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So … A Needle Pulling Thread

By Ellen Blum Barish
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In Separation, one of my favorite poems that contains essay elements, W.S. Merwin writes,

“Your absence has gone through me

Like thread through a needle

Everything I do is stitched with its color.”

The “your” in the first line could be applied to almost anything; a thing, a feeling, something we do.

This time of year, with its concentration on celebration and roving routines, I notice who I am without writing. Turns out, even when I’m not writing or thinking about writing or focused

on editing or publishing, everything I do is still stitched with its sensibility. At its heart, writing wants to communicate, to connect, to unearth meaning.  I find that even when I’m not tap-tapping keys with my fingertips or scratching on paper with a pen, I still want those things. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who feels this way.

Writers and artists may be closer to all of this or perhaps more inclined to articulate it since expression is what we do. But dissecting our creative process doesn’t only give us a huge boost in our creative endeavors, there’s application for daily life. This seems to be a good time of year to ask:

Who are you without your routine? 

What are your threads made of? 

Is there something that you want – or need – to be stitching?

I offer these as end-of-the-year questions to ponder what you’d like to weave into the coming as you hug your houseguests and sing your holiday songs, and what you might like to leave behind. Hoping that whatever you choose will allow our paths to connect.

P.S. Looking for a last minute holiday gift? What about a gift certificate for a coaching session or manuscript review? For more info, email me at ellen@ellenblumbarish.com.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema. Courtesy of Unsplash.

 

 

 

A Few Minutes and a Well-Lit Screen

By Ellen Blum Barish
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Those who secured an egg salad sandwich or a small plate of veggies and hummus, a chair or section of couch and a spot to see the writers of Thread read their work, know it’s so: Thread: A Literary Publication enjoyed a magnificent launch last Wednesday evening at the cozy Curt’s Cafe.

But you who came out, parked and then couldn’t find a place to put yourself, who knew? I offer you free admission to the next reading!

For you who couldn’t be there, let me set the scene: An overflow crowd of people sat quietly as nine writers read their essays on a variety of subjects from Lee Reilly’s caregiving curiosity about the life of her charge in “Finding Nancy H.,” to the raging hormones of Anne Heaton’s mid-pregnancy in “Crazy Bird” to what it feels like to want to light up a joint in Timothy Parfitt’s “Smoke Screen,” remember something good about one’s not-so-terribly good father in “The Bath,” or be Tom Wolferman in a job, outgrown, in “A Paper Trail.” It was a night of stories reflecting human experiences across the lifespan. A celebration not only of writers and the premiere issue of Thread but an evening devoted to the truth and beauty of the personal essay. My favorite of all the written forms!

Here’s what the cafe looked like before it was filled with story lovers:

 

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And here’s what it looked like after:

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And if you wanted to get some air in between readings, this is what it looked like from the street:

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Thread will be hosting three readings a year – the next one in April – to coincide with the release of each new issue. I’m already looking for a larger venue, so stay tuned about that! But for those of you who can’t make it for the readings on a Wednesday night, you’ll just have to find a few minutes and a place where you can read from a well-lit screen to soak up these artful word journeys.

What I love about personal essays is that they are indeed personal – sometimes painfully so – and yet the best ones touch on something in the reader, something universally human, and it has the potency to not only move us but even, possibly, to change us just a little bit.  Take Robert Grubb’s “Imprint.” A connection is made from a grown son to his mother when a memory is evoked by a new puppy who is trying his patience.

Here’s what all of the writers – and I –  looked like after the reading:

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I’ll be looking for submissions for future issues beginning in mid-January 2015.  Go to the Submissions Guidelines page of the Thread site for more about that. And so that you don’t miss reading dates and publication releases and posts about writing and creative process, take a minute to subscribe to this blog and to Thread.

Photographs by Jill Howe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Launched!

By Ellen Blum Barish
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Last Thursday night, Steve, my web wizard did whatever it is that web wizards do and made Thread: A Literary Publication go live.

He sent me an email that read, “Google and Bing have been notified. You’re in the big time now.”

I swallowed hard, let the reality of that sink in for a moment and decided I should get a good night sleep for a clear head before announcing.

The following morning, everything was clearer alright: I noticed that we needed more white space under the logo. Why hadn’t I seen that before? Ack! I emailed Amanda, my gifted graphic designer, and asked her to identify how much space we needed so we could get Steve to make the change and Steve, most likely rolling his eyes and harumphing because didn’t-I-understand-what-being-live-meant? had to reset and rejigger.

