Falling
All I knew was that I had to hurry. My muscles tensed. My blood rushed. I wasn’t even sure why. I rolled forward into the night. I pushed through the crowded city street. My own heartbeat fell in with the footsteps, the car horns, the tires thumping down the avenue. I was outside in and inside out. We all blended—all the beats and the clangs and the whines. My pulse was no longer my own. I had lost the rhythm.
And then it happened. The staircase must have been there all along, and I missed my step. I tumbled down. I heard myself clatter and clack. I saw the air turn. And I landed alone in a clump at the bottom of the stairs. A dim light gleamed over a closed door. The outside rhythms had stopped. There was no push inside. No rush outside. I lay there a long time, at the bottom of that staircase, waiting for a pulse. My own steady beat. My own. Steady. Beat.
Tagged with: poem, story, struggle, words
Mirror
She noticed a big house reflected in the pond: an exact upside down replica with windows, a front door, and faded red paint. She could even see the half-closed curtains. It was as if the house were built inside the water.
She sat on the pond’s edge and took off her shoes and socks. She let her feet plop right between the curtains. She slid down further over the edge and then down into the watery window.
Tagged with: imagination, narrative, story, struggle, truth, words
Waiting
The little girl sat on the stoop and looked out across the flat land to the place where the sun sat half circle on the horizon. She waited. She wanted to feel the earth turn.
She heard yesterday that the sun did not really rise in the sky. “The sun neither rises nor sets,” her teacher said. “It stays still, and the earth rolls around it.”
Tagged with: fiction, imagination, story, struggle, truth
Watercolor
The man sits on the subway. His elbow rests on the small ridge of window. His chin rests on his hand. Outside his window, tunnel gray and underground blurs rush by. He is Watercolor on Newsprint, 1962. I stand in a gallery watching him through a wooden frame; he is my window. I feel as if I know him—his tan coat, his brown boots, his deep eyes resting and open.
I leave the gallery. I step out onto wet pavement. I walk through the puzzle of parked cars. My ears fill with horns and the steady swish of tires on slick roads. I walk down stairs and under the city. I wait for the E Train, and when it comes, the doors slap open. I feel the breeze and bump of other riders—the dance of step off, step on. I find a seat. My elbow finds its place. My face leans into my hand. Outside is tunnel gray—underground blurs rush by. I am watercolor. I am fading.
Tagged with: fiction, imagination, painting, story, struggle
Heart
I heard the tiniest of heartbeats. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. It wasn’t a Tell-Tale heartbeat, nothing frightening like that. This heartbeat had a soothing rhythm. From what I could tell, the beat came from the trunk of an old tree just off the path where I had been walking. I approached the trunk and put my ear up to its grooves. I listened. No heartbeat. I waited, and then I heard it again—faint, in the distance. A little faster now. Badumpbadumpbadump. I followed the sound and ended up at another tree—this one full of crows and their caw caw cawing. “Shhhh,” I called out. “I am listening for a heart.” One of the crows looked down at me and laughed, or that’s how I perceived it. The crows flew off one by one, and I waited for the heartbeat. When it finally started up again, it seemed to be coming from underneath the snow. So I dug down with my mittened hands. No heart. I sat completely still. Me. The snow. The tree. The crows cawing in the distance. And then I heard it again. But this time, I did not go searching. I sat still. I did nothing. I just listened.
Tagged with: connection, fiction, imagination, story, struggle, words
Election
I confess to being caught up in the tides of change, in the steady mantra of “yes, we can.” Tuesday, November 4th, in Boston the sky was bright and crisp—the leaves were gems—and the lines were long. Anticipation hung in the air, and the evening news gave us early confirmation. The suspense did not last long. Still, the victory is bittersweet: on the radio yesterday, I heard that many of those drawn to the polls because of Obama’s call for a new day were the same voters who said no to gay/lesbian marriage in California. Other states created more barriers incuding Arkansas—stating that gay/lesbian couples cannot adopt children.
Tagged with: construct, narrative, struggle
Rita
Health issues have consumed me lately—my own and others. But rather than write about my stuff, I want to put out a thought for my friend Rita. She has been lying in a Montana Hospital for at least five days. She has pneumonia, and she is now on a respirator. Rita is wonderful writer. She and I share a love of nature and quirky characters. Up until five days ago, we were exchanging emails everyday. I miss her. Anyone who reads this, please send her some good thoughts.
