Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers at Slice of Life
Opportunities for writing are waiting for us if we only look for them!
I stopped by the Boston Writing Project’s Drop-in Writing Station at the NCTE Convention, and I was immediately captivated by a large tree with colorful poetry hearts filled with verse proclaiming the convention theme: Heart, Hope, and Humanity. As with most conferences, I was between sessions, hoping to get a seat in the next place while still wanting to sit and write – so I did the next best thing. I’d composed a pile poem in an earlier session led by Sarah Donovan and Stefani Boutelier, so I wrote the poem on the heart and placed it there on the tree. It is a pile of blessings, and this one is read from bottom to top. Here is my pile poem from a Saturday morning NCTE session:
On Thanksgiving Day, I saw another tree just waiting to be filled with words of gratitude. This one was at the Plimoth-Patuxet Museum as we shared a Thanksgiving meal with those visiting the museum to take part in their traditional meal narrated by the chief historian, who shares the history of the holiday. Here is my leaf and the tree.
The leaves filled out throughout the day. I wish I had taken a picture when we stopped by later to read all the leaves that had been added.
I love these kinds of invitations to share responses and writing. It reminds me that everyone is eager to write and to share if the opportunities are presented in fun and engaging ways.
Even the front doors had me excited! This is a little slice of heaven on earth.
I often experience those spinoff tornadoes of excitement that NCTE brings – the conversations with others that aren’t officially a part of the conference but that take me further down avenues of thought – and occasionally, further down blocks of the city to explore physical places someone mentions.
Such was the case when I met Richard Louth, the creator of the original New Orleans Writing Marathon, whose NCTE workshop in Boston offered attendees the opportunity to participate in The Boston Writing Marathon. In this writing marathon, a large group met and wrote together for a practice session on all the exciting ways to center their writing for the hours ahead. They had a round of sharing with a protocol that allowed everyone to honor the writing of others. Then, they set out in small groups to write in various locations, capturing in words and worlds all that came to mind. When they returned, they shared their writing and experienced the essence of the collective experience.
I’d stopped by to meet Dr. Louth and expressed my disappointment that I would be unable to attend his workshop. My presentation time was overlapping the workshop – but I wanted to know more. He ran for his handout and encouraged me to write, even though I would be unable to be part of the group on the first day of the conference.
He shared more about Virtual Writing Marathons (VWM), explaining, “When the pandemic hit and physical Writing Marathons became impossible, I helped Kel Sassi of the National Writing Project create a VWM program in the summer of 2020. That summer, VWM writers virtually visited a different location in the country for an hour each week under the guidance of a local NWP site and ‘Storymaps’ that focused on different locations, and we wrote and shared in small breakout groups through Zoom. We did 10 weeks that summer, with each VWM attracting 50-60 people on average. The final VWM that summer was in New Orleans. The VWM continued each summer, and it even expanded into monthly Tuesday evening meetings during the school year. We had VWMs in Arkansas and Missouri this fall, and our next will be in January.”
He further added:
“For more information, Google NWP’s ‘Write Across America.’ It’s open to anyone to register…..also, check out the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival website.”
In our later conversation by email, I learned that Dr. Louth had gone to a place called Grub Street with a former student, where they had written together near Pier 4 for their Boston Writing Marathon location.
I had to check it out!
When we approached the doors, my husband shook his head and caught my eye in that fearful kind of way that husbands do when they realize they are about to go broke.
“Ooooh, Baby. This is all you,” he sheepishly conceded, reluctantly patting his wallet.
He was right.
From the moment we entered the place, we breathed life-giving air. Reading and writing particles flitted like glitter through the air and engulfed me in sparkles. In this place was some kind of magic for everyone. My husband took to a corner with a book by Paul McCartney entitled The Lyrics, which explains the backstories of songs. He got lost in a concert all his own, silent music flooding his soul, entering his eyes and exiting through one tapping foot.
Just the patterns of the floors and unique shapes of the light fixtures were captivating. Every now and then, I enter a place where the lighting illuminates the darkest parts of a searching soul – so much that I can feel it. I felt it here in Grub Street.
