Another Ma Said

It's been years since we've been to CA for Thanksgiving. This year may be the year. After all, fuck all this cold weather in advance! We're going.

Now to sort out who. Me and Jude. Me, Dada, and Jude. Me, Too Cute Face and Jude. Me, Too Cute Face, Dada, and Jude?

And when. Shit, may as well go the entire week since we're paying and flying. Make it a whole week. Why not? It'll be five deep in snow here by then!

So  I call Ma. "Guess what, Ma? I think we'll come Sunday to Sunday! Isn't that great?"

"WHY SO LONG?!!!!"

"I DON'T THINK I CAN STAND TO HAVE THAT MANY ADULTS IN THE HOUSE."

We're going.

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Do You Dare?

Last week in Wednesday Writers, one of my longtime deeply awesome, majestically brilliant (and creative! unfair!) students was leading us through our first writing exercise, "I forgot to write about..." and off and writing went we.

As always, the mixture of story and sentiment was take-your-breath-away-and-knock-you-over. Some of us wrote about our fathers, some of us went to the country. Some of us wrote about not remembering what we did this morning, let alone what we forgot to write about. 

We had no idea where it would go when we started writing, but we had faith that it would go somewhere if we just stayed with it. If we lingered long enough. We knew it would go here and go there and then at some point, something would catch like wildfire and the pen would go burning up the page. 

This is a type of Intuitive Writing Prompt that is more open ended and less topic focused than the ones I often send out about a specific topic, theme, or memory. For example, last week's prompt was write about something retro, which might bring you back to your record collection or dancing beside the jukebox or wearing saddle shoes or... it may have got you thinking about the word itself, inviting more of an analysis or rant. 

The Intuitive Writing prompt, while more open, has a more rhythmic flow, more about process than product (though I'd argue most writing is process first, product later) and will ultimately open up a dozen or more prompts easily as you write. A few others (among the infinite) like it are: 


What I really want to tell you ...
I remember...
And the truth is...
By the way...


At the end of our sharing one of the students remarked on what a great prompt it was and complimented our leader du jour, to which she said "well it was just like something Rox had done before..." 

Well... yes and no. I may have done something like it. But not exactly it.  Something like "I don't want to forget to write about..." which is close, but not the same.  The thing is that every prompt, even ones that are similar, will entirely make a difference in what comes out. There is a certain pitch, tone, rhythm we all respond to, resonate with perfectly—perhaps developed in the womb or shortly thereafter—that will provide an opening when we dive into Intuitive Writing. It's like a melody or song, poem, language  or any other thing we latch more easily onto than others. Of course any prompt will and can ultimately get you to your hot spot, your writing prana, your word chi, your writing ju ju, your...

Once you have been writing a while, you begin thinking in prompts. You begin to realize that everything is a prompt. Any word, phrase, song... Anything you see, hear, taste, smell, touch and linger in will invite something. You may think "oh, no, I have nothing to say or think about tofu!" But that is just your head getting in the way of the best poem or memoir or whatever you are about to write. Go ahead try it: Tofu.

So what's this about "do you dare?" Do you dare go deeper, that is. In writing. In your life. What does that look like? Mostly allowing yourself to explore and open to your vulnerability on and off the page so you give live and write more freely because what are you waiting for? 

A few Intuitive Writing Prompts, going deeper into vulnerability are:


I'm afraid to write about...
I'll never write about...
If only I could write about...
I've never told anyone this, but..
I'm waiting for...


If you want more on that I still have a few openings in my Wednesday Writing Vulnerably class which meets monthly, beginning this Weds at 9:30-noon. Let me know asap if you want in!



In the meantime, Write with Me? "I forgot to write about..."



Thanks beautiful student and friend of mine for this inspiration. You know who you are. xoxoxo

Writing with Rox WEEKLY— RETRO Weekend

Yesterday TCF and I went to Cheapo (remember?) and looked at Compact Disks (remember those?). Wow, what a flashback. When I moved here in 2001, to the heart of Uptown, I wondered what that huge yellow and red place was; Ma and I speculated it was some sort of discount clothing store akin to the ones we have in LA.  Little did I know I would spend countless afternoons click clacking my way through the "new arrivals," looking for anything Thievery Corporation, Afro Celt, Peter Gabrielle, and anything 80s. Those were the days when eighties dancing was still easy to find, before texting, where people made eye contact more, Orr Books,  before Facebook, before...

"What a retro weekend we are having!" I sang joyfully, nostalgically, as we walked the quaint sunny streets of St Paul, Moby CD and (the original) Bad News Bears movie in hand. "Aren't we? A retro weekend!"

"Yes, honey," TCF agrees with a wide sunny smile; retro pace is his pace. "What else was retro, though?" 

Here, I know TCF won't mind me disclosing that he still uses a record player, owns no microwave, becomes excited upon purchasing new kitchen tools like a dish-wand, and only recently bought a cell phone. He embodies classic retro and wears it well, inside and out. This is a man who appreciates watching the sparrows swarm the feeder, proudly proclaiming, "I could easily make an entire day of that!"

Still, he has a point.  What is retro anyway? My bff Paula in Austin just told me that I'm the only who actually listens to and leaves voice mail. Is that true? Is voice mail now retro? I suppose if The Smiths are now in the Classic Rock section at Cheapo, then voice mail (never mind answering machines) are definitely a retro possibility (retrobility?) 