Get well, Rita.
Jan
Tagged with: connection, friendship, struggle
Students
They want to learn—I can tell. And I am trying to hold onto that feeling I had this summer as a student in a drawing class. I struggled. I just couldn’t get it. It took me a really long time to draw anything while the students to my left and right seemed to do it effortlessly.
Writing comes easily to me (well—relatively speaking), but it does not to most of my students. They struggle.
Tagged with: learning, struggle, students
Hostage
I have been fascinated with the news of Ingrid Betancourt’s rescue from FARC, her Columbian captors. They kept her and many others in the jungle for seven years.
I watched her interview with Larry King the other night. She spoke haltingly. She apologized for her English. Something n her eyes caught me. She seemed both pained and impassioned. She looked—I don’t know how else to say it—like truth.
Tagged with: discovery, story, struggle, truth, words
Shadow
A recent obituary about the children’s book illustrator Tasha Tudor offered one of her favorite quotations:
The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy.
—Fra. Giovanni Giocondo
Tagged with: center, connection, quotation, struggle, truth, words
Revising
I just finished (I say that loosely) a new draft of my novel.
I all but threw out the last draft and started over. The protagonist is the same, and her best friend—a sort of sidekick—remains. Other than that, the story morphed ahead several decades, and its focus became much smaller.
This writing process confounds me, yet I am in love with it. I spend so much time alone, mulling over words and phrases, wondering, “How would she really respond in this situation?”
Tagged with: audience, connection, construct, process, rejection, struggle, truth, why write
Pretend
The bleeding hearts that I mentioned in the previous post will be memories soon. I have not come to terms with the passage of time nor do I pretend to understand how these blooms will reappear a year from now as if they never left.
I said goodbye to my students last week. Come fall, I will welcome a new set.
Tagged with: struggle, students
Inspiration
The experience of watching lead runners pass me by during my recent half-marathon experience, as I mentioned in a previous post, was humbling.
On my first run since the half-marathon, I decided to do a four mile route over at the Arnold Arboretum—the amazing tree museum that makes up part of Boston’s Emerald Necklace.
Tagged with: connection, learning, struggle
Home
Dear Readers,
My cold and windy Provincetown retreat, as it turns out, was productive. I made discoveries about my writing. I have 23 chapters of a new and improved novel; and on the cutting room floor, I have stories worth keeping.
Sometimes, as I preach to my students, learning only happens through struggle; and while I try to make learning fun for my students, I know that sometimes, it just cannot be.
Tagged with: construct, discovery, struggle, students, why write
Retreat - Take Two
Okay—someone tell me—why am I so compelled to write?
These last few days, trying to solve the problem of my novel, have forced some hard work out of me. I might even say I’ve come face to face with a few demons. I might even say, I am taking a hard look at myself through my characters. Oh, to be human.
Tagged with: audience, construct, structure, struggle, why write
Fairy Tale
I am in New York right now. In today’s Daily News an editorial cartoon depicts Hillary staring into a mirror apparently asking “Who’s the fairest of them all?” And the mirror keeps answering back, “Barack.”
The campaign has divided women in ways I never would have expected. A good friend just sent me a petition, signed by thousands of women, who call themselves “feminists for peace and for Barack Obama!”
Tagged with: narrative, story, struggle
Conflict and Resolution?
My older brother and I do not get along. It’s a sad story, I suppose. Both in our 50’s, we live miles apart literally and figuratively. The figurative distance started in childhood. And now, he has five children—the oldest and I have found an adult connection, one I value very much. When she was born over 20 years ago, I wrote her a story about reaching for the moon.
The other day, she wrote me a story. She is a nurse in a NICU unit. Here’s how it goes:
Tagged with: discovery, narrative, story, struggle, truth
Letting Go
Today students came to class having read an essay called “The Box Man” by Barbara Lazear Ascher. Ascher explores concepts of loneliness and solitude through anecdotes about a homeless man who sets up boxes like furniture and two women whose habits reveal a certain emptiness. Ascher theorizes that the homeless man has a better handle on the human condition than the two women, who have homes.
I asked students to do three fast freewrites exploring definitions of loneliness, solitude, and homelessness. Then I asked students to take some time finding passages in the essay that revealed Ascher’s particular slant on these concepts.
