my writing life

 Sis gave me this delightful book which I am loving so much. I have been writing on an almost daily basis now for 25 plus years. This past week I wrote with Chef Sarah up in Napa. We can and do write freely with one another and I treasure her friendship. She said I could use her paragraph here and I do so because it expresses my feelings so perfectly. (Tiapos is the name of our writing group, as you may remember: This is a piece of shit.) Sarah's writing is definitely not, while mine often is. Here from Sarah Scott:

All this made me appreciate all the years with Jane and Tiapos up to the present and the format of reading with an emphasis on positive feedback and never telling someone what to do or how to do it. The generosity of fellow writers listening, considering with care, commenting with finesse, wisdom and mostly kindness is a precious gift. It provides a safe space to share imperfect, intimate, newborn writing. 

 

 

a writing tip from Ms. Groff

 I will borrow this from the Program Notes that I picked up at Z Space on Sunday. The longer that I write the more I realize that I really do this for myself. I solve problems, cleanse memories, learn to accept life on life's terms.

"Take a long look at your dread or your shame ~ whatever beasts you're fighting ~ to square yourself to them, invite them into your work, and let their energy spur you."

~Lauren Groff, Electric Literature 2018

sort of catching up

 For some reason I'm a better reader in parks and coffee shops than I am at home where I can always find some silly task to distract me. I'm currently reading the April New Yorkers and yesterday I read a fascinating piece by and about Joan Didion. They are publishing her "Notes to John" soon and I think I will avoid the book which is probably an invasion of her private thoughts to her husband. But who knows?  I also guess that this could be depressing. Ms. Didion was, however, a wonderful writer. No question about that. She jotted down these "notes" after her therapy sessions. 

a writer must write

 Check out this beautiful journal with my name in that little white space. This is a gift from Emma and now I will be sure to write during my many travels in 2025. Deep gratitude.

our guest writer today

 My friend Doug is my writing partner this week (always a treat) and this was part of his piece from yesterday.

TUESDAY: BACKBONE

Remember when all those ships carrying new cars and refrigerators and tvs and computers and fan belts and batteries and pants and jackets and sledgehammers and drill bits and plywood and 2 X 4s were lined up out to sea, waiting to get into a port? There were not enough dock workers to unload the ships and not enough truck drivers to transport the goods and not enough store employees to carry everything into the stores and not enough part timers to stack the plastic cups and bags of rice and wallpaper paste onto the shelves. We stayed close to home except to shop, and when we did try to buy things, shelves were often empty.

But we didn’t go hungry, because all those Latino farm workers we now want to throw out of the country kept working, despite getting sick themselves, and all those slaughterhouse workers we claim are lazy rapists stayed at their jobs so we could eat our chicken nuggets and supersize our colas, and all those auto repairmen from Tamaulipas and house painters from Shanghai and short order cooks from Guatemala City and elder care ladies from Lagos who we accuse of taking jobs away from American workers kept right on caring and painting and fixing and frying while the government paid U.S. citizens to stay home. 

How soon we forget.

my writing life (continued)

 This week my partner was Anna, cousin of the Seahorse, who lives in Tully, NY. We had a lovely time catching up every day. There are days, quite a few, when I just don't FEEL like writing, but I just do it, usually. Of course some days I "call in sick" just to take a breather. Above ~ you remember Claire Keegan who wrote Foster, I know you do. She speaks the truth.

friends, words and food

 A good day indeed over at Suzy's yesterday as we writers read our work and laughed with appreciation because we know that we need this kind of continuity and community in our lives. Alas Chef Sarah was ill and greatly missed. 

writing challenge

 

WILLIAM FAULKNER famously said that a novelist is a failed short story writer, and a short story writer is a failed poet. Hemingway, with his creation of the six-word story, combined poetry and drama into a short form that has grown in popularity while remaining difficult to achieve. Narrative is looking for six-word stories that can stand alongside the best that have been written. Here are some that we’ve featured in the magazine:             1968             Met at demonstration. Married. Still protesting.   —Jane Seskin             After War             I’m home alive. Well, not really.   —HC Palmer             Grief             Without thinking, I made two cups.   —Alistair Daniel             Hit and Run             Reported hit and run. Then ran.   —AnnaLee Pauls

music, food, laughter and words

 We await the group photos from yesterday, but here are three from our writers' gathering over at Suzy's in Oakland. So much joy ~ just what we all needed. Harmony (her real name) is the rap star in the middle picture, she lives with Suzy and Floyd. Amazingly, we have been gathering for more than twenty years and yesterday we celebrated that and so much more. A wonderful day.

the essence of wonder

  The essence of wonder. A big secret indeed. I think it’s the ability to notice, to observe, to stay open. To delight. But maybe it doesn’t come easily to those of us who are depressed or sorrowful. Or awake to the grim reality of the world and our own country.

