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On #Writing Prompts: Guest post by Maura Fitzgerald

For the last several years, I’ve been the sole teacher for a group of senior citizens in a Creative Writing Class at Harwood Place Retirement Living Center. This year, I invited a fellow writer, Maura Fitzgerald, to join me as co-teacher. She’s taken on the role with enthusiasm and dedication. (It’s tough to get up early on a Saturday morning to talk essays and poetry and “homework for next month.” Ask the seniors, they just requested to push the start time to a half an hour later!). Today, Maura shares a bit about teaching, about students young and old, and about the power and mystery in prompts. And yes, she leaves you with an assignment.

In Praise of Prompts

by Maura Fitzgerald

I once gave a group of 8th graders the prompt, When I am hungry…, and said “No rules. Just write.” Surely this exercise for kids who are almost always hungry would unleash their creative wild child to roam free across the blank page and leave a trail of original thoughts and insights. Instead, hands shot up. “Do you mean what do I eat when I’m hungry?” or “When I’m hungry for what?” and “I’m never hungry.”

Several students responded to the ‘hungry’ prompt by simply writing “I eat,” or they listed favorite foods. (Okay, prompts don’t always work.) But others were surprising and fresh on the page: A brief conversation between a girl and her empty, gurgling stomach; A boy who stuffed himself with fortune cookies for nutrition and wisdom.  Same prompt, very different treks across the vacant space.

Recently, I gave our group of writers at Harwood Place the essay, “The Potato Harvest,” by April Monroe, in which she describes how easily her garden surrenders to the approaching autumn.  After reading the essay, the group’s prompt was “Surrender.” Around the edges of the silence that followed, I sensed discomfort with the prompt. But I let it be. Prompts don’t come with comfort scores. In fact, discomfort can sometimes butt-kick a pen like nothing else. (Try it sometime with a prompt that chafes or confounds and confuses.)

The students—young and old—reacted like many writers do when facing a prompt. We crave directions for traversing the wide-open landscape of empty paper. Give me a destination and show me the landmarks along the way. Please. A compass might help, too.

The thing is, prompts come without instructions. On purpose. That’s why they work. Creativity holes up in unexpected places, so a writer must put pen to paper and follow the prompt to the unexpected.

While many writers don’t use written prompts, we encounter them daily.

A  waitress’s hairy arms or the brick-solid nurse whose name tag says Taffy. Sunday voices spreading salvation through open church doors. Sounds and sights and smells to catalogue for future use. Details that say, “follow me.”

Used items from MECCA, a clearinghouse in Eugene, Oregon that’s filled with scraps and discards for creative use—a clearinghouse of prompts. Newspapers and magazines from the 50s, family photo albums, previously sent greeting cards and letters, unusual postage stamps. I don’t need any of it. And I’m no hoarder. But there are countless items that prey on my curiosity. Who wrote this 1942 letter and what’s with the photo of the man and goat on the porch? I always leave with a bag of treasures competing for Prompt of the Day.

Even the local crime report: “Mints, a phone charger, and a softball were taken from a locked car…”  Who takes mints and a softball? Write about it.

Or park yourself in any airport or Laundromat and scribble away.

Go ahead, grab hold of a prompt and let it pull you in. Relax and enjoy the ride.

I’ll leave you with this prompt, a few lines from Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “I am a Town.”

I’m the language of the natives, I’m a cadence and a drawl
I’m the pines behind the graveyard, and the cool beneath their shade….

Read the full lyrics to the song here. Then, write details of a town from the viewpoint of the town.

Maura Fitzgerald has written nonprofit grant, marketing and communications, annual reports, and campaign appeals. Her nonfiction has appeared in Milwaukee Magazine and her fiction in Pank. Her writing has been featured on Milwaukee Public Radio, and she has done public readings at Fixx Coffee Shop and Woodland Pattern Book Center. She has taught creative writing to 8th and 9th grade students through Pathways Milwaukee, and presently co-leads the Harwood Place Writers Group with Christi.

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A Picture and a Thousand Words: Guest Post by Kim Suhr

“Leathery oak leaves grip my soles, and I am stunned by the realization that I must get used to seeing you from this vantage point — the back of your head bobbing, you running, running, running to the next vista, the next adventure.” ~ from “Sweet Scented Place” in Maybe I’ll Learn: Snapshots of a Novice Mom by Kim Suhr

Motherhood is a tricky business. There are plenty of books, mind you, that detail the how-to’s, the do’s, the do-not-ever’s. But inevitably, as soon as we take that baby in our arms (first-born, second-born, it doesn’t matter…every child is different) the books fall to the wayside, the instructions we studied blur, and we begin our individual journey as Mother, Mommy, Mom.

