Do you find amusing anecdotes in everyday life?    I’ll bet you do!  These are the little stories that we share, chuckling, with others.  Let’s face it:  Life often presents us with the unexpected, and we can often turn these unexpected events into little essays or slices of life.  The trick is just to be open to the absurdity of life, and to take time to write these events down as soon as possible after they occur.  The little details often add the spice to these essays. I especially like to write about events that have some elements of humor built into them.  Then, through writing, I can emphasize the humor.  It’s always rewarding to use writing to make others laugh.  In that vein, I am sharing a little essay I wrote recently about a trip to Starbucks.  I hope you enjoy this.

Half-Caf at the Café

Joan Tornow

The line at Starbuck’s had stalled. The man in front of me had placed four tall travel mugs on the counter and asked for them to be filled “half with decaf.”

The cashier asked, “And the other half?”

“Regular. Caffeinated,” said the man.

The cashier proceeded to take two of the mugs and fill them from an urn behind her. “We’ll have to do pour-overs for the decaf,” she said brightly.

“Okay,” said the man uncertainly. He then peered into the mugs and said, “But you only put coffee in half of these.”

“Yes, you said you wanted half decaf,” she said.

“No, all of them should be half-decaf,” he responded. He seemed more distraught than the situation merited. Although he wasn’t exactly sweating, he looked like he should be.

“Oh, no problem,” said the cashier. “I misunderstood you.” She spoke with a perkiness that was just a bit excessive. Like someone on their first day at a new job.

She took the two mugs she had filled and emptied half of each into the sink. Returning to the counter, she took the other two mugs and half filled them from the urn. “The decaf part will be in a pour-over,” she said. “It will just take a few minutes.” She then rang up the sale and gave him his receipt.

The mugs still sat on the counter, and it was not clear what he was to do. Perhaps he had noticed what I, too, had noticed. There had been no sign that she had put in an order for any pour-overs, so the situation appeared to be stalled. The cashier looked a bit frazzled now, realizing that she couldn’t ask for the next customer (me) because the man was not budging, and his four mugs were still sitting there.

“How long will the pour-overs take?” the man asked, now showing clear signs of exasperation. I suspect part of his frustration stemmed from her cavalier approach as well as the fact that all four mugs had their lids off, their steamy warmth escaping into the air.

“Oh, let me ask,” she said. It took a few moments for her to flag down a barista who was rushing behind her, on her way to retrieve a breakfast sandwich from the microwave.

“How long will it take to get pour-overs for this customer?” she asked.

The barista paused long enough to view the four half-filled mugs sitting on the counter. When she looked puzzled, the cashier explained the situation as best she could. The barista, in turn, glanced up at the man to get his take on the situation.

“I’m just wondering how long the pour-overs will take,” said the man, “because this part’s getting cold.” He cast a nervous glance toward me and another couple of customers who had joined the line and were watching the scene with increasing interest.

The barista said, “Oh, we already have half-caf brewed,” she said. “It’s over here.” She led the cashier to an urn a small distance from the other urns that held the caffeinated stuff.

I turned to exchange glances with the young man waiting in line behind me. We both rolled our eyes. These things happen at Starbucks all the time, especially, it seems, when one is in hurry. I was not in a terrific hurry this day, nor apparently was the man behind me. We were more bemused than annoyed. Surely the barista had misspoken and had meant to say decaf and not half-caf. How would this end? A veritable tempest in a teacup … er, travel mug!

The cashier took two of the travel mugs over to the newly-discovered urn and filled them, returning them triumphantly to the counter. She no doubt expected a smile from the customer, but instead he said, “Well, if you just added half-caf, doesn’t that make them ¾ caf, and only ¼ decaf? I understood exactly what he was asking, as I had wondered the same thing. I had hoped he hadn’t noticed, but he had.

The cashier said, “I just put in half-caf. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I want half-caf,” said the man. “But it was already half full of caf, and you added half-caf.”

At this, the cashier looked totally at a loss. “I guess I don’t understand what you want!”

