the other mother - free writing workshop for moms

Epistle

It's a funny word, EPISTLE, but all it means (though I think: thistle, artichoke, epi-pen) is letter.

There's some thaw today, a single snowdrop gracing the garden among the gray grass and mealey mulch. I visited my daughter's school as part of an arts program--bring in a quality print (this is an amazing program--they have a vast circulating collection) and discuss a bit of art history, asking questions about the painting. Lucky me; it just happens to  be the season for the Poetry Project, where you direct the class to write a collective poem about the painting. So much to think about! We directed our poem within the frame of an epistle: who do you want to ask about this painting? What questions do you have? What kind of action words might you use in your answers?

The resulting poem has a bit of a narrative. Never mind that the kids are six and seven years old; they're full of language and ideas, and within a half hour we had this:

Epistle: Renoir’s Dance at Bougival

Dear Mom and Dad,

What kind of dance are they

dancing?

Ball dance, kissing dance, cha-cha, the waltz, step dance,

square dance, Macarena, rolling rumba, chicken.

What kind of drink are they

drinking?

Apple juice, wine, orange juice, grape,

Cranberry, root beer, fruit punch, lemonade.

What kind of dress is she

dressed in?

White dress, dance dress, ballroom,

yellow sash, wedding dress, when?

What kind of thoughts are they

thinking?

Love thoughts, valentine, snacktime, hungry,

happiness, honeymoon, puppy love, kids.

Love,

Mrs. Starace’s First Grade

 

So here's your assignment: find a work of art. Maybe it's a pillow on your living room couch (mass produced or hand woven, it's up to you to choose), maybe your new faucet has a post-modern design, or maybe you have a copy of Jansen's History of Art growing heavier with information on your bookshelf. Choose a work of art and write a letter about it--to your parents, your art teacher, to the woman in the frame. It's up to you. Have at it. (30 minutes. Use your listening ears and don't forget to raise your hand...)

Lovely, lovely leaves

We just went for a walk in the lovely, lovely leaves. My daughter, who for some reason is sweetest of all, got stung not once, but twice by wasps. Are some of us really sweeter than others?

All this drama reminded me that I hadn’t posted for a while...

So here’s a writing topic that worked wonderfully in class:

Write about needles. Pine, pins and, dentists (ugh), sewing, knitting, being needled—whatever comes first to mind.

Write for 11 minutes.

Don’t be afraid to go there, even if it hurts (clearly this writing exercise can vaccinate you against fall gloom).

Post your writing in the comments section below (for any newbies who don’t already know). In class, the writings had a remarkable connection to each other—it charged the class with ideas and interest, and no one got hurt.

In other news, if you’re in northern NJ and would like to come meet me in person, come to the Ramsey Public Library in Ramsey, New Jersey on Sunday, November 16th at 2pm. Here are driving directions to the library.

The event is free, and I’m hoping for some of the amazing questions I’ve had at book groups lately.

Come! Tell me you read the blog!

And, as always, I’d be happy to sign bookplates if any of you would like to get your holiday shopping wrapped up early with signed copies of The Other Mother. Just send me an email with your name, address, and what you’d like me to write. I’ve been sending them out by the dozen, and it feels great to know more people will be reading about Thea and Amanda and hopefully feeling just a little more compassionate toward other mothers everywhere.

AND THE WINNER IS....

Oh, welcome back to the blog. Maybe you've been in Norway, or to a wedding in Maine, or maybe you've been sitting in the backyard eating black raspberries (in which case, where do you live? I covet black raspberries). I've been to a wedding, I've met the mayor of DC, I've watched the clouds roll in and out of the sky like show curtains. And today, at last, both kids are at school (at least for a half day) and I'm back to the desk, missing them a little, relishing the quiet.

Your entries were delicious, elegant, sad, and I thank you for them all.

Everyone who entered the contest, please send me an email at ggross@gwendolengross.com with your snail mail address and I'll send out a teeny token of my appreciation.

The winners are two, actually, because I couldn't decide between, "June, the month of ME!" (an exuberant, brave, and wonderful sentence that matches the rest of the piece) and "June is a horse race. It's the Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont all rolled into one. A thundering, earth shaking, blinders up, mad dash to the last day of school and the sweet victory of lazing in the open pastures and grazing on the blue grass of summer vacation." Wow. Just wow.

So, Lisa R. and Adrienne Campbell, please email your addresses, you are both the first ever:

MOMS WHO WRITE  Summer Contest Winners

Meanwhile, let's have at it, everyone -- and hey, if you're in my workshop and reading this and meeting up on your own for writing practice (hooray! hooray!) -- feel free to use this topic and post what you wrote:

Write about a wedding. You are in it. You are neither bride nor groom. Something at the wedding bothers you--a leaf hopper on the bride's bouquet, a cracked nail on the great-aunt's toe.

