Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.
Shears
by Marian Van Horn
I have been working on letting go of things that no longer serve me. Past hurts, painful experiences, things that cause me resentment or anger. Then I had this dream the other night.
A small 5-year-old child is floating around a room. I am watching her. She is about a foot above the ground and moving effortlessly. She is focused on doing that and nothing else; enjoying the simple movement as children often do when absorbed in the present moment.
When she floats by me, I ask, “How do you do that?”
She looks down and says, “With these.”
She pulls out a huge pair of silver shears. I am a little shocked because they are quite large and sharp and she’s only five years old, so I worry a bit, but she hands them to me and says, “You try.”
I take the shears and start to float. Not with as much ease as her, but I am able to skim across the room a few inches above the floor. It is exhilarating.
I thought about this dream when I woke up. The exhilarating feeling of letting go stayed with me, so I looked up shears in my dream symbol book and one description was “cutting out of your life the things you don’t need anymore.”
Marian Van Horn’s interest in writing began in 1979 when she found some poems safety pinned together in her grandmother’s cookbook.
Marian’s poetry appeared in the Sitting Room 2012 Annual publication and in Fantasia: Poems by David Beckman & Friends.
Guest Blogger Tamara Belinfanti writes about a new beginning.
A few years ago, I found myself called to write exuberant, colorful stories with riotous characters that defied rational thinking and did not fit the mold of legal academia, which was my background. At first, like so many, I ignored the inner whisper to explore new territory. But the thing about callings is that they get louder when you get really still or something shakes your world. For me, the latter forced the former: my closest mentor in the law field passed suddenly, and alongside intense grief, a new beginning emerged.
In academia, I had a built-in community of mentors and colleagues, plus the academic publishing path was fairly straightforward. My tenure process was not a walk in the park, but overall it was relatively hitch-free and went according to plan.
Creative writing was a whole new terrain. I had to learn its contours, how its paths meandered and connected, and how to navigate its deep woods. I had to become familiar with the inhabitants of a rich, complex, and interconnected ecosystem of coaches, agents, editors, sensitivity readers and publishers; and, above all else, how to look for the sun when there are times that you cannot see beyond the impenetrable thicket. For tenure, the guiding principle was publish or perish. For creative writing, it can feel as though we are perishing on our way to being published.
My writing coach tells me I am in what they call the murky middle. Too far from the shore I’ve left to swim back; yet the other shore still feels well beyond the horizon. I’m not quite sure I am equipped for this, or if I can call myself a writer without having a publisher. Over these past four years on this journey, I have come to learn that these external resources and the usual recommendations of craft books, workshops, seminars, writing community, etc. are important, especially to get started, but they will only get you so far. To truly stay the course with composure, one must cultivate one’s own internal compass—an inner wisdom that can cut through the noise of the landscape and guide you to the place where only you know, where you are called.
Since venturing off the strictly academic path, a shift has emerged. Before, my days were primarily driven by external demands and conventions. Now I try to attend to, and orient towards, my internal north star. Thankfully, some of my shorter pieces and personal essays have found the right publishing homes, and it’s always a surprise (mostly pleasant) to see how my writing lands with others. I am also lucky to have a wise writing coach and an astute agent.
I am far from having this figured out, but five things help me stay oriented:
Actually writing, which sounds so terribly trite and tautological, but it’s true. I try to write at least five days a week, early in the morning, before the sun is awake and when my household is still quiet. I always begin with an acknowledgement of the space and grace to write, and then I start whatever is on tap for that day’s writing session.
How we live around our writing. What I eat affects not only my mood but also my creativity. Whole foods, minimal to no dairy, omega-rich foods like flax or chia seeds, and bitter greens seem to be a winning formula for me in providing sustenance and clarity. That foggy head feeling is a doozy when you’re trying to find the right words or your through-line. In the legal field, I was better able to muscle through the fog, but creative writing is less forgiving. I need to clearly see, hear, and feel the world of my characters, with minimal static. I do, however, tend to daydream and spend a lot of time with my head in the clouds, and I need to counterbalance my skyward-looking tendency with things that help me feel grounded—like running, yoga, contemplative practice, or sitting with my back against a tree. I am not sure how the latter works, but somehow it does.
Preparing for creativity. I have always used to-do lists, but these can feel too utilitarian for wooing creativity. Now, I sketch out at night my writing beats for the next day. This allows me to tune in to where I am in my writing, how I’m feeling about it, and ask myself what needs to be done tomorrow? In the morning, I have a road map for how to proceed.
Detach. At the end of each day, no matter how productive or not I have been, I try to detach from what the day has brought and gently let it be. What’s done is done, and there will be more paths to traverse tomorrow.
