Flash Memoir–A Versatile Tool

Many memories are tiny, so tiny they fit in a short paragraph. So tiny you may not think them stories at all. But don’t brush them away. They have stayed with you for a reason, and a much larger chunk of memory is usually attached to that alluring tag, one with deep richness that can develop into a lengthy tale, perhaps even a full-length memoir. Those fragments are worth exploring.

Journaling and writing practice are traditional ways of digging more deeply into the roots of memory. Flash memoir is yet another. In flash memoir, variously defined as stories under 500, 800 or 1000 words, you are challenged to develop a story concisely, framing it with crisp precision.

Writing flash memoir has more benefits, but first, an example. The following  474 word story grew from a micro-memory of mine:

---

First Kiss

He wraps his arms around me. I raise my head and his lips brush lightly against mine.
          Does this count as a kiss? My thought lasts longer than the kiss does. I smile bravely up at my tall date, hoping stars dance in my eyes. After all, I’ve been waiting my entire life for this moment, my first kiss from a boyfriend.     
          Is he a boyfriend? I’m not sure.
          His smile seems unsure. His arms fall as he steps back.
          “Uhm, well, goodnight…” He turns and walks down the steps and back to his truck that smells of hay and manure and damp cowboy boots. I open the door and go in.
          I feel empty, disappointed. This is not what I’ve dreamed of. I don’t feel any tingles with him. He’s tall, has a nice smile, but this six-foot-four, baby-faced cowboy seems bland as butter. Does he feel more passion for me than I do for him? We don’t hang around or have classes together. We only know each other from square-dancing. I think he needed a date tonight. So did I.
   
A month passes and we go square-dancing again. He picks me up early and takes me to his house and introduces me to his parents. His mother slouches on the couch with a book and cigarette. No makeup adorns her craggy face. Does she ever comb her stringy hair? It looks like she cuts it herself in the dark. This hag is married to a division head?
          Said division head sits in another corner of the room with the newspaper. He glances up and nods. Both smile when they hear that I just won second prize in the state Make-It-Yourself-With-Wool contest.
          “That’s nice,” says his mother, her beady eyes peering through wire-frame coke bottle glasses.
          We leave. Mission accomplished, I guess. What was this all about? Is he trying to make points with his parents? Why?
          During intermission, instead of gabbing with kids in our square, we wander outside. He puts his arm around my shoulders, maybe to keep us both warm in the evening chill. He talks about his horse. This is more like it. Will he kiss me for real? There may still be hope.
          He doesn’t.
          When he takes me home his lips brush mine twice. This time I don’t care.
   
Fifty years pass and we meet at a class reunion. He’s lean, weathered just right, still wearing cowboy boots. His smile lights up the room, twinkles flashing in crinkly eyes. This man evolved from that boy? Wow! He wraps his arms around me, right there in front of his dumpling queen wife, who watches with tiny sad eyes sunk deeply into her face. A lifetime of what-ifs swirls in my heart as our bodies cling together for six sizzling seconds.  
          I do not lift my face.

---

I worked for hours on these few words and discovered additional benefits from this compressed form:

• It forced me to focus like a laser on the story topic and message.
• It forced me to examine every word and prune anything that did not add value.
• Ditto with details.
• It forced me to craft precise, imaginative descriptions.

As I pruned and clipped and crafted, a trove of related memories gushed to the surface, ready to be recorded for use in other stories or an expansion of this one. “Start small, grow big.” As I delved, I got deeply in touch with my insecure young self, realizing how much I didn’t yet know (and he probably didn’t either!). All that angst, that longing, came flooding back. This was beyond the usual concern with truth and general memoir considerations. I  urge you to have fun with flash memoir and use it to hone your editing skills. 

By the way, I did not do all this editing in a vacuum. I shared the story with a group who pointed out rough spots I had not noticed. Never underestimate the power of a group for fine tuning stories.

Write now: think of a micro-memory and draft a flash memoir of at least 100 words, but not more than 1000. Practice focus in every respect – content, wording, and description. 

Writing Prompts Aren’t Just for Beginners

No matter how long we’ve been writing, free writing, writing practice, and writing prompts remain a powerful source of inspiration. Some prompts come from books, some from websites, some from writing groups or friends, but some of the most important come from our thoughts. I was reminded of this when I found the following email snippet from my writing buddy, JS:

I was thinking last night about shaving and decided I’d write a little bit about it. I thought maybe I’d write about ten sentences. As soon as I started writing, I remembered all sorts of things I hadn’t thought about for years. I remembered how my father used to use his shaving brush to stir up some lather in his mug of shaving soap. He’d lather me and let me pretend to shave with a bladeless razor. I remembered starting to shave for real, lots of different kinds of razors, blades and electric, and barbers I’ve gone to, and how they nearly shaved my head in the Army, and all that stuff. I wrote for nearly and hour and really had fun with it. There’ some great story starts in that mess. 

This email snippet also reminded me that listening to those tiny whispers when we start thinking about “the olden days” can yield fascinating stories. It’s also great sport, like having a family reunion with memories and you get to tell al the stories. It can also lead to fame, if not fortune. JS lives in a retirement community that publishes an occasional anthology of poems, pictures and pieces of work written by residents. He submitted an essay based on the ramblings in that memory dump. He’s become a local celebrity there and heard lots of shaving jokes and stories for some time after his essay appeared.

Snippets like his are rewarding for several reasons:

• Without his essay, his great-grandchildren may never know about shaving mugs and brushes and blades that were sharpened for reuse.
• Writing about memories like these helps focus on them and renews a sense of connection with the past.
• Collecting a number of related memories can help you see patterns and connections you never noticed, sometimes solving several minor mysteries of life.
• Sharing memory stories builds community.
• It’s fun!

We all have little daily things that bring back memories. My kitchen is haunted with memories. Two of my three cast iron skillets were wedding gifts from my grandmother. I’ve used them nearly every day for over fifty years now and thought of her nearly every time I pull one out. I have pie plates, tea strainers and other gizmos of my mothers. Peeling potatoes or carrots, making meatloaf or enchiladas, even filling the sink with soapy water brings back memories. Some of them go back to childhood, some are more recent.

I’ve written about some. After reading that email from JS, I’m motivated to write more about daily life, probably contrasting then and now.

In fact, I just stopped and filled a long Evernote with prompts that sprang to mind that I can use some morning soon when I sit down to journal and inspiration has run dry. That happens.

Write now: Call up a recent memory of times past and things you used to do. Jot down a few key concepts, then spend ten minutes (more if you get into the swing of things and don’t want to stop) and write about one of them. Start paying attention to those mental riffs and capture some writing prompts. Go back over your free-writing material and find some juicy material to develop into an essay or story.  

Photo adapted from work published by Phyllis Buchanan under a Creative Commons license.