I'm asking you to stretch here, because if you can't find it in your memory, you're going to have to reach for fiction. Write about that thing that bothers you at the wedding for a good 12 minutes. Then bother us with the details.

Can't wait to hear all about it.

Tell us your story! Welcome. introduction to the writing workshop, part 1

For Mothers Who Write —
Welcome to The Other Mother
Writing Workshop for Moms

Introduction to The Other Mother
Writing Workshop for Moms
Part 1 of 4
About the Writing Workshop

Before you had kids, you thought you were busy. How ridiculous! Now you might have a million ideas—but not enough time to sit down and write. I teach a class called Just Write. It’s one hour long and we read the rules for writing practice (which you can find here) and then write for five minutes about missing a train or sixteen minutes about your three wishes and then we read the fresh dough of new words aloud to find doors — the places to write into.

It’s amazing what can be accomplished in one hour — brilliant beginnings, whole poems, or just pulling at the threads of truths to find out what matters, where the real story’s hidden. I’m a firm believer in writing practice (though once I’m working on a novel I do use outlines and time lines and plans—all of which change as I’m writing), in just writing, as often as possible. It’s an exercise like any other; the more you do it, the better you get.

I started writing The Other Mother, my third novel, shortly after my son was born and people started asking, “Are you working?” Well, of course I was working, all the time, changing diapers, feeding, walking, soothing. And writing, too—I never stopped, but I realized how quickly people wanted to put me in one camp or the other, and I kind of belonged to both. And neither. It’s isolating however you slice it.

Later I had a babysitter and a few hours a week to write. Later still it was more hours, and now there’s school. But still: I’m neither and both. I went in to my publisher for a marketing meeting the other day, and as soon as I parked the car the cell phone rang: my son’s school (never mind that I had a babysitter lined up for the afternoon). Thankfully, it wasn’t the nurse, but I thought: maybe once every other month I’m more than a few miles from home during the school day, and a few times a week I’m teaching, and that’s when the phone rings and I have to answer it. Pick someone up. A snow day.

You’re never fully free once you’re a mom, and most of the time, that’s okay, and sometimes, it feels absurd. One escape is writing: you get to invent your whole world, you get to make everything up, you get full freedom to make mistakes (your characters can do it for you), to be whomever you want.

I can hear your giant collective moan—you don’t have a Just Write class, and you don’t have a whole spare hour. You have work or you have the home-school association or your baby takes up every second except for laundry, cooking, and that rare indulgence: sleep. But you don’t need a whole hour.

Do this: collect writing topics (there are myriad wonderful books out there: Judy Reeves’ A Writer’s Book of Days, Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones (a classic), or if you’re a poet, the Teachers and Writer’s Handbook of Poetic Forms (pick a page and try it, it’s make for teaching, so it’s easy to follow) to name just a few) and put them in your notebook.

Or better yet, come to the moms writing workshop here pick up a new topic every week. Then bring your notebook everywhere and use the scraps of time you do have. Waiting in the car queue at school pickup (don’t forget to put your car in park), standing in line at the grocery store, during a nap, when you might otherwise fall asleep yourself or pop in a load of laundry—give yourself 5 minutes, 11 minutes on the topic.

Then leave it be to rise like dough. You’re practicing, learning. The making things part comes later, when you have time to take a short-story workshop (online or in person), when you have time to go to graduate school. Now you can get those muscles going. I do it all the time. Waiting at the dentist. Waiting for the bus. Squeeze it in.

You can post your writings on this site. Think of it as a group blog, or a mini-publication if you want, think of it as a chance to post your experiences and hear someone else’s, whether the stories you tell are fictional or autobiographical. We won’t ask; this is a chance to speak your piece. Think of it as a little free version of Just Write. Maybe you’ll read The Other Mother and have your own story to tell.

Many of my writing students have gone on to do this--start a mom’s writing group in your town, or at lunch break at work. Maybe you’ll go it alone (before kids I made writing dates with friends; we met in cafes with topics). Or maybe online is all the company you need.

Whether you’re a working mom or a stay-at-home mom you have truths to share, you have your own (invented or real) narrative. And since the mommy wars are a modern reality—even if it’s just your own private conflict—there are a million other moms out there who would like to hear your side of the story. It helps us make our own choices to know we’re not alone, even if it feels like we are.

Pick up your notebook on your commute (put down your Blackberry), write for fifteen minutes, get yourself in writing shape, and sooner or later you’ll have time to tell your whole story. We’ll be waiting to read it.

Read more ...
The Rules for Writing Practice
introduction to the writing workshop, part 2 »