Moments later, one of my writers asked me to reconsider the photograph that accompanied her essay because it just didn’t help tell the story. I’d already been through three other photos for her piece so I was resistant at first. We’re live! But she was right. It didn’t do the job. And so into the archives I went in search of the right image.

Ah, literary publishing: An endeavor of words, images and heart that offers the suggestion of perfection but perfection in publishing, as in life, is an illusion.

And I just love that. The possibility of that.

But what’s even more amazing is, because Thread is online, how swiftly a circle is created. Fifteen minutes after I released the Mail Chimp announcement and began posting links on Facebook, the emails and likes began to trickle in. There’s been a steady stream since. A community of writers, readers and photographers was born, connected by electrical, and universally human, threads.

My deep gratitude to Steve Stern and Amanda Good who helped bring this site to life; the six writers who contributed their work before seeing what they were contributing to (Lee Reilly, Tom Wolferman, Anne Heaton, Timothy Parfitt, Robert Grubbs and Ann Fiegen), to Jen Clar and Curt Chandler for the beautiful photographs; my brother Adam and my friend Gail Conway for their thoughts on business and fundraising; my mother, Nancy Blum, for her proofreader’s eyes; my husband David for legal consult and being such a sound, sounding board; my daughter Emily for social media notes and a cool factor; and my daughter Jenny for her marketing savvy. A big shout out to Curt’s Cafe for giving me a space to work with writers and for hosting our readings and launch to my students at New Trier Extension for the inspiration. An effort like this one is a glorious patchwork of fabric with a multitude of textures.

Want to stay updated on Thread: A Literary Publication, the Thread Reading Series and writing workshops? Let me know at ellen@threadliterary.com.

 

Photo by Ellen Blum Barish

Beauty in the Spools

By Ellen Blum Barish
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If you are current on social media, you probably have seen or heard news about my exciting new online literary ventures: Thread: A Literary Publication and companion Thread Reading Series.

Both are set for launch and celebration on December 10th at Curt’s Cafe in Evanston, Illinois at 7 pm. The first issue is thick with Chicago-area writers and issue two is looking like it will go that way, too but my hope is that by the third issue, Thread will actually be connecting writers and photographers across the US and, with any luck, extending across the ocean.

But for now, Thread: A Literary Publication and the Thread Reading series are local efforts. And rightly so. The inspiration came last April after my adult writing workshop students read their essays at Curt’s Cafe for friends and family. I knew the pieces were good – even great – and that the range of voices was quite poignant (20-somethings to 80-somethings) but I had no idea how much the writers would enjoy reading their work on stage nor did I know how an audience might react. The second time they read their work four months later in August, the audience doubled! It was big fun, eye opening and for me, incredibly inspiring.

The idea of thread came to me then. We talk about pulling the threads of an essay together or finding one main thread when we workshop a piece. When someone designs a dress or a coat or a suit, sometimes you see the threads, sometimes you don’t, but it’s the thread that allows the garment to hang well. True for essays, too.

So it makes sense for the launch to be a community effort. We are holding the festivities at Curt’s Cafe which has this amazing vibe and lure that everyone who walks in just loves. Curt’s Cafe catering is providing us with homemade food and beverages for the evening. (Feel free to bring your own booze if you like.) To help defray the production costs associated with the Thread site – designed by the very talented Amanda Good and brought to electronic life by Web Wizard Steve Stern – we’re adding a raffle to the mix that will include juicy literary goodies such as:

Thread will go live in early December. I’m currently in final edit mode and it’s definitely a labor of love. I’m learning how to build databases, create page designs, size photos and am reminded how many typos can fall through the cracks even with a detailed-minded team of supportive family members as proofreaders! So it goes a bit slower than I’d like, but I’m starting to appreciate slow. Slow is actually kind of refreshing. Feels a bit like the detailed handwork of seamstresses and tailors. I’m resonating with all of these sewing terms lately, as well as images like the one above  – a shot from my growing collection of spooled silk thread. What surprises me is how poetically the spools  –  the delivery system for thread  – speak.

Hoping to see you at Curt’s Cafe on December 10th, threaded together by the beautiful words and images of some amazing writers and image makers.

Photo by Ellen Blum Barish

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Ellen Blum Barish