Weekly Wide-Awake #29

[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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Poetry. Fiction. Repair. Interdependence.

The dead piled up, thick, fragrant, on the fire escape. My mother ordered me again, and again, to sweep it clean. All that blooms must fall. I learned this not from the Dao, but from high school biology. — From “Autumn Leaves” by Marilyn Chin

All that blooms must fall. All that blooms must fall. All that blooms must fall. We are asked to bloom by the voice that knows calling, passion, and desire. We must bloom and shine and thrive. Blooming means we listen to our joy — to what our soul knows for sure — and act from that space. (Listening to our soul requires patience and practice. That is simple the truth.) As we bloom, we pay attention. As we fall, we pay attention. As we bloom, we breathe. As we fall, we breathe. As we bloom, we love. As we fall, we love. That is how is goes. Autumn leaves are both the bloom and the fall. That is philosophical and biological. That is that is spiritual and scientific.

MONDAYS ARE FREE EXERCISES 106—110

Meaning. Feathers. Fiction. Departures. Oysters.

EXERCISE 106: WHAT I REALLY MEANT WAS, PROSE POEMS

make it paragraphy

Write a prose poem titled “What I really meant was.” Additionally, let the phrase “what I really meant was” serve as both the opening and closing lines of the poem.

What I really meant was that I have not figured it out. I have not figured out how to make a living as a writer. I have not figured out how to not feel brokenhearted and enraged at this painful time. I have not figured out how to make sense of my steel hope. I have not figured out how to start (and continue) my work out plan. I have not been able to make persimmon pudding. I have not figured out how to make good chocolate chip cookies or pancakes or waffles.

I have not been able to keep house plants alive. I have not been able to figure out how to put the pieces of several broken relationships back together. I have not been able to figure out how to paint my own fingernails. I have not been able to sort out our storage unit. I have not been able to figure out a to do list based on honesty and joy. I have been able to make peace with every failure. I have have not been able to feel every success. I have not been able to breathe deeply. I have not been able to use my imagination. What I really mean was I have not figured it out.

Read whole post here.

Not Everything Broken Stays That Way

The Poetry and Science of Repair

I want to tell the story of my peroneal tendon. Our bodies are miracles. The surgery to repair my torn peroneal tendon was a miracle. It happened 8 months ago this week. The physical therapy in which I have been engaged is a miracle. Healing is a miracle. Healing is a revival. My injury did not result from one event — one bad fall, one bad twist, one bad jump. It happened after years of pain. It happened after not finishing races. It happened after falling out of shape. Turning all that around is a revival.

Read whole post here.

Living the Comma #1

Dream Days. Tomatoes. Short Sentences.

I lead a writing group at my church. We meet the first Sunday of each month, August through May. In an effort to bring folks together around words, at this time when connection just might save us, we are creating a community to write together.

Having met for a couple months, I want to deepening our connections. So I have created this weekly check-in. As part of the check-in, I will include a writing prompt, a short essayish piece, and a few words of writing wisdom from some of my favorite writing sages.

I am sharing it in this space for folks to keep our writing conversations going between our monthly face-to-face gatherings. I am sharing this here strengthen the connective tissue of our group. I am sharing this here to provide gentle and loving support.

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