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Archive for the ‘Story Sessions’ Category

How It Begins and Ends – Guest Post

Posted in Poetry, Story Sessions on February 19, 2014| Leave a Comment »

(Originally written during the 40 Days of Poetry and featured on the Story Sessions blog)

[Possible trigger alert: inexplicit rape theme]

I

It begins…

And it is summer sunrise
A new day with dew-kissed air
And the juicy promise of the first peach of the season.
When the weather is warm, not hot
Breezy, not gusty.

There is heat,
And there is sunshine.

The gaze holds…

And it is rain –
The lovely kind that’s cool, not cold
Or warm, not clammy.
And you have no place to be but dancing in the puddle,
Curls plastered to your face
In a way that’s cute, not messy
Quirky, not weird.

There is laughter,
And there is thunder.

You go out…

And he orders your coffee before you arrive
Because he knows how you like it –
Strong, but smooth,
Sweet, but not fluffy,
Hot, not cold.
And you know that you’re a song he hears –
His favorite one
That he plays over and over.

There is melody,
And there is harmony.

II

He calls one day…

And he is sad, not happy
Worried, not carefree.
And he says, “I just got raped by that test.”
And the words are brown and rotting fruit,
Thrown to the ground by a careless wind.

You want to listen,
But you’re baffled and speechless
On the outside

On the inside, however,
You’re hissing…

No.
No, you did not.

No, you weren’t invaded
To your depths
To your soul

Despite your pleas
Despite your no
Despite your fists
And elbows
And knees.

Despite throwing everything you could think to throw
But still being marked
Helpless, not powerful
And weak, not strong.

You failed because you failed.

Not because something was inflicted upon you that you
Did not deserve
Did not ask for
Could not have foreseen or prevented

III

Or maybe the hiss slips out
Makes its way
Across the line of your lips
Across the line between you
Receiver to ear
Without a face to keep it company.

And it’s his turn to be baffled
And he says, “Where the fuck did that come from?”

And you know he’s hurt, not angry
And confused, not insensitive
(not intentionally, anyway)

YOU KNOW.

But you can’t hear what you know right now over the blaring trumpet solo the patriarchy is playing in your head.

All you can do is spit out…

It comes from
Be a good girl
And mind your manners
And nice girls don’t say things like that
And ladies don’t wear things like that

It comes from
You’re such a goody-goody
You’re such a slut
You’re such a tease
And how talented you must be to be all three.

It comes from
I know what’s best for you
You don’t know what you want
You know you want it
You knew what you were doing when you
Said that
Did that
Were that.

It comes from all the lies that you have ever been told
That you are second in command
Yet responsible for all
And utterly powerless to do anything
Except watch it all fall on top of you.

And no one will help you
Because we all think the whole mess is just one big joke.

IV

So it ends…

And it doesn’t occur to either of you
That there is a response that exists
Between baffled and furious
A way that reaches
Beyond livid and bewildered
Because in that moment, there isn’t.
Because when something fragile shatters
The instinct is
To stand very still
Or to sweep it all away.

No one thinks
To walk barefoot through it.

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Stop

Posted in Story Sessions on February 12, 2014| 2 Comments »

This post was born in tonight’s Story Sessions Write-In. The question was “Where is he calling you to risk right now?”

My call to risk is not initially a do.

It’s a stop.

Maybe yours is, too. Feel free to fill in the bracketed space with things to lay aside that are specific to your need.

Stop [teaching more classes than you have time to teach.]

Stop [taking more classes than you have time to take.]

Stop bringing the job home with you. [Do not check the desk blog on the weekends.  Do.  Not.]

Stop [answering when part-timers phone or text on your day off.] You can’t control their urge to doubt themselves, but you can control your urge to reward their doubt.

Stop saying yes to everything that sounds like it might…

…maybe…

…could be a part of the big picture, for your big picture is so, so big, and the day is so, so short. Learn what yes sounds like when it is whispered to your spirit instead of manipulating it to sound true when it is spoken aloud.

Stop insisting on keeping traditions that you no longer have enough help to keep. Today is not the same as yesterday.  The good news is that it is also not the same as tomorrow.

Stop talking about how angry you are that you don’t have time.  Use that energy to create time instead.

Stop.  Abide.

And then get ready to embrace.

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What I’m Into – January 2014

Posted in Books, Food, Story Sessions, TV, What I'm Into, Writing on February 4, 2014| 3 Comments »

This month January was fast.  I just don’t know where it went.

The semester started, and then it just took off.  I only have the one class this semester, so it seems like a year goes by between teaching days.

I made resolutions and chose my one word.

I started Story 101, and you’re going to hear a lot about that.  Yes.  Even more than you already have.  It seems that every other post is from a prompt from the class.  If you haven’t taken it, go ahead and follow the hyperlink above, because the spring session starts soon, and you don’t want to miss out!

Here are some other things I’m into:

To write:

I had the honor of guest posting as part of Preston Yancey’s series on what women want from the church.  That was scary and also fun.

