In April, I began an on-line writing course with Natalie Goldberg, whose intensive writing retreats have changed my life. I attended my first retreat with her in March 1996 and the second in 2006 and 2007.
At the heart of her method is writing practice. Students are assigned random topics and told to write on the topic for 10 minutes, paying no attention to grammar, spelling and punctuation or, most importantly, propriety. “Keep your hand moving,” she said once. “I don’t care if an atom bomb goes off. You keep writing until 10 minutes are up.”
Okay . . . I’m keeping my hand moving, but am I writing anything worth reading? Natalie would respond that this kind of question is fueled by “monkey mind” — that voice in your head that constantly insists that your writing is crap. “You are free to write the worst junk in America,” she says. Let’s check out how some of that junk begins. Following are my first lines from some of the current writing topics:
TELL ME ABOUT A STORAGE UNIT OR SOMEPLACE YOU STORED THINGS
In high school, I stored photos of female movie stars in a manila folder under my mattress on my side of the double bed I shared with my oldest sister.
TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT MASHED POTATOES
I love mashed potatoes. My mother made great mashed potatoes. Adrienne makes great mashed potatoes. Yukon are the best potatoes. I have never been to the Yukon.
WHAT MADE YOU KNOW SOMETHING WAS OVER?
I can’t decide whether to write about Ruth, Kathy, CNL, or my mother’s life.
TELL ME ABOUT SOMEONE WHO IS A TRUE TEACHER FOR YOU
Adrienne thought that Mrs. Peterson was the obvious choice, as opposed to Miss Mahnick who I had such a crush on, or Carol Betlej — the 11th grade American History student teacher who introduced me to Ayn Rand. Or Carol. Or Charlotte. Judy. Beth. Adrienne. Yes, Adrienne because I witness all the time how cool, calm and collect she is. She is kind and non-judgmental. She is a true teacher.
HOW POOR WERE YOU?
I was so poor starting out as a free-lance writer that I had to take money out of my savings account to buy a can of frozen orange juice to hydrate myself when I had the flu.
TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT ICE CREAM
I really don’t like ice cream because I have sensitive gums which reminds me that I have a dental cleaning this Saturday at 9 a.m.
WHAT HAUNTS YOU?
I am haunted by the fear that I haven’t done everything I can with my life. All the wasted minutes, hours, days, years.
TELL ME ABOUT SILENCE
There is the silence my mother demanded. There is the silence during prayer. There is the silence after the Hiroshima bomb denoted and the ashes dissipated enough so survivors could see — that is, those who still had eyes.
WHAT CAN YOU GIVE UP KNOWING?
The symptoms of dementia or a stroke. I’d like to give up knowing how to do these writing exercises.
TELL ME ABOUT A TIME YOU’VE BEEN ALONE
This is not meant to sound pathetic, but the truth is, I spend most of my time alone.
TELL ME ABOUT THE LAST TIME YOU SAW SOMEONE
The last time I saw my mother? My sister, Karen? My friend, Gwendolyn? My cat, Isaac? Adrienne’s dog, Huckleberry? Sidney the 15-year-old golden lab who I give biscuits to down on Ridge Road whose owner I saw assisting in the backyard, holding up her back legs, helping her through the back door on Monday?
TELL ME ABOUT A TIME WHEN YOU WERE INSTANTLY ENAMORED
July 1986. The movie, “Aliens.” I was instantly enamored and obsessed. Sigourney Weaver. Ripley. Ripley saves the little girl, Newt, from the big, terrible Mother Alien. The Good Mother vs. The Bad Mother fight it out and the Good Mother wins.
WHAT DO YOU NO LONGER HAVE?
This will be painful. Painful as in sad or as in irritating like a pain in the ass? Let’s go with sad. I no longer have estrogen which means I will never have kids though I’m not certain pregnancy has anything to do with estrogen. Well, let’s just continue to go there, okay? Go there, Sharon. GO THERE. Just write the fucking truth: I no longer have big dreams.
The writing topic, “Tell me about a time you were instantly enamored,” inspired the post I published last week about turning 66 years old.
Key to writing practice, according to Natalie Goldberg, is reading your practices out loud to someone who provides NO feedback on the quality of your writing. That person provides only “recall,” i.e., details that stand out, etc.
Adrienne has listened to my writing exercises. Beth and I try to FaceTime regularly to read particular exercises to each other. Beth also signed up for Natalie’s current on-line writing course. It was, in fact, at one of Natalie’s year-long writing intensives in Taos, New Mexico that I first met Beth. We sat next to each other in the zendo; Beth to the right of me, Gwendolyn to the left.
June 23rd will mark the eighth anniversary of Gwendolyn’s death from aggressive ovarian cancer. Damn, that girl could write about Mother Nature like no beloved I’ve ever known.
Your stunning honesty in just your first lines is stunning. Keep going! I look forward to our continued reading sessions.
Sorry for the use of stunning twice in one sentence. I should have had a cup of coffee BEFORE commenting!
Beth, your use of the adjective, “stunning,” is stunning. I’m just stunned by it.
High school humor aside, thanks for reading these first lines. I didn’t think anyone would describe them as honest (no less “stunning”), but I guess they are. It’s hard to be objective about them, but if I were a third-party observer, I’d describe them as intriguing, dark and troubled. But is that “monkey mind”?
I was struck by your “thereness” in these opening lines. Such honesty. Such presence. Maybe every sentence you (or anyone else, for that matter) write(s) should be thought of as a “first sentence.” These are so alive!
Thank you, Carol. I guess I don’t see that “aliveness,” but appreciate your feedback because there ain’t an ounce of b.s. in you.
When I was walking today, I thought about looking at a couple of these first lines and then posting what the last lines ending up being. Hmmmmmm.
I think what I’m calling “thereness” has something to do with the “stunning honesty” noted by Beth.
I love this exercise. I wish I could figure out to incorporate this into counseling.
Sorry to be late to the party. I agree with Carol about your “thereness”–in your writing as well as in person. So glad you and Beth are teaming up in these writing exercises. I want to give you the eyes of your beloveds with which to see yourself. You are stunning and there and fabulous.