The barista, eyeing the situation from nearby, now approached and asked, “What’s the problem?

The man explained that adding half-caf to a mug that already contained half a mug of caf results in ¾ caf. Clear enough to all of us who attended fifth grade. The guy behind me, and I, stifled chuckles.

The barista explained, “Oh, no, the urn over there is decaf.” This contradicted her earlier pronouncement that it was half-caf. What a difference a prefix makes! Again, I flashed back to fifth grade.

The man seemed mollified, and the cashier now proceeded to add the decaf to the remaining two mugs. She lined them up on the cramped counter, and the man transported them, two by two, to the counter hosting the cream, sugar, stir sticks, etc.

I ordered my short brewed coffee. Simple enough.

As the cashier turned her back momentarily to fill my cup from the urn, the guy behind me commented, “I think that man is still confused.” He nodded toward the corner where the man was busily pouring additions into his four travel mugs. “Look at him! He’s over there adding half and half to half of his half-cafs!”

That totally cracked me up. Well, not totally. Only about half.

Note:  Okay, that ‘s my little essay.  Some may not consider this memoir, but I put it in the memoir basket along with all the other chapters and essays I’ve worked on.  After all, it is a story of something that happened in my life.  I hope this has inspired you to look for humor, or the unexpected, in your everyday life.  And, I hope you will take the time to write down such events and bring out the elements that seem most important, or amusing, to you.  We hope to hear from you with samples of your work!

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Is Writing Hard?

I heard an interesting quote this week: “A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.” — Thomas Mann

The irony of that statement made me smile.

On the other end of the spectrum is this quote: “Writing should feel like a pair of loose pajamas.”  — Julia Cameron

Which of these statements best describes YOUR writing process?

When I tell people I’m a writer, they sometimes comment, “Oh, so you like to write?”   To which I may respond, “Well, I don’t necessarily like writing.  But, I like having written.”

Most writers I know have a sort of love/hate relationship with writing because, let’s face it, writing is a mixed bag.  If we are lucky enough to be in a state of “flow,” then writing can be exhilarating.  But, much of the time, writing is a bit of a slog.  The most enjoyable part of writing, for me, is rewriting … when the heavy slogging is done and I can simply tweak.  It’s so gratifying to fine-tune a written piece until it captures, to the ear and heart, exactly what I want to say!

If you find yourself postponing writing, it may be that you’re expecting too much of your first draft.  Let that be the “pajama draft.”  There is always time later to play around with what you’ve written and shape it to your liking.

Which of these quotes best describes YOUR writing experiences?  Let us hear from you!  Just click on the mailbox icon below and send us your thoughts!

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When you view writing as a craft, you become increasingly aware of the tools you can use to practice your craft. Similes and metaphors are embedded in the way humans think. You may remember from school that similes are those comparisons that begin with the words like or as if, whereas metaphors express comparisons indirectly.

Similes, metaphors, or other poetic expressions help readers to see things in a new or a special way. Often this adds an emotive layer to a description, reconnecting us with a familiar experience. Sometimes such expressions simply delight us with their originality.

Joanne Hanson writes about her experience as a young mother during the 1964 “Good Friday Earthquake” in Anchorage. She frames this frightening experience between two similes. First she notices that “the dining room chandelier swayed like a child’s swing.” This foreshadows her subsequent dash to take her children to safety.

A paragraph later, Joanne describes the end of the quaking: “The house seemed to settle with great relief like an old woman lowering herself into a chair after a very long day.” Her choice of simile echoes her own relief after the major terror of the quake was over.

Similes abound in published memoirs, too. For example, consider Tuesdays with Morrie, a memoir that chronicles Mitch Albom’s visits to a beloved professor dying of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), a disease of the neurological system. Albom includes this passage: “Nurses came to his house to work with Morrie’s withering legs, to keep the muscles active, bending them back and forth as if pumping water from a well.”  (p. 11)

Still later, Albom refers to the way Morrie’s “socks-wrapped feet…rest stiffly on foam rubber cushions, unable to move, like a prisoner in leg irons” (p. 108).  And, as Morrie’s disease progresses, Albom hints at the sad ending with this:  “His body needed constant adjustment to stay comfortable. It was propped in the chair with white pillows, yellow foam, and blue towels. At a quick glance, it seemed as if Morrie were being packed for shipping.” (p. 119)

Please try your hand at writing some similes or metaphor to enhance your memoirs. And send in samples by clicking below.

