My first Heart To Page cohort has completed their 9-month intensive of reading and writing and delving into emerging stories untold. Last Sunday, we had a Showcase Story Slam where the writers each read from their work. It was probably my favorite part of this course. I felt like a teacher again.
Following is what I said to the writers before they “took the stage,” along with a little introduction for each of them:
Years ago, I learned about spinner dolphins. What they do is leap out of the water, spin around and around, and then crash back into the water. Maybe all dolphins do this, but a group of scientists who observed this behavior off the coast of Hawaii, spent millions of dollars researching why.
They found out that dolphins fly out of the water, and spin themselves around in the air because it’s fun.
I don’t know if anyone here would say that the last nine months have been nothing but fun times (although I hope there was some of that), but I believe each of you had a why - several whys - for spending almost a year writing.
You wrote to understand. To question. To learn. To resist. To entertain. To tell. Your whys might’ve changed. They might’ve multiplied. At times, you just had one cowering in the corners of your heart and mind. No matter - that’s all you needed. And I think your why is more important than your what - that is - to know what it is you are writing. I believe the what will reveal itself through the why.
By paying attention to your whys, you’ve found liturgies, last conversations with dying loved ones, you’ve stood next to waterfalls and past selves, you picked up paintbrushes after a divorce, you found stories in becoming a mother far away from the home you always knew, you found love in the kitchen of a burger joint in Detroit, and in looking at birds with your child in the woods on an early spring day.
I am grateful I could pay witness to your whys throughout these last nine months. I’m grateful you explored the questions, the sparks, and what you could not see but believed was worth paying attention to in the darkness.
It has been a pleasure to have read what you created from all your whys.
“I sold my childhood memories during the summer of 2020,” writes Joie. Or, “After a five-minute drive up a mountain, I disappear.” She is a master of sentences that evoke, and invite us into stories about love and loss, motherhood and childhood, best friends and the ever constant emergence of self.
“Lately, I’ve been watching this tiny girl explore and play and smile at (almost) everything.
Lately, I’ve been wondering why we don’t smile at (almost) everything, too. Lately, I’ve been reading stories about trees, the changing seasons, a seed keeper, how to write, why to write, and when to write.
Lately, I’ve been hoping for more time, less time, and the perfect time. Lately, I’ve realized there is never a perfect time for anything in this life. Lately, I’ve held the moments scattered in front of me instead
Like fallen leaves,
Seeds,
Blank pages,
And brand new pens.”
I’m glad Joe picked up the pens and gave shape to what was scattered.
Melissa writes about women who may or may not have buried crosses, who may or may not have applied to be a participant on the Golden Bachelor, who can without a doubt hold anxiety and excitement, joy and grief in both hands on a May day sipping Milwaukee’s Best with her best friend days before they graduate from college.
Melissa’s writing takes us into lives of women we care for because they are relatable and complicated, hilarious and shocking. “They could be me,” Melissa said once. They could be all of us. We should be so lucky.
Jenn’s writing will take you places.
To the skies of North Dakota: “the sky changes colors in different parts of the country. Here in South Dakota it is a pale blue, and the grass when not tall and brown, is a light shade of green. The colors are more subdued, not as rich as they are in the mountains of Montana. Sometimes it looks as if everything is whitewashed, a kind of muted beauty.”
To a summer night on the Indiana Dunes: “we stand with the girls, glasses on, and watch the moon slowly cover the sun, the sky becomes dusky. Idgie moves closer to me, and grabs on to my leg.
‘I’m so glad we are getting to see you before you guys settle down more,’ Kate says.
In that moment the moon appears to fully cover the sun, the sky gets dark. I can feel my body tense, and I realize my reaction is not excitement at the prospect of something new, but resistance.
’Me too.’ I say but I can’t take my mind off the word settle.”
To the first day calling an RV home and a shaky dash out of Texas: “It’s been an hour since all the lights on our RV dash lit up red like an emergency vehicle. We were on a
narrow bridge crossing over the Red River heading north on Hwy 287 in Texas. The RV engine forced us into limp mode and we barely made it to the other side of the river before it completely failed us. Idgie woke with a start, the sound of her cries intermingling with the sounds of the RV as we came to a bumpy stop in a grassy embankment. Today was our first travel day since moving into the RV full-time almost two months ago. Today was the day we were finally supposed to leave Texas.”
“What am I looking for?” Jenn asked one day, and I thought of the world she’s shown Idgie and the one she’s built for herself. “What is it that you see?” I asked. Because that’s the story she’s telling us. And we are here for it.
“I’m no preacher or theologian,” Christina writes, but her belief in a living and loving God who comes alongside her as she navigates motherhood is evident in her writing. “I hope to speak in a simple way to the newly born mother who likely finds herself in a raw and vulnerable part that does not feel as if it fits completely yet,” Christina writes.
And she does. She speaks to us on the playground and while washing bottles at the kitchen sink. She speaks to us in coffeeshops and through apologies for a messy house while she was “trying to keep two tiny humans alive.” She speaks to all of us mamas old and young who are feeling raw and vulnerable in a part that doesn’t feel as if it fits,” and she gives us the blessing of the word “yet,” showing us we don’t have to have all the answers, and we don’t have to be perfect to, as she writes, “always be a witness to [our childrens’] lives.”
Perhaps one of the greatest calls of the world.
Read more of Christina’s writing here.
Rachael
Rachael can tell you a story that integrates Maggie Smith, potty-training, Taylor Swift and Hillary Clinton, and the deep struggles of finding the right words - or any words - to write the stories on her heart. She is funny and perceptive. She is not afraid to render anger and doubt onto paper. Most of all though, Rachael’s strength as a writer comes from a phrase she uses in one of my favorite essays of hers. Her writing is about “the magic of discovering something that was hidden.” Rachael is not afraid to look, to search, and she is not afraid of showing us what it is she’s found.
My next Heart to Page cohort will begin September 3, 2024. Applications are open (due August 18, 2024) and can be found here. Information on the Heart to Page Writing Course can be found here. Or, contact me with questions.
"I believe the what will reveal itself through the why." -- That's one to ponder.
Really enjoyed reading through this, Callie!❤️🥰