Today for the second day of the July Open Write, Jennifer Jowett of Michigan and Deborah Wiles of Georgia are our hosts. They inspire us to write I Once Knew poems, using a process they describe at this link. Hop over and read some of the poems that will be eclectic and unexpected. This is one such random poem process that is, what I believe, makes poetry shine and sparkle.
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.
Our host today for the fourth day of the July Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Shelby from Michigan, who inspires us to write poems about special places in our lives. You can read her full prompt here, along with the poems of others. I have written a nonet, which has nine lines in ascending or descending order, and has the line order number of syllables on its lines. I attended elementary school on St. Simons Island, Georgia, where recess was almost always before lunch – – when it was cool enough to be outdoors.
Recess Nonet
my elementary school playground its blacktop hot as a griddle sizzling in the island sun where we rolled each other in castoff car tires spinning childhoods dappled in live oak shade
Steinbeck coined the term “The Mother Road” in his novel The Grapes of Wrath.
Last summer, I’d spent weeks researching and planning a trip to Yellowstone National Park when we shifted gears at the last minute and cancelled the whole trip. I’d booked 3 hotels, purchased refundable airfare, and mapped out a route. I’d talked to friends who had made recommendations and offered all the best tips. We were all but packed.
But the rental car was the issue. The major airport into Yellowstone was closed for runway upgrades, so we’d purchased tickets to Bozeman, Montana and planned to drive down to the western entrance and work our way around the park. The only rental car I could find was one town over and cost $7 less than a week-long Alaskan cruise. The rental car alone, without gas or fees, without the airfare and the hotels and the food and the Uber ride – seven dollars less. So we backed out of the trip and opted for a trip that was within our budget.
Little did we know at that time that Yellowstone National Park would be shut down due to flooding and road washouts at the time we had planned to go. It turned out that despite our hopes and dreams to visit the park, the circumstances and costs didn’t seem feasible. As travelers, we have learned to follow our instincts and be flexible – and it often pays off in ways we’d have never dreamed. Where we missed driving through Yellowstone and seeing the bison, we stood on a hovercraft in Ketchikan watching bald eagles swoop down to catch fish.
This year, as we sat planning a trip to Glacier National Park in the local coffee shop with my husband’s brother and his wife, we discovered that one of the main attractions had no tickets available. We could not get tickets to Going to the Sun Road, and according to one friend, we should book a year in advance and make sure that we are able to do that if we make the trip to Glacier. We could not arrange to see one of the things we most wanted to see, so we returned to the destination drawing board.
That’s how we decided to travel part of Route 66 this summer. Driving The Mother Road, as John Steinbeck coined it, has been on my list of vacation hopes for years. It spans from Chicago, Illinois to the Santa Monica Pier in California and would take us a couple of weeks to enjoy from start to finish in full completion if we drove it all at once. We knew that time would prevent the entire trip this summer, but when we started talking about the possibility of driving half this summer and the other half later, we grew more and more excited about the adventure – knowing that we could make the trip at our own pace. And while rental cars are still expensive, we’d share the cost and the driving.
We’d decided on the basics – destination, budget, and main attractions, so we began mapping out our itinerary on the Roadtrippers app by entering our starting point and adding waypoints. We added an iconic motel – The Blue Swallow Inn in Arizona, and other motels – along with landmarks like The Gemini Giant and the Blue Whale of Catoosa, and also added a few restaurants recommended along the route.
This weekend and over the coming weeks, we’ll watch YouTube videos of the places we plan to visit all along Route 66, we may watch the movie CARS, and we’ll listen to the Route 66 Pandora station. I’ll probably revisit sections of John Steinbeck’s novel The Grapes of Wrath (1939), in which he named Route 66 “The Mother Road.” We’ll begin to immerse ourselves in learning more about the places we will see on the way – a strategy to engage in deeper learning about our culture and cultivating an appreciation of its rich history.
These are some of the ways we enhance the enjoyment of our trip as we anticipate the adventure!
Here is one of the You Tube videos we’ll watch this weekend on one of the iconic landmarks on the route, explaining some of its historical significance:
Common Threads 