WWRweekly—Found Sweetness

The following is a "found poem" or "collage poem" from a bunch of my students who responded so kindly via email to my having to cancel classes aaaall of last week... 

What's a collage poem? Shucks, you just take a bunch of random words and make some chop suey ninja word salad. Think Magnetic Poetry, only you find the words. Where do you find them? Anywhere! Nature. The paper. Any paper. And don't stop at words. Grammar, puncture-ation, space on the page. And goodness me, don't stop at poetry! Try your next memoir in found-verse if you'd like! Fiction? Sure! Emoticons? I dont' see why not! Work with your own rhythm and writing voice while conveying the pulse/heart of the piece (if there is one!)  In the following "found poem," my intent is pretty clear, but sometimes the intent is just to be wild fire on the page or... anything youd' like on the page for that matter...

Enjoy! and then go write your own. 



What My Students Said When I Had to Cancel Class Because of Walking Pneumonia  

Rest easy Rox.  
That means nap as much as you can. 
Let go, 
           Let God. 
      Have a nappy down day with your 'banky'. 
      Don't try to push through unless you have extra energy.  

Words of experience from my body: 

Rest....most important thing.... 

I had it in July. 

you poor thing, just take care of you.  If you were one of us you would say heal and then write about it later.  This is dangerous stuff and you have to kick it.  We can meet next week.  

Rest....most important thing.... 

I had it in July. 

I don't think I'm afraid of contagion but I've had this stuff and you will be weak for a while.  I say take another Friday off so you'll be able to have class and group next week. 

I am sorry you have walking pneumonia. That sounds rough. 

I had it in July.

Rest....most important thing.... 

I had it in July. 

I had it in July.

Honey, I cannot believe you are sick again.  What's going on?  I will call you today (Friday). 

Rest....most important thing.... 

I had it in July. 

So sorry to you're not feeling well, Rox.  

Feel better soon!  

Healing thoughts heading your way

Oh no!  

    

       Will go outside right now with the stars and the moon and face west and slightly south and send some light and love.  

Feel better soon.

Yuck.

Oh no!

I hope you feel well soon! 

        

     I'm sending positive healing energy your way

Oh no! 

Sorry to hear that, Roxy. 
eew! 

Oh no!

Rest well

and feel better soon.

Love you!

Love and chicken soup

and feel better soon

Rest Well.

Well Rest.

Well.... Rest.

and feel better soon.

and feel better soon.

and better feel soon.

and soon better feel.

and better soon better

and soon better soon.

Love       Love     

     Love            love        

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY (Good) News

Well...so... the not-so-good news is that I have walking pneumonia (but the good news is I am actually doing MUCH better now, but was wiped out for an ENTIRE week! Thank you all for your patience!) The other good news is I made it home safe and sound from Madeline Island! What an adventure! Stories to come! I am most grateful to the amazing, amazing, students who joined me along with my wonderfully huge-hearted mindfulness guide and co-faciltator Tom Glaser.  As always, I was humbled, awakened, electrified with emotion, yoga, laughter, and the ever-giving moment. 

Also, I am happy to introduce WRITE LOVE NOW, my first online class. Want more love in your life? For your life? For your writing? For yourself? For your (Jewish) mother? Grow the love, linger in the love week-by week and see how "if you write it, it will come!" Call or e me for more information: rox@writingwithrox.com    612-703-4321  

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY (Happy) Announcements

I need an intern! Free classes/retreats/etc, great experience!

 rox@writingwithrox.com

Want to write but not ready to come to a class?   

You can take any of my classes online! Inquire within! rox@writingwithrox.com  

AND/OR 

Also, I am happy to introduce WRITE LOVE NOW, my first online class. Want more love in your life? For your life? For your writing? For yourself? For your (Jewish) mother? Grow the love, linger in the love week-by week and see how "if you write it, it will come!" Call or e me for more information: rox@writingwithrox.com    612-703-4321  

UPCOMING 

Intuitive Writing 12 week class series

begins NEXT THURSDAY October 3, 2013

@The Loft Literary Center   Register soon! Fills fast!

New! Fourth Annual Fall Women's Writing Retreat 

On the lake in Spicer, MN!

Friday October 25-27, 2013 

Noon Friday-1 pm Sunday    Call for details!  

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY Woo-Woo Writing Wisdom...

Save your emails. You never know when they'll turn into poetry. "Found E- Poems" make excellent cards/gifts...............We'll be doing lots of FOUND writing in my INTUITIVE WRITING class at the Loft by the way...find me there! ♥

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WRITING with ROX weekly—What IS LOVE?

Saturday night just as me, Two Cute Face, and Gentle Ben were wrapping up a night of cosmic chanting, my phone started buzzing across the kitchen counter. "This is it, Guys!" I said, running for the phone, swiping it to answer just in time. "Here he is!" 

It was a little after midnight, our time. We gathered around the phone and listened hard, squinting to hear. Between the static, our Hind-Jew Hero, Krishna Das, surged through in waves, pulsing among ripples of Bhakti-fest folk chanting, cheering, blissing, all the way from Joshua Tree, California. Though we could hardly make out the chant, Ma had kept her promise. Shortly after KD took the stage, she dialed me up and held the mouth of her phone wide open to catch the Bhav and send it my way.