When You Are Not Writing

“What are we both doing right now?” asked a friend during a Skype session the other day.

“Holding a conversation…”

“We are talking about writing. We are NOT WRITING!”

Oh! Yeah. I got the message. In our defense, the logistics we were discussing were important, but indeed, we were not writing. We continued to talk a few more minutes about all the things we do that aren’t writing, such as:

• Run to the grocery store to buy last-minute items for the dinner we just decided to fix.
• Finally remember to put in (or take out or fold) that load of laundry.
• Finally remember to call and make a dentist appointment.
• Send out publicity for an event.
• Vacuum the floor.
• Clean the car windshield – inside and out – and then vacuum the car interior.
• Meet a friend for coffee.
• Check Facebook.
• Scan the news.
• Work a Sudoku, play “one game!” of FreeCell, etc.

That’s a very short list. Then we logged off of Skype with the promise that we’d touch bases in two hours with reports of how much writing we had gotten done.

That’s a glance at my life, and I claim that I write all the time. Usually I’d rather be writing than doing laundry, fixing dinner or any of those things on the list. But sometimes things just jam up.

So what’s a person to do when things jam up?

In a word, JUST DO IT. Sit down and write! Here are a few other ideas, in no particular order, to help you power through when you jam up:

• Make a list. Maybe it’s a To Do list that you can go back to after you write. The list will set your mind at rest, knowing you won’t forget anything. Maybe it’s a Story Idea List, or a list of topics or concepts you want to cover as you write.
• Set a timer. Some of my best writing has happened when I know I only have ten or fifteen minutes. It’s easier to stay focused when you know the duration is short.
• Switch modes. If you usually write on a keyboard, pick up a pen or pencil and a piece of paper. Writing with one hand on paper involves more areas of your brain. Each mode has advantages. Draw on them both.
• Check your Story Idea List for inspiration.
• Join a writing group. I actively participate in one group and mentor many more. Nearly all members agree that the group gives them a deadline that keeps them on track.
• Start a writing group. This isn’t as hard as it seems. Send me an email if you want a how-to kit.
• Take a writing class. This may seem like another delaying technique, but most classes encourage your to write and new ideas from class can jump-start motivation.
• Find a writing partner. Online partners work equally as well as local ones. Make a contract with each other agreeing to hold each other accountable and cheer each other on. This doesn’t mean you have to write five hours a day. Even once a week can be enough.
• Sit down and write. Sit in your chair. Open a new document or find a fresh sheet of paper. Start moving your fingers and do some free writing or writing practice.
• Start a new story. If the story, chapter or scene you’ve been working on has stalled you out, put it in the stable to rest and ride forth on a fresh horse. You can come back and tend the tired one later, after you’ve both rested.
• Make a mind-map. Use online software if you like, but I still like paper.

You can learn more about all of these and other tips in The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing.

Now, with all of these tips at your disposal, you have no excuse. Get those fingers moving.

Write now: sit down and WRITE! Add to a current story, start a new one, edit an old one, do writing practice. It doesn’t matter what you do or how long you spend, for ten times, ten hours or ten days, just WRITE!

Stories, Stories, Everywhere

One passage near the end of Stephanie Pearl-McFee’s memoir, Yarn Harlot: The Secret Life of a Knitter, struck me as a poignant reminder that stories are in the very air we breathe. In this scene Stephanie and a friend are dividing up the yarn stash of a friend whose rheumatoid arthritis has made it impossible to continue knitting. Story itself  becomes an essential element:

… Lene tells us the story of each yarn as we take it, and slowly, we start to feel better. For the moment we are soothed, lost in the tale each yarn has to tell us.

We pay attention to Lene’s wishes. That blue mohair, the one the color of baby eyes, it was supposed to be a shawl for Lene’s friend Michelle. I take that one. I lay it in the bin and make a mental note: Shawl for Michelle. Ken gets the discounted Aran-weight tweed. Lene had planned an intricately cabled pullover for herself with that yarn. I watch Ken; he’s making the same note-to-self, recording carefully what Lene’s intentions were. The chocolate milk alpaca (a scarf for Lene’s mother, Bea) goes into my bin … .

Stephanie doesn’t mention writing these stories at the time, but telling them soothed Lene, and hearing them soothed the friends. Writing about it in the memoir surely soothed Stephanie again and surely most readers are moved by the touching account. She returns to the subject several pages later when she reports that she did, in fact, knit many items Lene had been unable to complete, and that each time she knit a gift from yarn she received from Lene, the gift tag said, “From Lene.”

This section was a tender counterpoint to most of the book, which was rollickingly funny and laced with evocative sensory imagery. I have dubbed Stephanie Pearl-McFee the “Erma Bombeck of the Knitting World,” and even though I am only a very occasional knitter, I look forward to reading her newly released book, All Wound Up: The Yarn Harlot Writes for a Spin

In a previous post I told about a friend’s tea pot collection and the advice I gave her on how to write the stories they held. Not long ago I saw her again and asked if she’d done any writing.

“Yes. I work on it every now and then, and it’s great fun. I make an extra copy of each and stick it in the pot to keep them together. That way whoever gets the pot next – not soon, I hope! – will know its story, adding value to the pots. I’ve taken pictures of each to put in the computer files. It makes quite an album. Stop by sometime and I’ll show it to you.”

Whether you need a writing prompt for practicing description skills or want to record the stories of your treasured possessions, you too can be soothed with memories as you write the stories of your stuff, and your family will appreciate having them later. You may find it useful to have those details at hand if you later write a more comprehensive memoir.

Write now: Look around the room where you sit. Find some object that’s meaningful to you and jot down a paragraph or few of memories about it. When and how did you get it? What has it meant to you? How have you used it? What memories does it hold? You might want to take a picture to put with the story and make it part of your legacy of family history.

Image credit: Katherine 

A Blog Is Born

I am pleased to announce the birth of a new blog, Writing for the Health of It. Few regular readers will be surprised at this news, as I have included this concept in many posts here, and mentioned the Writing For the Health of It classes I teach.

The Heart and Craft of Life Writing blog will remain active, with one or two posts a week focusing on the process of writing. Writing for the Health of It will focus on the vast body of research exploring health benefits of expressive writing, and how those findings can be applied to the various forms of life writing. You are likely to find lots of cross-links because the boundaries are fuzzy and overlapping.

The new blog represents my growing understanding of the power of the life writing process. Perhaps like most of you, I began writing my lifestory primarily to document my experiences and insights for my family. I wanted to leave a written legacy of my life. I read books that mentioned personal insight and a sense of satisfaction as frequent outcomes of writing memoir. That sounded good and made sense, but it was not a primary goal for me, and though I paid the concept lip service, I really didn’t “get it.”

For eight or nine years I cranked out one vignette and essay after another, rather like a quilter practicing various designs on single squares. Someday, I told myself, I’ll sort through these squares and arrange them into a quilt — probably several quilts... But not just yet.