Let us know how this worked for you. And, if you’d like to share some of your writing, please send that in, too!

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So many memoirs don’t make it to the page because people are obsessed with perfection instead of progress. It’s not important to write the perfect word, the perfect sentence, the perfect paragraph. Just write! You can pick out your favorite parts and/or polish up your draft later.

Those of us who write on a regular basis have learned that writer’s block is usually the result of placing expectations on ourselves that are too high.  So, if you feel blocked or worried about your writing, just lower your expectations. Tell yourself, “I’m going to sit down now and write two pages that will most likely be junk.” Then, start with the words, “I remember …” and see where it takes you.

Joel Saltzman, in his book, If You Can Talk, You Can Write, has gathered evidence from dozens of writers, musicians, and artists who say, in their own ways, that they do their best work when they are focused on progress, not perfection. Joel adds that he finds it liberating to say to yourself NOT, “I’m going to write something,” but rather, “I’m going to TALK about something on paper.”  Indeed, I hear so many people talking about life experiences with great enthusiasm. Yet, when they contemplate writing these stories down, they are suddenly gripped with a sense that it would be too hard.

Don’t make it so hard!  Just grab a pen, pencil, or computer, and start talking on paper.

Joel makes the following point:  “The more you talk on paper — without stopping to judge or criticize yourself — the better your chances of stumbling on something good. Then you can go back and polish, or edit, it later — after you’ve found it.”

Here are some of the quotes about the creative process that Joel has gathered:

“You have to have room to breathe, to screw around and have some fun. Maybe it makes for imperfect fiction, but it provides the writer with a kind of joy, of liberation.”  — Stanley Elkin  (p. 41, Saltzman)

“All I try to do is write music that feels meaningful to me, that has commitment and passion behind it….[If] what I’m writing about is real, and if there’s emotion then, hey, there’ll be somebody who wants to hear it.” — Bruce Springsteen (Salztman, p. 71)

“A writer’s material is what he cares about.”  — John Gardner (Saltzman, p. 72)

“When I am in my painting, I am not aware of what I’m doing.  It is only after a sort of ‘get acquainted’ period that I see what I have been about.” – -Jackson Pollack (Saltzman. p. 94)

“… [It’s] a kind of whittling, a honing to the bone, until you finally get whatever the hell it is you’re looking for. It’s an exercise in sculpture, chipping away at the rock until you find the nose.”  — Stanley Elkin (Saltzman, p. 94)

I certainly recommend Joel Saltzman’s book, If You Can Talk, You Can Write. It is a lively and motivating book that reminds us that the first step in writing is simply to sit down and write. Ideas will come forth as you talk on paper. And, as these ideas and story lines emerge, you will find the process takes on a life of its own, just like when you’re sharing a personal story with friends or relatives as the dinner table! Don’t overthink it! Just do it! And enjoy!

This month, the challenge is to try sitting down to “talk on paper.” Practice just letting the words flow onto the page without trying so hard. You may want to begin with the words, “I remember…” and then promise yourself that you will write for a given amount of time … perhaps 10 minutes.

Let us know how this worked for you. And, if you’d like to share some of your writing, please send that in, too!

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We draw inspiration from our lives and also from our reading! In particular, as memoir writers, we can draw inspiration from reading memoirs written by others. This month, I’d like to feature memoir writer Michael Perry. He’s written several excellent memoirs (which I’ll list later), but this month I’d like to focus on his book, Coop: A Year of Poultry, Pigs, and Parenting.