Love is your best friend sending
 you a text of your Hind-Jew
hero chilling out that says
"Krishna Das watching kirtan"

What a difference a year makes. Last July I wrote an article for the Edge about attending my first Bhakti-Fest and how great it was, despite my tete-a-tete with Krishna Das. I also wrote about how hard it would ever be to describe something like Bhakti-Fest to Ma, someone I feared was swept under by the LA tides of irony and image, lost at shallow sea. I also wrote of hope, hope that someday Ma might give Bhakti a try. I wrote how if it "worked" for me, it could work for anyone.  So I began to nudge her in that direction, sometimes a bit too firmly, including forcing her to attend a Bhagavan Das kirtan with me while I was visiting her last summer. Three and a half straight hours of prana packed into a smallish LA yoga studio may have been my idea of nirvana, but Ma looked like her chakras were backing up big time. Sadly, I thought I'd lost her.

"It seems like you and your Ma are on the healing path," my best friend said, after Ma had handed her the phone Saturday night. It was going on 1 am our time, yet it was so hard to hang up; I hadn't talked to either of them for a long time. Ma and the best friend go way back, since junior high. We've taken many a trip together over the years so them going to a music festival together was perfectly natural. The best friend also knows the relationship with Ma has not been easy. She's been along for the ride for 30 years.

"Yeah," I said, "we'll see...." KD rose up through the static. "Are you enjoying Krishna Das?"

"He's sweet," she said. 

"See? Told you!" What a difference a year makes. "Glad you're with Ma," I said. "I am definitely letting the love for her flow. Grief, bliss, all of it... most days anyway." 

"Tell me about it," she said. The best friend knows. She too, has a Jewish mother.

I told her a little bit about how when Ma left town a few months ago after visiting for 2 weeks, I allowed myself to cry when she drove off for the airport with her hundreds of bags. I told her it had been "for as long as I could remember" since I'd allowed myself to express that sadness. To bear my tears not just to the world on a busy corner, but to Ma. To Jude. To myself.  Holding Jude in my arms, we watched her swerve down Xerxes until she was out of sight. There was no use denying it any longer.  "It's sad when someone you love leaves, isn't it, Jude?" 

"Yeah," Jude said small-ly, "it sure is." We walked back up the Beach in silence.

Suddenly it occurred to me it didn't matter how it looked or what it meant or who reciprocated. It was my love and my love to do with as I pleased. It was my right to feel the entire spectrum of love, regardless of outcome. It's alright to cry...

After several years of very little contact with Ma, a memoir, a marriage, a child, another graduate degree, a lot of yoga, etc, I began to realize, to admit, to allow— despite the past—my love. Though I didn't want to admit it or believe it for many years, I love Ma. I'd only been hurting myself by fighting it. 

"It's a long slow process," I told the best friend, "just like chanting. Just like writing and lingering."

The best friend listened with love. I could hear it in her "mmmmhmmmmm..."

It goes a long way, love. Over time, I've started to see it more and more.  Love is Ma holding the phone wide open for me to hear Krishna Das live. Love is the best friend listening to me talk about Ma. Love is Too Cute Face texting me a reminder this morning to take some me time, to be gentle with myself. Love is Gentle Ben picking up an onion on the way over because I forgot to buy one for the Ratatouille. And love is crying unexpectedly because you hear a Judy Collins song and suddenly miss your dad. Love is the water waiting for me in my glass. And love is my body intuitively knowing how to drink it and how to let go the tears that I'm finally ready to run free and release back into the thirsting earth.

What else is LOVE?

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY (Good) News

Dear Men, Thank you for the awesome first night! I was blown away. I loved writing with you and look forward to our next write.  Interested? Still have space for one more! For info about the monthly group, go here: MENS Writing Group

Also, I am happy to introduce WRITE LOVE NOW, my first online class. Want more love in your life? For your life? For your writing? For yourself? For your (Jewish) mother? Grow the love, linger in the love week-by week and see how "if you write it, it will come!" Call or e me for more information: rox@writingwithrox.com    612-703-4321

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY (Happy) Announcements

I need an intern! Free classes/retreats/etc, great experience!

 rox@writingwithrox.com

Want to write but not ready to come to a class?   Online Class coming soon! Inquire within! rox@writingwithrox.com

We still have openings in our Madeline Island Retreat. If you haven't yet had a vacation or it's been a really long time, join us for a 5-day blissful writing and meditation/mindfulness retreat!

UPCOMING 

Intuitive Writing 12 week class series

begins THURSDAY September 26, 2013

@The Loft Literary Center   Register soon! Fills fast!

New! Fourth Annual Fall Women's Writing Retreat 

On the lake in Spicer, MN!

Friday October 25-27, 2013 

Noon Friday-1 pm Sunday    Call for details!  

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY Woo-Woo Writing Wisdom...