I have come to believe that writing is a microcosmic reflection of the greater life journey. As we travel, may we heed the call, step lightly, pay attention to our inner wisdom, and cultivate the rich interior landscape from whence the urge to write originates.
Tamara Belinfanti is an emerging Caribbean writer whose work explores themes of identity, belonging, and transition. Her writing has appeared in Vogue, The New York Times, and PREE, a magazine of contemporary Caribbean writing. A graduate of Harvard Law School, she is a professor of law at New York Law School.
We’re always on the lookout for great writers with great ideas, in an effort to deliver a unique mix of voices and perspectives to our readers.
When it comes to freelance pitches, we’re interested in long-form narratives, deeply reported service pieces and personal essays that offer a compelling point of view, a personal story that will help improve readers’ lives.
Email pitches to: ghdigital – at – hearst.com.
Include:
Email subject line: “Story Pitch” and a short summation of your topic.
Please include your name, contact info, a brief description of your experience as a writer and links to your past work.
Headline: Include a working headline for your story.
Brief description/outline: We find that the best pitches are timely, well written, appropriately researched and have a strong working outline.
We accept all pitches for Good Housekeeping on a rolling basis. Please note that due to the volume of emails we receive, we cannot guarantee that each submission will be commented on; it is more likely that an editor will be in touch if interested in pursuing your pitch.
The challenge of freewriting is getting Self out of the way.
Let your writing flow with no judging.
Release your worries about your writing.
Allow your creative mind to play with words.
With freewrites, you are writing for yourself, not for an audience.
Give yourself permission to be open to whatever comes up while you are writing.
A freewrite is a way of writing freely, with no worries about the outcome.
Choose a time when you will not be interrupted.
Select a prompt. Set a timer for 15-20 minutes and write without pausing to think.
If you run out of things to say, write “I remember” and go from there.
Or, write “What I really want to say . . .”
Give your inner critic time off during this writing.
Lists are a great way to inspire freewrites.
~ Make a list of issues and experiences, important or trivial, in your life right now.
~ What frustrated you in the past month?
~ What made you laugh or cry?
~ What caused you to lose your temper?
~ What was the worst thing that happened?
~ What was the best thing that happened?
~What was the most disturbing or weird thing that happened?
Choose one thing from your list and write about it. Write whatever comes to mind.
When you are finished writing, take a deep breath in and release your breath out.
Next prompt: Write about the same incident from the other person’s point of view.
Next prompt: Think back to when you were a teenager or a young adult and respond to one of the questions above as your younger self would have responded.
The Write Spot series of books, edited by Marlene Cullen, features a variety of writing, all ending with a writing prompt, to inspire your writing.
There are over 700 prompts on The Write Spot Blog, plus places to submit your writing, Sparks (memorable writing), and guest spots.
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.
Simple Joy
By DSBriggs
Joy is . . .
Hearing a tail thump when I walk in the room.
Watching my dog at the dog park as he smiles
and checks in before running off again.
Talking to my sister after a long period of silence.
Being with my niece and her family.
Today, joy was sitting with a close friend, talking about family recipes,
remembering how thankful I am for our friendship.
Shared laughter is joyous.
Some days joy is being outside on a good weather day.
You know, warm but not too warm or cold but not too cold.
The “why we live in California “ type day.
Joy, is seeing a tree in a different way and the interaction of sunlight and leaves.
Joy is watching the mad dash of squirrels racing around an oak tree.
Joy is watching puppies, kittens and goats play.
Joy is watching toddlers exploring their world.
It’s also seeing the family enjoying time together.
Joy is a handwritten card or letter from a friend.
It’s finishing the last stitch successfully and finally!
Joy is a clutter-free kitchen table and a newly mopped floor.
Joy is finding my lost earring or re-finding a good book or picture.
Joy is a pain-free walk.
Greater joy is seeing or being in the mountains.
Joy is quiet calmness with a good cup of tea.
Donna Briggs writes under the name DSBriggs. Donna and Moose, live in Northern California. Retired from teaching children with visual impairments, she still loves learning and word play. Her desire is to travel, finally finish some quilting projects, and reduce her to-be-read pile of books.
DSBriggs has participated in Jumpstart for a number of years. She feels fortunate to have her work appear in Marlene Cullen’s Write Spot anthologies, available from your local bookseller and from Amazon (print and ebook).
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.
Offer it Up
By Tracy L. Wood
It was a catch phrase of my mother’s. Whether our sweater was itchy, or our new church shoes gave us blisters, or a sibling was teasing us, Mom’s standard reply was Offer it Up. As a young person, this response was unsatisfying. It didn’t fix anything, and it felt dismissive. More often than not, I wanted her other catch phrase, which similarly didn’t fix anything. But at least Oh Honey came bearing sympathy.