What can we learn from Michael Perry? Well, for starters, notice how this memoir covers just one year in his life. This is the year that he and his new wife settled on a Wisconsin farm as they awaited the birth of their first child. The immediate family includes Michael, his pregnant wife Anneliese, her (now their) six year old daughter, Amy, and — by the end of the book — newborn baby Jane.

How can just one year’s experiences fill a 352-page book? Well, Perry is a master of description, as you’ll soon see in an excerpt. Also, he is a master of weaving the past into the present. So, there are many pages devoted to memories of his childhood, memories that often spring to mind in response to events happening in the present. Thus, as he settles into the new role of father, he reflects on his own father. As he ventures into raising livestock, he reflects on the farm life of his childhood. This is a great narrative technique for all us memoir writers. After all, don’t many memories emerge in the context of our current lives? And, how wonderful to weave them together into one beautiful tapestry.

Perry’s life is not always idyllic. Indeed, most of his memoirs include tragedy. But even when he is trying to heal a broken heart, he writes with a steady hand and eye. In this way, he no doubt inspires readers to face sorrow in their own lives while finding the strength to go on, gaining courage from those with whom we interact on a day-to-day basis.

Okay, enough with the heaviness. Let me turn to a lighthearted example from Coop. The following anecdote shows his humility and also shows how size can be written about through comparison, not just through inches or other official measurements:

“Not so long ago I stepped through the front door to find Amy in the middle of the kitchen unrolling a flag-sized poster of me. It was from a book tour stop somewhere back along the line. My visage was full-color and big as a cheese platter. Amy held the poster unfurled before her, and I admit I savored the moment right up until she turned and laid it face-up on the bottom of the guinea pig cage. I am well aware that on a scale of one to Britney, I peg the fame meter roughly three notches below the lieutenant governor of Maine, but even so this was a severe calibration. ‘WHAAAT?!?!?’ I said, theatrically feigning great dismay. Amy giggled and scattered wood chips over my gap-toothed mug.” (p. 161, paperback version)

And here’s an example of one of Perry’s memories of his childhood:

“In the winter, darkness fell well before supper. By the time I followed Dad out for the evening’s milking, Orion was climbing from his kiva in the woodlot behind the barn, and the clear night air was tin-pail cold against my nose. The barn windows glowed an opaque yellow, and during the walk I anticipated the bare-bulb interior, bright with all the naked incandescence reflecting off the whitewashed walls and rafters. When I pushed through the milk-house door and into the light, the warmth — a thick sachet of alfalfa and manure — rolled around me with such fullness I felt I could tug it to my shoulders like a quilt.” (p. 69, paperback version)

And, as promised, here’s a list of his other memoirs:

Population: 485 — Meeting Your Neighbors One Siren at a Time

Truck: A Love Story

Off MainStreet: Barnstormers, Prophets & Gatemouth’s Gator

I’ve read all but the last one (which is on my reading list), and Perry has earned a place as one of my favorite current authors.

I hope the excerpts above provide you with inspiration this month. Think about scenes from your own childhood when you felt a warmth that you could tug to your shoulders like a quilt. Or, think of an anecdote, like the one about the poster being used to line the guinea pig cage! Has there been a moment like that in your life, either recent or long ago, that humbled you even as it made you laugh? Finally, if invited to write about just one year of your life, which year would you choose?
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Between Thanksgiving and Christmas this year, I got to spend a couple of weeks in Mexico, sitting in the sunshine and reading! A highlight of this time was reading Edie Clark’s most recent book, As Simple as That. This book consists of the collected essays of this prolific writer. Most of these essays were published earlier in Yankee magazine where readers often report that Edie’s monthly offering is the first thing they turn to with each new issue.

Indeed, Edie’s essays are a delight. Edie Clark’s life has not been smooth; her first marriage ended in divorce, and her second husband died of cancer at the young age of 39. But Edie is not one to feel sorry for herself. After writing a prize-winning memoir about her second husband’s battle with cancer (The Place He Made), she chose to stay in the rural New Hampshire farmhouse they had moved to and begun to renovate. Indeed, over the course of years, she has continued to renovate and personalize this historic farmhouse. Although Edie’s farming is more in the realm of having a personal garden, she still watches with joy as a local farmer, by arrangement, harvest’s each year’s hay from her fields.