Show us. Show us what love looks like. Let us be there with you, in love. There's no need to rush. Take your time. Writing allows us to see your world, to take us on a journey with you, to be there with you, to love and be loved with you. Show us the love!...............♥

          ♥

                                               ♥                   ♥                                                 ♥

WRITING WITH ROX weekly—DEAR MEN...

Lookie! My ten seconds—well, 30 days—of fame! 
There's still time to check out my display 
at Magers and Quinn Booksellers in Uptown 
and to purchase these amazing amazing books!

Moments of Fame List Poem

In first grade channel 11 came to my classroom and interviewed my school about our TV watching  habits. I was chosen and highlighted on TV later that night because I watched the most TV, 

beginning at 7 am with Flipper. I had a missing front tooth.

My first husband and I started a swing dance culture magazine in Seattle, WA called Swaank (notice the double a so as not to be confused with the other Swank) which got us some local attention and headline of some south of Seattle suburban newspaper variety section. My platinum haircut was very short as was my polka-dot dress.

I wrote and performed a spoof of Matchmaker Matchmake Make Me a Match onstage 

at the U of M for a love poem contest hosted and judged by

Garrison Keillor. His awesome piano player accompanied me will I sang "MacIntosh MacIntosh Download Me a Date..." I did not win. I did not even come close to winning. I think I was comic relief to the somber heartbroken love poems that came before and after me.

I was an extra on some movie I never saw, but I had to walk behind two people talking in the desert.

I took a singing Improv class at the Improv along with Deryl Hannah and Jan Brady. Although it wasn't filmed or broadcasted, just telling the story made me famous in smaller, less glamorous circles.

WHAT IS YOUR MOMENT(S) OF FAME STORY/LIST POEM?

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY (Good) News

Dear Men, Wonder what the women are up to?
Come see at my NEW monthly MENS Writing Group, starting this Thursday evening at 6:30 pm! I've got a great group of men so far and have room for 2-3 more. Would love to have you write with us, Men! Starts TOMORROW!

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY (Happy) Announcements

I need an intern! Free classes/retreats/etc, great experience!

 rox@writingwithrox.com

Want to write but not ready to come to a class?   Online Class coming soon! Inquire within! rox@writingwithrox.com

We still have openings in our Madeline Island Retreat. If you haven't yet had a vacation or it's been a really long time, join us for a 5-day blissful writing and meditation/mindfulness retreat!

UPCOMING 

Intuitive Writing 12 week class series

begins THURSDAY September 26, 2013

@The Loft Literary Center   Register soon! Fills fast!

New! Fourth Annual Fall Women's Writing Retreat 

On the lake in Spicer, MN!

Friday October 25-27, 2013 

Noon Friday-1 pm Sunday    Call for details!  

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY Woo-Woo Writing Wisdom...

Linger. Don't forget to linger. Stay here in this moment just a little longer. Let us really see it, feel it, want it. Take your time. See what awakens when you linger................♥

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Writing with Rox WEEKLY—The Funnest Prompt that Will Change Your Life!

When I was at the U of M getting my MFA in creative nonfiction/memoir, while I wasn't faking my way through (creatively) teaching Shakespeare, I taught undergraduate creative writing. One of the assignments I always gave was the "do something different and then write about it" story. Different? Oh, nothing big. Take a  new route home... Drop in to a hip-hop class. Call someone you haven't called in a while. Talk to a stranger. The idea was to shake it up, get out of your comfort zone. Why? Because it creates suspense/conflict/aliveness, which of course mirrors plot in any piece of writing—fiction, poetry, memoir, etc.

Once the students got over thinking I was crazy (well, most of them, anyway), they came up with some amazing stories. Some very pretty brave. Some were downright insane. One guy passed out dollar bills in Uptown on a Friday night. Another attended a Shamanic ritual. One gave up talking for a day and somehow accidentally (really) ended up on a porn site in a bank of public computers while students inline behind him exchanged looks. He wanted to "explain," but kept his vow of silence. That was a story.

In every story, for every "new" thing or non-thing the students tried, the wonderful unexpected happened, which of course led to change and growth, not to mention made for an awesome story.

That was ten years ago. Since then I've realized this assignment is also great for living life as well, a fantastic antidote to depression, not to mention. Keeping things fresh keeps us present, out of autopilot. I think this is especially important right now since so many of us can get caught up in everything but here and now, which can make us feel crazy, detached, or half-alive. When we give ourselves permission to be brave and do something different or new, we are forced into new energy, where life is unknown, unpredictable.  Of course it still makes for amazing writing. Deeply moving, funny, insightful writing that we can all relate to. Also inspires others to try new things.

So, go out and do something different. Anything. See what happens. And then write about it. You'll be amazed and what unexpectedly unfolds.

Writing with Rox Weekly—Yipeeeeee Skipeeeeeeeeeeee!

Guess what? Good news!  
There's good news.
Then there's really good news.
Then there's the news all around us every day that is good but we seldom recognize it as good because we don't see it or we take it for granted.
Then there's dreams coming true. I've had those. Have you? Have you written about them? It feels really beautifully good wonderfully wow when you do. It's like reliving them. Writing is like time travel.