But it’s worth trying. It’s worth watching a bumblebee and saying the word bumblebee which is a wonder word if there ever was one.

It reminds me of one more thing I did with Wednesday’s yoga class. We sat on our mats, closed our eyes, and played with “bumblebee breath” for a few minutes. Breathe in through your nostrils, pause, then hum as you exhale. Repeat and repeat. Any tone, any length. You are your own hive master. Its very wonderful.

Let me try try try to find some wonder from today to write in this space at the bottom of this page. Lunch out on our patio, with the welcome warmth of sun. There is nothing like spring sunshine when your body remembers the cold winter and when the weather is still chilly. That moment or half hour of warmth on your shoulders and back — that is enough wonder for any March day.

(from my writing partner, Karen S., yesterday. Wonder used to be easier for me, but it is still there.)

life on a sheep farm

 This wise looking fellow is only one day old. This week I have had the joy and privilege of writing with Anna, cousin of the Seahorse. She and her family live on a big farm in Tully, New York. Here is her note from last night:

Hi, I'm going to write but a little late. All well here except it is bitter cold and ewes are going into labor so I have to watch nonstop to make sure the babies don't freeze. Kitchen is full of babies just for tonight. By morning they should be able to be back with their mothers. Anyway I'm heading back out to look to make sure no one else is in labor and depending on what I find.... Love you. Hope you enjoyed your hermit day with the snuggliest snugglebutt.  

boondocking

 A friend in our writing group is taking a solo trip in his small van to visit the places where he was raised. He is currently in Denton, Texas. He emails us almost every day. Fascinating details. I had to google the boondocking term, but this is a big deal and pretty much how my grand daughter travels from SF to Chicago. Free camping. Walmart parking lots, some parks in some cities, behind apartment complexes and  in motel parking lots unless they are too crowded. He is making tea in the above photo. This is an emotional journey for him because so much changes and our memories are not exactly trustworthy. But, wow, I feel privileged to read his emails and he is so open about his thoughts, activities and fears.

from my writing partner this week

 Karen in Idaho is a delight and here is her ten minute piece from yesterday:

My story is about this pair of robins who built a very messy nest up under our front porch ceiling. 

We only noticed what was going on because of the various weeds, reeds, and grasses mostly 

from our compost heap. The detritus was all over our porch. But above the trash heap was this 

lovely nest.

Now we have sectioned off that part of the porch and only use the front door. I made a sign that 

says “ROBIN MATERNITY WARD. Please use front door.” I stretched plastic yellow tape around 

the area. Stern black letters repeat CAUTION: PARTY ZONE,  over and over. I found this roll in 

our upstairs hall cupboard. It is from long ago, a party decoration, akin to what  my friend Susie 

Parker in Oakland, California, would have on hand.

We can watch the little mama from our hallway window. At night, we can flip on the porch light 

and check on her.  I plan to climb up the stepladder sometime when she’s not in nest and 

count her eggs. I love the color of robins’ eggs. Doesn’t everybody?

The advent of the maternity ward signage was the afternoon of Tom’s birthday party on Friday 

when we realized there would be way too much traffic at the kitchen door. She flies off the 

nest whenever that door is opened.

suzy, fuzzy and the fire pit

We gathered in Oakland last night to test the fire pit and socialize over at Suzy's in Oakland. Top photo features Doug with Valentina and Raphael from Chile, SO interesting. Suzy and Fuzz on their front porch and then the motley writers' group (well, part of it) sort of remembering how to socialize. It was cold out, as you can tell by coats, hats and blankets. Fun, fun evening with much needed laughter.
 

my smart hour

An interesting concept from my writing partner this week. He is a musician and tries to practice during his smart hour.  At night I do word games on my iPad before I go to sleep. Usually I can finish them, but sometimes they make no sense and I wait and do them in two seconds the next morning. Morning is also the only time I do my writing and emailing. After about 9am my brain spirals down. This has always been true for me, but more so as I age. 

