Writing
The Form Our Writing Takes
This past Tuesday the Salt Water Writers gathered again and basically blew my mind. I absolutely cannot explain the amazing magic that happens when we all write together. I love that as we spontaneously create our individual narratives based on prompts I have given, we each find our voice taking shape in a different form. Some writers feel compelled to write in poetry, others prose, and still others sound more like a screenplay. And here’s what Pat Schneider has to say about using different forms:
In my opinion, the pressure on writers toward specialization is unfortunate. I have resisted, and I still resist, writing groups limited to one genre. When writing begins, it needs freedom to take its own form. [Inspiration] will express itself sometimes as story, sometimes as poem, sometimes as grand opera, sometimes as country-and-western ballad. People frequently join my workshops saying, I write only poems, or I write only fiction and are surprised when something completely different comes bubbling up in response to a good exercise.
I love the rich and fertile give-and-take when writers are working in varying forms. A fiction writer learns how to write dialogue by listening to two workshop members read aloud the scene that a third workshop member has brought to the meeting. A poet is encouraged to use specific, concrete imagery by listening to a vivid prose description of a man opening a can of beer and taking his first sip, the foam catching the bristle on his unshaven lip.
Writers need the refreshment of various forms. Daphne Slocombe observed:
“The demands of using a particular form can help to focus the author’s attention and intensify his or her engagement. For new writers, I think it is important to know that there is a reason for forms. You can fool with them, mess around with them, can get to know them by trying them out and seeing how they affect the material you’re working with. No need to be intimidated by them; they were invented or discovered by other writers like us, trying to find the best, most effective container for what they had to say, for what they wanted to show us.”
In the workshops I lead, we write two, sometimes three times in one evening session. Once in awhile someone writes three wonderful separate poems in one evening. Some writers can write three sections of a novel-in-progress. But most mortals, like myself, may write one prose piece, one journal entry, and – if we’re especially ‘hot’ – one poem.
Writing Alone and With Others (p.116)
We also talked about the fact that it’s easier to try new forms (or those that are not intuitive to us) while writing in the group versus on our own at home.
So I was pleased as punch when I was directed to a book called Unscrolled: 54 Writers and Artists Wrestle With the Torah. And in particular, I loved the snippet from Damon Lindelof (writer of LOST) and his take on the near sacrifice of Isaac by his father Abraham. It reads like a screenplay with a cop interrogating Abraham. Awesome. You can read it here. My curiosity is piqued — I wonder what other forms these artists have used to rub up against such a significant body of work.

In the Magic Business
The Salt Water Writers gathered again this past Tuesday and wrote about “home” and menial things. I continue to be blown away by the words that comes out of these people. They can take an idea like unpacking a suitcase or organizing a closet and make it into quite the adventure and layered with depth. One of our writers mentioned a book she read about the collective unconscious and I tell you, we were sharing something similar.
At the end of the workshop, the writers began to talk about some things that they like about the group; what they did not realize is that they were discussing exactly what makes the AWA method so powerful. It added a new sparkle to my eyes to see the method in action with novice participants; and to actually watch a writer who thought she had put crap on paper realize that it wasn’t crap and in fact it was quite beautiful, gave me a rush of adrenaline. It was equally as amazing to watch another writer find grace in an area of life that is usually full of despair – all because she wrote it out (and in an unconventional way!)
And really, this is the unarticulated reason I wanted to open this studio: to make magic together.

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Write This Weekend
First Lines
Last night the Salt Water Writers met for another rousing week of exploration and fun with our writing. Last night we spent some time on first lines. It was a great exercise that proved to be a (not-so-gentle) catalyst launching us into other-worlds with actions already going on. I continue to be so impressed with our writers original voices. It is such a joy to write with these people.
I scoured the interwebs for great first lines and boy, there were a lot of lists. It’s too hard to narrow down in my book. But The Telegraph took a stab at it:

‘It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.’ | George Orwell: Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949)

“The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting.” | Stephen Crane: The Red Badge Of Courage (1895)

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.” | J.D Salinger: The Catcher In The Rye (1951)

“All this happened, more or less.” | Kurt Vonnegut: Slaughterhouse Five (1969)

Write This Weekend

5×7 print for sale here
There’s A First Time For Everything
The Salt Water Writing Studio completed its first writing group last night! Although nerves were high (at least mine were), everyone eventually loosened their grip on their critic and started to have a little fun.
Together we drove through a hole in a map, played with Collies, smelled sourdough bread, met over-sexed sailors, let the wind whip our hair, showered in the shadow of a continent, and questioned our boundaries. It was a thrilling experience to write with new writers who are discovering that they have a unique voice and that I am offering a safe space in which to let it out. I’m looking forward to next week!

[If you are in Houston and are interested in joining a writing group/workshop click here.]
Write This Weekend

original art here
Paper Discoveries
I am a big fan of TheStory.org with Dick Gordon. I was sad to learn that it will be going off the air this fall. But I have been perusing their archives lately and I found a story I hadn’t heard. The synopsis is as follows,
When she was 16, Anya Yurchyshyn’s father died in a car accident in Ukraine, and when she was 32, her mother died of heart failure stemming from chronic alcoholism. As Anya sorted through her mother’s house, she was overwhelmed by evidence that her parents were significantly more interesting, complex, and affectionate than she’d known them to be. She talks with Dick Gordon about getting to know her parents, after they’d died, through love letters, photographs, and her mother’s diary.
A complicated familial relationship? I’m in. The relationship Anya had with her family was extremely complicated; one I honestly could not relate to. But what I liked the most is that she was able to discover something unique about her parents as individuals — their lives before children — all through written documents and photos.
Unlike Anya’s mother, I’m not a pack rat. In fact, I think my own mother wishes I would be a little more sentimental about things because I tend to purge my home with consistency. However, I do tend to hang on to a small amount travel ephemera, movie stubs, (only profound!) sticky notes, and loads of old calendars that read more like diaries than schedules. And I’ve got an entire Rubbermaid bin full of those diaries too. I just can’t part with them (no matter how many times we move). I sometimes think that those little things give proof of my existence — my love, my life, etc. It might even be why I enjoy blogging. It’s just recording the ordinary. And the ordinary everyday seems to be what most of my life is made of. It’s not all grand gestures and forks in the road.
I’ve discovered that I tend to compartmentalize family members according to their role in my life; i.e. my grandmother was always a grandmother — not a young woman who flirted, danced all night, and drank beer. She had her own dreams and language, pain and love. And what a treat to be able to discover a note and or photo that expressed what she was thinking about at a certain time in her life.
Anya puts it this way in her interview:
…I was unwilling to let go of my ideas of who my parents were…. Going over their documents and really piecing together theirs lives through these photographs, and journals, and letters really, really allowed me to understand that these were people who were separate from me, who had incredible lives and incredibly complicated lives before I showed up in them; before I was even an idea… and very few people have the chance to ever know their parents separate from themselves…even as adults.
(You can here Anya’s full story (only 19 minutes) here.)

My Grandmothers, circa 1973.