Which of your wildest dreams have come (are coming) true?
Please share! We hunger to hear!



As to my good news (and yours too)...

Madeline Island is a go! Hooray!
        o
 !!!!\||/!!!            (That's me doing the happy dance!)
   __/ \__
Thanks to everyone for all your support and good wishes and spreading the word. So grateful to you all. And, the good news is also that now you have another week or so to register if you are still waffling... (If you need convincing, call me!)  Come live the dream on the Island of Madeline! (or wherever you and your dreams may be and take you).

And, if you want a preview, join me at 7 pm tonight for a Free workshop at Magers and Quinn in Uptown on Writing and Mindfulness!

WWRwp—The Hoard on the Rock

among the collection of "what is this?" at House on the Rock

I've seen a lot of bizarre in my life, no doubt about that. I've done my share of weird so I've got nothing against weird or eccentric, or "interesting." I've even done my share of weird for weird sake. However,
until this past weekend in the quaint hilly Uplands of Wisconsin's Spring Green, I experienced a new kind of bizarre, as though my entire dreaming history—including the nightmares, sublimes, the flying and the falling, not to mention all the ones I forgot—were externalized and projected into the space of a gargantuan museum.

So what happens when The Twilight Zone meets Willy Wonka meets Wizard of Oz meets Jimmi Hendrix meets that universal sequence of dreams we all have where we go from room to room opening doors into strange and frightening and surreal rooms and mazes where hallways wind and wend and never get you where you want to go or think you want to go or even imagine you could be going? House on the Rock happens, is what. Been there? Well then you know what I'm saying.

Not been there, but heard of it? What you've heard can't begin to touch the reality.  Planning to go, but have no idea what to expect? And how! It's best that way. If you knew the whole of it, you might not go. Nothing I read or viewed online prepared me, which is what most folks say about it when they come out of the Three (very different, each) Part Tour, not unlike, come to think of it, Gilligan's famous "Three Hour Tour... a three hour tour...."     As Dada, Jude, and I reached the end of our surreal tolerance, we were desperately looking for a way out of there, hungry for something "real life" to engage with. It was as though we'd been inside one large music box that went on and on and on without end.

"What was that?" we adults puzzled over for the next few days, for surely we had to remind ourselves it was the most bizarre thing we'd even seen, excepting Jude of course who found it more or less normal.  "Where were we again?" we asked. "What was that supposed to be? Was this guy some kind of hoarder?" I think it took me daring the Howling Tornado ride at the Dells Great Wolf Lodge to shock the House on the Rock trip out of my system. I'm still coming down from that one.

Want to go, but haven't gotten there? Definitely go. Ignore all warnings and remember that bizarro is good for you. At the very least, go and tell me what happened. Not only that, but if you only listen to the stories about how weird or "creepy" (for shame!) this place is, you'll never get to witness the extreme beauty and miracle of the place. After all, it begins with a beautiful sprawling lotus garden and ascends into a cozy circuit of little rooms with gongs and lounge chairs and low ceilings with birch still growing, all built into this enormous, well, rock. Mid-tour I stopped in my tracks and said to Dada, "Oh, I get it! Literally, it's a House built on a Rock." Dada rolled his eyes. He had to explain a lot, especially about the giant octopus eating the whale, though he was stumped by him about the creepy doll carousel. Still, still, still. Don't let that stop you. If it does, you'll never get to see how the generosity and creativity (possibly "madness", but so what?) of one man's passion, heart, love grew began with a vision and how he honored that vision and created a dream. Disneyland's got nothing on this place. I give it 5 stars.

So...What does this have to do with writing? Sharing stories about the odd, unusual, confusing, eccentric, etc is always validating. Not only a good laugh, deeply satisfying, perhaps even our modern version of Ghost Stories! Also, looking at the details of the same place from different eyes is mind blowing. We all see different things, remember different things. And and and... endorsing or shining light on the "positive" aspects of any given majority ruling "creepy" or odd, counterculture thing/person/etc is crucial to any story/writing, etc as it shows empathy, etc.

So... What is the most bizarre/weird/eccentric tourist attraction or otherwise you have visited? And/or, what is your version of House on the Rock? 

Writing with Rox weekly prompt—Your voice of innocence

Yesterday was not a good day. I was scattered, having a fibro flare up which always brings my mood way down. I was trying to remember too much and accomplish too much that I had no desire to accomplish. I had emails to answer, bills to pay, complicated things to do online, and I had four to-do lists going at once, envelopes scattered around the table with old notes scribbled, asterisked and circled that I could not decode for the life of me.

Everything I began took  much longer than I anticipated (why does booking a dental appointment take 20 minutes?), so most of it was left only half done. On top of all that I had to skip yoga and on top of all that Jude kept poking at my tummy and saying "squishy, fatty, squishy..." and trying to gather enough of it in his hands to grab hold and suspend himself midair. By the time Jude and I set out for our afternoon adventure, it was 6:30 pm. We settled for Dairy Queen and a short bike ride to the creek.

