MONDAYS ARE FREE EXERCISES 226-230

[The Stage is on Fire] is a page-turner in which, much like life, there are no easy answers and yet each step of the journey yields insight and hope. This work of heart must not be missed!

Melanie Faith

Creative Writing Teacher, Essayist & Poet.

Katie Steedly’s first-person piece [The Unspeakable Gift] is a riveting retelling of her participation in a National Institutes of Health study that aided her quest to come to grips with her life of living with a rare genetic disorder. Her writing is superb.

The Society of Professional Journalists

In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.

I thank you … It is the authenticity of your “class notes”; and it is the delicacy and skill with which you present the nuances of classroom life and the actuality of your students’ and fellow teachers’ lives.

Maxine Greene

Philosopher and Education Scholar

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MONDAYS ARE FREE EXERCISES 226-230

Red. Secrets. Obligation. Redaction. Reach.

EXERCISE 226: MONOCHROME

articulate its nuances

What’s your favorite color? Write a piece that gushes about the color, studies it, mourns with it (á la Maggie Nelson’s Bluets). Try to articulate its nuances, different objects and people you’ve encountered wearing it, who you’ve become because of your relationship with it.

I am thinking about the color red. The red of my wedding bouquet. The red of the Winner’s blanket at the Kentucky Derby. The red of my nail polish in winter. The red of the lipstick an 80 year-oldish woman at the coffee shop wears. The red of my Nana’s flower bed. The red of my thirty year-old Indiana University sweat shirt. The red of the ruby bracelet I dream about. The red of my eyes when they are tired. The red of the sunrise that shines somewhere between saffron and cinnamon and butter. The red of the sunset on certain nights when we are sitting on our deck and it glistens off glass buildings like flames and chards. The red of the pen ink of my least favorite teacher. The red of the bing cherries in Michigan in June. The red of my mom’s fuzzy robe. The red of the blood when my finger gets cut when I prepare vegetables.

EXERCISE 227: FIVE VARIATIONS FROM A THIEF

steal your favorite line

What is one of your favorite lines of poetry from one of your favorite poets?/ Write a non-rhyming poem made of five-line stanzas (aka a cinquain!). It should have five stanzas in all (5 lines x 5 stanzas = 25 lines)./ Steal your favorite line of poetry and use it five times in this poem, once in each cinquain. Also, don’t let the stolen line appear in the same stanzaic location twice. For example, it can’t be the third line of a cinquain more than once./ Lastly! In your poem, thank the poet from whom you stole the line.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows/ I often feel overwhelmed/ by waking up/ by taking my first breath/ by stepping on to the soft rug// it can be too much/ here is the deepest secret nobody knows/ even the basic work/ a decision/ a heartbeat// a step/ a blink/ here is the deepest secret nobody knows/ our wounds are real/ our dreams are sacred// our fiber is elastic/ our hope is miraculous/ our faith is holy/ here is the deepest secret nobody knows/ we are steel// we are starlight/ we are root and bud/ we carry our hearts and minds/ thank you ee cummings/ here is the deepest secret nobody knows

EXERCISE 228: OBLIGATION SHMOBLIGATION

many many many

Write as many many many lines/sentences as you can with this construction:/ “I have to… but I want to… “/ or “I’m supposed to… but I’m going to…”/ or “They say I shouldn’t… but I’m going to…”/ As always, be specific and ground each line/sentence in something concrete, i.e. something perceivable through your physical senses. Especially when you declare what you are going to do or what you want to do.

I have to clinch but I want to release/ I have to scream but I want to sing/ I have to crawl but I want to leap/ I have to limp but I want to dance/ I have to collapse but I want to dream// I’m supposed to break but I’m going to bend/ I’m supposed to bud but I’m going to root/ I’m supposed to talk but I’m going to listen/ I’m supposed to write but I’m going to read/ I’m supposed to remember but I’m going to forget// They say I shouldn’t fall but I’m going to fly/ They say I shouldn’t ignore but I’m going to pay attention/ They say I shouldn’t doubt but I’m going to have faith/ They say I shouldn’t cry but I’m going to wail/ They say I shouldn’t worry but I’m going to relax.

EXERCISE 229: REDACT

old journals

Pull one of your old journals from the shelf. Preferably one from over a year ago that holds the rants from your roughest days or the dreams you happened to remember or your limerent fantasies./ Turn to a random page. Treat it as if it will appear in your next book. Redact what needs to be redacted. Then ask yourself why.

The page I am redacting focuses on the day we moved into our house — my first house, not a rented apartment, at the age of 52 — when I received an email from my best friend, the Maid of Honor in our wedding, stating she no longer wanted to be friends. I would redact the circumstances that precipitated our break up. I would redact my point-by-point explanation of our 30-year friendship that was being burned to the ground. I would redact the part where I explain the lost of trust I experienced because she chose to walk away rather than talk. I would redact the part where my anger seeped through and I wrote — on and on and on — about her selfishness and egocentrism and cruelty.

I would make those redactions because the years have softened the hard feelings. The memories move like water over worn stone, now. My heart holds it all — not just the anger and hurt, but the humor and history. Redactions allow peace, not in the sense of hiding or denying truth, but more like no longer drinking poison of pain. Today, I am less concerned with right and wrong, and keeping track. I am even less worried about what our future friendship will look like, if we have one. I used to think a lot about the future.

EXERCISE 230: REACH

you want

At some point in the day, go outside or look out a window and identify seven things you want to touch but can’t reach. Each object should be at different heights/distances. Write a piece imagining the pleasure (or thrill!) of touching each of them.

I want to touch the top of the full-blooming magnolia tree on my walk. It is the definition of perfect time. I can only imagine the perfume wafting from its branches. I want to touch our skylight during a rainstorm. It rests 20 feet above our concrete floor. I can only imagine the rhythm moving through my fingertips. I want to touch the chimney of the renovated brick factory across our street and watch the migration of the sandhill cranes. I can only imagine what it would feel like to be that close to the birds and their nest. I want to touch the kitten who lives next door who scurries away when we visit. I can only imagine how soft her fur must feel, especially the fur on her belly when she rolls over to play. I want to touch the touch Italian glass roses that I imagine sitting on the bookshelf inside our front door. I have been thinking about these specific glass flowers for years, since my parents returned from Italia with glass vases. I can only imagine how beautiful they would be in our entry.

Thank you for reading MONDAYS ARE FREE. These exercises are explorations of poetry and language and joy. Subscribe to the Wide-Awakeness Project to share this journey.