Eventually writing single pieces did become less satisfying. I’ll never exhaust the possibilities of all the stories I could write, but it was time to begin assembling them. My first finished product, The Albuquerque Years, fell together easily. You may have downloaded the eBook.

I’ve been tinkering with its sequel, A Los Alamos Girlhood, for a year now, and learned an enormous amount in the process. My most significant insights about the are detailed in my Los Alamos Girlhood blog that has lain dormant for a few months, but I do still post occasionally.

The other insight I have gained from writing short pieces and puzzling out the structure of Los Alamos Girlhood relates to the transformative power of digging more deeply into memoir and its component pieces. As I question memories and work to clarify my understanding of the past, chains of anxiety and other dark feelings are falling away, almost like magic. The experience has been much like washing the scum from time-crusted windows. My childhood looks much brighter and sunnier than I had realized.

That experience has led me to delve more deeply into the mysteries of the power of writing to make us whole, transform inner darkness to light, and heal broken hearts and spirits. Thus my triumvirate of blogs represents Heart (A Los Alamos Girlhood — my experience with writing), Craft (The Heart and Craft of Life Writing — how to write your story), and Health (Writing for the Health of It — how to tap the health benefits of writing).

Write now: take a break from writing. Click over to Writing for the Health of It and sign up for a subscription. As you scan the posts there, find an idea and use as a prompt for some writing practice.

Stick to Your Own Story

During a recent discussion, someone (I’ll call her Darla) mentioned that she “needed to learn more about my grandmother’s history so I can explain why she acted the way she did and why she was so over-protective.”

Although this aspiring memoir writer had only the best of intentions in mind, her comment set a couple of red flags flapping for me. Life story or memoir writers who claim to know why someone else did something, or what that person was thinking, lose credibility with me. Here’s my thinking on this topic:

#1

Only fiction writers can explain why someone else acted as he or she did, or what that person thinks, and only then when writing in the third person. Darla’s granny is long gone, so there is no way Darla can tell us why she acted as she did. Even if Granny were available, Darla could only report what Granny told her, what she observed Granny doing, or her own speculation about why Granny did what she did.

#2

This is Darla’s story. It’s about her experiences, thoughts and reactions. It doesn’t matter why Granny did anything. The fact that Granny did do something is what affected Darla. Granny’s deeds and Darla’s reaction and understanding are key story elements, not the reasons why Granny acted as she did.

If Darla wants to do research on her grandmother’s history and speculate on why things were as they were, that speculation may be relevant, but to maintain credibility, she’ll be well-advised to use phrases like probably, it seems like, or might have as she spins her tale. 

Speculations about motives and reflections on your understanding of other people’s behavior can add important context to your stories, and will shed light on the way you view things. Examples of behavior are a great way to support your reflections and weave them seamlessly into the narrative. For example, one of my grandmothers had eccentric gift-giving habits, as shown by the following example:

Granny didn’t even bother to wrap the battered old suitcase she used to hold the collection of used kitchen items she gave me as a wedding present. For a few months I resented the fact that she gave me cruddy old cast iron skillets and dishes she’d used for years. She could have afforded to buy me new things. I felt like she was telling me I wasn’t good enough for new things. Then I realized that she had given me things she had used. All of it was useful, and it reminded me of her more powerfully than anything new would have. It gave me a sense of connection with her, of continuity between generations. Maybe she was being stingy – that wouldn’t be surprising considering the austere circumstances of most of her life – but it doesn’t matter. I came to  love her old gifts, and I’ve already promised to pass those by-now-antique cast iron skillets on to my granddaughter when she marries.

By showing what Granny did (gave me used gifts), and how my attitude toward them changed, I’ve given you a view of Granny and also my own thought. Would you believe me if I tried to explain why Granny did what she did? Does that matter? 

As you write stories involving other people, especially people who aren’t available to explain their versions of things, be sure you stick to your own story and your understanding of what they did. You can only speak for yourself. 

Write now: do some writing practice using a person you make excuses for, at least to yourself as your prompt. In your writing tell what happened to the person to cause what you consider to be inappropriate or disappointing behavior, how you feel about it, and how you handle and explain it. Use examples of behavior. If you feel inspired, turn this account into a story.

I Will Keep Writing

Drawing by Rick S. Hall

Am I the only one with 23 unread books piled on my shelf? Each seemed so urgent when I found it, mostly at the Library’s Used Book Sale. All were titles I’d heard of, and intended to check out, so why not buy? I feel stressed!

Am I the only one unsubscribing like crazy from e-mail lists? Skimming blogs I used to savor? Am I the only one who doesn’t keep up with all 583 Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter friends? I feel stressed!

Now the question arises — if I’m stressed and slowing my reading down, maybe others are too, and I’m still writing this blog — is anyone still reading it? Well, yes. I do check stats now and then and see people stopping by from all over the world, and bless all of you who leave comments.

BUT ... I’m keenly aware this could change. Any day. On a whim. The day really could come when everyone turns off, unplugs, tunes out — for a day, a month. Maybe for good.

So what will we all do when everyone is too stressed out to connect with the amazing always-in-touch tools and toys we own? Will we keep writing? If nobody is reading?

My commitment and suggestion is YES! Definitely. I will keep writing.

I will keep writing because writing makes me feel good.

I will keep writing because writing lubricates my creativity.

I will keep writing because I find out what I really think when I put pen to page.

I will keep writing because writing keeps my blood pressure down and helps me deal with the stress of piles of unread stuff.

I will keep writing because writing is my practice, a form of meditation, a form of prayer. Spirit mixes with ink.

I will keep writing because I’m a writer and that’s what I do. On keyboard or paper, I write.

Who will read what I write? Maybe my descendants. Maybe blog readers. Maybe I’ll post more stories on various sites, or publish another book, or an eBook. Maybe I’ll explore digital publishing.

Or maybe nobody will read another word I write. Does that matter? Do I need reader acclaim to validate my skill? My story? Myself? Most definitely not! First and foremost, I write for me.

But, on balance, I think I’ll continue to blog, to read with groups, and generally hang out and share with writers, because that’s my calling, my mission — to help people discover and use writing to find and heal themselves and build connections. I want to help heal the world, one story at a time.

And, because I learn writing by reading what others write, I will keep reading books and blogs for sure. As soon as I write my stress away.

Write now: jot down your thoughts on why you write. What keeps your fingers moving? How important are readers to you? How important is publication? There are no right or wrong answers, and by writing down your answers to these questions, you’ll surely learn something about your motivations and reasons for writing.