"I'm just going to accept the fact that I will never feel better," I told Too Cute Face later that night on the phone, as though exaggerating the truth would make someone pay attention and make me feel better this instant. My therapist calls this my "little kid" side.

"Just be gentle with yourself, honey," says TCF, the way he always says it, the way he always reminds me that getting down on myself about not feeling well won't help one bit.

But I'm not having it. Not tonight.

"Why should I be nice to myself? What's the point? My-self is not being very nice to me."

 "Honey..."

I oughta be bored with this by now—giving into this little kid part of me—but I want something from it, something I can't quite figure out, and I'm going to go and go until I get that very unknown thing. Besides, this way I can delay being in the present moment and feeling what I need to feel: pain.

Why is it sometimes so hard to simply cut to the chase? All I have to do is say, "My body hurts. I feel sad and overwhelmed right now" and then just feel it. It's a heck of a lot easier than "life is too hard and I can't do this and Medica is out to get me and my entire world," which I know, even as I say it, isn't one bit true. I mean, I get it. I get I am being little and throwing my mindfulness out the window so I can indulge an old story...  an old personal mythology...

It doesn't help that Too Cute Face thinks it's cute (most of the time). Admittedly, my little self can be endearing, but I wouldn't want to stay there too long: been there, done that.  And actually, it helps a lot that he thinks she's cute. It means I can learn to see her differently and decode what she really needs behind all that frustrated little kid pain. And, I don't need to take her littleness too seriously. It doesn't have to mean anything. Feeling sad/pain is part of life. You feel it, you move on. But first you feel it. And then you feel the next thing. And you talk about it (or write about it, etc). Mindfulness 101. So, how and why do I forget this?

Perhaps what I've wanted all along from acting out this "little kid" side of myself is my full adult attention. My adult side/self as witness. I figure some little kid part of me did not get enough of fill-in-the-blanks undivided attention and so she is still trying to do so "out there." Ding! Ding! Ding! Helloooooo in there... is anyone listening? 

Well! Go figure that: And now, my voice of experience reflects on my voice of innocence. (Perhaps we'll talk more about that next week).

So, here's to the little kid in all of us. To the little kid in me that says she may as well get used to chronic pain... and to the even littler kid in me that said to my brother/Ma "fine... I'll run away from home if that's what you want," carrying my little red vinyl suitcase to the side door.... To the little kid in Jude that says "just forget about it. Forget about everything. Forget this conversation right now! Don't you even know you're not talking about anything I'm saying?! Listen to me: you sound like me now!"...
To the Little kid in TCF who says "oh so you aren't answering my texts today...?" and to the little kid in Ma who says across the So Cal phone lines, "don't you want me to move there?"

...and to all the little beings alive and well in all adults everywhere who every now and then wonder aloud on an off night— perhaps and because they are feeling a little hungry for a bit of extra attention from their beloveds—and perhaps and because they trust they might this time be loved and heard unconditionally once and for all. Even as the words come out, we know they're all wrong, but somehow we just can't help ourselves:  "Why do you care? Why does anyone care? Nobody really gives a shit. I'm okay. I'm fine. You go on ahead. You have better things to do."


.
What does this have to do with writing?
Empathy, discovering about our truth as humans and allowing for empathy and vulnerability to come alive on the page.

 What does your little kid say? What cute, endearing little kid words come paddling out of your mouth when you are feeling vulnerable?

Writing With Rox weekly prompt—What book MUST I read, do tell...

reading with Rox...

 Hello Readers and Writers!

On August 15th—well shucks, just a month away—I am hosting a free workshop at Magers & Quinn in Uptown (details below).  In preparation for the event, I was asked to list 12 books I use in my workshops, classes, etc and why. I actually did 13, but what can you do? I could have listed a bunch more. Anyway, let me know what you would add to the list!

Writing and Mindfulness 

Thursday, August 15, 7:00pm - Magers & Quinn Booksellers (map)

FREE WORKSHOP! Intuitive Writing for Creativity, Mindfulness, and Happiness

Want to feel more creative, more alive, more present and joyfully awake for the life you are living?

... As I was saying...

On Writing, Stephen King

I can fill pages with why I love this book so much, but what I love most is that it reads just like his novels, full of raw truth, hilarity, deep insight into the human psyche, with no tolerance for bs, (on the page or in life!). And if "you're in it for the money, honey," forget about it! Write because you love to write and nothing else. What I love most about teaching this book is how without fail my students dread reading this and then say, "Oh my God! I had no idea he was such a good writer!"

The Power of Memoir: How to Write your Healing Story, Linda Joy Myers

So you want to write a memoir, eh?  Great! Everyone is a writer, everyone has a voice... Writing your true story heals, etc.  So yes, write and write and write. Cathart, cathart, cathart! AND...before you publish (or even share with loved ones), you might want to check your intention: Am I writing this to get back at someone? To get rich? To help others get through a hard time? Your intention will come through much louder than the words.