I was fascinated by the people – some working, some writing, some seeking, some reading. All engrossed in their moments. The winter wear sets a photographic temperature – a very Bostony cold with rain on the way, and winds whipping our faces. We were completely unprepared for the weather, but it added an element of survival to the experience just as any adventure book would reveal in the exposition.
And we were suddenly the coatless characters in this book store story.
I stood for a while and read the titles visitors had added to the list of books that made them feel grateful, a common theme word for the month of Thanksgiving. What book would I add? Mary Oliver’s Devotions, no doubt. And Billy Collins’s Whale Day, Sy Montgomery’s Good, Good Pig. I would run out of Expo markers before I could finish listing all the books that bring to heart a grateful spirit.
I wasn’t able to go upstairs, as the top floor had been shut down for the night, but I’ve added this to my list of places to visit when we return to Boston. What a unique concept – a writer’s haven.
I’m so grateful Dr. Louth shared this place, and thrilled I took the opportunity to visit.
Until we return, I’ll continue to wonder about the upstairs writing that happens at Grub Street.
And a part of me will secretly be grateful that I didn’t get to see it this time.
The wondering fuels the imagination and the dream. And the desire to return.
I’m hoping the electronic copy of her new book is accessible early today. I’ll download it and read it on the plane to NCTE. It’ll be an inspiring read, and one I’m looking forward to diving into. Braiding Sweetgrass created a seismic shift in my thinking of the differences between cost, value, and worth and the provisioning cycles of nature. I see the life of a tree in a wooden table, and I honor the life of the tree. I feel immense gratitude for the gifts of nature ~ the earth’s gifts ~ that sustain us as we live and eat. The Native Americans have long had it right. This is all one big web, an interconnected planet with water, air, fish, animals, plants, and more ~ and each strand of it is dependent upon the other. If ever there is a time for emphasis on preserving land and the cleanness of earth and her oceans and streams, it is now. Our future generations depend upon it.
Today is Day 4 of the November Open Write, and Emily from Maine inspires us to write poems about the best and worst of ourselves using acrostics and reminding readers we are still who we are. Come join us! As always, please enjoy reading the poems at http://www.ethicalela.com by clicking on the November Open Write link.
Knowing Kim
At my best, I’m
Kindle-reading with dogs piled in my lap by the fire on the farm
Inspired by writing and all things hygge
Making a travel itinerary and looking forward to coming home
At my worst, I’m
Karaoke singing
In trouble again
Making a mess
But I’m always Kim.
If you have any book recommendations for my book club, please share them in the comments. We are searching for a great December read – quite possibly a Christmas classic. What do you recommend?
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers at Slice of Life
Denise Neal, principal at Our Lady of the Way RC School in Belize, is our host day for the Open Write at www.ethicalela. She inspires us to write poems today by offering this prompt:
“Think about your educational journey. In Aristotle’s words, ‘ The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.’ Because we all have different experiences, our stories will be a collage of joy, success, pain, sacrifice, opportunities, and commitment. I encourage you to write in 4 lines and have a minimum of five stanzas.
However, you are also welcome to write freely to TELL your STORY.”
I thought of Denise’s words and all the things about my educational journey that really mattered ~ and still do.
On the last day of October’s Open Write, I shared this poem:
An Invitation
save the date: November 16
you may choose to arrive by stretch limousine
we’ll be gathering in style for a writer’s retreat
whether castle or cabin or on your own street
we’ll spend the day writing in fantasy places
day one: a packing list poem ~ what’s in our suitcases?
so gather your words ~ select them with flair
I’ll be the door greeter to welcome you there!
you’ll need your location and writing utensil
something to wear, and perhaps a spare pencil
we’ll all need a critter (think Hogwarts style)
and a snack to share to write all the while
and then let’s bring one thing – a gift for the group
something to make us all laugh, cry, or hoot
what’ll it be? oh, I can’t wait to see ~
here’s a basket of tickets – take some – they’re free!
let’s keep Donnetta’s theme words sparking and growing
return in November, keep writing ongoing!
I offered a glimpse of today’s prompt, encouraging writers to think of a fantasy writing retreat and these aspects: location, clothing, writing utensil, critter, snacks, and a gift for others.
Today, I offer this poem to inspire others to write poems about a fantasy writing retreat. Come join us, and share yours on the ethicalela website!