Nailing the Essence

Once, when his father was alive, Langdon had heard his mom begging his father to “stop and smell the roses.” That year, Langdon bought his father a tiny blown-glass rose for Christmas. It was the most beautiful thing Langdon had ever seen. . . the way the sun caught it, throwing a rainbow of colors on the wall. “It’s lovely,” his father had said when he opened it. “Let’s find a safe spot for it.” Then his father had carefully placed the rose on a high dusty shelf in the darkest corner of the living room. A few days later, Langdon got a stool, retrieved the rose, and took it back to the store. His father never noticed it was gone.

— from Angels and Demons, Dan Brown

Doesn’t this passage just tear at your heart? Isn’t it amazing that such a tiny detail can say so much about an entire relationship. In only 124 words and one fragile, non-fragrant glass rose, Dan Brown has captured the essence of Langdon’s father and their relationship, while also saying a lot about Langdon. Of course there’s acres of room for expansion and context, and there surely were other elements in their fictious relationship, but this dart seems precisely centered in the bullseye.

It’s worth spending some time thinking about the people in your life, looking for those telling details. You may get ideas from photo albums, meditation, or journaling. They may hit while you’re walking or folding laundry or standing under a hot shower. Who knows? Muses and creativity are whimsical and can't be turned on like a faucet.

One thing is sure: if you don’t prime your mind to be alert, you probably won’t recognize them. Ask yourself questions like

“What was Yobu’s essence?”

“What best captures Yobu?”

“What do I remember about Yobu?”

“What made Yobu Yobu?”

“What reminds me of Yobu?”

Relax and let answers come to you as they will. Keep the question in mind for a few days and jot down your thoughts. Relax and run mental videos of Yobu, muting the sound to concentrate on the pictures. Notice what Yobu did. Use Yobu as a prompt to do writing practice, maybe many sessions. Add insights from this writing to your list.

Let each item on your list play gently through your mind. At some point something will pop out at you. You’ll feel a shift of certainty, a stab of recognition. You’ll know that particular image and description nail the moment with precision.

So far I’ve spoken here as if one paragraph can summarize an entire life. Perhaps at times it can. Usually it’s enough to encapsulate the essence of a scene. Building up a collection of snapshot paragraphs will expand your reservoir of material and perhaps one item will prove to be the capstone you seek.

Write now: about a relative or friend. Capture a tiny detail that sheds laser focus on their personality.

Inventing Memory

Sometimes a book catches my eye and a small whisper urges me to read it. That happened yesterday as I helped sort books for the annual Used Book Sale at our library. The author’s name, Erica Jong, caught my eye first and triggered memories of reading FEAR OF FLYING caught my eye first, sparking a memory of reading that ground-breaking volume a few years after it was first published in 1973. Set in much smaller type, the title, INVENTING MEMORY: A Novel of Mothers & Daughters, furthered my interest. Perhaps it will have some Truth about memory and memoir, I thought, setting it  aside to take home.

I’m not quite halfway through the volume, and have mixed feelings about it several aspects of the book. But even so, I’m enchanted with the abundance of dazzling descriptions, and I have found many truths about memory and memoir. I’ll share a few here and leave you to savor them and suck out whatever meaning they may have for you.

    “It’s queer enough just to write books—to separate yourself from the whole world so as to re-create the world in paper and ink,” I declare.

    “I don’t know why anyone would do it,” says Mrs. Coppley. “Do you?”

    “Because it gives you back your life, calms your soul, bestows the ecstasy of understanding. And you hope it does the same for your readers.”

    *****

... his memories break down into set pieces, and he seems to tell the same story again and again. ... It is as if he made it all up long ago, locked it in his brain, and never revised it. He needs to repeat it again and again simply to prove he is still alive.

    “Promise you will write my story,” he says.

    And I promise. But how can we ever write another’s story?What we write is always some version of our own story, using other characters to illustrate the parables of our lives. I make furious notes, to please him and because I hope I may someday know  what to do with them.

*****

    The difference between writing a notebook and a novel: With a novel, you describe people; with a notebook, you assume that the reader—yourself?—already knows.

*****

    ... the book is spilling out almost as if by dictation from a secret source. I have no idea if it’s any good or not. I only know that I can’t stop.

While I’m wouldn’t give the book more than three stars for general readers, I’m glad I listened to that faint whisper and brought it home. The stunning descriptions and gems of wisdom like these are worth digging for and adding to my ever-growing collection.

Write now: use one of the quotes above as a writing practice prompt and see what thoughts about writing flow from your inner resources.

Misplaced Muttering and Mumbling

To my mind, a character who routinely muttered and mumbled would seem eccentric, to say the least, if not sullen or belligerent. An image that comes to mind is an old estate caretaker, wiry and bent with age, given to conversing with plants as he prunes them. Another is a street person suffering some form of mental illness.

Not long ago I read an adventure novel, which charity demands I refrain from naming. I’ll refer to the author simply as Jane. The two main characters were teenagers of extraordinary intelligence and achievement. The imaginative plot held my interest, but as I read, I quickly became distracted by the number of times these brilliant, well-behaved young people muttered and mumbled. Hardly a page went by without one or another of these words appearing in at least one dialogue tag. 

Maybe I would have been less aware of this if I didn’t teach classes in Writing Dynamic Dialogue, but having fairly recently completed an in-depth study of that topic, I took a closer look. I noted that on rare occasions, muttering did seem justified, but each of these circumstances would have been better served by simple whispering, a tag the author rarely used. 

I soon realized that Jane had used muttering and mumbling in situations more suited for internal monologue. She did use internal monologue on rare occasions, but not nearly as often as it was called for. I commend Jane for using dialogue rather than expressing the characters’ thoughts as straight narrative. Obviously she took lessons about “showing rather than telling” seriously. Dialogue is a powerful way of “showing,” but not if it results in distracting behavior  not in keeping with your character.

Perhaps she heard or read a caution somewhere about limiting use of internal monologue. Although I have never come across such advice, a liberal mixture of internal monologue and standard dialogue could be confusing, with the use of quotation marks seeming almost random, and a manuscript using italics for extensive  monologue may look cluttered to some.

In my search for a cure, I found a number of passages where creative editing could allow the main characters to show reactions and perceptions non-verbally rather than using either dialogue or internal monologue. This book was fiction, but memoir writers face the same challenge — to reach beyond the obvious and find innovative ways around the speed bumps that distract readers and cause them to put our volumes aside.

Write now: do some writing practice, filling a page with snippets of random self-talk or internal monologue. Don’t make it one long string — use short pieces, not longer than one line each. When you have half a dozen examples, explore non-verbal ways of demonstrating these thoughts and reactions.

Keyboard or Paper? The Journaler's Dilemma

Photo by Paperback Writer

Last week I was pulled into a discussion of Morning Pages with a couple of other writers. One had not found them helpful and wanted to know our thoughts on the matter. This evolved into a conversation about the relative merits of writing by hand or on the keyboard.