Fearless Confessions, Sue William Silverman

Write your truth. Period. It's just writing. It's not nearly as bad or shameful as you think. And even if it is, can you accept this already? If you are afraid to write your truth and meet yourself on the page, reveal your truth and see yourself for who you are, what kind of life are you living anyway? Just write it. Worry about who it might hurt later when you start editing. But enough with secrets already.

Junk English, Ken Smith

Like Orwell's "Politics and The English Language," only a little easier to swallow. Not because "Junk English" makes light of a very serious epidemic that is currently making us all automatons, but because it's so frightening, it can't help but read like satire.  

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller

A bit shmaltzy, but a great memoir within a memoir about how to write a memoir.

Angela's Ashes, Frank McCourt

One of the first memoirs of our time, and as far as I'm concerned, if it was the only one ever written it would do the genre justice. I find that a true memoir makes all characters lovable, no matter what wrong they've done. Only through the eyes of a child is such love so deeply conveyed. 

She Got Up Off the Couch, Haven Kimmel

It doesn't matter if you've never heard of her and the title is dumb; just read it. 

The Gift: Poems by Hafiz

A constant reminder that ever since the beginning of time—well, since 1325 anyway—love is the only thing worth writing about and fighting for. Today, this truth is stronger than ever before.

Dharma Punx, Noah Levine

I wish Id've read this when I was a kid. 

Hurry Down Sunshine: A Father's Story of Love and Madness, Michael Greenberg

An amazingly well crafted, deeply feeling, no-victims-here memoir that shows us why love is a verb, not just a feeling.

Devotion, Dani Shapiro

I still want to write my version of the young Bu-Jew/HindJew yogi who finally sees the light and discovers it isn't nearly as enlightening as we think it will be, yet a billion rays deeper. If I never get around to it, this is the one Id've written.

Are You My Mother? Alison Bechdel

I'm not sure if I like this because of my own mother issues or because I'm a therapist who tithes to attachment theory. In any case, just shows to go ya that memoir can take any form and boy is that liberating! What's next? Texting: the Digital Memoir?   :) 

A General Theory of Love, Thomas Lewis

By far, one of the most crucial books on the planet—for writers, poets, and everyone else. Intense glimpse into our changing neuropathways and where we are headed in our quick fix world if we don't wake up: a future without empathy. What can save us? Relationships. Relationships feed on time. Take the time to linger in the relationships you write about, with all their human charms and flaws. Linger in the human experience of relating before we forget what it means to relate in this cyber civilization of ours.

Writing with Rox weekly prompt—"And what I really want to tell you..."

 I'll never forget the first time I dropped this prompt on a client during a one-on-one session in the summer of 2008. I was struggling a bit with depression but not quite sure what was going on, what the root was. So here I was with this client at Starbucks in St Louis Park, warming up by writing about, I believe, what we feared most in life. 

Typically my one-on-one sessions begin with an intuitive writing warm-up or writing meditation to get out of our heads, see what happens on the page, and then, if we wish, we share.  The prompt was likely "I'm afraid..." and we went from there, listing and free forming about what we fear: planes, centipedes, apathy, etc. For some reason, mid-write, I suggested we begin the next thought with "and what I really want to tell you..." and follow that. 

What came out of my pen and then my mouth to share was quite unexpected. I knew it was true...I just hadn't yet wrapped the words around it. But there in ink, the page was my mirror.  Thereafter my life and my writing life were forever changed.  My client's face reflected this and even though I tried for a quick recovery it was too late. "Oh dear, " he said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms overhead, smugly locking his hands behind his head. "I'm not sure how to respond to that." 

"Let's write," I said and so we wrote again.


I have a handful of prompts I offer when doing Intuitive Writing workshops, groups, individual sessions, etc, which I have been accumulating over the years of doing this. I don't want to say I "channel" them exactly (I'm not quite there, yet), but these prompts just sort of come to me in the middle of a session/class, etc. I've discovered that offering these prompts mid-sentence can change the direction and flow of the writing, serving as a sort of "check in" to the writing process, asking "are you here now? Are you present? Are you writing what you want to be writing?" 

Sometimes a fresh/mindful prompt mid-sentence can bring new life into a piece that seems to be hanging out on the surface, or distracted by being too much in its head,  a bit removed somehow. If you're writing, say, about cheese and you get hung up on what kind of cheese or what country it's from or where to get the really good cheese, you might get stuck because you are thinking too much or trying to get it right. That's when a good intuitive writing prompt might save the day. Intuitive Writing is never about getting it right. Or wrong. It's just about being with what is. But we forget how to be with what is.  A lot of time we are thinking about what was or what's to come. So: be with cheese. Linger with cheese.

For example, the prompt "and what I really want to tell you..." (variations are "what I really want to say;" or "the truth is...", etc). So say you are writing about cheese and trying to describe the perfect cheese from the perfect European country and then you get blocked because you have moved away from your truth and into the land of the head—let's call it Headland. Very quickly you have gone from Heartland to Headland. But if you are suddenly to write "and what I really want to say..." you are free to then say "I really have no idea about cheese and it smells like feet. And the truth is I've never liked cheese. I've tried to like it, for the sake of others, but the whole cheese thing makes me ill, like the time I was forced to eat it but then I tried gouda cheese when I was married to a gay guy and that changed my life and now I like some cheese and not other cheese, but cheese whiz..." etc. 

