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Two Great Writing Books and a Prompt

Whatever kind of flash you write, fiction or non, the Rose Metal Press offers a book full of essays on craft and beautiful writing that will feed your creativity. I’ve mentioned the Field Guide to Writing Flash Nonfiction before: each time I open it, I bookmark pages and highlight and say yes, yes, yes.

Last Saturday, I met with my senior citizen friends for our creative writing class, and I read from Barbara Hurd’s essay in the Fieldguide, “Pauses:”

In music, a rest note can, by its command, make me lift my fingers. ‘Shh-and-shh,’ my piano teacher says as she counts out quarter-note rests, those squiggles on the score that look like weak-willed iron gates rethinking their prohibition to proceed. My hands hover over the keys; I listen as sound recedes; I’m poised and waiting. Yes, wait, I tell myself, out of habit; for inside such possibilities might be the world in abeyance, the music both gone and still here. . . . Wait. Linger. No need to rush.

Then, I presented the group with a prompt from Midge Raymond’s Everyday Writing that, in a way, corresponds with the idea suggested in Hurd’s essay:

Write about a time when something small – a chocolate bar, a smile from the right person at the right time, a martini – made you happy.

In other words, I asked them to write about a moment that caused them to take pause, to take note.

Around the table, one person read about the moment his two brothers, discharged from the war, saw each other for the first time in three years. Another person described the thrill, as a ten year old boy, of watching a man cut blocks of ice from atop his wagon, knowing he’d toss frozen chips to him and his friends waiting in the heat of the sun. I wrote about my son, how his pause in one moment filled my heart and stayed with me:

The life of a fifth grade boy is busy. With a flip of the light switch in the morning, the wheels are slow to start. But, once they get moving there is breakfast and the comics and where is the sports page and check the weather and do you know how cold it is in Fairbanks, Alaska? Can I wait in the car, Mom? I’m ready to go, I don’t want to be late for school, I don’t want to walk in with the first graders, can we go already? Mom!

I don’t move fast enough for my son. To add to the tension, his sister puts on her coat with such precision that we are always two minutes behind. By the time we reach school, my son has one hand on his backpack and one on the seatbelt release, and he is out the door and on the curb with barely a moment for me to say goodbye.

So it is especially important to note the day he jumped out of his seat, waved to me over his shoulder, and started to close the car door when he stopped. He turned back, then, and looked me in the eye. For a full second.

“Have a good day, Mom.”

Just like that.

He could have tossed the words over his shoulder, could have mumbled them under his breath. But he turned and looked at me, as if to be sure I was paying attention. To be sure.

Have a good day.

A simple and common farewell took on much more meaning in that second. It was puzzling and endearing, and I thought about it all day long.

These pauses in his day are rare, I know. So, I hold memories of them close; I sneak in my own unprompted affection in subtle ways: a pat on his knee, a kiss on the top of his head when he is deep into his morning cereal. And, when I can get away with it, I hold his hand; in the car, as I ask him about his day at school; on the couch, when I sit next to him briefly to see what show he and his sister are watching.

This holding of hands, it is usually fleeting. But he allows me that small gift, and it carries me.

When was the last time you were caught poised and waiting, and remembering? And, what happened?

Next month’s prompt (via Lisa Romeo’s Winter Writing Prompts Project): You look just like __________.

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Becky Levine and the Basement of a Mall

When I first dove in to read Becky Levine’s book, The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide, I grabbed a pencil. I knew I’d be underlining and bookmarking and returning to the pages again and again. Every writer needs a survival guide, especially when it comes to critique groups.  Two years ago, I wrote the post below right after I began reading her book, as her words urged me on to my first meeting with a local writing group. Today, in light of my 2013 mantra, Fearless Writing, it seems apropos to post it again.

~

A few days before I attended my first meeting with a local writing group, I read these words in Becky Levine’s Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide:

Take care to make the meeting worth your time and money. Talk to people. Too often, at these events, writers give in to their nervousness, shyness, or just their uncertainty about their own writing.

…[R]emember: This is your writing. It’s important. I’m not advocating shoving yourself into the middle of someone else’s discussion or waving a red flag in the bathroom line, but put yourself out there.

I was nervous, uncertain, not exactly ready to put myself out there. But, the woman who runs this particular group had emailed me such a nice introduction with the room information (in the lower level of the mall) and said I was welcome to attend. She mentioned that they all would be bringing a sample of their work to share, and she hoped I would as well.

After working a split shift at my paying job, being gone most of the weekend, and after my daughter cried both times I had to leave, the decision to steal away for another two hours on a Sunday wasn’t easy. Add to that guilt the anxiety about sitting in a room with strangers and reading a short story out loud (for the first time to someone other than myself), and I could have easily backed out. But, something in my gut told me – and Becky Levine’s words encouraged me – to go to this meeting.

When I got to the building, I came upon another woman looking for the room. She told me her name and smiled and immediately put me at ease. We made our way to the basement of the building, wound through hallways, and walked into the meeting together. She introduced me to her friends as a “fellow traveler.”

