Your Next Writing Prompt

/5 Comments/in /by

I am a great lover of writer prompts, and I seem to have accumulated a dozen books of them. Books that I almost never open…

This year, however, I’ve had a major realization around writing prompts.

My realization began with my new little poetry project that builds on my old one-bad-poem practice. I was doing some reorganizing (an on-going process) and I happened to take down my 2007-2008 book of poem drafts. Early in my five years of writing one poem a day, I revised and re-revised and turned a good percentage of them into actual poems. But by 2008, the practice was beginning to fall apart.

Two thousand eight was the year my mother’s memory problems first came to our attention. In 2008 I was teaching full-time and (if I’m remembering right) I began teaching the very rewarding and very time-consuming Creative Nonfiction class (which changed my life). In 2008 my older daughters were teenagers — 14 and 14 — and though I am apparently in some denial about my year with them, I know from my younger daughter’s 14th year that it can be a roller coaster (she was only 8 years old in 2008, and a delight). In 2008 my dad’s health was slipping a bit and becoming a concern. In 2008 he told me that he thought he was going to have to sell his cows (which he never did, by the way). In 2008 I said yes to a big committee at my church.

So I was writing every day, but it’s really stretching it to call what I wrote a “poem.” It was more like a moment to stop and make an observation and jot down a few lines. In 2009-10 I completely lost it and stopped getting the poems typed up…which eventually led to calling it quits. But in 2008 I was still typing them up. And I’m so glad.

Here’s my realization in a nutshell; it isn’t original, and this isn’t the first time I’ve come across it, but it’s well worth repeating:

What you pay attention to, grows. 

Rereading a “poem” (or whatever it seems to be), writing it into my journal, retyping it, doesn’t take all that much time (and I’m very very forgiving if all I do is read it and make a note or two). But…

even when you haven’t much time — perhaps “especially” when — stopping for fifteen, or five, or ONE minute and paying attention to what you want to create more of will work magic.

 

 

Ursula K. Le Guin, 1929-2018

/0 Comments/in /by

“We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words.”

― Ursula K. Le Guin

 

Writing — guilty pleasure or basic need?

/5 Comments/in , , /by

So here it is, January of the New Year. I have a few resolutions I’m working on, and someone suggested that I reframe why I set them, and that conversation got me thinking.

Then, at Writing Lab today, one of our writers admitted that she doesn’t write very much, even though she’d like to, because taking time for writing feels self-indulgent. Others chimed in. She wasn’t alone.

I kind of want to whine here. If, instead of writing, you are busy finding a cure for cancer, or homelessness, or world hunger, maybe you have a point. But, frankly, I don’t think any of us at the table today were doing anything stop-the-presses-newsworthy instead of writing.

And of course I’ve heard this from so many people over the years that it shouldn’t be jaw-dropping any longer. To illustrate, I have one friend who, in all the years I’ve known her has never been able to sustain a writing practice. It isn’t that she wouldn’t love to write; plus, she’s got the know-how — she has advanced degrees in writing. I asked her once why the heck she wasn’t writing, and she told me an amazing story about a teacher of hers who wrote despite having “crazy needy children.” Then she continued, “And I don’t want my children to go crazy.”

She was not trying to get a laugh; she was sincere. And although it seemed absolutely bizarre at the time, now that my friend has grandchildren and I’ve seen her in action for a number of years, I think I understand. She’s busy with work and keeping body and soul together, and when she does find any free time, she wants to spend it on her family.

For the record, I approve of people lavishing attention on the young’uns in their lives. But I don’t think that’s quite the problem here. You can substitute your non-negotiable here (unless it’s checking Facebook or watching Criminal Minds). At this point, I’m not even sure it’s about making the time to write (I’ve tried before to address how you might do that). So maybe, for you, like me with my New Year’s resolutions, it’s time to rethink your why. 

all pictures from pexels.com

And since we’re talking about writing here, which is — at least some of the time — about making stuff up, let’s talk about re-imagining why you want to write. (And I don’t mean so that you can pull down the big bucks. I mean why it’s important to you.) To get really really clear here, the belief that writing is self-indulgent is a belief, just like the belief that being a writer = crazy offspring is a belief. Not one of those beliefs like believing in God (let’s not mess with that) or not (or that). It’s not even a belief like your political beliefs, which I think we all know by now are troublesome enough.

No, this belief is simply something that you made up at some point in your life. Maybe at that point it helped you cope with some difficulty or other. Maybe it kept you alive.

But it’s just a belief, and you can replace it. Here are a few suggestions, all of which are true for me:

  • I write because writing is good for my brain. (This is also my piano lesson argument.)
  • I write because writing is healing. (See Louise DeSalvo.)
  • I write so I can be a better __________ (teacher/mom/pastor/committee member/friend).
  • I write to gain objectivity.
  • I write because I want ____________  (your students? your children? someone else?) to see that it’s possible to balance a busy, even over-full life with one’s passion.
  • I write so _____________ (my daughters) will see that having a passion is important.
  • I write to find out what matters to me.
  • I write because writing keeps me sane.
  • I write because writing gives me joy.

There must be other good reasons to write that you can gin up, and one may very well be to make a living (kudos for you), or bringing joy to others.

Writing is a guilty pleasure and a basic need. If you want to write, that’s a good enough reason to write.

What’s Your Morning Routine?

/5 Comments/in , , /by

My mother used to say, “I have no secrets.” In other words, if she thought it, she shared it.

So I want to share with you the secret of my morning routine.

As soon as I get up–well, pretty much as soon as I get up–I go out to the kitchen, flip on the Keurig, and then I go to the sink and pour myself 16 oz. of water.

While my coffee is making, I do some kind of exercise, maybe bending to touch my toes ten times.

I take my coffee to whatever spot I’m writing in these days and I pick up my journal. Now that we are almost empty-nesters, I write in a favorite chair inside the house; my dog appreciates it; besides, the cabin is really cold this time of year.

I write 2-3 pages in my big Everyman’s Journal, which I like to think of as my Everywoman’s Journal.

I have a couple of small assignments right now that I’m wrapping into my journal. I’ve written a very short entry every day since my mother has been on Hospice (today is day #52). It’s either a description of a visit with her, or a memory, or a reflection of some sort.

The other assignment began January 1. I came across a One-Bad-Poem notebook from 2007-2008, and it occurred to me that I could spend a few minutes each day revisiting a poem written 10 years ago. Here’s a sample:

Like Chalkboard Erasers

When I clump the old poems together
letters and phrases and whole lines shake loose
and drift over me in a chalky cloud.

Having this particular morning routine works for me, and it usually launches me into a day of getting writing done. Even if I have a day of driving ahead of me, appointments, or whatever, I move into my day knowing that I’ve accomplished something that matters to me, something that makes me feel alive. Writing.

So here’s my secret, that is not a secret at all if you’ve followed my blog for very long.

I don’t have to drink 16 oz. of water. I don’t have to write 3 pages in my journal. I don’t have to be brilliant in my mom diary. I don’t have to revise the poem, and it (still) doesn’t have to be good.

All I have to do is offer myself the opportunity. I pour the water. I pick up my pen. I think about my mom. I recopy the poem. Sometimes it’s a bit lame. But I’m not here to be wildly successful. It’s more like an experiment. I see what happens.