Tagged with: exercises, learning, struggle, students
Illness
For the past ten days, I have been ill. I have not been able to teach or write or read much. But I have been able to observe. Thanksgiving found me, as it usually does, in NY with my in-laws. Perhaps I should have stayed home to nurse my illness; instead, I traveled. I was not fully there—or more to the point, I was differently there. In mid-illness, I lost my voice. For days, at various tables—food, talk, laughter, wine abounded—and I sat, mute, watching. I am often the observer, but generally by choice. This time, I had no choice.
When I returned home from the festivities, more symptoms appeared—the details don’t matter. I am more interested in how my perception changed. I still went through the motions of daily life, but in an altered sort of way.
Tagged with: discovery, quotation, struggle
"Our Class Can be Tough"
Here’s a section from a recent student letter:
I know sometimes that our class can be tough in answering things, but I did just want to say that over this semester I really enjoyed this class. I feel like it as opened me up to writing that I haven’t actually experienced before. I know I may not be doing awesome, but I am trying my best and I’ve been really happy with the pieces that I’ve produced.
The student is referring to how much her classmates struggled to read and comprehend some recent textbook essays. I pushed them really hard, and that’s what the student means by having a hard time “answering things.”
Tagged with: discovery, letters, quotation, struggle, students
Main Idea
Students in my classes have been writing summary paragraphs. They describe the experience as “tedious,” “frustrating,” and “boring.”
Yesterday, I gave them the task of unraveling the main idea of an essay by David McCullough: “Why History?” I said, “Think of this exercise as a problem to solve—an equation. It should be hard. it should be frustrating.”
Tagged with: construct, discovery, structure, struggle, students
Early Morning Rain
I was just getting ready to leave for my Tuesday teaching day when I heard a familiar plunk inside my front door. Early. Eight a.m. I looked out the window to see the PO truck driving away, chugging up the street while our terrier mix Gizmo barked at the door where the package was left. I did not want to open the door because lately, these early morning deliveries have been sad. This morning was no different. I wasn’t surprised to find my novel manuscript, returned to me.
I know writing, creating, discovering has its rewards. And I know rejection is as common as Gizmo’s bark; still, the familiar ache never changes.
Tagged with: discovery, rejection, struggle, why write
Letter
Here is a portion of my most recent letter to students…
Dear Students,
I’ve been having a hard time starting this letter. In fact, I wrote another letter and decided it was boring. I didn’t want to give it to you. I suppose that happens to you, yes?—writing something and not liking it—feeling the pressure of having something due and simply having no inspiration to do it?
Tagged with: construct, discovery, letters, struggle, students, why write
Twyla Tharp
Lately, I have been thinking about the disconnect between the process of writing and the marketing of writing. I have been trying to write the perfect description that 1) makes someone want to read my novel and 2) makes someone believe it can sell. In essence, I am trying to put words to my voice, style, and vision.
A few weeks ago, my friend Rita sent me a book: The Creative Habit by Twyla Tharp. In it, Tharp discusses what she calls “creative DNA.” I like this quotation:
Tagged with: audience, discovery, quotation, struggle, why write, words
Writing is Hard
As I move toward the mid-term of my teaching semester, I see how my students struggle with the complexities of writing. And maybe more to the point, I see how I struggle. The process itself, getting an idea, figuring out how to structure it, how to express it, how to communicate it. And even then, asking myself—students asking themselves: what makes it matter to anyone but me?
When I was a kid, I used to hear my father typing on his electric typewriter. I loved the sound the keys made, clicking and clacking in some perfectly imperfect rhythm. I remember sitting in his chair, one day when he wasn’t there, setting my fingers on the keys, determined to make that sound.
Tagged with: audience, discovery, story, struggle, students
The True Experience?
In searching through some books for “teaching of writing” ideas, I came across this quotation from Vivian Gornick’s The Situation and the Story:
“From the first I thought that to teach writing was to teach my students how to keep on reading until we all saw as clearly as we could what was driving the writer. What, we would ask of the manuscript, was the larger preoccupation here? the true experience? the real subject? Not that such questions could be answered, only that it seemed vital to me that they be asked. To approach the work in hand as any ordinary reader might was to learn not how to write but—more important by far— why one was writing. In these classes both I and my students discovered repeatedly that this was more than half the battle.”
Tagged with: quotation, structure, struggle, students, truth, why write, words