Hygge

Yesterday's daily writing exercise.

HYGGE (the prompt)

Hahahahaha. The prompt-creator Linda D. and I use CALM the 

meditation app or application, if you will. A daily way to help reduce 

stress and to stay quiet for ten (sometimes long) minutes. This was 

one of Tamara’s daily subjects and as you might know by now it 

refers to comfort and that wonderful feeling of being in the exact 

right place at the right time. This is a Danish word.

I call her Tammy sometimes, this woman who speaks to me everyday and

tells me to breathe and stay in the moment. I’m pretty good most days

and she has even spoken to me when a glorious nap is needed. She

lives in snow country and has an unfortunate way of ending some words

in a stronG G. Then I’m thinkinG, but I am no longer meditatinG. 

Is she Canadian?

Bill and I had our word for that wonderful feeling of well-being and 

experiencing extreme comfort with the one you love. Hoganward started 

for us forty years ago when we couldn’t complete some fucking crossword 

puzzle and just filled in the word. I have a vivid memory of driving around 

the lakes in upper New York state with Bill. “Hoganward.” we agreed.

You will be amused to learn that occasionally I walk away from Tammy

and my iPad while she is talkinG and breathinG. Fuck this ~ not a

Danish expression as far as I know. 

03/06/19

writing workshops rock

Five students and one excellent teacher named Steve who was just rejected
by the New Yorker for a short story he wrote. But he is a real writer and
it just felt so good to be back with a group of writers in this small, warm
space as the rain came pounding down right outside. The all-day class:
Write What You Don't Know: A Fiction Workshop to Stretch your
Imagination. Yes on parking and yes on stretching ~ all in all a very
fine time was had by all. More, please...

back to school day

It's been a few years. Too long. I need a push so I'm taking an all day
writing class and I am happy about this. I'm packing a lunch, filled my
Thermos with coffee and will climb into my best jeans for school. Bill is
smiling down on me for this today, that much I know and he will help
me find free parking around Balboa and 22nd Streets.

writing, books and partnering

Dodger Doug (The Great Plotnik) is my writing partner this week. Mush
is one of my nicknames and Dandiprat (I had to look it up) was the prompt
for yesterday.

Today is the Book Club meeting and we are having lunch at the Old
Jerusalem on Mission Street. Time to get these women out of Pacific
Heights, at least that is my thinking, but I have been wrong before.

So here is from Doug from yesterday. Award-winning? Not yet...

Annabelle Cat is a Dandiprat.

She eats every morsel but doesn’t get fat.

She’d love a fresh mouse, or a tenderized rat

While she sits with her mistress for tea and a chat.

And she never gets mushy, ‘cause Mushy does that.

Annabelle is NOT a Dandiprat and she is getting fat. So there.

why I write (still)

I am having Pajama Day with a slight cold. So I brought up some old files

to read and toss. I run into lots of meaningful essays that Jane used to hand 

out in her personal essay class. My first introduction ~ when I really, truly began 

writing, back in 2000. Funny, I don’t feel like tossing these anymore now than 

I did 19 years ago. So I won’t. Here are parts of an essay that speaks to me today:

A letter to Deb Clow by Terry Tempest Williams ~

I write to make peace with the things I cannot control. I write to create red

in a world that often appears black and white. I write to discover. I write to

uncover. I write to meet my ghosts. I write to begin a dialogue….

I write to correspond with my friends. I write as a daily act of improvisation.

I write against power and for democracy…

I write to record what I love in the face of loss…

I write as an exercise in pure joy. I write as one who walks on the surface

of a frozen river beginning to melt…

I write for the love of ideas. I write for the love of a beautiful sentence.

I write knowing words always fall short.

I write because it is dangerous, a bloody risk, like love, to form the words,

to say the words, to touch the source, to be touched, to reveal how

vulnerable we are, how transient we are.

01/03/19