This morning as I began writing in my hard-bound paper journal, I began feeling restless. It would be faster to write on the keyboard. I could use cut and paste and ... I began listing all the relative merits and demerits of each form and came up with the following list:

Digital journals are

• Faster to write
• Searchable for nuggets of wisdom that flow forth
• Easily copied into other documents
• Less likely to be found lying around
• Password protectable for security
• Subject to file corruption
• Potentially inaccessible as technology advances

Handwritten journals are

• Durable
• Satisfying to write in
• Potentially risky places to keep sensitive insights
• Possibly making use of hand-heart-brain connection in unique way

Ultimately I realized that neither is perfect. There are dozens of purposes for journaling and some are better suited to digital and others to paper. For me, the danger of writing exclusively on the keyboard is that I may evolve it back to yet another resource for projects and lose much of the truly insightful, creative, soul-nurturing power that writing “off-line” holds for me. I write for at least a couple of hours nearly every day, and using the same place and method for journaling is risky.

I’m going to stick with my paper journal as an adventure, because I’m never sure where it will take me, and I’m going to spend more time on journal-type writing on the computer, especially for things I’m uncertain about sharing. It’s easy to password a folder, and easy to delete words after they are written. Short of destroying the volume or tearing out pages, that’s hard to do with a paper journal, and that realization is enough to deter (me) from writing with utter abandon in a bound volume. I'll use loose sheets, perhaps the back of junk mail, for that!

Although the debate about keyboard versus paper was not conclusive during that conversation I mention, conclusions we did agree on incuded:

• Writing a journal, any journal, is better than not writing a journal.
• No matter how you do it, journals are a great legacy, for yourself now and future generations later.
• Sooner or later, keeping a journal will lead to insight, personal growth, and probably healing.
  

As I searched Creative Commons/Flickr for an illustration for this post, I realized another reason I won't abandon paper journals. I've become hooked on making my own — the physical distraction frees my creative juices — and it's immensely satisfying to write in a volume made by my own hands. In some way, this seems to give additional importance or “honor” to my thoughts and words, and that matters to me. (I could become equally hooked on buying gorgeous volumes.)

Write now: spend (at least) fifteen minutes doing freewriting — the basis of power journaling. Do it by hand, in a paper journal, on scrap paper, whatever; or do it on the computer. It doesn’t matter how you do it. It matters that you do it! If it doesn’t lead you to instant inner wisdom and deep soul healing, don’t fret. If you keep at it, sooner or later it will.

All Truth Is Fiction, and All Fiction is Truth

Over the past couple of years, a number of scandals involving fake memoirs have rocked the literary world. The latest broke right after Christmas 2008. This time the topic was a love story with its roots set at the fence of a Nazi concentration camp during World War II. The author was Herman Rosenblat, a bona fide survivor of Schlieben, according to a report in Salon.

These controversies raise a flurry of questions, including many about where memoir writers should draw the line between creative license to convey the essence or personal truth of their memories. They call into question the very nature of memory itself.

With these questions in mind, my mind went on full alert when I belatedly thumbed through the October 2008 issue of Writer's Digest and found Jordan Rosenfeld's interview with Isabel Allende, "A Woman of Letters." One question and answer read:

"You've said that in writing memoirs, you work with the truth and then end up lying. Can you explain what you mean?

"A memoir is my version of events. My perspective. I choose what to tell and what to omit. I choose the adjectives to describe a situation, and in that sense, I'm creating a form of fiction. I realized this when I showed the manuscript to the people in my life before it was published. Everyone had a different version of the stories because their feelings were different. If you and I witness the same accident in the street you'll tell it one way, I'll tell it in another and maybe one of us won't remember it in a week.

"There's basically an element of fiction in everything you remember. Imagination and memory are almost the same brain processes. When I write fiction, I know that I'm using a bunch of lies that I've made up to create some form of truth. When I write a memoir, I'm using true elements to create something that will always be somehow fictionalized."

Perhaps the difference between what Allende is talking about and the incidents that have rocked the memoir world of late is a matter of both degree and intent to deceive. James Frye admitted he embellished the truth to add spice to the story. He was purposeful and deliberate about it. Herman Rosenblat admitted that he told his story to "bring happiness to people," and that there was nothing true about it at all. In each of the scandals, the authors admitted awareness of distortions and intentional deceit.

It's one thing to agree with Allende that all memory is somewhat fictional, and that my memory of a room being painted rosy pink is just as valid as my sister's memory of the same room being yellow. It would be quite another thing to say that I rode the super killer coaster at Cedar Point when all I really did was hold the cameras while others did the riding, but the latter doesn't make a compelling story, and who will know the difference if I pass the purposely embellished version off as real and true? I'll stick with my rosy room, but I won't claim to ride the vomit comet unless I can rely on first hand experience to describe the resulting ... never mind. You get the idea.

I will continue to develop my descriptive skills so I can give the most poignant picture possible of sincerely held memories. I’ll stick as close to the truth of my perceptions as I can, but a little creative license is okay in the sense of describing things as I think they must have been. And as a reader, I'll keep in mind that all truth is fiction and all fiction is truth so I can read with compassion and generosity, listening for the inner Truth with less concern about the literal.

Write now: grab pen and paper do some Writing Practice about your personal Truth boundaries and your feelings about deception as practiced by other writers.

Living Color

I’m a great fan of Natalie Goldberg. Not long ago I read her book, Living Color. The book is filled with Natalie’s glorious art, in all its aberrant color. Natalie explains her color choices on page 3:

I was delighted one day to paint an adobe house blue. Stepping through the belief that I must paint mud brown, I experienced an explosion of energy and freedom. It was as though that blue paint were a sword slashing through illusion, bringing me into direct connection with the house’s essence. Objects began to dance unhinged from their proper pigment. That man is green, those sheep are maroon, that horse is scarlet, I suddenly wanted to shout with a new-found freedom as I gazed around me from the hilltop where I had drawn the blue house.

Her explanation about using color to learn metaphor is hazy, but I was intrigued with the idea of playing with color that way. It reminded me of a post I wrote in September about the origins of the Inner Critic. I felt bold. I wanted to play with color, and I wanted to do it the easy way, so I Googled my way to The Coloring Spot and found ready-to-color pictures. In the interests of full disclosure and truth, I’ll admit that I did my coloring on a fresh layer in Photoshop® with a virtual felt-tip pens. It would have been easier to print the pictures and color with crayons!

I began with the Great Wall of China. I didn’t give specific thought to choosing color. I just picked orange for the sky and went from there. I did add a big yellow sun, because the picture told me it needed a sun, and I didn’t want to mess with the sun. The sun is what it is. Everything else is negotiable. I also added a person (me) walking on the wall. I didn’t bother to add the other thousands of people who were there with me. I feel lonely without them, so next time I’ll draw more people.  