It won't always create on-the-spot poetry, or life changes, etc, but most of the time it will. For sure it will take you/open you to where you need to be on the page (and in life). The page is your mirror. 

The other thing about this that's so cool is that introducing a fresh prompt mid-sentence is that it also changes the pitch of the writing. We are sonant beings. We are rhythmic beings. The vibrations and waves of sound that we experience internally and externally inform our every move, thought, sensation. So if we introduce a new pitch to a piece of writing, it will naturally invite us to expand where we are, usually deeper into truth. Or maybe just over into truth, but over can be deeper. We are staying with what is on the page, just seeing what more of it there is. What's undercheese, you say? What's deeper than cheese?  Whatever it is, it's infinite. Changing the pitch means any prompt will suffice, say, "and another thing..." or "and what I really, really want to tell you..." etc.

Your Prompt

So try it like this: Start with "and what I really want to say..." and then in the next line say, "and the truth is..." and then try "and what I really want to tell you," and then maybe, "and what I really, really want to tell you..." and so on and on. Intuitive Writing is sort of like one big-ass long-ass run-on sentence. You just keep going, stay with it, and fly... Don't think: write. If you're not writing, you're thinking too much. Go. And then stay exactly where you are.

Another not a prompt, but just because post

Ma is here. She came in last night at 12 from LA. She only slept about 3 hours, she says. I had to send her out to Dunn Bros this morning while I saw a client. Dunn Bros coffee is right across the street. You just cross the street and you are there.

She drove there.

Writing with Rox weekly prompt—What is Intuitive Writing, anyway? (everything I ever needed to know I learned from intuitive writing)

This morning I was doing a little intuitive thinking and started thinking about my MFA program and how I got there... and how I got from there, over the years, to how I got here. And where is here? Happy. Here is happy. 

"Here" is also following this whirlwind intuitive writing path that I've been following now for about ten years. A lot of folks will email or call to ask what is intuitive writing exactly and how does it work? I tell them it's hard to explain, you have to just do it. I tell them it's a practice like any other and the more you do it, the easier it gets and before you know it, it changes your life.  The short answer to how it works is it's hard to explain because I make it up as I go, and because there is so much to it—it's infinite!—yet you begin with just one word. You just start with a word, a line, a memory, a feeling, a moment, and commit to it with love. See where it takes you. You won’t know where it’s going when you do it and if you think about it or try to prethink it, you’ll get stuck. If you just trust that the words know where they need to go and you stick with them, you’ll remember everything you love and then some. 

                                  

                                        THERE

I remember that rainy Seattle day vividly. I was driving to my job in Auburn, a 40 minute commute to misery. On clear days, you could see Mount Reineer and though I couldn’t appreciate it at the time, those commutes made the miserable job worthwhile. Of course it wasn’t the job, the rain, the divorce, the traffic, the clients, etc… it was me. I  was miserable.

I wasn’t doing what I loved. I didn’t like myself very much. So nothing at all was very joyful. I’m not sure I had much clue what I loved, though I knew I loved my cat. And the feeling I got swing dancing and singing camp songs with others and listening to Cake and Leonard Cohen, Eminem, and Sublime. Or following a strand of words across a blank page. Or playing air hockey. And being silly. And thinking about a first kiss somewhere dreamy out in nature or in a seaside city of cobblestone. Romance. I loved that. Or skipping. Or riding my bike in the dark cool summer nights. I loved the night.  Or parties where everyone talked about what was real, spoke from the heart.  Speaking Spanish with natives was cool. Speaking gibberish was a heck of a lot of fun. Admittedly, so were making crank calls. Whatever it was, I recognized this fleeting feeling as "completely alive," in full flow. 

Still... so what? Subconsciously I told myself this was not a "real" way to go through life. It didn’t add up. I didn’t pay attention to these things, give them much credence. They were hardly relevant because, what was I going to do with them?  None of these flashes of feeling fully alive, in my truth, etc, could ever actually make anything. And even if it did, it wouldn’t amount to anything. I tithed to the societal pressures telling me “well, you can’t make a living being silly. You'll never make it as a dancer, writer, etc..."  buying into the same mythology that you did: “So then why bother?” and gave up most of what I loved. Before I could even consider doing or even feeling the flow and excitement of what I loved, I shut it down. Didn’t even think about it. Of course growing up in LA this message came pretty early on. Everyone wanted to be a star and they nearly killed themselves trying. Well, some did. 

Still, even if I did pursue what I loved in any sort of organized outcome-based way, it was all too soon infected and then killed by self-consciousness, external expectations that I internalized for way too long. The love lost its spark. I could feel it in my body; I was out of sync with my authenticity. Of course I was only doing what most of us do, looking for permission to do what I loved, as though I had to pass some sort of test that granted me that right. I don't know if you all got the same message I did, but I grew up believing that only the very special/talented/beautiful/loved get to do what they love, live their truth. The rest of us had to hide who we were, shut ourselves down. And play it safe, get a  "real job."  Oy. What a setup. I took a "real job," lived a "real life." It's just what you do, right? You shut down your life force. And then you wonder why you want to eat so much. Or drink so much. You're only living half a life. So I went through life like that. Half alive.

