Writing Conference Prompts: Lies and Fears.

What am I pretending not to know? If I were willing to admit it, what would change my life?

• I’m really not sure what I’m pretending not to know. Sometimes, I pretend not to know that Josh and I are addicts (behaviors, not substances), but I think I’ve acknowledged it to the point that I can start healing and we can continue the recovery journey together. 
• I pretend not to know how much I need books and what a crummy reader I am. I have to take ownership of that.
• I pretend not to know how much bitterness I have toward a couple of people. I can't resolve it, so I try not to feel it. None of these things seem all that revelatory in a good way.
• I pretend not to know that I should write publically and publish. I tell myself I don’t want the notoriety, that I’m content with scribbling in a journal. But maybe I don’t want to be what Alexandra Johnson calls a “hidden writer.” 
• I pretend not to know that I’m capable of writing poems and stories and books. 
• I pretend not to know what I can do. 
• I pretend not to know the difference between rest and laziness…it’s a difficult distinction, but I think I know it. I should, anyway. Or do other people struggle with that too?
• I pretend not to know that I have some horrible thoughts that probably stem from some intense mental illness or depravity. Or maybe I pretend not to know that those thoughts, the intrusive ones, are a version of normal. I don’t really see how any of this liberates me. 
• I pretend not to know how bad I am at managing time. 
• I pretend not to know how tired I am. 

Something I no longer fear: 

I’m not really afraid that Josh doesn’t love me. I know he does, has, and will. It won’t be perfect. He will hurt me. He may betray me. But it’s real. The good things count. The memories count even if he wasn't fully present. I also no longer fear that I won't be able to forgive him. And I no longer fear that I will betray myself.

I'm no longer afraid that I will betray Josh in some way. I've betrayed his trust before, but that was a long time ago. The more recent times I've caused him to mistrust me feel distant too because of the resolutions I've made, that I feel capapble of fulfilling. I no longer fear that I won't be able to recover. I've recovered myself before. I've put measures in place to help me be who I want to be and who my family needs me to be. I'm also no longer pretending that my worst flaws aren't that big of a deal. 

I'm no longer afraid, I think, of my parents' disapproval. I've done about the worst things I'm capable of doing. It was bad for a time, but it's not bad now. I've made the confessions I need to make. I'm trying to live well. But their approval isn't tantamount as it used to be. It doesn't control my actions through submission or through rebellion. I'm not ashamed to ask them for help. They also seemed to have accepted me a lot more as I've gotten older.

This is a lie I’ve told before:

What lies have I told? That I haven’t eaten sticky candy: a Starburst or a Skittle that pulled out my crowns. I think the dentist is the only person I lie to. I'm not much of a liar, and I've become less secretive. Maybe I embellish the truth for the sake of storytelling sometimes. Maybe I am vague about the truth. But I can't think of a recent time I've done these things. Maybe I lie to myself. Do I lie to myself about what’s important to me? Or how much rest I need (more? less?)? Or how I need to manage my time? Maybe I’ve lied about my ambition, pretending to be content with a smaller life, with journals, with writing privately. That seems to be what's coming out of the prompts today.

Writing Conference Prompts: Creative Heroes.

 A couple of weekends ago, I went to a virtual writing retreat. Some of the writers who influenced me most when I was growing up and starting to write were there. It was as if the retreat had been built for me. Bruce and I did the retreat together, so I spent most of the weekend at his house. He was willing to let me barge in for three days, and Josh was willing to take care of Oliver alone during the retreat. Even though I couldn't be there in person, I got so much out of the retreat. I'm typing up responses I wrote in my journal to prompts the speakers gave us, and I'm going to share some of them.

Creative Hero: Natalie Goldberg (my first thought, and one of the only creative heroes who wasn't speaking at the retreat)

• Practicing

• Dedicated

• Tireless

• Unapologetic

• Open

• In community

• Integrated

We cannot admire or see a good attribute unless it is within us. 

I am committed to letting this come out in my life.

I admire Natalie Goldberg because she is ever in practice. I have reproduced that practice in my life, even if I don’t feel as dedicated and I can’t throw away my notebooks. She is tireless. She’s been in writing practice for what, fifty years? I’ve been in writing practice for twenty-two years. She’s open. I don’t feel so open, but I have divulged a lot on my blogs. That’s about as far as my community goes. Most of all, I admire how unapologetic and integrated she is. I try to be integrated, and I’m fairly unapologetic. When I do something I think is good, something I think shows or encourages growth, I’m proud of it. I just want to integrate all that I’ve learned and admired into my identity and into my daily life.

Who are my home heroes, and what would I give them credit for?

Kathryn Stripling Byer, Joseph Bathanti, Alan Michael Parker: professors from my BA in English, Creative Writing and from my MFA in Creative Writing, Poetry. All of these people played a role later in my life, affecting my life, my profession, and my writing.

Kay showed me what it looks like to be a practicing poet. She was open and inspiring. She welcomed me. She is the reason I believe I can be both a writer and a mother. She saw Josh’s love for me. She saw his talent and soul, the ways he is beyond me, and the ways we are equal. She gave me a new respect for Josh. She seemed so solid and secure in herself. And she seemed so sure of me. After reading my work, she said, “Obviously, you can do this,” and I’ll never forget that. My talent and ability were obvious to her, and she expected them to be obvious for me. She also showed interest in our lives, our family, and our poetry long after she was our teacher. She featured us on her poetry blog.

Bathanti was just the portrait of kindness and gentleness. I don’t think he’s ever looked down on anyone. He remembered us when he came to read at the college where I was working twice. He kissed our son’s head. He wrote “Advising,” a searing poem about supporting students in higher education. He was willing to take the child in the poem. And he is so quietly successful, so engaged and engaging. He showed me how I could be a writer and a genuine, open person. 

Alan challenged me as a writer, more than anyone else ever had. He showed me that I can always get better. But he also told me, showed me, that I belong. He said I belonged in the MFA program. But he wasn’t going to let me get by; he said I had a long way to go. He expected me to participate. He drew me out socially and poetically in the program. He expected me to work. I couldn’t just sit on my little talent, hoard it and lock it up, preserve it. He demanded that I study and grow. And later, he read at the college where I was working, and he remembered me. He asked my opinion in front of the administration. He told me if my pregnancy (I was pregnant with Oliver at the time) took up all my creative energy. When I said, “I teach full time, and I’m going to have a baby. All of my dreams have come true,” he said, “Oh, no. You always need more dreams.”