Sometimes life hands us an "Ah ha!" moment when we least expect. Well over a year ago I decided to start this blog after attending a REMLA meeting where Susan Hagen and Mary Carouba were the keynote speakers. They wrote a book called Women at Ground Zero. This luncheon meeting changed the direction of my life.
I was profoundly moved by the stories, their presentation and the fact that there they were, standing right in front of me ... two people who had simply acquired my dream. A dream I had ignored, stuffed, laughed at and tried to sweep under the rug. Except it kept showing up in my life repeatedly. The world seemed to be screaming at me to write again. At this meeting, KB gathered at least 40 copies of all their fliers and toilet papered my chair saying, "If this isn't your G-damned sign then I don't know what is!" KB is anything but subtle.
So I started this blog to get the thoughts that roll around in my head out of me so that I can move to the story. But I didn't realize that I needed to tell my stories to heal my broken heart. I think my heart has been aching for a very long time. This blog helped me dig the painful stories up and exorcise them from the dark side of my heart. The little stories turned into many stories, which turned into a type of mediation practice that I can't let go of for very long.
I signed up for Susan Hagan's writing newsletters and often wished there was the extra money to go to one of her workshops for women. Truth be told I could have probably collected the funds to attend, but I feel guilty spending the money when Brian needs things too. He is such a great kid.
Then ... this week one of her emails arrives and it is for a writing workshop this evening in Petaluma, a town 20 minutes south of me. It is affordable, $10.00. I decide to forgo Brian's basketball practice, since he is with his dad this week, and allow myself some time to explore this burning desire in my soul.
I haven't been sleeping well the past two nights, so for a brief time after work I thought about staying home and going to bed early. But I felt I was called to go; I needed to be there. I brave the cold rainy night and drive to the Petaluma Community Center. I find a small sign, which reads "Writer's Forum" with an arrow and step into a room where the chairs are laid out in a circle. At least 30 other writers are there too.
Susan begins to speak and walk us through her writing practice. I realize how much I miss taking classes. I am transfixed by her ease of words, as if she is channeling a great philosopher. She shares her process for writing, then uses it to take us into a writing prompt. My college English professor used to have us "free write" this way, and I remember how much I loved it. When the bell sounds to write, I become stuck with the writing prompt. Oh great, I have writers block. It is difficult, so I just free write exactly what my mind is saying. Fifteen minutes later we are done.
Then she asks us to read our free write stores. As writer after writer share their stories, which sounded like something Shakespeare would write, I think about not sharing mine. But then I tell myself I have to find out why I feel called to be here. I shake like a scared dog reading what I wrote. I can't figure out why. Usually public speaking doesn't bother me. When finished, the fellow writers give feedback.
I was struck by something Susan says, "It is obvious your mind wanted you to write about Brian, but you were fighting it. It was interesting that you wrote how you had difficulty with the prompt about the island with the photos from your childhood and not seeing Brian there. You wrote how your life began when Brian was born." She went on to say other helpful comments, but I was stunned by her comments. I hadn't really listened to myself read my story.
The book that rattles around in my head is based on Brian.
Another writer notes the isolation in my story in being on an island surounded by photographs of my young life without having Brian there, even though he was foremost in my mind. She blows me away. Was my childhood and young life really that lonely?
Susan ends the meeting giving me the tools I need to begin writing my epic story.
As it turns out...
This was my sign.
Until next time-
C
There is more to tell...but I am exhausted.
http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/