I worked on some of my WIP, but not as much as I planned.  Other than the guest post (which I actually wrote in December), it’s been a bit of a blah writing month.

To read:

It has also been a light reading month.  I have been reading books on writing for the ecourse, and so far, May Sarton’s Journal of a Solitude has been my favorite.

To watch:

Ah, the reason that writing and reading have gone the way of the VCR this month…

My habits clearly think we’re still on holiday, because I’ve been watching way more TV than I usually do.  I got several seasons of Friends from Michelle and Steve for Christmas, so I have been reliving happy times.  That scene in The One With The Blackout where Ross gets attacked by the cat while the group is inside singing Top of the World?  I still laugh just as hard now as when I first saw it.  That’s just good TV. And nostalgia has not changed my unpopular position – I just don’t give a flying fig about Ross and Rachel’s relationship.  I know I’m supposed to care deeply, but I do not.

Parks and Recreation – I don’t want to talk about it.  I just want to let it know that I saw what it did. *stern face*

Community – I’ll talk about that. Nathan Fillion, how are you so adorable? Okay, that’s pretty much all I had to say on the subject.

As far as movies go, I went to see Frozen again, and this time I took my sister.  I love this movie.  I’m pretty critical of Disney, and I still have a couple of it-might-have-been-nice-ifs, but overall, I love it.  I even have a post planned to discuss the depths of my love for this movie, and that doesn’t happen very often.  It’s rare that I am able to invest in characters so quickly.

To hear:

I really love this song:

It makes me miss tango.  I’ve been feeling dance-y lately and listening to a lot of this-would-be-a-good-tango-song songs.

To taste:

Most of my meals lately have been odd combinations of frozen holiday leftovers. The most memorable was the taco roast-kale-Parmesan quesadillas.

I also made a pretty fantastic batch of Burgundy Beef after I had a glass of a disappointing wine.  It certainly redeemed itself in the dish.

My favorite thing I made all month, though,were my vanilla coconut waffles.  I could eat these every morning for the rest of my life.

So that’s my month.  I’m linking up with Leigh Kramer, so hop on over there to see what everyone else is into!

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Silence

Posted in Story Sessions, Work, Writing on February 2, 2014| Leave a Comment »

This week in Story 101, we practiced silence. This week was a crazy week at work.

This week, I sucked at silence.  Well, sort of.

I tried to stay away from Facebook during work this week.  I gave myself ten minutes in the morning to answer questions on the group that I admin for work, to wish people a happy birthdays, and to answer direct messages.  I was going to spend ten minutes and then log off.

Then an announcement needed to be made on the group page.  New residents requested to be added and then came to the front desk, perplexed that it hadn’t happened immediately (because doesn’t EVERYONE live and die by their Facebook notifications?). Then our supper club meeting on Sunday had to be overhauled. Then etc.  Then I just kept logging back in to do one more thing.

I tried to stay off Facebook during work.  I failed.  I did this log-in-log-out business for two days. Then I just gave up logging out.

But at home, that was a different story.

At home, it was quiet.  Finally quiet.  Blissfully quiet.

I did not log in to tend to work or anything else.  Because I don’t work (for the job that pays rent) at home, and I don’t work (for the job that pays rent) for free.

At home, I do what I love.  And this week of silence gave what I love the space to rest and breathe.

Even at home, my writing time, no matter how faithful I am to stick to it, is usually a rush-in,go go go,

don’t pause to ponder

just write write write

And even then, there’s not time to get everything I planned to do in the time I had to do it.

This week, with silence, I had time to ponder.  And I loved it.

The problem with silence is that when I get it – even a little of it – I start to crave it. All the time.

And the normal stresses of being an introvert in an extrovert job are multiplied by ten billion.

There’s no silence there.

It’s loud loud loud loud loud.

People talking at and over each other.  Not to communicate.  Not really.  Just to hear their own voices. And I know they aren’t hearing anyone but themselves, because their responses are comically non sequitur.

It could be an SNL skit.  I try not to laugh – which I really want to do, because it’s absurd and hilarious, even if they don’t mean for it to be – because sudden bursts of laughter from the previously silent desk clerk will provoke a whole new set of chatter as they try to figure out what’s so funny without ever stopping to listen for the answer.

Oh, wow.  That would be even funnier.

Talking talking talking talking talking.  So much blah blah blah

And I feel blah (blah blah).

And I get it.  I do.  It’s mesmerizing to hear your voice.  To learn its sound.  To hear words that come out that might be your ideas or might be a variation of someone else’s ideas but are out there.  You put them out there.  You gave them your voice.  And it’s especially mesmerizing when it’s new – when you are learning new things and meeting new people.

You know, like people do.  When they’re first-year students.  In a dorm.  Where I work.

I get it.