Lately Jude and I have been doing Mad libs. Is that retro? Or is retro more of a psychology, an appreciation for watching the birds, lingering in the groove of the moment, no matter what the record player or boom box or player piano or campfire singers are playing?



Write with me? What retro activity have you been up to lately? What the heck is retro anyway? 

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—What We Learn When We Linger

 Aside from the cabin bauble, one of the simple pleasures I get when staying a few days at these darling, lakeside mini doll houses is reading the little guest books. In ways I am not proud of,  I enjoy that it's a little like reality TV or Facebook (neither in which I partake) in that you get to eavesdrop on other couples' lives, get a sense of them as people, and read about all the great fantastic things around town and in the cabin they are doing, while feeling superior or inferior in comparison. 

Typically the entries can be a bit low key, rote, even a bit boring, but this latest one in Grand Marais, where I spent Labor Day Weekend, made for much livelier reading: individuals heeding the call to consciousness on this beautiful shore, couples going deep into their feelings, often writing love letters to one another within the pages, honoring the peaceful, romantic respite on Lake Superior with the man/woman of their dreams. In particular, there was this one couple who had been coming for 5 years in a row, writing faithfully of their renewed love and commitment to one another. Their story began on the page at Cabin # 9 in 2008, only a few months into their relationship, both of them swimming in those early months of love and lust. 

"Typical," I said, "the bliss of early love. Enjoy it while it lasts...Of course, we're kind of like that... aren't we?" 

And it did last. Despite my skepticism, I'd hope it would last; how could I not? And it lasted another year. As I turned the pages, I found the second entry from each of them, a year later, doting on one another, having endured a tough year, but staying strong in their commitment. "Well surely, it can't stay this lovey-dovey," I said, eagerly turning the pages to see if there was more. There was. Five years worth. Sure, there were challenges to the relationship. There were kids and divorces involved. There was lack of support. But they stayed strong in their love to one another. "Shit," I told TCF, "they gotta make a memoir out of this book!"

And as we read more of this couple on the page, as we lingered with them, we grew to love them, attach to them. We began to root for them, perhaps even see ourselves in them as the protagonists we aspire to. Perhaps unconsciously we wished our relationship was more like theirs; on the ride home TCF compared me to the female "character" in the book because unlike her, I wanted to run around and hike and bike too much, whereas (I'll call her) Kathryn, simply wanted to lounge around all day and just be together with her lover. "Oh that's great," I stormed, "you're comparing me to a fictional character?"


If you've written with me before, you've likely heard me say "linger" enough times to know it is a very important part of writing. The first time I heard the term linger was from my reader at the U of M, Charles Baxter, who upon reading my memoir, suggested I take the time to linger longer in certain scenes. Let us really be here. Let us see this. Take your time. 

"Linger" is a term I have integrated and morphed into its own animal around here, borrowing from my own experience as a writer and teacher, as well as my life teachers, naming a few—yoga, chanting (both lingering in action), and my bible, A General Theory of Love. My point is everything Charles said, with the added twist of "stay here on the page as long as you can, and then some more, even when you think you can't," especially during process or healing writing. 

Why? Why linger? Well, there's the first answer: because it makes you a better, deeper writer, filling in the human details of the moment that we can all relate to. So we can care about you and your characters, fictional or otherwise. Because if we don't care about you and love you on the page, why do we want to see what happens next?

The less obvious reason is because you can. What you do in writing, on the page, especially if it feels hard, is an opening. A gift waiting to be discovered if you can stay here long enough, have faith in the process, without having to know where you are going. Taking some time to stop listening to your mind with it's typical defenses, telling you to stop, or why bother or this is going nowhere. If you linger long enough on the page, you begin to linger off the page. You start to love and care and accept yourself and whatever else you are lingering with just as you (they) are.  The grooves get deeper.

Though I'm an old pro (ha), I forget this on a daily basis. At the end of the trip to Grand Marais, as I was about to drive off,  I realized I neglected to write in the guest book. Inspired by one man who had written in the book about risking a late check out in order to write his thoughts, I was called to task, one I typically enjoy greatly, but was oddly not up for in the moment. Still, rushing out, I wrote a few lines about a great hike, thanked the owners, before heading down to the shore for one last moment with the great Lake. As I sat on the warm rocks and contemplated the trip, slowly  releasing one-by-one the rocks I had gathered back to Mother Superior, I considered how blocked I'd been in writing in that little book.  Then I remembered how heartfelt and truthful everyone was in writing in that book. I realized I was blocked because I had not written my truth. 

Seriously? Doesn't my brochure say something like, er, "Write Your Truth" on the cover? What kind of teacher am I? What kind of writer? Of course, "write your truth" does not necessarily mean only when you feel like it or all of the time; it just means if you are feeling blocked on the page, you are likely not writing your truth.

Risking late check out, once again, I returned to the little cabin and to the little guest book and I wrote the truth. The truth that it had not been the perfect vacation. That even in this breathtakingly beautiful place, ideal for a romantic getaway, it had its ups and downs. I mean, it was dreamy. It was relaxing. TCF and I laughed and played and lingered in the bliss of the moment, fleeting as it was. But it had its ups and downs. It certainly was not romantic in the way of Kathryn and Bob. Not really. 

But didn't I have to linger with that too? 

And I did. 

And we'll last.



Write with me?
Linger in your ideal place? Your challenging place? 
Where you don't want to linger? On and off the page?
Guest books? Cabins?