Tag: Writing

Celebrating the Season

The holiday season can be as busy or hectic as you’d like, but many of us find ourselves rushing around, cooking, shopping, and decorating the house. This year, after a full and productive November, I have decided to scale things back for the rest of December so I can focus on what matters most – family, friends, and great health.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I had a lot for which I could be grateful. My writing is going well, and I have settled into a daily ritual which begins with me playing You Gotta Be by Des’ree softly in the background. 

Remember, listen as your day unfolds
Challenge what the future holds
Try and keep your head up to the sky
You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser
You gotta be hard, you gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger
You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together
All I know, all I know, love will save the day

The writing time ends with looking at my word count for the day to see if I have kept the pace I set several months ago. Most days I make my goal, but sometimes I am under the count or have gotten so engrossed that I far exceed what I thought I could do for the day.

Speaking of writing, Phyllis Stone, a friend and roommate from my college days at Notre Dame, just published her first children’s picture book. The book is Oh My, Oh My, Look Up at the Sky and it is about the wonder of the sky, seen through the eyes of children. It would make a great gift for a little one. I also attended a reunion weekend for my dorm at Notre Dame and came away so impressed by the students who live there now. Their sense of community and engagement with the world gives me hope for the future, as being around younger people often does. 

I went to see the movie Wicked: For Good and thoroughly enjoyed it. Some viewers have commented that it differs from the book and the musical, but that is not uncommon when books are made into performances. And like nearly everyone else in the theater, the song that Cynthia Erivo (Elphaba) and Ariana Grande (Glinda) sing together, called For Good, left me teary-eyed and grateful for anyone who has ever been a true friend or loved me despite my quirks. I have found that real friendship has changed me in ways I could never have imagined. Love can save the day.

At a later date, I will write about Avondale, the community in Cincinnati where I lived as a child. For over a year I worked on a history project funded by the University of Cincinnati that taught me more than I ever knew about this neighborhood. At the end of November, I facilitated a panel discussion between a church community that has been in Avondale since the late 1800s and a group of Avondale leaders and residents. It was fascinating to hear the different experiences of those on the panel; it gave me an opportunity to reflect on what growing up there has meant to me.

Thanksgiving Day was calm, with family and my first attempt at making cranberry sauce. I posted a photo on my Instagram account (@writepausereflect), joking that I would still have the canned sauce available for those who like ridges in their cranberry sauce. We had a nice meal, plenty of leftovers for the next day, and time to talk and share what is going on in our lives.

December might be quieter, and I am looking forward to some travel, more family and friend time, and reading. As the month moves along, I expect more days inside, candles lit, and jazz in the background. I am preparing to winter and looking forward to it.

In peace,

Ramona

Quiet Time

I am just back from a week in New Hampshire with family and now I enter the quieter portion of the summer. The weather was great, sunny days with the kind of humidity that seems mild since I grew up in Cincinnati. We baked make-your-own pizzas in the backyard, visited Klemm’s Bakery for pastries, Hayward’s Homemade Ice Cream twice, and drove up to Cape Elizabeth, Maine for seafood and a stop at a nearby lighthouse. Being together was the best part, and I shared photos with those who could not join us. The only hiccups were flight delays, supposedly caused by “fog” in Boston. When I checked with my family in the area and spoke with a woman waiting for her daughter, everyone said there was no fog on a sunny midafternoon that they could see, but I knew the plane would leave when they said it could, so I read while waiting. I’m currently reading “How Beautiful We Were” by Imbolo Mbue, a novel about how a village in Africa is affected by the American oil company that started production and left the people and their land ravaged by illness and neglect. They resist for years, fighting to restore their homeland. I have not finished it, but there are passages so beautifully written that at times I need to put the novel down and just absorb the language and message.

I meant to write about letter writing, which many of us don’t do as much because it has been replaced with the quick text or social media update. I love writing notes and often will send a card with a letter or an article to folks, just to let them know that I am thinking of them. I don’t always get a letter back, but that is not the point for me—I love the slowing down that letter writing requires.

Last week, I did get some sad news—a friend and mentor, Ellen Doyle, OSU, passed away after living with an illness that she had been dealing with for over two years. Ellen often updated her friends, letting us know of her travels, treatments options, and speaking candidly about the gravity of her illness. I was surprised when I got word of her passing, but she had been letting us walk with her all along, preparing us for what she knew could happen.