Location: I’m arriving by Oz-graced Yellow Brick Road
to this heavy oak castle door with just an armload
Clothes: wearing overalls under my farm-writing cape
this magical cloak of virtual escape
with shimmery amber-hued dragonfly wings
and chicken foot bracelets and beetle leg rings
just a suitcase, you see, for this week here together
with all of my writing pals ~ birds of a feather
Utensil: and speaking of feathers, I’ve brought my quill pen
plucked from the wing of a feisty owl hen
Snacks: I’ve sugar-spun cauldrony crinkles for snacks
shaved off curled spikes from chameleons’ backs
Critter Companion: made easier by Razor, my pink crocodile
I walk on a bling-leash, in true Funny Farm style
Group Gift: and one more thing: I bring a group gift ~
My father, an avid book collector, introduced me to Gladys Taber’s writing years ago, and I fell in love with her instantly. He has always had the uncanny knack of matchmaking book lovers with books that become favorites.
Sometimes I like to go to my collection on the shelf of my reading room and pull a Taber book and read random passages. Many of her books are organized by month or season, so I find that no matter where I land in her seasonal offerings that mirror mine on our farm in Georgia, I am there – right there with her – in Southbury, Connecticut.
From Still Cove Journal: November
“November is a month when the chill blustery days and long cold nights are hard on dieters. Green salads are fine on hot summer days. but the very sound of the wind from the Atlantic against the big window makes me think of a real breakfast of sausage and buttermilk pancakes with first-run golden maple syrup. By suppertime I forget I am a non-dessert eater, and when I go out to eat, I often order Indian Pudding. I have had many very fine puddings, but almost never an authentic Indian Pudding. So I like to share the recipe my mother and grandmother used:
Bring 4 cups of milk to a boil in the top of a double boiler. Gently stir in 1/3 c. yellow cornmeal and cook 15 minutes. Add 1 cup dark molasses and remove from heat. Add 1/4 c. butter, a teaspoon each of salt, cinnamon, and ginger and 1/2 c. seedless raisins. Place the batter in a greased baking dish. Then pour 1 cup cold milk over it. Bake in a slow oven for 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Serve with hard sauce or cream or even vanilla ice cream.
The main thing about the real Indian pudding is the cup of cold milk poured over…..”
I’ve never made Indian pudding, but it sounds divine. I’m making a shopping list now to try it, perhaps for our Thanksgiving lunch at the office a week from Tuesday. There’s something magical about an old recipe that seems to conjure up the spirits of those long dead and welcome them back to the present. If we ever do discover time travel, I’m fully convinced that the portal will be through an old recipe box, long forgotten, hidden in the corner of an attic, and one that comes alive like Frosty the Snowman’s magical hat.
A quartet of carolers opens the play with Still, Still, Still
We didn’t come straight home from Halloween festivities and put up our Christmas tree (it still isn’t up), but we have officially begun preparing our hearts for the Christmas season ahead. It began two weekends ago when we took our grandson Aidan to see The Nativity Tour at The Biblical History Center in Lagrange, Georgia. When it comes to Christmas, I do love the charged energy of cold weather, the laughter of shoppers, the gatherings with food and fellowship, and the lights. But Christmas, for me, lives in the quiet moments of deep thought and reflection – about ordinary things and how they connect to a greater concept.
The first reminders of the season came as we stood outside a sheepfold with our firstborn grandson, now a few months away from a driver’s license, learning about the likelihood that the manger may have been made of stone and the surrounding animals predominantly sheep. We discovered the reasons that a family in Biblical times may have turned away a woman expecting a baby for fear it would displace them if birth occurred and rendered their house unclean for 30 days. Having no room in the inn has been a frequent thought recently as I watch families unravel over candidates – brother against brother. Sadness, angst, grief over loss of relationships, and anger have all been the emotions of recent days. It’s hard to escape.
The second reminders of the season came as I watched my favorite Christmas book, A Christmas Carol, come to life on the stage. Is there any wonder that this particular adaptation of the play at this theater opens each year with a quartet of carolers singing Still, Still, Still? It prepares the minds and hearts of the audience to pay attention – to be still and watch for what is most important by looking in our own mirrors – to listen to the characters and the messages they bring. And yes, to sit right next to Charles Dickens himself, whose own story lurks in the shadows, and to wonder: what, dear friend, do I need to see in each of these characters and change in my own life as I seek joy this season?
