Tag Archives: Iowa Summer Writing Festival

Paltry Amens

23 Friday Jul 2010

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care, Writing

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My Teacher and Me

It felt like church this week.

Holy time.  Seven days of creating words on paper.

I am spent.  But also thankful.

I’m thankful to my husband who gave me time apart.

I’m thankful to have been surrounded by interesting classmates — gifted and generous with time and encouragement.

But is there a most of all?  Well, yes.  Usually, there is.  And this prayer’s most-of-all goes to two teachers who made my week possible with their wisdom in the art of writing.

It is a paltry amen for this week of gifts.  But like the widow and her mite, it’s all I got.

In the Shadow of Greatness

22 Thursday Jul 2010

Posted by in Far Away Places, Writing

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There is something about Iowa soil conducive to growing sweet corn and writers without combining the two.

I haven’t experienced sweet corn.  But I cannot escape the literary presence.  It’s everywhere.  Bookstores, of course.  But it’s the writers themselves who make their presence felt.  In coffee shops.  Before open mikes.  In talks at eleven o’clock.  In front of a class of eager students.

Evidence litters the central avenue downtown, in sidewalk etchings of words left by others.  Reminding me of  paper tucked inside fortune cookies, the words come from writers.  And others who would not dare name themselves so.

…it is thinking makes what we read ours.  Locke

…a wicked book cannot repent.  English proverb

…keep a diary and someday it will keep you.  Mae West

…a good book is the purest essence of a human soul.  Carlyle.

Yesterday, I stumbled upon this one by Flannery O’Connor.

“Everywhere I go I’m asked if I think the universities stifle writers.  My opinion is that they don’t stifle enough of them.”

In the shadow of greatness, I saw my own shadow dance across words that once would have cast shadows over me.  I walked away unharmed, light on my feet.

Hovercrafts

16 Friday Jul 2010

Posted by in Far Away Places, Life at Home, Writing

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I’m in the midst of four hovercrafts this morning — one husband, one Scottie and two gigantic poodles.

All four are quiet as they keep close watch over my doings.  The poodles don’t like that suitcase one bit — a packed suitcase is nothing but bad news.  But all four watch silently, as they follow my progress.  The poodles solemnly;  my husband just to ensure that all goes well with my last-minute packing.

My husband has been in and out of the house more times than I can count.  His usual routine is no more than twice before lunch.  But today, it’s four or five times at least.  And invariably, just as I have needed his assistance, I hear him coming through the back door.  Heaven sent I’m sure.

The dogs are close by, within eye’s-reach.  Max is parked right behind me, in his very favorite hidey hole.  Part of me wishes I could bunker in with him, rather than go off on my own explore to Iowa.  It’s hard to leave my sweet home behind, the place that happens to be my favorite spot in the whole entire world.

But, here I am, packed and ready.  Physically, at least.  Mentally, I’ve got loose-ends rattling in my brain relating to that final writing project for my spiritual direction coursework.  Wish I had finished.  But alas, all I have is a good first-draft.  I’ll take it with me and maybe I’ll work on it tonight.

I really don’t want to work on it once classes begin tomorrow morning.  When I show up for something, I show up.  I try hard to be present wherever I am, to be undivided as much as I can.  So my final spiritual direction project will need to simmer on the back burner once classes begin.

As I look forward to the week, I wonder what will come of this great writing adventure.  Will I be able to write without my faithful poodle muse?  Only one way to find out:  Crawl off on that scary edge and fly away.