This was before Mom got involved in Al-Anon where she learned about the Serenity Prayer and to Let Go and Let God. In many ways those adages offer the same comfort, or challenge depending on one’s state of grace, and were simply another way of saying Offer it Up.
I like Mom’s version better. I often hear Mom’s voice nudging me to rise above and connect with a higher spirit, even without itchy sweaters or ill-fitting white patent leather shoes. When I am on a hike, her words are as pertinent while I battle a swarm of mosquitoes on the way up as when I finally glory in a spectacular view from the top. Then, on the way down, when my knees ache and I grow frustrated at my 56-year old body for sometimes just sucking, I again remember Mom’s words (and pop a couple ibuprofen).
Offer it Up doesn’t just mean to “get over it.” Rather, it acknowledges our current state of discomfort, pain, or joy, and reminds us to share it all. Offer it up keeps us humble and centered as we ride the waves of emotions that come with our humanity.
Similarly, Offer it Up does not absolve us of action; it does not tell us to sit idly and suffer silently. It is just a step, a breath, a moment, a prayer.
Tracy L. Wood is a former Marine and retired secondary English teacher. She currently teaches writing workshop classes near her home in Newbury, New Hampshire where she writes a weekly newsletter “My Mother’s Piano: from stuff to stories.”
Tracy’s mother’s piano is one of the many things that did not move with Tracy and her husband when they fled their suburban home near Boston, where they raised their family to ride out the pandemic in rural New Hampshire. It has come to represent the things we cherish but cannot keep.
Did you know . . . November 13 is officially World Kindness Day?
I just heard about this, so I researched:
“The purpose of World Kindness Day is to raise awareness of acts of kindness in the community, emphasizing the power of positivity and the compassion that unites us all. A fundamental aspect of the human experience, kindness transcends racial, religious, political, gender and geographical boundaries.”
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Every Day were Kindness Day!
Since it’s National Novel Writing Month, I wanted to share my thoughts on the creative process that is at its core: writing with abandon. This is a reprint of an essay that originally appeared in Poets & Writers.
A few years ago I grappled with a simple question I had never before bothered to ask myself: Did I decide on my writing process, or did it decide on me?
Despite an adult lifetime of reading innumerable author interviews, biographies of artists, and essays on creativity, I realized I’d basically approached writing the same way for years. And I didn’t remember ever consciously choosing my process, let alone experimenting with it in any meaningful way.
My approach formed itself around what I’ll call “ponderous preciousness.” I’d conceive of an idea for a story and then burrow into it deliberately. I’d write methodically, ploddingly, letting thoughts percolate, then marinate—refining and refining—sometimes over the course of years. It was as if I held a very tiny chisel and carefully maneuvered it again and again through the practically microscopic contours of my story world.
I distrusted the idea that anything of quality could be written quickly. A story, a novel, or even one of my pieces of flash fiction had to be as finely aged as a good bottle of wine in order for all of the nuanced tannins and rich aromas to fully develop. My writing moved slowly from one sentence, one paragraph, to the next, and I often looped back again and again with the idea that I needed to achieve a certain perfection before I could move forward.
But as I hit middle age, the golden age of reckoning with all things, I decided I needed to shake things up, just for the sake of shaking them up. If I viewed myself as a creator, I needed to approach my own creative process with a sense of experimentation and outright dare.
And, truth be told, my writing had veered toward being as much of a job as my day job. My publishing goals had stifled any sense of playfulness. My stories hewed to narrative rules as if I was trying to be a good citizen in a suburban neighborhood where I felt like an outsider.
I thought back to the reason I became a writer in the first place: that ineffable impulse to explore matters of the soul, the need to put words to the hidden spaces of life, the desire to probe life’s mysteries. I concluded that my labored approach had smothered my verve. I wanted to cavort through words again, to invite the dervishes of rollicking recklessness back into creation.
Cavorting with words
Around this time a friend invited me to join him in National Novel Writing Month: the annual challenge to write a fifty-thousand-word novel during November. I knew about the event, but had never thought it was for me. The object was to write faster than I was accustomed to—to produce approximately seventeen hundred words per day for thirty days straight, a word count at least double what I was used to.
I feared writing a novel littered with unconsidered words and loose connections. I feared writing something flimsy.
As a boy, I spent my allowance on all sorts of pens and paper, so there was never much question I would become a writer. I received my B.A. from Grinnell College in English and my M.A. in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University.
It seems like I should have other degrees, such as an MFA in Novels about People Doing Nothing But Walking Around, a PhD in Collages and Doodles and Stick Drawings of Fruitless Pursuits, or a Knighthood in Insomniac Studies, but I don’t.
I have published in many publications. My stories have been nominated for the Pushcart prize and included in such collections as W.W. Norton’s New Micro: Exceptionally Short Fiction and Best Small Fictions 2016.
