I'm all for mothers writing together, as you know, and started a course called Writing Motherhood right here in town some years ago! I don't know these folks personally, but they wrote and asked whether I'd share the following:
MotherVerse Magazine, a journal of contemporary motherhood, is launching an exciting new addition; mother writer workshops. These virtual workshops are designed to help facilitate mother writing by encouraging others to come together to learn and guide one another. MotherVerse will be offering two workshops "Writing Motherhood" and "Publishing a Blog" with will begin at the end of April and early May. The workshops will feature experienced published mentors and are a great opportunity to grow your current writing, develop something new, or begin that blog you have always wanted to start. If you are interested in joining a workshop sign up as soon as possible as each workshop has a limited enrollment. Visit http://www.motherverse.com/workshops
If you go, let us know what you think!
This week's writing topic: Write about not being a mother for 9 minutes. That could be nine minutes of not being a mother, or before you were a mother, or what you are other than a mother...
I'm just back from visiting my mother, which was wonderful. And spring is sprung, the flowers riz, I wonder where the birdies is...
So here we go... :D
(I love these prompts by the way....)
There was a time that when I decided I wanted to go to bed, I would simply fall in the bed. I didn’t have to worry about lunches being packed, 5,000 Legos being picked up so that you could again walk through the living room without killing your feet, or ensure that all permission slips were signed and ready to return the next morning. Of course, those were also that times that my days extended well into the wee hours of the morning, large amounts of alcohol were consumed, and cabs were always the preference in getting home.
No, there was no need to make sure the car seats were buckled in the right way, no wondering if all of the kids were in, buckled and their doors shut before pulling out of the driveway.
Shopping was enjoyable as no one demanded any of my money for a toy, and no tantrums ensued as the result of saying no. I could watch what I wanted on the television and never had to sit through an episode of Hannah Montana, SpongeBob, or Pokemon. Shoot, I didn’t even know what Pokemon was, and I was okay with that.
The worries were only that of whether I had enough money after my long week of waiting tables, to see the latest hot band in concert with drinks afterwards, or who I would allow to take me out that weekend and whether or not he would ask me out again.
There were no thoughts of who has practice, what time does she need to be picked up, and why on earth didn’t you start your home work earlier?
Oh, how I loved the days when I could finish my shift, come home, debrobe in the foyer and prance around my house in what ever I so desired. I didn’t have to worry about who had clean socks and underwear. I didn’t have to search for what seemed like hours to find a shoe, or shin guards, or mouthpieces.
I didn’t have to pump up tires for a parade around the neighborhood. There were no snotty noses to wipe, tears to dry, and I didn’t have to deal with all night puke fests, unless they were my own fault; nor did I have to worry about bandaging cuts and scrapes.
There were no elbows and knees shoved into my side through out the night. My sleep went uninterrupted and I could take up the whole thing if I so desired.
The tales that I listened to did not involve who pushed who on the playground. I didn’t worry about bad grades, raising them before the next report period, studying more or rewards for good behavior.
Of course, there were no hugs and kisses for no reason. There were no “I love yous” with out demanding something in return.
It was just me, on my own terms, not having to worry about anyone, but myself.
And it was empty.
Yes, there was a time that I wasn’t a mother. There was a time that I didn’t want little snotty nose things clinging to me.
But Someone else knew that they would eventually be the ones to save my life.
Posted by: Heather @ Desperately Seeking Sanity | April 15, 2008 at 09:56 AM
Heather--wonderful! I'm in suspense here, though--I'm wondering whether that last line is literal or figurative, and I'm thinking about how the best fiction makes you want to keep reading on......
(or nonfiction).
You go!
GG
Posted by: Gwendolen Gross | April 16, 2008 at 03:14 PM
Maybe I can expand upon this at some point in time. I find with my writing that this is about the length I can do and then I become uninterested in writing anymore about it. I guess that's why I blog?
Whether this is literal or figurative, I'm not sure. I was on a downward spiral; a path of destruction and my first child was an oops. However, when I had him, I had to clean up my life. I had no choice. But several people, my father leading the way, told me that my kids saved my life, simply by making me grow up, and stop participating in things that eventually would kill me if they got out of hand.
Thanks for the prompts. I write so much better when someone can get me going. And, I did sign up for that writing workshop. I'll let you know how it goes.
Posted by: Heather @ Desperately Seeking Sanity | April 17, 2008 at 08:04 AM
Hi-I just came across your blog via MotherVerse. I'm actually a mentor for the upcoming workshops and am looking forward to it all.
I love how there is a prompt with each posting (mostly). Keeps one motivated.
I'll be checking back often, for sure.
Posted by: Kris | April 27, 2008 at 12:42 PM
Kris--so glad you found us! Come write, too, if you feel like it. Best of luck with the teaching--I've done it for 15 years, and learn more from my students each year...(I thought there was a prompt with EACH posting! If there's one without, well, oops. The blog's all about the prompts!)
GG
Posted by: Gwendolen Gross | April 30, 2008 at 01:42 PM