I just can’t deal with it when I know that the silence is waiting for me on the other side of the time clock.  When I can go home and breathe it in.  Breathe it out. Inhale.  Exhale.  Unwind.  Unclench. Where it will actually matter that Facebook is off or that I’m not on Pinterest.  When I can choose silence and actually have it choose me back.  When I will actually get the silence I’m seeking.  Where choosing silence actually works. Where I can go, as May Sarton phrased it in Journal of a Solitude, “to take up my ‘real’ life again.”

Is it this way for everyone?  The increased intentional silence a reminder of the glory of what everyday life could be (should be…must be)?  Does it make them yearn for quiet solitude to be the thing they do full-time rather than the thing they have to make time to do?  Do they feel even more unsatisfied than they usually feel with where their choices about how they make a living – make a life – have landed them?

In this way, silence has been a mixed bag for me this week.  I love it, but because I love it, I am more acutely aware of how much my life lacks it.  I am thus dissatisfied.  And restless.  And wistful.

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Introducing…Brave!

Posted in Poetry, Story Sessions on January 20, 2014| 4 Comments »

The stage is ready.

The wobbly chair has been replaced.
The burned-out bulb has been changed.
Everything is set.

The audience is humming with social niceties and anticipation.
The announcer quiets them –
“And now – what you’ve all been waiting for – introducing….Brave!”

The curtains roll back, and the stage is empty.

The audience laughs.
“That’s clever,” they say.
“Brave wants us to think she has stage fright.”

They think it is all part of the act.

The laughter turns nervous as minutes pass and nothing changes.

Where is she?
The one who was up for anything
Who would try on any hat

Who was the first to step up to the mic
To step into the spotlight
To step out on the dance floor

Whose costume was see-through
In the right light
Who found that thrilling instead of terrifying

Who would have left the stage bare
So that she could choose her own entrance
And not leave it up to the curtain.

The joke of the faux-shy star would have been merely an afterthought.

Where is she?

She’s in her dressing room, throwing up.

She’s not sure if she’s sick from worrying whether she toned it down enough,
Or sick from what it says about the person she’s become that she toned it down at all.

This was my response to the prompt “Show me your brave” during tonight’s Story Sessions write-in. Show us your brave.  Join us.

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I had a plan, and then…

Posted in Story Sessions, Work on January 15, 2014| 8 Comments »

This was the Story Sessions prompt:

“I need to be startlingly clear.  This thing of finding your authentic voice, expressing your blessed weirdness and revealing your soul isn’t an elegant process.  You don’t do it to be cool.  It’s only real when it is ruthless, relentless, and inevitable.  But it is also a matter of personal and collective survival.  Yes, it’s that important.  You are that critical.” – Jacob Nordby

So, as it is the first week of class, and this quote closely resembles the ideas I try to get across to my students all semester, I thought I knew what I wanted to say about it.  I outlined a grand post about the stages of the bumpy process of helping students go from being terrified of public speaking to finding something to say, and from there, discovering their own unique way of saying it. It wasn’t a bad post.  In fact, there was poetry involved.  It was a little fancy.

But as I was reading over my notes, I couldn’t bring myself to post them.  The words just felt flat.

It’s easy to hide behind what I’m helping others do.  But what about my authentic voice?  Do my students ever get to see into my soul?

Last night, I’m not sure they did.

Sure, it was the first night, so we were mostly just going over the syllabus.  Not a lot of opportunity for soul-baring there.

And sure, when I’m teaching at NCTC, I’m not just representing myself.  I am representing the college, too, and I have a responsibility to do it well, which means that saying what I really think is not always the most important – or even the most desirable – goal.

I had moments of authenticity.  I told them of my own struggles with overcoming speech anxiety, because I want them to know that I understand what they’re going through.  When discussing class rules, I was honest about my quirks.  I told them that I would stay two hours after class if they had legitimate questions about an assignment, but if the questions become a pitiful wheeze of don’t-wannas, they should not expect that conversation to end well.  I felt that it was only fair to warn them that I would have a hard time responding pleasantly to whining.

But for most of the class, I felt like I was reading a script that someone else wrote.  I told a lot of the same jokes that I have used the whole fifteen years that I have been teaching this class.  I did my love-of-cheese bit, even though I’m lactose intolerant now.  I confessed my nerdery regarding superhero movies, even though I haven’t seen any of the ones that have come out in that last few years, because all the people I used to see them with have moved away.

All my jokes are old, and telling them felt fake.

Don’t get me wrong.  The jokes still work.  More importantly, they serve a purpose.  They get laughs, which slice through some of the tension that tends to be pretty thick on the first day of a public speaking class. I could go through the whole semester, using the same lectures and the same assignments, the same examples and the same stories, and it would be just fine. The students would still learn. Some of them would even surprise themselves by liking it.

But I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I broke out of the rut.  What would my class be like if I rose to the same challenge that I gave my students?  What if I wrote new lectures, or asked different questions, or just admitted that I prefer TV to movies (because to care about a story, I need good character development, and two or three hours is usually not enough time to do it well)?

What if I expressed my own blessed weirdness?

This semester might get very interesting.

And Story 101, it’s all your fault.

(thank you)

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