemplation. Creativity. And I like it because it’s small and takes you by surprise, down the hall and to the left.

Come hear Mary and the other Harwood Place Writers read on Saturday, January 28th, at 2pm: 8220 Harwood Avenue, Wauwatosa, WI. You’ll leave feeling lifted and inspired.