Weekly Wide-Awake #21

[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

Enter your email here to receive Weekly Wide-Awake

back

Windows. Memory. Forgiveness. Correction.

MONDAYS ARE FREE 021-035

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.

MONDAYS ARE FREE 031 — 035

EXERCISE 033: RETURN TO MEMORY

Recall a window from memory (it can be the same window as earlier this week or it could be one from, say, your childhood). Describe a particular image you saw through that window on a particular day as best you can. If some details are unclear, that’s okay. Ask questions using physical detail (e.g. “Can I be sure the bird’s eyes were brown?”) or make them up (“The bird’s name was Bonifacio.”) If a desire comes to mind as you describe this window memory, name it (e.g., “In those days, I wanted to…”)

The picture window at my great-grandmother’s house looked out over her garden. I remember peonies and irises. I remember old trees and bluegrass. I remember hasenpfeffer and railroads. In those days, I was a princess. Steel and stardust. Not yet scar tissue. I created new worlds through that window. Imagination birthed. Dragons slayed. Beans planted. Rainbows climbed. Heels clicked. I was unstoppable. Carrying my Holly Hobby lunchbox and my fiddle, I sang my song. I tapped danced right up front. I wrote secret poetry in a red folder. I kept it hidden under the basement stairs.

Shining was my rhythm and the window framed my shine. The window framed my shine by connecting me to generations. The window framed my shine by telling my story. The window framed my shine by letting me see light and dark, kindness and cruelty, faith and fear, grace and terror.

Read entire post here.

MONDAYS ARE FREE 026 — 030

EXERCISE 027: UNLEARN

Write a poem that forgives a wrong thing you were taught.

At some point, I learned about secrets. Secrets kept the peace. Secrets made it all easier. Secrets, like lies of omission, built fortresses of silence. Secrets kept me safe. Secrets prevented shame and embarrassment. Secrets allowed deception of myself and others. Secrets were powerful — like hammers and guns and storms. Secrets welcomed darkness. Secrets created shadows. Secrets guided decisions. Secrets sustained friendships. Secrets formed alliances.

I forgive my secrets. I forgive my secrets. I forgive my secrets.

It takes a lot of practice to forgive secrets. A Balinese healer once told me, “You don’t have to carry that weight.” He was telling me I don’t have to keep secrets anymore. He was telling me to lay my secrets down — to put it all down — and rest. He was telling me to love myself. Seek truth. Seek integrity. Seek stillness.

Read entire post here.

MONDAYS ARE FREE 021—025

EXERCISE 022: LEAN INTO UNCERTAINTY

Write a 15-line poem that corrects itself with every line.

What I wanted to say was, “I don’t trust you.”/ So I said, “Here is my heart.”/ What I wanted to say was, “You broke my heart.”/ So I said, “I am sorry.”/ What I wanted to say was, “I am beautiful.”/ So I said, “I look fat in these pants.”/ What I wanted to say was, “We are going to be alright.”/ So I said, “Well, at least the Panthers are in the playoffs.”/ What I wanted to say was, “I don’t want to understand cruelty.”/ So I said, “Empathy is a strength.”/ What I wanted to say was, “Not in my name.”/ So I said, “Kilmar Abrego Garcia.”/ What I wanted to say was, “Hands off.”/ So I said, “Hold on./ So I said, “Hold on.”

Read entire post here.

Enter your email here to receive Weekly Wide-Awake