These essays include slices of life relating to living in rural New Hampshire with its snow, cold, power outages, bug infestations, etc. With clear-eyed observations, Edie chronicles the seasons of the year as well as the seasons of life. She also has had several dogs and has written stunning essays about their impact on her life. Indeed, it is the power of relationship that seems to help her get out of bed each day and be attentive to what life has to offer on that day. She has many friends, who enjoy the special meals and celebrations she hosts at her home. But, in addition to human friends, Edie seems to have befriended the very earth and its natural bounty.

I hope you will look up this wonderful author and see what she has to offer. On this page, I have only scratched the surface of the books she has written. She also gives workshops and is a celebrated speaker at writer’s conferences in New England and elsewhere.

I was totally struck by the last two sentences of the final essay in this collection, entitled “Answering Back.” Before I reveal these final sentences, let me quote some other passages from this essay. For example, here are her FIRST two sentences:

“The rise of the soft curves of the fields, the seasons of the hay, the broad reach of the old apple trees, the long-blooming rose bush on the split rail fence, the in-your-face view of Monadnock, the brilliance of the night sky, these are just some of the aspects of the beauty that brought me here. It was never the house.”

Perhaps it was not the house itself that brought her, but it was the house that kept her. Meanwhile, over the years, she helped the house, built in 1762, to evolve. As she learned more of its history over the decades, she came to see her own role of preservation and celebration in a special light. In fact, this essay focuses on an open-house celebration she orchestrated on the 250th birthday of the house.

Midway through the essay, we find this passage:
“… This place represents the extreme efforts of one man, one continuous family, the fortunes of time and the elements, and the determination of an aging woman who wanted to leave it better than she found it. It was all worth one glorious day of celebration.” I urge readers to read this essay for the wonderful details, including “bucketing rains,” that accompanied this day of celebration!

And now, for Edie’s last two sentences that I promised you. She closes this essay, and indeed this collection, like this: “It may have been the beauty of this land and its dramatic sky that brought me here but the house, its history, its voices, the thought of the many feet that have touched its floors, this is what is so meaningful to me now. I’m only here to make it better, to make it last.”

I love that last sentence, in particular, because it seems a metaphor about life in general. It sums up my own personal motivation as a writer. I think my overarching goal is to “make it better” (by using my writing to hopefully help people) and to “make it last,” which is what writing always does, whether to a large degree or small.

This month, I invite readers to dip into the writings of Edie Clark. You may want to begin with this collection of essays and then move on to her memoirs and other collections. This is nourishment for memoir writers as well as for all writers.

Do you see writing as a way to make life better for others? If so, can you elaborate? Do you share Edie’s, and my, passion to make things (and memories and relationships) last? We’d love to hear your thoughts on this. What makes you tick as a writer? With what writers do you feel a common bond? Edie is someone readers feel they know. That’s because she shares her life, and her inner reflections, with a generous and open spirit. As a writer, she’s a great role model!
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Many of the world’s religions have special holidays near the time of the winter solstice. When the days are short, and darkness seems to close in around us, we turn to sources of light … both actual and symbolic.

This month, I’d like to share with you a piece I wrote 15 years ago. At the time, I yearned for grandchildren, yet it seemed that grandchildren would not be a part of my life. Still, through inventing a story, I could enjoy the feelings that I associated with being a grandmother. I think you’ll also notice the way I wove light into this story … one might say, the light of hope. In 2013, I became a grandmother to a wonderful little boy. And, almost exactly three years later, in 2016, I was blessed with a second grandson. Indeed, the pleasure they have brought me is just what I had yearned for. They are, indeed, the light of my life!

This month, I’d like to share with you the story I wrote in 2001 when grandchildren were just a dream!

THE GLOW OF CHRISTMAS
Joan Tornow

Mary’s grandmother smiles at her and urges the child to open the present that is wrapped in stripes of green and gold. Mary leans close under the tree, so close that pine branches catch in her hair and brush against her cheek. The sparkling lights cast a glow over the scene. Mary lifts the square package and with a squeal of delight sets it on the coffee table as she tucks her pajama-clad legs underneath her.

Mary’s grandmother worries about her because Mary was only three when her mother died, and it is she among the three children who alone seems to carry the grief in her sad dark eyes.
But tonight Mary’s eyes are luminous as she carefully removes the golden bells attached to the bow on the package. She holds them up to her ear and shakes them with her small fingers. The bells are shiny, and the cheerful ring joins the sound of crackling logs in the nearby fireplace.

Mary carefully removes the green and gold paper and opens the box. She pulls forth a snow globe that glistens and glows in her hands as if placed in this scene by angels. Mary moves back into the multi-colored halo of light from the Christmas tree so as to better view her treasure. She shakes the snow globe and then turns it upside down and back several times.
Drawing the snow globe close to her eyes, Mary looks inside at the giant and friendly flakes of snow floating down over the miniature scene. She sees a tiny cottage, it windows glowing from the lights within. And nearby, midget pine trees sit in canopies of snow. Small birds perch on the trees, and rabbits crouch next to tiny snow-capped bushes. It is the glow of what is inside the house, what is unseen, that captures the imagination, that suggests a beauty more graceful even than this moonlit snow.

Now Mary’s brothers want to have a turn shaking the globe and gazing into its magic world. Mary generously hands the globe over to Nicholas who holds it close to the Christmas tree. The lights from the tree turn the scene blue, then green, then red, and yellow before returning to blue. The snow globe reflects ornaments from the tree – an angel, a glitter-covered pinecone, a red bulb, an elf.

Alexander takes his turn with the globe. He holds it up in front of the fireplace. The firelight casts an orange glow on the cottage and the snowflakes that cascade down around it. He carefully sets it on the table, noticing the way the candlelight dances on the curved glass.
Mary kisses her grandma and thanks her. She says that when she grows up she will have a house just like the one in the globe. “I will be the mommy and there will be a daddy and some children and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

Years pass and Mary has two children of her own. Every year, as Christmas approaches, Mary carefully unwraps the snow globe and places it on the coffee table. Her children ask her to tell them again about their great-grandmother and about the night she gave Mary this snow globe. Mary completes the story with these words: “That was when I wished that some day I would live in this house with children just like you!” Eleanor and Jared love this part of the story, as does Mary’s husband Jack who smiles over the rim of his reindeer-adorned coffee cup.
Many more years pass. An old woman walks down an icy sidewalk, clutching a cloth bag to her chest. Snow swirls around her, catching light from the streetlights. Eleanor reaches a house and pauses to gaze at it. This is the house of her daughter, her son-in-law, and her grandchildren.

The windows of the house glow warmly. Outside, trees and bushes stand sweetly, as if the snow on their branches were sugar frosting. A bird dances from one branch to another, then rumples its feathers comically to protect it from the cold. A cat skitters from the bushes and rubs against the woman’s legs.

Eleanor stands on the doorstep and rings the bell. Children swing open the door and light pours out like a river of gold, enveloping the old woman. Eleanor’s white hair, flooded with Christmas light, looks like that of an angel. The children shriek “Grandma!” and smother her with hugs and kisses. The cat slides through the open door, grateful to be home.
Eleanor laughs as she enters the house, and love enfolds her. In a little while, when everyone is settled around the glowing Christmas tree, she will pull forth from her cloth bag a package wrapped in green and gold. She can’t wait to see the lights in the eyes of her grandchildren. #

This month’s challenge: Write a piece about winter, or the winter holidays, in which LIGHT plays a special role. Enjoy your writing adventures. With just a pencil or a computer, we can all compose a magical world, a world with light, hope, and love!
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At the end of this month, I will present a workshop called “Thanksgiving & Holiday Memories: A Memoir Workshop.” You can read about it at the link, above, to “Workshops & Classes.” And, if you’re near Milton, Washington, why not register and join us?

Workshops near the holidays are probably my favorites. There is something so warm and wonderful about sitting around a table with folks and pausing to reflect on the holidays we have enjoyed. Almost every culture and religious tradition has at least one winter holiday. And in the winter, people typically gather together, enjoying the warmth not only of the indoors but of the ties of friendship and family. It may sound sentimental, but it’s true! Even in tropical climates, there are seasons of ingathering and celebration that build on our basic human joy in being with others.

Novice memoir writers often worry that they won’t remember “enough.” But, I introduce a series of prompts and group exercises that help bring forth those memories that have been resting quietly, apparently waiting for a memoir workshop!

A group provides an immediate appreciative audience, so I really recommend doing these exercises with others. But, they can be done alone, too, with wonderful results. You can read about these in my book (see link above).

One exercise is to divide a piece of paper into four quadrants. In the corner of the first quadrant, write “Sights.” In the second, write “Sounds, in the third, “Smells and Tastes” and in the fourth “Feeling” (both tactile and emotional).

Then, begin brainstorming, jotting down memories from Thanksgiving or another holiday meal of your choosing. Just jot down words and phrases at this point; the writing of sentences and paragraphs will come later.

Participants typically start out slowly, as their memories need time to warm up. I liken it to popping popcorn the old-fashioned way. Remember how at first the oil had to heat up in the pan? As the oil began to shimmer, the kernels would slowly begin to pop … first one kernel, then a second, then a brief flurry, and then a storm of pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Tapping into long-neglected memories is just like this. So, if you try this with a group, or alone, give the process plenty of quiet TIME!

The result of this exercise is that you will have lists of “material” in each quadrant of the page. Your mind will be marinating in a stew of images, sounds, smells, and feelings. NOW it is time to just start writing! Let your pen, pencil, or keyboard lead the way as you just follow the muse of memory! You may simply fashion these lists into a poem. Or, you may use them as a springboard to writing an essay or chapter about an experience that has suddenly come to mind. (Please feel no pressure to use ALL the material; it is just a list of ideas ….)

As always, we hope to hear from you. Please send in what you come up with … whether it’s a paragraph or two, or a full-fledged chapter from your life. The holidays are a perfect time to revisit seasons and celebrations that have been important to us, perhaps more important than we even realized at the time. And, what you write down may well be a piece you want to share with others in your life.
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One exercise I often do at workshops consists of having participants reflect on what the breakfast scene might have looked like on the morning of their first day of school. Few people can actually remember that morning! But, they can reconstruct what it ‘might’ have looked and felt like. And even what it sounded and and smelled like!

I begin by providing everyone with a brainstorming sheet. This is divided into four quadrants. The upper left is labelled “The Room” with the prompts — What did you see? Hear? Smell? The upper right is labelled “People and Pets” with the prompts — What are they saying and doing? The lower left quadrant is labelled “Breakfast” with the prompts — What’s to eat? What are the dishes like? Who prepared the food? And, finally, the lower right quadrant is labelled “Your Mood and Temperament” with the prompts — What kind of child were you? How were you feeling on this morning?

I then allow 5 to 10 minutes of silence as people jot down words and phrases in the four quadrants. After this, there is time to begin writing a paragraph or two. And, often participants go home to continue their writing, having been launched by this fun exercise!

The point of is to illustrate how we all have plenty of material stored away in our minds. We remember the family dog sloshing water from his dish onto the linoleum! We remember reading the Wheaties box! We remember the kitchen clock with the cat tail ticking off the seconds. We remember Mom telling us to hurry up! We remember the butterflies in our stomach on such a morning. And so forth. In writing memoir, time is well-spent in brainstorming with ourselves so that we can bring these memories to the forefront of our minds. Then, when we start to write, the words will just flow! And we’ll have a story that will entertain us as well as our readers!

Hope you will give this a try! The preliminary time you spend in brainstorming is bound to pay off in a rich list of “ingredients” you can stir into your writing.

We hope you’ll submit what you come up with.

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