The Great Wall was so much fun I turned to Mt. Rushmore. As I began scribbling, my inner child grew tired. My Brat started arguing with my Good Girl. Mommy had to put the colors away.So, I had fun. I had lots and lots of fun. Did I learn anything about writing? Sort of. I did some writing practice and discovered that I can write nutty, bizarre descriptions, wild as you can imagine. I wrote about a man who needed to have his lawn mowed to keep it out of his eyes, and a walking flower garden (a woman in a wild floral print dress. I can crumple these up and toss them into the trash when I'm done if I want. My mind grows a little wider this way. I’ve put out a few feeder roots out of my thought ruts toward more colorful descriptions.

In a few days I’m going to get out my crayons and color with my three-year-old granddaughter. I want her to know it’s okay to make the sky orange if she wants to (just in case she hasn't figured this out). I’ll invite Natalie to sit with us, in spirit if not body, since she has no children or grandchildren of her own. I know she’d have fun.

Write now: take a break with your box of crayons or marking pens, or Photoshop. Dare to color outside the lines and use unexpected colors. Be brave. Be bold. Have fun. Then go back to your writing and write something utterly ridiculous and audacious. See how it feels to use big juicy words for tiny topics.

Where Do You Start?

“Where do you start?” “How do you start?”

These may be the two most common questions people ask, specifically about writing their life story, but the questions apply to any type of writing project.

You start by writing, and you start anywhere. Start with the first thought that comes to mind. Write about that and keep writing. If you can’t think of anything else to write about, write about not knowing where to start, and keep writing. Words will begin to flow, and a story will slowly take shape. One word, one thought, will lead to another.

I can’t credit a specific source for those words, they are universal, but Anne Lamott and Natalie Goldberg come to mind. Anne mentions this concept continually in her classic, Bird by Bird, and Natalie hits on it regularly as she develops the concept of Writing Practice in her best-selling series of books about writing: Writing Down the Bones, Wild Mind, and Old Friend from Far Away.

Last week I found this concept of just starting — anywhere at all — useful for cleaning the garage, a project I could easily put off for a decade, a situation quite similar to writer's block. Faced with an overwhelming task, I started quite simply, by consolidating flattened boxes previously set aside for recycling and adding more to the pile. That led to sweeping a tiny patch. Then I had room to rearrange the shelves behind the pile ... and so it went. Even without a project plan, each step led to another. I’m not done, but the the project has shape now, and momentum is building. I'm actually getting excited about it and look forward to going out there to work again.

The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing began the same way, but it didn’t begin as a book. It began with a single flier describing the first life story writing workshop I ever taught. I had no idea where to start when I wrote that flier. It grew from there, through many phases that included stacks and piles of handouts with overlapping material, and more stacks and piles of stories and essays.

That finished book barely scratches the surface of my reservoir. Several other projects are taking shape that will tap more of its contents. Since I don’t work on each project regularly, they get cold and I lose my sense of direction. When I go back to one, I must start fresh, but not from scratch. Each time I’m a little bewildered about where to start, but it’s getting easier. Soon I'll make a commitment to a single one and finish it.

No, it doesn’t matter where you start. Just get those fingers moving, over paper or the keyboard. Let the words flow. Stories, even finished projects, will happen.

Write now: about a time when you had trouble getting a project started and how you handled this. You might write about a writing project or another one. Every project is the same. It has to be started, and it’s not always easy to know how.

Introducing Gretchen, My Inner Censor and Critic

It’s been nearly two years since my Muse, Sarabelle, introduced herself to me. Those of you who have read my occasional reports of Sarabelle’s influence know that she tends to be a bit feisty at times.

This morning as I sat musing about some seldom visited memories from long ago, Sarabelle tapped me on the shoulder and delivered some surprising news: She is only one of the entities on my Inner Writing Team. In short order she introduced me to Gretchen, my Inner Censor/Critic, and Betty, my Inner Editor. Then, as suddenly as she appeared, Sarabelle vanished, leaving me to my own devices to get acquainted with her colleagues.

With a bit of trepidation sparked by her forbidding appearance, I choose to begin with Gretchen. I’m immediately transported to the hallway of a prison, in front of iron bars across gray cells. The cells are surprisingly bright, lit by a small barred window, high on the wall. Despite the light, there is no color in this scene.

Gretchen stands before me, a study in black and white herself. Her austere black leather outfit and knee-high boots match her stick-straight, raven tresses, in sharp contrast to her pale complexion. Her eccentric outfit bares her right shoulder for ease of motion as she keeps unwanted memories and stories at bay. Measuring no more than five feet in height, and wiry in build, she’s surprisingly small for someone who appears so menacing. She stands facing me, silent and staring, with arms tightly crossed, black whip clenched in one hand, and a huge ring of keys on her other wrist. She is not the sort of person I generally care to deal with, but I must get acquainted. The significance of her sudden appearance is immediately apparent.

“Gretchen, I’m pleased that we are finally meeting. I appreciate all the fine work you’ve done over the years guarding my darker memories. Now I need your assistance in visiting them.”

“That is forbidden!” she barks in reply. “They are locked in here for good reason. They will make you unhappy and hurt you. They can hurt other people. It’s for your own good that I do this!” Her earnest fierceness is almost comical in its intensity.

“I understand. I have no intention of opening the gates and letting these monsters run amok, but I need to talk with them to gain some important insights. I’ve been getting appeal requests from several and need to evaluate their cases.”

She responds with a long string of admonitions warning me of dire consequences, questioning my motives, my judgment, even my writing skills, and generally tries to scare me off. My resolve begins to weaken, but then I recall why I’m here. Those memories are part of me, and I’m determined to know them better, liberating the ones that can be absolved. Many have served their sentences and are due for release. Others may have gotten a bum rap to begin with. I realize that reason will not work. I’ll have to pull rank to get past her.

“Thank you Gretchen. No one can fault you for lack of dedication. Here is a list of four memories I wish to visit today. Please bring them to me in my study. I’ll expect them to arrive in five minutes. That will be all.” With that, I return to my study, settling into a comfortable chair with a cup of fresh coffee and a pad of paper, ready to proceed with the interviews.

Right now I have my work cut out for me dealing with those old memories. I’ll find Betty some other time.
Write now: about your muse, Inner Censor, or Inner Editor. Do these entities have names? What do they look like? How do they act? What do they say when you talk to them? If you’ve never had a conversation with any of then, do some writing practice in dialog form and see what emerges. You are bound to be as surprised as I was at what emerges.

Color Me Obsessive, part 2

You’ve probably dumped the contents of your junk drawer or its equivalent out on a table and gone through the items. You know the joy of finding forgotten objects, the surprise at some of the debris you’ve accumulated, and the lost objects you retrieve. You know the satisfaction of putting the “keepers” back in nice tidy order.