I’m not saying these how-to books should be ignored or discarded; they do provide a starting point. But it is a different kind of book on motherhood that often plays a larger role in our understanding: the book that reminds the new mom she is not alone; the book that says you’ll make mistakes, you’re only human; the book that suggests, even as your son or daughter grows up, that feeling of being a novice never entirely goes away.

Kim Suhr has written such a book. Her essays in Maybe I’ll Learn: Snapshots from a Novice Mom highlight her experiences of motherhood when her children are young, from that first bicycle day trip (where siblings turn  enemies) in “Peace in the Trailer” to a quiet hike for two in “Sweet Scented Place.” But the story doesn’t end at the last page. Throughout the book, in the Afterword, and with her guest post here, the message is the same: take note of everything–good, bad, frustrating–and know that each adventure, each intimate moment, reveals a new truth about who we are as human beings.

I’m thrilled to host Kim as she shares a snapshot of her story now, as a mom of a college-bound son. And because Mother’s Day is right around the corner, I’m offering a giveaway. ENTER HERE for a chance to win a copy of Maybe I’ll Learn. Deadline to enter is Sunday, May 14th, at noon.

Now, welcome Kim Suhr!

A Picture and a Thousand Words

By Kim Suhr

“Take lots of pictures. They grow up so fast!” The advice came from all corners: the old lady in the grocery line, a mom of tweens at the library, the middle-aged neighbor who had just sent his last child off to college. Flash forward 18 years, and my hard drive can attest to the fact that I took this advice. Nineteen thousand images. Add to that the few years of actual hold-‘em-in-your-hand photographs from before the digital era, and we’re talking lots of pictures.

Now it’s time to send my first-born off to college, and, while I am glad I took the advice of strangers, I am also glad I listened to my writer’s heart and took notes. For each kid, I kept a notebook in which I wrote periodic letters describing simple things—my worry of the moment, the kid’s developmental level or fascination du jour, what was happening in the world. They include a few sticky notes and ticket stubs. One particular nametag I just couldn’t throw away.

When I revisit these journals, I get a reminder of the phase when Shelby would break into singing “EIO!” to show her general state of happiness, how she went through a time where everything in the past happened “the otter day,” how she first learned to “write” her name and “read” with inflection.

Twelve years later, I write down a few Instagram posts that capture the vision she shares with her peers, “Life always offers you a second chance. It’s called tomorrow,” and “You can always find sunshine on a rainy day,” both accompanied with arty pictures of herself in starfish-type stances.

A dip into Ethan’s journal takes me to his vexation at having our yard signs stolen during the 2004 election, and his brainstorming on how to solve the problem. One solution involved electrifying the metal posts in the sign. Another called for copious amounts of dog poop.

Fast forward eight years, and I record his reaction to the most recent presidential election, the one he missed voting in by a few months. In a darkened living room, we watched the results together, both at a loss for words:

Before we went up to bed, you said, “Well, at least some really good art is going to come out of this time period,” observing, I think, that it is times like these where we can look to the arts to express what we can’t.

It certainly wouldn’t have occurred to me to take a picture that night, but I sure am glad I recorded a few thoughts.

So, if you have kids and no other stranger has given you this advice, let me be the first: write it down. Start with “Dear Sweet (Name)” and the date. It doesn’t need to be eloquent. Sometimes a list is all you need: Funny Things You Like to Say, What Seems to Be on Your Mind Lately, A Parenting Conundrum. Describe mealtime conversation or what you talk about at bedtime. These snapshots will not only help your kids remember what they were like at different times in their lives but will also give them insights into who you were, too. Perhaps that is the biggest gift of all.

Kim Suhr is the author of Maybe I’ll Learn: Snapshots of a Novice Mom and director of Red Oak Writing. Recently, her work has appeared at Midwest Review, Stonecoast Review and Solstice Literary Magazine. Her short story collection, Nothing to Lose & Other Stories, was a finalist for the Eludia Award. To learn more about her writing, visit kimsuhr.com. Kim holds an MFA from the Solstice program at Pine Manor College where she was the Dennis Lehane Fellow in Fiction.

Don’t forget: ENTER THE GIVEAWAY by Sunday @ noon, May 14th (Mother’s Day), to win a copy of Maybe I’ll Learn: Snapshots from a Novice Mom!

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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.