Is there any greater time to hear this message than right now, today? It is the message of Christmas that beckons us to think not of our own rights and wishes, but the acts of service and giving to those around us to avoid those two hideous children, Ignorance and Want, who huddle under our cloaks. Children we try to hide, who are as clear and present as decaying front teeth behind a selfish smile. Is there any greater time to seek healing in our own hearts than Christmas?
Adults are often asked if we believe in Santa. Whether we do or don’t, the greater question, I think, is whether we believe in Scrooge. Somewhere in the quiet moments, I am reassured that even old Ebenezer himself, and even the Grinch, has hope – as do I, as does this nation. And this year, perhaps more than ever before, I welcome the ghosts to remind me to count my blessings.
Our host today for the last day of our October Open Write is Donnetta Norris of Arlington, TX. She shares her inspiration and process, which you can read below or here.
She encourages writers to write a poem on a theme using word associations. I’ll be hosting the first day of the November Open Write on November 16, so I’m using the day to set the stage for my prompt on that day – an invitation to a fantasy writing retreat in a location of the poet’s choice in a list style format, offering location, a snack, a companion critter, a writing utensil, an outfit, and a gift for everyone. Come join Donnetta today at http://www.ethicalela.com, and then November 16, return and join me as well. We’re having all kinds of fun!
An Invitation
save the date: November 16
you may choose to arrive by stretch limousine
we’ll be gathering in style for a writer’s retreat
whether castle or cabin or on your own street
we’ll spend the day writing in fantasy places
day one: a packing list poem ~ what’s in our suitcases?
so gather your words ~ select them with flair
I’ll be the door greeter to welcome you there!
you’ll need your location and writing utensil
something to wear, and perhaps a spare pencil
we’ll all need a critter (think Hogwarts style)
and a snack to share to write all the while
and then let’s bring one thing – a gift for the group
something to make us all laugh, cry, or hoot
what’ll it be? oh, I can’t wait to see ~
here’s a basket of tickets – take some – they’re free!
let’s keep Donnetta’s theme words sparking and growing
I’m exhausted. Fall break begins today, and I’m ready for a rest.
I’ll travel to Kentucky for my daughter’s baby shower and spend time with her the first part of the week, perhaps doing some light hiking in her favorite state park and helping them find things for their new home. Then, I’ll come home and attend a book discussion group on Weyward by Emilie Hart and work on my writing deadlines for the book my writing group has coming out in 2025.
Normally, I don’t count minutes at work. I’m not a clock watcher for any other reason than being on time for meetings and deadlines.
Today is different. I’m ready to give my mind a break and enjoy some cooler temperatures in northern Kentucky. I’m ready to see some leaves changing color and feel the breeze nipping enough to make me zip my jacket.
I saw this social media post with a haiku plus 3 syllables, and it inspired me to take action:
Photo taken from a social media post about writing poems
My Response to the Leaf Writer
I did what you said
I found leaves and rocks, penned verse,
left for others to
discover….
We were camping at FD Roosevelt State Park in Pine Mountain, Georgia, and the leaves are starting to change. I found an assortment of leaves and rocks and took the advice from the
post.
Mary Oliver verse on a rock
This writing on the rocks makes me think of my time in Asheville at the Grove Park Inn, which has been fiercely and steadily on my mind over the past week. I’ve heard much about Biltmore House, but very little is out there except for a statement that I could find on the Grove Park Inn’s website. Besides the old caged elevator and the mega-sized fireplaces with rocking chairs lined up in front of them, one of my favorite things to do at the Grove Park Inn during my visit there was walking around and reading the quotes from books etched into the rocks in the lobby. Perhaps this rock with its lines of poetry is one small way to keep the city of Asheville and its devout love of the arts close to my heart as they heal.
I do hope that The Grove Park Inn finds a way to temporarily host the National Gingerbread House Contest in November this year to another location if they are unable to have it there – which I’m sure may be next to impossible. My vote is for Atlanta, and I’d love to buy 15 tickets and bring the children and grandchildren!
Common Threads 