After finishing the list of emotions that I wrote about last post, I feel somewhat as if I took my heart, turned it upside down over a sheet of paper, and shook out the contents for exploration. I was amazed at the quantity and variety of emotion words it holds. I sorted the initial tumble of words into alphabetical order to check for duplications and added others as Sarabelle sent them along. What I have right now is a basic array. Soon I’ll start sorting and clustering, and perhaps I’ll discover that there are only a dozen piles and that most of the words are other ways of saying similar things.

The resulting list will be a gold mine as a thesaurus for precise and varied terminology in stories, but as this project has unfolded, I’ve discovered unexpected additional benefits. I’ve become keenly aware of the wide range of feelings I experience, and the huge variety of nuances within clusters. As I derived the list, I envisioned all sorts of events and circumstances in my life, both positive, negative and neutral, and payed close attention to the feelings I experienced as I remembered. I’ve been through the gamut from terror to rapture, revulsion to attraction, apathy (omigosh — I do not have apathy on my list! It may never be totally complete) to engagement, and everything in between.

As I conclude the experience, I’m more aware than ever that I generally have a choice about how I view or feel about things. Having examined all these options, I’m determined to place optimism, kindness, compassion, gratitude and other “positive” emotions in the forefront for easy access. I won’t do away with the less savory ones, like envy or avoidance. I’m still human! But I can recognize them for what they are and perhaps temper them.

In the post that sparked this quest, Ybonesy mentioned Emotional Intelligence. Perhaps it’s time to read Daniel Goleman’s book by that name as a wrap-up.

The golden nugget I have discovered the last few days is that a five-minute writing exercise can turn into a potentially life-changing event. Exploration and review of one small area may ripple out into your whole life or way of thinking.

You may notice that I have not mentioned the the word count for my list. There is a reason for that. It isn’t about quantity. It’s about insight, and that’s very personal. I urge everyone reading this post to devote a least an hour to making your own list if you haven't already done so. Once you start the list, you may find additional words come spurting in over the next few days, so always have a scrap of paper and pencil available to capture the flashes, because these inspirations melt like snowflakes on a salty sidewalk.

If you are adventurous, I invite you to share your list. I’ll respond immediately with my list to anyone who e-mails a list to me at Ritergal @ gmail.com (without the spaces). On November 19, a week from this Monday, I’ll take whatever lists I have and compile them into a master document of several hundred terms. I’ll also share that with you. So, what are you waiting for? Grab those pencils and let the ideas fly!

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Color Me Obsessive

Ebullient. Effervescent. Inspired. Words fly around my mind like popcorn at its climax. It all started with a writing practice challenge from Ybonesy over at Red Ravine to set a time for five minutes and write, non-stop, listing every emotion we could think of. Five minutes: now that’s a challenge I can do. I can spare five minutes. I recently bought a tiny timer to keep on my desk, mostly to prevent the pizza from burning while Sarabelle has control of my brain, but also to time freewriting exercises. When the timer beeped, I had a list of 64. I was pumped, stoked, thrilled, energized. I was also hooked.

For two days now, clusters of words have sporadically popped afresh. Yesterday afternoon I dared to hope I’d top 100. Before supper I’d surpassed that goal. Then the fire flared again, and by the time I went to bed last night, the count was up to 185, and 200 seemed possible.

Some nights I would have lain awake, obsessed with the search. Last night I fell asleep the minute my head hit the pillow, but Sarabelle's insistent whispers woke me early. “Brain dead ... stymied ... pumped ... now get up and add those if you value my help!”

Others may be able to jot messages from their muse on a notepad by their bed and go back to sleep. I’m not one of those people. Sarabelle is a relentless taskmaster. Relentless. Isolated. Exhilarated. The list flew right past the 200 mark. Bashful — now why didn’t I already have that one? Up — another case of overlooking the obvious, and the 225th entry.

Am I done? Will there be more? I think the pot will sit quietly for a while, but I do anticipate more after-pops. I can never predict what Sarabelle will come up with.

You may wonder why on earth anyone would need 225 words to describe emotions, especially when bashful, shy, and reticent all mean the same thing. (Reticent — entry #226!) The simple truth is, you don’t, unless you strive for colorful writing. Even then, you still don’t. I could surely have derived this list in way less time, and probably have twice the entries if I’d simply clicked the link to my favorite online thesaurus.

But I love a challenge, and this one has paid off in an unexpected way. As the list grows, I find that the act of compiling it strengthens my ownership and command of the words on the list and forces me to examine various emotions more deeply than I ever have. There may another bonus. In a comment, Ybonesy writes that in a workshop she attended, a UCLA professor mentioned that a rich emotional vocabulary is linked to a rich emotional life. Presumably focusing on the nuances of variation hones our awareness of our internal states.

Lest I stray off topic, for the purposes of writing, a rich vocabulary enables us to keep our writing fresh and lively, and to paint deliciously detailed descriptions.

Vibrant. Zestful. That’s 252 and counting. Did I mention compulsive? Obsessed?

Write now: make your own list of emotions. Take five minutes to get it started, then let the list grow like a sourdough starter, one bubble at a time, for two to four days, stirring occasionally to keep it lively. You can make it even more lively by following Ybonesy's suggestion to freewrite about specific words.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Real Writing Versus Virtual

Don’t panic. The writing world as you’ve known it is not ending. Pencils, paper and keyboards will be around for ages to come, but today I want to pull aside the curtain on a writing tool you’ve probably used forever, but never thought about: virtual writing.

I can’t remember the first time I heard of the study where a coach divided basketball players into three groups, but I think it was at least twenty-five years ago. He had one group practice shooting 100 baskets a day for a period of time. Another group didn't touch a ball, but visualized sinking 100 perfect baskets, and a third group did neither. It was no surprise that the performance of the last group suffered, but it was a surprise that the players who simply visualized did better than those who threw balls.

In Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain, author Sharon Begley details numerous similar studies neuroscientists have conducted to further explore this phenomenon. The evidence is conclusive: merely visualizing actions strengthens motor skills. (Don’t get the idea you can train for a marathon while you lie on a couch visualizing. These results addressed dexterity, not strength or endurance.)

As I stood in the shower recently, I was cogitating evocative ways of describing a certain memory. I wanted to go beyond the standard, “It smelled delicious.” I wanted to convey the sense of intense delight and wonder the remembered fragrance induced. In one sense the shower was limiting, because I didn’t have thesaurus.com available to pave the way, but in another it was liberating. I was freed from the need for speed I generally feel as I sit at my keyboard. There was no need to “write it and be done.”

My monkey mind soon leapt into the fray, reminding me of a joke that includes the line “everything makes me think about women.” I realized that I could substitute writing for women. Everything makes me think about writing and how to best convey an experience or impression in words.

Then my monkey swung off to the next branch: honing wording in the shower is the writer’s equivalent of visualizing a perfect basket. Score one for the monkey!