Ellen wrote a wonderful memoir, “Dear Uncle Stanley”, which shares letters her uncle wrote during her young adulthood; she also wrote to him over those years. She was discerning and coming to understand her call to spiritual life as a sister in a religious community, and he was an older priest, speaking honestly with her about life and its challenges. I appreciated her love of letter writing and how letters are not just welcome in the moment, they also serve as a record of a moment in time. Mbue’s novel also uses letters between those in the village and a friend in the States to move the story along. There are many epistolary novels and memoirs, and I love how a letter can give an intimate portrayal of a person’s mind and heart. Ellen lived a rich and full life, and I know her spirit is at rest. That doesn’t mean I won’t miss her, but I am grateful to have known her for over 50 years.

In this quieter season, I will make a point to send a card or a letter to more people. It is more permanent than a text, even if the recipient does not hold on to it for decades like Ellen did. It is a way of checking in, letting those we care about know we are thinking of them.

This morning in my Pilates session, my trainer asked me if I was retired. I said, “No, not really; I’ll always have a project here and there.” Last week I said yes to an offer to facilitate a panel discussion, and I am in the planning stages for a few other projects that I will share as they are more fully developed. I appreciate this quieter season. I can be still long enough to let the ideas settle, like a butterfly on the coneflowers outside my window. If you are able, carve out some quiet time for yourself, whether it is a few hours or a few weeks. If we get still enough, if we are comfortable with the quiet, we can hear. And if you can hear, you can dream.

Cape Elizabeth, Maine

The Joy of Writing and Reading for an Audience

Reading stage for HOME, 2025 issue of SJCPL WRITES,
March 29, 2025

Once people find out that I am a writer, the next question is usually “What do you write about?” The truth is, as an essayist, I write about almost anything that intrigues me or makes me want to delve into my thoughts about an experience, person, belief, or issue. With all that is happening in our world, there is never a loss for topics, even if I sometimes I find myself grappling for the right words.

I recently had the pleasure of doing a reading for an essay of mine that was published in the 2025 issue of SJCPL WRITES, a literary journal published by the library. My essay, Morning at Home, is about how a morning ritual with my mother began in my childhood and changed as we both got older. I was joined by a community of several other writers who shared their own stories and poetry. Being part of a literary community is important.

Publication is never a guarantee, just ask most writers, but it is an honor when your work is recognized and appreciated. However, I truly enjoy the chance to do public readings because they allow for an almost immediate connection with the reader or an audience. And the fact that readers take the time to show up, well, I am grateful for that too. For the last few months I have been immersed in a much longer piece than the essays I usually write. I do not know exactly where this writing journey will take me next but I would not trade the time I have to focus on my writing for anything. Thanks for your support as a reader.

2024 Book Favorites

Every year I set reading goals but it is not about how many books I read just so I can hit a certain number. My reading tends towards nonfiction, including memoir. I read dozens of books in a year, but these are a few books that stood out for me in 2024.

Nonfiction

The Mango Tree by Annabelle Tometich

Tometich’s memoir opens with her Filipina mother being arrested for shooting at a man who was stealing the mangoes from her beloved tree. This incident provides the starting point for the author’s examination of her own identity, her mother’s life, and what it means to be from two worlds and cultures. I met Tometich just before her debut novel was published, when she attended my panel at AWP, an annual writing conference that brings together thousands of writers, teachers, publishers, etc. She uses her humor and introspection to tell a moving story of growing up with loss and its effects on a family.

Praisesong for Kitchen Ghosts by Crystal Wilkinson

Every Christmas since I was child, my family has had my mother’s special black walnut cookies. She would make them Christmas Eve, we could have a few after midnight mass and before settling in to wait for Christmas morning to arrive. You might have a holiday memory like that too, a special dish that sends you right back to family. In Praisesong for Kitchen Ghosts by Crystal Wilkinson, the author melds stories of her family over five generations with her memories of time spent in kitchens, her grandmother’s and her own. She pieces together parts of her family history and their life in the hills of Kentucky, where they have lived since the 1800s. From the biscuits she has mastered after watching her grandmother, to the recipes using fresh vegetables and home-raised meats, she describes how food was a language in her family. I loved this book for the stories and the recipes, which she shares with detail.

Fiction

The Love Songs of W.E.B. Dubois by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers

This book, which is several hundred pages long, is a masterpiece. It chronicles the story of a Black family from the early period in U.S. history when Africans were forcibly removed from home and brought to the United States and Native Americans had their lands stolen, to current times. Although there are sections that are painful to read because of enslavement and family trauma, I came away with a sense of how the pain of enslavement has had generational impact on this entire country and increased respect and compassion for the resilience of people who had to endure it and still survived. In December 2023, I read Let Us Descend by Jesmyn Ward and I highly recommend reading them both. In some ways they seem like companion stories.

The Rich People Have Gone Away by Regina Porter

I am starting to see more novels that are set during the COVID pandemic. This book starts with a mystery because a woman goes missing, but the real story is in the lives and reactions of the people in her circle, including her husband, a friend, and their families. COVID is always there in the background, because of the isolation and fear it caused for so many, particularly those who were affected early on such as those living in New York. Just when you think you have an answer to this puzzle, Porter spills another secret and you cannot stop reading.

My goal has been set for this year – a blend of fiction and nonfiction, authors from various backgrounds, and some books where I study the author’s craft in telling the story. Here’s to more good books in 2025!

Resting in Winter

This morning is a cold one and usually I might complain. But this year I am reminding myself, again, that the coming winter and its colder temperatures with less daylight serve a vital purpose for nature and for me. One purpose is the same, it is a time to rest and rebuild.

Every year about this time a group of black birds settle in South Bend for a week or so, although some days it seems longer because of all of their cawing and screeching. I remember the first time that I noticed the ravens. I was sitting on the couch in my living room, talking to a friend on the phone. A landline, albeit cordless. I looked outside and saw dozens of birds settled in the intersection outside my window, in the street, and pecking at the ground. It was a bit terrifying because there were so many of them, and it reminded me of the scenes from the Hitchcock movie The Birds, where they descended on a town and started attacking people. However, maybe this area is just part of their migration path because they don’t stay long. For them, passing through town, likely led by the winding St. Joe River, is innate and part of an annual ritual.

For years I would bemoan the approach of winter, fretting over the cold and lack of sunshine, and I almost felt forced to stay inside. Two things helped me to change my mindset. The first was my growing love for gardening. Once I saw the winter as a respite for nature and an opportunity for the world above ground to be silent while my perennials preserved energy, I accepted that winter’s cold was part of the process and I could relish what was quietly happening underneath the frozen soil. I would look at the bare trees and think, “just resting, they will be back.”

Another purpose of this season was revealed at a winter retreat I went on in early 2018. I was going through a hard time, kind of low, and the gloomy days did not help. What I did was counterintuitive – instead of heading to a tropical beach, I went to the Berkshires for a week of winter hikes, workshops, and rest. I learned how to identify the tracks of animals moving about in the snow and realized that I did not have to shut myself in because it was cold, I just need to dress for it.

Our home is nearly decorated for Christmas, with lots of reds and greens, Nativity scenes, trees of varying sizes, Grinch decorations, and lights, so many lights and candles. This year has been such a busy one and it is time for me to slow down and enjoy this season. There will be some holiday gatherings, but I am also leaving time to write, sew (now that I finally got a new machine) and learn how to sit still without cooking up the next project. One of my brothers once teased that me and another brother are “always looking for something to do.” That quality has served me well but in this season, I am going to hush the small voice that tells me I could get one more thing done, that the goal is constant productivity and doing. It is not always easy, but I am learning. 

In a few weeks I will share some of my favorite reads of this year, but here is one that might help others who struggle with winter. The book is How to Winter by Kari Leibowitz. In the meantime, I hope you can enjoy some of the stillness that comes with this time of year.

Peace,

Ramona

Having Space Finding Freedom

I don’t believe in writer’s block but I do understand what it feels like to be stuck, looking for the right words when maybe any words will do. I shared over a year ago that I have been working on longer pieces that don’t lend themselves as readily to this newsletter, which was part of the reason I had not been sending as much out or with the same frequency that I used to. 

However, there is more to it than that. I started this year off with the concept of wanting more space in my life. After many years of working hard, six and sometimes seven days a week, I wanted to schedule less, reflect and rest more. But that did not happen, or at least I could not stick with that plan. In June, I wrote about learning to be present with my father as he was beginning the process of transitioning. Two days after my post, he passed on. I was with him that morning and when I got the call a few hours later, I rushed back, quickly going into the responsible mode that is familiar and second nature for me. In the hours, days, and weeks that followed, we all had a lot to take care of, and I cannot completely remember who I spoke to and when. His homegoing was a celebration of his life and I am blessed to have had such a wonderful father. I take comfort that he is at rest, and that he can be reunited with my mother—he missed her so much over these last seven years.

Where does this leave me? In some ways with more space than I have had in a long time. Some of that space is free time, and some is the hole that is there from missing my father and mother. I have wonderful memories, stories, and great family and friends, which helps a lot. And I don’t have many regrets about how I have used my time. 

These days I am trying to develop a new rhythm and routines, and resume old ones that were cast aside because of work, caregiving, fatigue, and other commitments. A last-minute train ride to Chicago with my husband. Pilates classes with different instructors. Coffees with friends who haven’t seen me as much over the last few years. Homemade soups. Reading – on my own or when I can, with an online community that talks about what is going on in our lives as much as it discusses the actual books. And rest, even though sometimes the sleep doesn’t come as quickly as I’d like. I relish my rest. 

Which brings me to my writing. Writing has always been a comfort to me, and usually comes easily. I think I worry too much about getting it right when what is most important is that I get the words down. The bigger project is going to take time, will require revision, and I will get it done, in time. But what I like about this format is its immediacy—if I have things I want to share (and write them down before I forget and get caught up in another task), getting my thoughts out in the world is not hard. I want to thank those of you who have stuck with me and I especially appreciate those who prod me when it has been too long since they have heard from me and ask about my writing. I am learning how to navigate a life that still requires structure and routine, and enjoy the space I have to create a life that works for who I am now.

A New Season

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Summer might be almost over, and it is if you follow the meteorological calendar which has autumn beginning September 1. We’re past back to school season which always feels like a fresh start, at least for me. But this year is different. No longer working or employed for an organization, I am back to doing what is my first love – writing.

The word retirement – if that is what you choose to call leaving regular paid employment – doesn’t quite capture this phase of my life. I have full days, and wonder how I got so much done when I had to balance the professional, personal, and creative. I have enjoyed writing since I was at least six, and I remember the many stories I wrote and read, mainly about animals, during those first years of writing. Even while during corporate work, then nonprofit – arts, education, etc., the call back to writing never seemed to leave. So here I am, with the time and freedom to go back to the page. Last week I was part of a writing intensive, a good way to immerse myself in craft with a writing community. In between talks about writing, revising, and publishing, we also completed writing exercises, many of which will develop into complete essays.

Tending the garden (what I call yardwork), resuming my Pilates practice, having fun with family and friends, attending live performances (saw Bob James a week ago), are other ways I spend my time. And sometimes I do what appears like nothing, which is a big shift for me and something I need to almost talk myself into; I am so used to running full speed every day. But it’s all good. Like autumn, it is a good time to slow the pace, wrap up some of the old projects, and make sure everything is settled for the season I am about to enter. 

Heading Back to the Familiar

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Sometimes when I have been away from what once was a regular practice, I have to ease back into it, like when you add vegetables to a food a child already likes and hope that you can sneak them in without her noticing. For me, the two practices that have been languishing are Pilates and writing. I have been so busy lately that some of the things I need to do to feel balanced have been squeezed out. For a while, that even applied to reading, because by this time last year I had already read nearly 45 books, and this year I am at about half of that number. 

I have adjusted to this new pace in life, with its restrictions on where I go and who is around me. I realize that more than ever, I need those practices that help me process what is going on in the world so I can tend to my physical and emotional wellbeing. I am back into Pilates, maybe not at the skill level I was at before, but I am practicing more frequently. And I have found that sitting for longer periods each day (aren’t we all?) means I need the movement that Pilates gives me. I worry less about how intense it is, or even how long I practice. I focus on just showing up.

And so, it is with my writing. This time last year I was immersed in my writing, heading off to a college library many mornings to write, and making progress on a book. For a while I switched to research because I had written quite a bit but wanted to go back and get more background material. The daily treks to the library slowed when cold weather came, but even at home, I wrote often. The busyness of life has crowded out my regular writing practice, or at least the part of my writing that I have not yet shared with the world. 

Sometimes it is about shifting expectations I have of myself. Just because I may not have as many hours to write doesn’t mean that 15- 30 minutes isn’t worth it. Or instead of daily writing, I can shift to longer sessions over the weekend. These days, I plan for the future, but I take it one day at a time. I remind myself that these are strange times, and while the familiar routines from my past ground me, I cannot expect that things will return to normal just by doing what once was normal and routine. I sneak in enough of the familiar so that when the unfamiliar jolts me from my path I know how to find my way back home.  

My Guest Post for Hidden Timber Books

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This must be the season for guest posts for me! Last week, I wrote a post for Christi Craig, Publisher at Hidden Timber Books. My relationship with Hidden Timber Books goes back a few years, they published one of my essays and they are very supportive of writers, those they have published and many others. The essay talks about why writing is important to me and can be found here.

Recently, I have been so busy with work and other obligations that it would be easy to let my writing take a back seat to other demands. But I realized that writing is essential for my wellbeing and creativity, so even if I only have a half hour, I make time to write. I hope you are also doing something to nourish your spirit during these times.

 

Ramona

I Can Show You Better Than I Can Tell You — BREVITY’s Nonfiction Blog

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My essay, I Can Show You Better Than I Can Tell You, appeared on the Brevity blog a few days ago and I wanted to share it with you. If you love creative nonfiction like I do, this blog, which has more than 46,000 readers, is one you should take a look at.

 

By Ramona M. Payne

My mother learned at an early age how to take care of herself. Her father died when she was six and life for her, her sister, and their mother was hard. I imagine that because her life was shaken by death and financial struggle, she sometimes had to go along with […]

via I Can Show You Better Than I Can Tell You — BREVITY’s Nonfiction Blog