Sadly, I wasn’t serving myself or God, or the “universe.” What does that mean? What is this "universe" speak? It means, I wish we taught our kids first and foremost to tune into what they love,  what makes them feel most alive and that as long as we do that we are serving self/God/universe best we can. It doesn't matter if we end up writing books, doing standup, or selling used cars; if we love it, allow it, if we are in our truth, we're going to be good at it. Otherwise we aren't good for anything. If we are killing ourselves and miserable dong (yes, I mean "doing," but I like "donging" better; somehow it seems more appropriate) what we think we should do or should be, we are not contributing to anything except an old mythology that is ready to fizzle out.

                                             HERE

It took me years to realize that there is no point. You just do what you love and see where it goes. You just do what you love, live what you love, and suddenly a million doors open up. You can’t know what those doors are before you start being and doing what you love; you just have to trust that they are there and will open.  And it might take a long time to see those doors because at first you don't recognize them; they can be subtle, unfamiliar. At first you may not recognize kindness or love so you don't see those doors. But eventually they start to appear more frequently, like everyday. And then you can't believe how many there are. It's infinite. And what you really can't believe is how they are never to rarely the doors you had hoped for before you got started on your truth path. 

So it’s not that honoring your truth/what you love doesn’t take you anywhere—it does— but outcome is not the point. In fact, you'll miss the outcome altogether if you are too distracted by it. I'm not saying anything new, I realize. The mindfulness folk say it a lot better than I. I'm just recycling the millions of gifted and well earned "aha" moments that have finally caught up to my body.

                    THEN, NOW: HERE, THERE

Of course none of this occurred to me on that rainy drive to work when I called Ma back. I may have been hungover. 

“How’s the job, hon?” 

“Awful. I can't stand it. I'm miserable. The only thing that ever made me happy is writing. Still. All I want to do is write."

"So why don’t you?"

"What do you mean? How? Actually, I have been thinking of MFA programs..." 

"So go." 

"What am I going to do wih it? You can’t make a living writing... Besides I already know how to write."

"No you don't. Just go. It'll be fabulous. If you're miserable, do something about it. If you know this is what you want, then fucking do it.  Why the fuck wouldn't you? You have to go... Roc?"

"Really? How am I going to pay for it?" 

"Your dad will pay for it. He'll do anything for your happiness."

So I took a leap of faith. Really, I didn't have too much to lose, but I thought I was losing everything, which, thankfully, I really was, though "letting go," is more like it.  So I got a free ride in the U of M's MFA program and up and moved. I was fairly miserable the first year and thought many times about going home to Seattle. Then one day a door opened. I took a yoga class. I wanted to get more flexible because I was a runner; I had no idea I was heading into a revolution of self. Gradually, very gradually, I settled in to the program and over time stopped trying so hard to be something or be someone I was supposed to be and began being more of me.   So there I was getting to know me, remembering me, doing what I loved, and sure enough, a million doors opened.

So that’s what Intuitive Writing is. That’s the long answer anyway.  If you just trust that the words know where they need to go and you stick with them, you’ll remember everything you love and know exactly where to go from there.

YOUR PROMPT

what do you love?

Writing with Rox weekly prompt—Not a prompt, just a story about Ma

Sometimes you just have to write it down.

Tonight I talked to Ma. It's been about a month, typical. I really should keep better track of what she says. At some point I had an idea that I would publish all of her answering machine voicemails from over the years and I do have a rather large email collection of her greatest hits. And, and, and... she is the most beloved character in my memoir ("Here's Fifty Cents and You Two Fuckers Can Take the Bus Home!")...

 For years Ma has been dogging on herself for her ADD, dementia, lack of discipline, losing her keys/wallet/checkbook, etc all the time, missing airplanes, getting lost, etc. It's occasionally funny, but mostly rote by now, even predictable.  I don't even get annoyed anymore. Tonight, though, it was funny:

Ma: Well, after three days of hell and rearranging everything, I found my checkbook that I thought I lost.
Rox: That's good.
Ma: But I wasted all this time having to redo everything.
Rox: You should always count on finding it again. It usually shows up.
Ma: Not really. Things disappear all the time. I've lost rings. A really beautiful coat. (I may be wrong, but I think she also said, I kid you not, "a rocking chair...") All kinds of jewelry...
Rox: I thought you said X stole your jewelry....
Ma: No. It turns out she didn't. I found it. But things disappear; I lose them.
Rox: Oh.
Ma: You'll never guess what I did today...
Rox: You lost your sunglasses?
Ma: No. I was getting gas on Overland... you know, that place. And I pulled away with the pump still attached to the car, pumping gas.
Rox:
Ma: And then it came out of the thing and smacked against my taillight and broke it.
Rox:
Ma: Can you believe that? I'm getting dementia, I swear.
Rox: Ma, how is that even possible?