Finally, my monkey handed me a banana that I share here with you: many aspiring (lifestory) writers, for one reason or another, feel guilty or stressed about not writing more often or every day. If you are one of these people, give yourself a break. Instead of beating yourself up about being too busy to write, or whatever the case may be, do a little virtual writing. Visualize a specific aspect of a memory and think about how to word it. Let your own monkey out to play and see what new story ideas come to mind. Explore an area where your writing is blocked and visualize the tip of a pen sliding the knot open.

When you come up with a specific phrase, story idea or other resolution, jot a reminder down at the earliest opportunity so you won’t forget it later. (I hope you have an index card handy!) Remember, you are not abandoning actual writing, you are adding virtual practice to enhance your physical performance.

I have a strong hunch that once you play around with some virtual writing practice, your fingers will soon be itching to pick up a pencil or touch the keyboard to produce some actual words.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Do Not Go There

Once upon a time when I was very little, like four years old, we lived at Kirtland Field Air Force base for several months while my father was studying chemical engineering at the University of New Mexico on the GI Bill. Most of the barracks in our part of the base were deserted, but there were no locks on anything, being a military base. We kids were told, on pain of unimaginable consequences, “DO NOT GO THERE!” Did I go there? Of course! I went with Denny, the boy next door and the only other kid as old as me. The memory emerges:

It’s dark in here, dark, hot. Pat, pat, pat — my sandals won’t be quiet. Thump, thump — I hear my heart. Plop, plop, plop — I hear Denny’s shoes. I hear him breathing. Is anyone in here? I smell dust, see dust in sunbeams, it’s hard to breathe. What’s around that corner? More hall. Nobody. What if somebody comes here? What's in that room? Crreeeeek. Noisy door. More dust. Little room — little like me. Just two cot frames. Where are mattresses? Do I hear somebody? I want to go. I don’t like it here. Maybe we’ll get lost. Maybe somebody will find us here and I’ll get spanked. “Let’s go,” I whisper. We go back. We look out the window at the door. Nobody is there. Nobody is looking. Denny opens the door. We go out. The sun feels good. We walk down the boardwalk, down the ramp. “Denny. Where were you? Mommy wants you.” Donny is Denny’s little brother. Denny runs off with Donny. I go back to my house. “Where were you?" asks Mommy. “Playing with Denny.” I'm glad she doesn’t ask where we were, so I don’t have to tell her.

I never went back in those barracks, but those few minutes in that creepy place left a deep imprint in my life. I’d faced my fear — fear of the unknown, the creepy, and disobedience — to follow my heart and think for myself. I felt strong and brave. And I felt guilty. If it wasn't the first time it occurred to me to deliberately do something I’d been told not to do. it was certainly the first time I'd dared. Would my life have been changed if the grownups had found out? Who knows? They didn’t, and over the course of many years my life slowly filled with that heady mixture of power tinged with guilt.

I began this piece as writing practice, with a focus on capturing the sensory aspect of the experience, and only later recognized the guilt angle. This memory snip could serve as the launching pad for a whole series of guilt memories. I could tell the stories simply, or I could explore the consequences each had, as I began doing here. I could look at them separately, collectively, or both. I can go on to explore how the guilt began to recede and heal. The possibilities are endless.

I’m amazed at discovering the implications of this memory. It was never buried, but not until I wrote about it did I fully comprehend what that day meant in the overall context of my life.

Do you remember learning about guilt? Let your mind slide around the question, lazily, like honey oozing onto pancakes. Close your eyes and let your mind drift and see where it takes you. Then pick up your pen and paper and start writing, "I hoped nobody would ever find out that I ..." You may not know the rest of that sentence until your write it, and you may not know the rest of that sentence unless you do write it.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Writing on the Wild side

One of the touted features of Writing Practice or Morning Pages is allowing your fingers to run free of your Inner Censor to open new thought-branches and discover new ideas and connections. That happened to me this morning. I sat down to write about things I am especially grateful for today. Before I wrote a single word about gratitude, I found my pen moving off into the storm we had two days ago. In only a few lines, I reached a branch. I could write about this angle or that. I chose “that.”

As I started writing about “that,” I found another branch and thought of the crooked path my words were following. My wild mind raced ahead of my pen and I had a clear image of the trails in the woods about a quarter-mile down the road from our house on the “wild side” of the road. Dozens of acres of woodlands spread along the hillside. It’s too steep for development, so it remains Mother Nature’s domain, a buffer zone. I love to hike in that suburban wilderness where magical things are found.

Seeing Beyond the Obvious — photo art by SL

Trails spread along the wild sides of the slope, well-worn and smooth, a generous foot wide. The trails form a network along the hillside, with frequent branches and interconnecting paths. It doesn’t take long to become familiar with the landmarks, know which trail leads where, and how to loop back to the one you began on. Knowing the layout is great, but for me these are trails of discovery, not travel. I go there to find things out of the ordinary: an especially lovely clump of wildflowers, or a bush of blackberries, ripe to perfection. It’s about the fragrance of the forest, and the chattering of jays and squirrels, and shafts of sunlight turning clusters of leaves to gold that would be the envy of any alchemist. It’s about the joy of steps gently challenged by uneven terrain. It's about letting my mind run bare and wild, open to the unobvious.

As I write now, I face a similar branch. I can go on to tell about hoof prints in the mud and communing with deer as I walk on the wild side. I can write about the gratitude they inspire. Or I can loop back to Writing Practice — writing on the wild side of my mind. Right now I’ll choose Writing Practice.

You can see, from the paragraph above, how our wild minds wander through our mental terrain as capriciously as deer amble through the forest, grazing on a bush here, a clump of grass there, and delicious lilies further along. When I write in a hurry, I have a destination in mind, and I write straight to the purpose, sticking to the paved streets of my well-explored territory. With Writing Practice, also known as Free Writing, I set aside a specific destination, and allow my mind to ramble along nature’s path, making choices intuitively rather than purposefully.

Paved roads and purpose are great. They keep life moving smoothly. But if you look aside at all, you are more likely to see concrete walls, vagrant burger bags, and speeding vehicles than wee violet-filled meadows, dragonflies perched on milkweed, or fawns sipping from a pond.

I’m not able to enjoy the trails in the woods just every day. Some days, like the past few, it’s too muddy. I don’t enjoy the bare, bleak woods in winter. I don’t enjoy them when it’s seriously hot and humid. Most days, I don’t want to take the time. That makes the woods especially delicious when I do go for a ramble. Writing practice is different. The weather isn’t a factor, the surroundings are never out of season, and I can spend as little as ten minutes. It took less than five to find the seed idea for this post, and you can see that several seeds also began to sprout.

Writing Practice is no substitute for getting out in nature now and then, but it is a great way to enhance the value of wilderness walks and spread their fragrance into the arterials of your days.

Do yourself a favor. Take a Nature Break today, and a Writing Practice break every day!

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal