The last two months have been busy—I launched my workshop series, Write.Pause.Reflect, in October and have been planning and delivering workshops, connecting with friends and meeting new people who are interested in reflective writing.
Write.Pause.Reflect is for anyone who is interested in using writing as a tool for managing stress, situations that cause you to worry, thoughts that keep creeping up, or issues of concern. Expressive writing, pioneered by James Pennebaker Ph.D., uses writing as a way to improve health, including mental, physical, and emotional wellbeing. In April I experienced and learned the techniques, and after my first day I knew this was a method I wanted to share with others.
What is it?
Reflective writing uses prompts and reflection on the prompts to move towards better health. In the workshops, we pause to examine the writing and our thoughts about it and consider its impact. This type of writing is different from a diary or most people’s ideas about journaling; it asks you to consider the possibility of reframing the stories we hold about our lives.
Do I have to consider myself a writer?
It is not designed solely for writers, and no, you do not have to share your work; the writing is personal.
Each workshop has been engaging and the feedback very positive. Participants are thoughtful, willing to do the writing, and respectful of each other. I continue to learn more about this process and look forward to conducting more of these workshops in 2020. Feel free to contact me if you have questions or you can comment below.
You need to know two things about me. Number one, I am a firstborn in a family with four younger brothers. Number two, until I got almost to high school I usually thought I had the right answer. About everything. I remember the first time I did not have an answer to a question. One summer, I went to vacation bible school at St. John A.M.E. Zion Church with one of my brothers. I have mostly good memories of the experience, I may have even known some of the children who were there from my first two years of grade school at Rockdale Elementary. By that summer, I had spent a few years at Annunciation, a Catholic school, where I did well in school, all As except for one in handwriting, which although it broke my streak, I did not fret because after all, it was just handwriting. Continue reading
I first read Toni Morrison in my twenties; it was the novel Tar Baby. Three decades later, I find her to be the most compelling writer in my lifetime. In her writing she chronicles and lays bare the experience of black people in this country in a way that is both affirming and gut wrenching in its truth. When I heard the news she had passed on I felt compelled to try to explain what her work has meant to me, but it is nearly impossible to do.
Maybe the best way is with a story, one related to her book Beloved. I had read Beloved before, but it was only after rereading it a couple of years ago that I truly immersed myself in the history and legacy of the story. In the book, Sethe makes the lifechanging decision to escape the cruelty of slavery in Kentucky and cross the Ohio River with one toddler child, and another on the way. When the slave catchers come after her, she attempts to kill her children rather than have them be enslaved again. It is hard to imagine making that choice as a mother, but then again, only one who had known how horrific life would be if she returned, for all of them, could understand the choice she made. Sethe kills one child before she is stopped and captured.
The story of Beloved was based, or maybe inspired is a better word, by the true story of Margaret Garner, who escaped from Kentucky, got to Cincinnati,(my hometown) and like Sethe in the novel Beloved, killed her child rather than have it taken away. Margaret Garner was captured as she killed the child, and was later tried. In another insult to her humanity, and the humanity of her children, she was not tried for murder. She was tried for destruction of property, because the child was not considered anything more than the property belonging to another human being, the slaveowner.
In Beloved, Ms. Morrison accomplished a major feat—addressing the devastating and ongoing impact of slavery on the minds, spirits, and bodies of black people, as well as the daily cruelties and suffering they endured. It is not easy to read, but I felt as if she had explained my story and the story of my ancestors in this novel. She wrote in her foreword, “In trying to make the slave experience intimate, I hoped the sense of things being both under control and out of control would be persuasive throughout; that the order and quietude of everyday life would be violently disrupted by the chaos of the needy dead; that the herculean effort to forget would be threatened by memory desperate to stay alive. To render enslavement as a personal experience, language must get out of the way.”
I read Beloved and I realized the river I grew up looking at from the bluffs of Eden Park had helped Margaret Garner pass over, and streets I knew in downtown Cincinnati had sheltered her and many others seeking freedom. Other forms of oppression awaited them, even in the north, but they sought relief from physical slavery and a chance to start new lives.
The Cincinnati Opera co-commissioned the opera Margaret Garner, and I was involved in a community engagement project to expand the audience for this opera. Margaret Garner was performed in 2005, each night sold out, and it was the most diverse audience in the history of Cincinnati Opera. There was a private reception before its opening and I was among the guests. I looked towards the door, and in walked Ms. Morrison. She was regal, her gray locks flowing, eyes scanning the room. There were so many people in the room, all eager to meet her, have their time with her. But in one moment, she saw me looking at her, and I smiled, and whispered “Hi”, trying to communicate I see you and I’m glad to see you, but I know everyone in this room wants to have your time, and I don’t want to be another person pulling at you. She smiled back, I nodded, and I left soon after. I had seen Toni Morrison, her books had already touched me, and there was no other reason for me to stay.
Ms. Morrison won the Pulitzer Prize for Beloved in 1988 and the Nobel in Literature in 1993. Our country’s greatest writer has passed on. She has been an inspiration to me because her prose was so powerful and evocative and gave attention to stories about people that had remained unknown, ignored or unexamined by many. I am grateful for the richness of her legacy and the magnificence of her writing.
One other note: I have heard many adults say that Morrison’s work is difficult. I believe it requires careful reading, but the topics and her unflinching look at our culture are very likely what people find difficult. However, she wrote a children’s book, The Big Box, with her son Slade Morrison, which I gave out as a graduation gift for years while it was still in print. I will make sure that my granddaughters do not wait until they are 20 to pick up their first Morrison book; I am so glad to have a copy of that book in my collection.
Every year, I use August as a planning month, my equivalent of get ready for school. I want to write more, read a few books, work in my yard, and enjoy this hot weather for as long as it lasts. But before I take a hiatus from posting, here are a few things I’d like to share:
Reading During July, I finished all four volumes of the Neapolitan Quartet by Elena Ferrante and I highly recommend these books – My Brilliant Friend, The Story of a New Name, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay, and The Story of a Lost Child. The novels follow the relationship of two girls from Naples, Elena and Lila, from childhood to their sixties. The sometimes-complicated nature of friendship, rivalry and loyalty, the role of women in a culture that was led by men, education as a way of escaping poverty, and the backdrop of Naples, Italy and its changing political and social dynamics are key themes in these books. I read the first novel, an extremely satisfying read, and the last line made me immediately pick up the second book. If you’re still looking for a great summer read, check out these books out.
Writing I primarily write essays and also started a novel a couple of years ago. The novel sits in a folder, and maybe one day I will revise it, or see if I want to shorten it and rewrite as a short story. Earlier this year I decided to take a break from any client work and focus on a much longer book-length project. It’s too early to give much detail, but I am enjoying the research, some travel, and of course the writing, although there are days when the words come slowly. In August I will take a few days to attend a writing conference and expect to come back home with great ideas and new energy.
Staying in touch I’m taking a break from posting here until after Labor Day, but you can still find me on Instagram @writepausereflect or on Twitter @ramonapayne1. Enjoy your August and I’ll be back in touch after Labor Day.
When I was young and someone was nasty to another person, or displayed meanness of spirit when they knew the victim could not fight back, if I could not get directly involved, I used to wish for a hidden power that would let me take retribution in my own hands. I quietly thought it would be fair that if a person was unkind, disrespectful, racist, or violent, they should experience a sudden jolt of discomfort—perhaps churning stomach cramps that caused them to double over. For extreme cases, Continue reading
Twice this week I have had lunch with friends who were visiting from out of town. Both times we sat outside at Jesus Latin Grill, enjoying the food and another hot summer day. Each friend is able to find or follow me through my website, and they read it to keep up with what I’m doing and thinking.
This reminded me it is important to say “Thank you.” I want to thank all of my readers for taking a few minutes from their day to read my posts. I know everyone is bombarded with so much news, requests, and all manner of information and you could simply hit the next or delete button.
So thanks for reading my posts. I have been at it for several years and appreciate your interest in what I’m writing. Many of you let me know through comments and in other ways that you are paying attention, and for this I will always be grateful.
This past weekend I was in Washington D.C. for a friend’s birthday. I used to travel to DC often years ago for work, and for a few years I lived in Reston, which is not far away in northern Virginia.
My friend had been planning his event for months, and kept the guest list small so he could gather some of his closest friends and family (many of us had gone to Notre Dame together, but there were people from all phases of his life). The invitation said black tie and we were excited to celebrate him and see what he had curated for the evening experience. Continue reading
Father’s Day has always been special for me; I have such a good father, and the day also comes so close to my birthday that my birthday and being a daughter have always felt linked. Today we celebrate the fathers, godfathers, other family and friends who have raised us and in many cases, helped to raise our children. We also remember the fathers who have passed on, and those who miss them.
Aviya Kushner, author of The Grammar of God: A Journey into the Words and Worlds of the Bible, wrote about her father in a way I could relate to. In this book Kushner, who grew up reading in Hebrew, explores how differences in translation, language, and culture affect the understanding of the Bible. It is also a fascinating story about her family and I highly recommend you read it. Here are her words from this memoir:
My father taught me what he has always taught me: how to ignore the disapproval of the world, no matter how loud it is. He taught me how to listen to myself, and how to hear that same thing in other people and places: the quiet beating of the individual heart.
I hope each one of us would have such a person in their life.
I’ve been taking a drawing class at the museum for several weeks. On the first day, our instructor asked us to draw a self-portrait. I started with the obvious—trying to capture the shape of my head, the size and slant of my eyes, the fullness of my lips, adding in cheekbones and topping the image off with hair, or enough swirls and poufs to make it look like hair.
The finished drawing looked nothing like me. Maybe there were a few aspects that resembled what I had seen in the mirror, but my drawing could have just as easily been a picture of someone else.
The takeaway for the day was to learn how to look and then sketch what I saw, rather than what I thought should be there. Next, I had to copy and draw a photo that was placed upside down, which forced me to look at lines, edges, and shapes to complete the picture. Instead of thinking, well, this is the arm, I know what an arm looks like, so I’ll draw an arm, I drew from sight, not expectation.
Guess what happened? My upside-down drawing was far more accurate than I thought it would be, because I made myself focus on what I noticed as I went along, rather than what I know.
Learning how to draw has been rewarding because the initial progress has been swift, hastened by learning some basic rules. My pictures look considerably more accurate than they would have weeks ago. There are basic principles and with practice I am learning how to employ them, observing shapes and shadows, how to measure and adjusting on the page.
I see parallels between my writing and my new drawing practice. When I write an essay, I often start out with an idea, not fully formed, just a sense of what I want to write about. As I keep going, noticing small details, or where my interest picks up, I make decisions about incorporating them into the work.
My drawing instructor recently said, “You have to bound your composition, you cannot fill everything in.” I decide which elements serve the final drawing, much as choosing the right words serves an essay or story. Drawing has taught me to look more closely at the world around me, and reinforces the truth that practice is essential to improvement. My goal is not to hang my work in a gallery or museum, although I share each week’s work as eagerly as a first-grader, excited that my hands and mind have tried to work in concert to create something. Like my writing, the process is as importance as the outcome, and the process and the practice are the two components I can control. The more I draw, the more I want to write, because they complement each other.
Writing will always come before drawing for me, but I’ll keep up with my sketches, if only because they are fun to make and use a different part of my brain. Practice does not have to make perfect, making progress is reason enough to keep on.