It was a small group, and, mostly, I just listened. When it came time to read our samples of work, I hesitated. A few of the members were aging adults, and the conversation at the beginning of the meeting had drifted from writing to assisted living. In the story I brought to read aloud, a young woman visits her grandmother in a nursing home. I thought maybe they wouldn’t like the story, that they would think I was rude to read something like that to this group. Worse yet, I worried they might not like my writing style.

Then, I remembered,

This is your writing.
It’s important.
Put yourself out there.

So, in the basement of a shopping mall, I sat around a table with six other writers and read my work. My face grew hot and my voice wavered. But, I pushed off that feeling of insecurity and panic and kept my eyes on the words.

After I finished, one person noted a place where I might change the wording. Everyone else sat quiet. Someone got up to leave. I tried to interpret the silence, the sudden departure, then I decided, No. Focus on what’s important: at least I took action. I can’t control their response. Nor, can I assume I know what it means.

And, isn’t that the way it is with every story a writer sends out into the world?

Before the meeting ended, the woman who acknowledged in her kind way that we are all travelers along this winding road complimented my story. The man across the table suggested my work would be published one day. I left the meeting with a few phone numbers and an invitation to come back.

I don’t know that I had much in common with the people there, other than writing itself. But when Becky Levine talks about finding a writing or critique group, she doesn’t say we should search for people like ourselves: with kids or without, working day jobs or not, old or young. Instead, she emphasizes that we follow our gut instinct. Find a group where we feel welcomed and supported – a group that will meet our writing needs.

Whether or not it’s the first group you attend, the key is: put yourself out there.

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Deciding to Write a Memoir, Guest Post by Sandra Bornstein

I met Sandra Bornstein after posting an author interview with Erika Dreifus, as Sandra was the winner of Quiet Americans. Sandra came to the blog as a reader, but today she shares her experience as an author. She’s crafted a lovely post about the challenge in writing memoir, and she’s giving away a copy of her new book, May This Be the Best Year of Your Life. Read Sandra’s guest post below, and leave a comment for a chance to win a copy. Thanks, Sandra, for sharing your experience and your book!

“Each of us is a book waiting to be written, and that book,
if written, results in a person explained.”
~Thomas M. Cirignano, The Constant Outsider

My decision to write my memoir, MAY THIS BE THE BEST YEAR OF YOUR LIFE, reminds me of the story of Pandora’s box. For decades, I had kept most of my life’s story private and well-contained. Only a few friends and relatives were privy to my childhood and day-to-day happenings. I was content to live beneath my own personal radar screen.

However, after having the unique opportunity to live and teach in a Third World country, my opinion changed. I was not prepared for the culture shock that I experienced. Monkeys in my classroom were never anticipated. Despite these unusual disruptions, I was able to share my multicultural expertise and teaching experience in significant ways. I was the only American primary teacher on the campus.

I had an inspiring story to tell. Similar to Pandora, I did not believe that the contents should be confined for eternity. I was curious.

Could I write my compelling story and keep an audience engaged?

Would it be worth the price of revealing my life to the public?

The mere act of writing about my life unleashed a flurry of memories. Some of these memories brought a warm glow of happiness while others rekindled periods of sadness, unfairness, and despair.

By having to confront the negative aspects of my life, I clung to the belief that others would benefit from the lessons that I learned from my journey. Amidst all of the evil that was released from Pandora’s box, she was able to locate hope. Likewise, I waded through my challenging episodes and sought out the promising and encouraging moments.

Even though I was telling my story, I had to look at each chapter with a minimal amount of bias. Without the help of my developmental editor, Joe Kita, it would have been much more difficult to find an appropriate voice and locate the major threads to my story.

Part of the challenge of memoir writing is to maintain a balance between retelling a truthful story and keeping your audience engaged. Far too many authors in recent years have excessively embellished the truth in order to sell more books. Maintaining my integrity throughout was always my intended goal. Elie Wiesel was absolutely correct when he stated, “I will say, with memoir, you must be honest. You must be truthful.”

If I was not going to be true to the facts, I might as well have written a novel. However, by adhering to the truth, I ran the risk of peeling back too many protective layers that had kept my life behind closed doors for decades.

But then again, isn’t that what makes a memoir compelling? It is those tender moments when the author reveals her inner feelings and connects emotionally with the reader. In so doing, the reader walks hand-in-hand with the memoirist and relates to the real life message of the story. The author’s life becomes fully illuminated.

Sandra Bornstein, an educator with four sons, was living her version of the American dream in Colorado when her peaceful and predictable life was jolted after her husband accepted a job requiring extensive international travel. Following a series of events, Sandra ended up living by herself in a 300 square foot dorm room while teaching at a world renowned international K-12 boarding school in Bangalore, India. She adapted to an unfamiliar environment, embraced her Jewish identity, and endured deteriorating health. In her memoir, May This Be the Best Year of Your Life, Sandra shares what she has learned about perseverance, travel, education, faith, and family.

Remember: leave your name in the comments. The winner of Sandra’s memoir will be chosen on Tuesday, January 22nd.