Summer Isn’t Just for Reading

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Photo by Ellen Blum Barish

With its flood of light, summer may be time to read, but for those of us who like to write, it is, most definitively, writing season. Time to curl up on your favorite armchair with your laptop on your knees or sprawl on a café table with a Sharpie and a yellow legal pad. Pick your position and your tools. Read something well written. Add a well-selected prompt. Claim 20 minutes (30 if you can!) Mix in a deadline, some friendly feedback and you have, most definitively, impetus to write.

If you are looking to rouse slackened writing muscles or just keep them from atrophying, let me help facilitate. I’m teaching two writing workshops this summer – a six-week Tuesday evening workshop and an eight-week Wednesday afternoon workshop to accommodate all schedules.

Identify the stories that are circling around you, stalking you, or taunting you to write them, and transform them into personal essays, memoir, or even short fiction in my Tuesday evening workshop titled “Find Your Story” at StoryStudio Chicago beginning on June 4th.

If you can’t get enough of personal essays, then consider my Wednesday afternoon workshop at New Trier Extension that starts June 5. In this eight-week workshop, “A Close Look at Personal Essay,” we’ll read essays that fall into themes and write our own based on our discussions. You can find the online catalogue here (go to page 38 for the workshop description and details), and fill out the online form or register by phone at (847) 446-6600.

It’s easy to keep that picture of yourself writing in your head. This summer, commit to taking it from your imagination to the page. Feel free to email me with questions or if you’d like me to direct to one of my former or ongoing students. You can learn more about my background and teaching style here.

Or, if you’re thinking you’d rather do this without a group – one-to-one –  I’m scheduling private coaching sessions this summer utilizing my workshop readings and assignments so you can join in from the comfort of home via screen or phone receiver.

May the words you read this summer be your own!

 

 

 

 

 

Catching Butterflies

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For the past thirty years, I have earned a living, and even a few awards, as a writer and editor.

But in middle school, around the time that achievement tests became the standard by which writing and reading skills were determined, my scores led my teachers and parents to conclude that I was struggling with reading and writing. This led to a meeting with my parents that led to many long hours in a windowless closet of a room at school with a reading and writing tutor.

As a teenager, there was already plenty to be embarrassed about, but I remember being really mortified about having to be tutored because I thought of myself as a smart girl.

Luckily that feeling didn’t last beyond my first session. My tutor turned out to be an amiable, patient woman named Mrs. Stoner. (To my GFS friends, this is Caroline’s mother!) She taught me to identify the way I absorbed information, how to squeeze it out and organize it into words. But perhaps even more poignantly for the career that was to come, was how she guided me in honoring my individual learning process.

Funny how life works. I never set out to teach or coach writing. I was never a stellar student. The opportunities came, ironically, from two teacher/mentors. My deep appreciation goes to Hyma Levin for seeing the teacher in me and to Abe Peck for thinking I could coach.  I’ve been teaching and coaching writing for a decade now but only recently did I recognize that my approach – my teacherly soul – is based on what these gifted educators gave to me. Find your own process first and work the details around that.

Over the past 10 years, I’ve witnessed numerous approaches in my students. Each writer, or person with a writing task, takes unique steps toward her goal. But I’ve noticed that there are patterns. I’ve grouped and listed them here. I’m very process oriented so I’d love to hear yours, or if you think I’ve missed any. Feel free to comment below or drop me a line to let me know at ellen@ellenblumbarish.com.

Catching butterflies. Writing is like a net that catches the words – like butterflies –  as it moves through the air.

Empty glass. When this writer gets really quiet, words fill the space.

Gold mining. The writer moves her hands and fingers and the letters and words materialize and she goes back and searches for the gems.

Architectural blueprint. He prepares an outline like a foundation and adds the words as if they are the bricks or stucco.

Labor and delivery. This writer scrunches up and pushes, like she is delivering a baby.

Scratch and erase. The writers writes, then reads what he wrote and revises. He writes some more, reads that and revises. Sentence by sentence or graf by graf.

Altered state writing: She drinks (or eats). Then writes. Then she stops, drinks or eats some more, and writes. And on it goes.

Photo of butterflies taken at Ellwood Butterfly Grove in Santa Barbara, California by Ellen Blum Barish 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What We Keep

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Earlier this week, I wrote about burning my journals in a what I’ll call a ‘letting go’ ceremony and I received a wide array of responses.

A friend shared that when she told a group of writers that she let go of hers, there was a collective gasp.

Another tells me he understands, but wonders where I found the strength.

Another writes that she is inspired to let go of hers, but that she would keep the one where she meets and falls in love with her husband.

Tears streamed down my daughter’s face when she heard about it. She just couldn’t understand why I would do such a thing.

I spent the week reflecting on these reactions. It seems to me that some of my reasons for letting my diaries go are uniquely connected to writing personal narrative which is process-centered. Present tense oriented. Personal.

But there were other reasons and these were connected to what we keep and why. I found it an interesting exercise to think about what we hang onto and what we easily let go.

(For my writing students in search of a prompt, I urge you to try this one.)

It’s for the following reasons that I was moved to make such a permanent act:

They served their purpose and were taking up physical space in my home and psychic space in my life.

I’m not that girl anymore. (Thank you, Leslie, for the words.)

So much of the content was sullen, whiny or dull and it didn’t feel like good emotional feng shui to have that around.

They were locking me into one storyline.

Like paint palettes or mounds of clay, they weren’t fully formed. The pieces that came out of these found their way into finished work.

And finally, through this ritual, I’ve become aware that:

I’m more interested in writing words that remain true, that stand the test of time; the words that I will, consciously, leave behind.

Photo by Ellen Blum Barish.

 

 

 

 

Ashes to Ashes

 

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I’ve written in one journal or another for 40 years. Here’s a picture of them. You can see my very first one, a paisley print on the far left tucking out from beneath a dark blue leather journal. Fourth from the top. Amazing that before they were colorful, bound or wire-ringed books, they were trees.

But last week, with a very full glass of wine that I filled twice, I went through my journals, reading some passages, skimming others. And then, I thanked each one, ripped out the pages, built a fire and fed the pages into it.

Here’s what it looked like in its early stages:

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The fire burned for four hours as it consumed rants, to do lists, plans for the future, vents, wishes, dreams, annoyances, story ideas, rage, gratitude, doubt, praise, doubt, uncertainty, fear, doubt, whining, joy, relief, and more doubt. Me, usually with a pen, working things out. To get to here.

You can see it burn here:

I couldn’t let go of them all. I saved both of my pregnancy journals for my daughters. And I couldn’t let go of my first one from 1973.

I also kept the covers. I have an art project in mind.

But I wanted to remember the burning. So I can remember the mix of  emotions I felt as I watched: light, strong and giddy.

In the morning, in addition to my memory and the images I’ve shared with you, this is what remained. I’m going to take the ashes and bury them in the earth where they began so another 13-year old girl will have paper on which to practice her writing and work things out.

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Your Voice, When No One is Listening

 

IMG_0002Photo by Ellen Blum Barish

“At its core, writing is about cutting beneath every social expectation to get to the voice you have when no one is listening. It’s about finding something true, the voice that lies beneath all words. But the paradox of writing is that everyone at her desk finds that the stunning passage written in the morning seems flat three hours later, and by the time it’s rewritten, the original version will look dazzling again. Our moods, our beings are as changeable as the sky (long hours at any writing project teach us), so we can no longer trust any one voice as definitive or lasting”

Pico Iyer, from his New York Times Book Review essay, “Voices Inside Their Heads,” April 14, 2013