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.
In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.
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Weekly Wide-Awake #19
Memory. Blueberry Pancakes. Photographs.
MONDAYS ARE FREE 061 — 065
Memory, Annie, Turner syndrome, and Public Art
Dear Friends,
I have been writing MONDAYS ARE FREE for about six months. It has been a source of joy. It has been the best challenge in the way that precision and economy and beauty require reflection, voices are excavated and discovered and cherished, and time is remembered and polished and held.
Mondays are Free is writing calisthenics. It’s a gym for writing muscles. I share my writing exercises, hoping my commitment to going public with my emerging journal joyfully and lovingly reinforces my desire to write and find poetry in paying attention. In the Mondays are Free introduction, Ross Gay mentions creating community as a project goal. I want a writing practice that makes me a better writer. I want a writing practice that creates community — with intention, attention, creativity, and care. I want a writing practice that helps us find what we love in common.
Love,
Katie
EXERCISE 061: THE MAGIC OF MEMORY, PART 1
early friendship and sensory detail
Set a timer for ten minutes and jot down three resonant scenes that involve friendship(s) in your youth. Now look at them and circle the one you’re most drawn to return to. Write about that scene until your timer goes off, providing as many sensory details—of as many different kinds—as you can. (How many senses can you get in there?)
Annie
I was 12 or 13, a seventh grader cast as Tessie in a production of Annie at an Equity dinner theatre near Louisville, Kentucky. “Oh My Goodness” the hydraulic stage — part space ship, part cloud, part magic jeanie bottle — floated every night in the theatre in the round. When we weren’t on stage, my orphan crew watched from above (when the stage had descended) and quietly whispered the words to the songs while our magical cast of friends from all over the world danced and sang. When we were on stage, the lights and music were intoxicating. It was hot like sizzle and shine. I already knew what that meant. It smelled like joy. My toes remembered the choreography like I was born knowing all the moves. My eyes looked out into the crowd like I was 1000 feet tall. My breath quickened just enough and I sang my song. It all made sense then. The elation of being good at something. The value of rehearsal and discipline and showing up. The sun coming out tomorrow.
MONDAYS ARE FREE 056 — 060
Blueberry Pancakes. Blooms. Rivers. Animals. Hands.
EXERCISE 056: TUNE IN
just for the sound
Throughout the day, pay close attention to what you say and to the conversations you hear. (It can help to go to the post office or DMV!) Write down words you like just for the sound. The word’s definition and/or associations don’t matter. You might dislike cinnamon as a spice but love to say its name. Put the list away and write a poem using as many of the words that come to mind without looking.
Blueberry Pancakes
Jameson chasing blueberry pancakes and hash on English after flag football and a torn meniscus.
To Haniford’s once a week, golf, and then Gina’s pool. Haniford’s. Golf. Gina’s pool.
But not with him, he always has one foot on the gas and one foot on the brake.
Pool. Boat. Island. Lighthouse. Stress Test. Pool. Island. Lighthouse. Stress Test.
Leaving logistics. Leaving logistics. Leaving logistics. The UPS drive around.
MONDAYS ARE FREE 051 — 055
Photographs. Wishes. Words. Recollection.
EXERCISE 051: WRITING WITH PHOTOGRAPHS
make a wish
Look at a picture from the news. Describe the picture. Make a wish for anyone or anything in the picture.
I have chosen a photograph by Mahmoud Issa/Anadolu/Getty Images published recently in The Guardian. The photograph is of children, probably between the ages of 8 and 10, learning to play the violin in Gaza. Their are two students carefully holding their violins and studying the violin of what I assume to be their teacher. Their music lesson is occurring in a tent-like structure.
I played the violin when I was their age. We called it a fiddle because I was learning basic Bluegrass melodies and songs. My fiddle-playing heart weeps when I think about the profound act of courage it takes play music in a burning world. My artist’s heart rejoices and believes their music is resistance to a world of fear and destruction. My humanity knows the arts — our poems, books, paintings, and songs; the fruits of our creativity — save us.
My wish for the children in the picture is that peace come to their world. My wish is that music bring hope in the midst of devastation. My wish is that music ease their pain. My wish is that music heal the centuries of injury. My wish is that will grow up and play their songs.
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About Katie

From Louisville. Live in Atlanta. Curious by nature. Researcher by education. Writer by practice. Grateful heart by desire.
Buy the Book!
The Stage Is On Fire, a memoir about hope and change, reasons for voyaging, and dreams burning down can be purchased on Amazon.
