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?