Be Yourself

In [fields other than writing]–sports, or music, or practical arts–learning through practice rules. Basketball players practice shooting baskets. Jazz musicians practice scales and intervals. Aspiring cooks apprentice themselves to masters to learn their skills. Even people learning a foreign language devote themselves to practice. This is a different way to learn from the one most of us are used to. Different, and–when it comes to learning how to write–much, much better.

-Barbara Baig, SPLENDID SENTENCES (14-15)

Because of the death of a  colleague at my old college, I find myself back, teaching full-time through the end of the quarter.

When a quarter begins, there’s a ramp-up (sometimes gentle, sometimes not so much) that gets everyone into the first assignment, and it’s only about week two or even three that serious grading begins. Imagine pushing your boat off the shore, edging it into the water, climbing in, picking up your oars….

Taking over three composition classes — 97, 98, and 101 — at week eight has been more like being thrown into a rushing river about a half mile up from a waterfall.

Add to that, shell-shocked colleagues and bewildered students. Add to that, grief.

Over the years, I had my differences with this colleague, but we also shared laughter and hallway banter, and I knew that many of his students were devoted to him. We read our poetry together on a couple of college programs. When I was first at Everett Community College, he stepped in several times to give me advice about handling the workload. (“Never apologize for not getting graded papers back to students quickly. It takes time to be thoughtful.”)

He always dressed as though after his day of teaching he was heading directly out to the barn to wrangle some ponies, and I sometimes ribbed him about it.

Sitting in my temporary office in the late afternoons, trying (vainly) to catch up, I keep thinking that I hear his voice in the hall.

I pause and look at the door, as though he’ll poke his head in and tell me to go home.

“Don’t worry so much about teaching,” he once told me. “Just go in there and be yourself. The students learn as they go, and so do you.”

R.I.P., David.

 

10 (Completely Idiosyncratic) Reasons Why You Need a Writing Group

In no particular order:

  1. Because your writing group will keep you writing (literally if your group like mine writes during its time together).
  2. Because the writing you do once a week (or once a month, for that matter) oozes into the rest of your time — you’ll want to have work to share with your writing group — and when you focus on anything, it grows.
  3. Because the stories told by the members of your writing group will spark memories and stories in you.
  4. Because your writing group can be like a good parent and reflect back to you your successes, no matter how small. At our lab, which meets for a scant 1 1/2 hours weekly, we lavish praise for a single line. I was going to say “a single gorgeous line,” but we’d probably lavish praise for a stumbly line, especially if we see that our fellow labster is struggling to get writing done.
  5. Because, conversely, your writing group will stop you from getting too big for your britches. We’re all in this together, and if you’ll be honest with them, they’ll be honest with you.
  6. Because reading and learning to talk about other people’s unpublished writing teaches you so much about your own writing.
  7. Because your writing group witnesses your journey as a writer, from fledgling to … wherever you take it.
  8. Because your writing group will come with wine or covered dishes to your annual potluck.
  9. Because your writing group helps you to shoulder your writing work.
  10. Because your writing group (like the play groups you took part in as a child, like musicians), reminds you that you’ve gathered not to work, but to play.

 

For Lent, Can You Give Up “Not Writing”?

I have been declaring myself a writer for … well, ages. I love meeting writers and talking about their writing with them, but among the many people I meet, two groups baffle me:

1. Writers who don’t admit that they write. (And why the heck not?)

2. People who want to write, and don’t.

If you are in the latter camp, I’d like to challenge you to write for at least five minutes every day for the next 40 days. Just 5 minutes. 40 days. Easy-peasy.

Whether or not you belong to a religious tradition that celebrates Lent, it begins today, 14 February, this year, and it’s a great time to take on this modest, 40-day challenge. “Lent” by the way is an Old English word, meaning Spring, and probably relating to “the lengthening of days.” The Greek equivalent means fortieth. 

For whatever reason (I’m sure there is one), 40 is an important Biblical number. Noah’s Flood was caused by 40 days of rain. Moses and the Hebrew Tribes wandered in the desert for 40 years. Christ fasted in the wilderness for 40 days. There are other examples. And for anyone in a more secular mood, you could think of Franz Kafka’s Hunger Artist, who fasts for 40 days.

Lent is often thought to be synonymous with fasting — you’ve no doubt heard of chocolate fasts (but why would you?), shopping fasts, giving up anything generally “not good for you.” I like to think of the flip side of that, and use Lent as an opportunity to do something positive for 40 days.

What would you write? 

Don’t get all intimidated by this. If you have a project that you have been meaning to start and you can start it, by all means, do that. If you can’t, just practice being present with a notebook and pen.

Write a very small list of gratitudes. Try to come up with new ones every day. (What you focus on will grow.)

Write about one person who has been on your mind or buzzing about your memory.

Take a photographer’s approach, but instead of taking a picture of the same spot in your garden or on your walk every day, write a little description of it.

Copy out a poem, not necessarily yours. (Any writing counts.)

Draft your own poem — let it be as bad as it needs to be — and then make notes and write variants of it for 40 days — just to see what happens (I’ve been doing this with a poem about my mother).

Write a letter each day.

What if you get all tied up in knots with resistance?

If five minutes are impossible, write for one minute.

Treat yourself like your employee (or child!) — I do this by setting a timer. (Look, here, Bethany, I’m setting the timer for five minutes and I expect you to write until that chime goes off!)

I’m willing to bet that there is some sort of writing that you do already — tweets or Facebook posts or emails. So try writing on your chosen itty-bitty project in that forum. Collect the results and keep them in a folder or envelope or desk drawer. Don’t look at them until the 40 days are up.

Give yourself itty bitty rewards. Big rewards get me all nervous and are weirdly counter-productive, but I will write for red X’s or shiny foil stars. And I don’t know why I’m so compulsive, but I just love an “every day” project. (Ask me how many days in a row I’ve done the dumb little game my daughter downloaded to my phone.) Doing something every day (like walking for at least 5 minutes every day since January 5!) begins to contain its own motivation and rewards.

Remind yourself, it’s just for a few minutes. It’s just for 40 days.

And, while I’m at it, if you are a closet writer (see group #1 above), why not find a way to challenge yourself to share a little bit of work every day for 40 days? You could email it or message it to a friend, and they could do the same for you.

Think of this project as not fasting (giving up anything), but as choosing joy for 40 days. And why not?

 

 

 

Emily Dickinson & YOU

This coming Saturday, I will be presenting my “Writing with Emily Dickinson” talk at the South Whatcom branch of the Whatcom Public Libraries. Here’s a link, and I very much hope that you can join us. (The address is 10 Barn View Court, Sudden Valley, Gate 2
Bellingham, WA 98229.)

Writing with Emily Dickinson

Bethany Reid is an award-winning poet, fascinated with 19th Century American authors, particularly Emily Dickinson. In this 90-minute workshop she will set her own poetry in the larger context of Dickinson’s, attempting to introduce Dickinson to those unfamiliar with her and to “estrange” the poet from those who think they already understand her. The workshop includes time for participants to write from a prompt and share their work. 

Date: Saturday, Feb 10, 2018
Time: 2:00 pm – 3:30 pm
Branch: South Whatcom