Surprise!
On March 20, 2003, a month after international protests against another war, ground troops invaded Iraq. It was my 22nd birthday; I was a few months away from graduating from college and a year and a half beyond that beautiful September day when, while making coffee in the kitchen of my dorm in Upper Manhattan, I caught a curl of smoke on the horizon.
In the elevator, a boy turned to me and said, A plane crashed into the twin towers. Young and brittle and hell-bent on convincing the world it could not surprise me, I shrugged and headed off to my 9 am class, Language and the Brain, taught by an Italian-born professor who lectured in lilting tones.
That newsless room was the last of that before. At my 10:30 class, Intro to Women’s Studies, I understood something terrible had happened. I went back to my dorm, made a few frantic phone calls that confirmed I was a fantastically lucky person, and watched the TV play the plane impacts over and over until I could not stand it anymore. After a failed attempt to give blood, I spent the rest of the day lying in bed, reading Tess of the d’Urbervilles and staring into the blank blue sky outside my window.
As time elapses, we get to turn around and gaze back at the ever-widening gulf between now and then, to examine the choices made and celebrate and regret accordingly. There are always mistakes in the rear-view, ranging in intensity and permanence. Sometimes we knew they were mistakes even as we were setting them down in ink. Sometimes we had no control over what came to pass. Always we learn something.
For those of us who write memoir, this looking back is a calling, an exercise that builds our muscles of remembering and feeling until they ripple and bulge. We attain superhero status when we can simultaneously hold wonder and reverence at our triumphs along with the sadness of our missteps, when we can learn from what occurred without being drowned by the memory of it. For those of us who write fiction, the land of make believe may be the only place the past can become palatable.
One of my students said—in February 2020—that adulthood is largely routine; surprises are rare, and the ones that do occur are generally not the good kind. While I agree that adulthood can be rote, writing hardly ever is. It is nothing but surprises, which is why I prefer it to the banality of adulting.
Good surprises are on offer this fall, in all genres. Writing Through Crisis starts September 30 (online), Fiction Writing on October 19th (in-person at the Durham Arts Council, I hope!), and Write Your Life Story on October 25 (in person at the Carrboro ArtsCenter, I hope!). If a regular class doesn’t fit with your routine, consider becoming a patron, which will give you access to lots of writing prompts, craft talk, and an ongoing Slack conversation about all things writing.
Routines are restarting, pushing many of us back into spaces we may not be fully ready for. I hope you’re able to stay openhearted on the page and in the world, that the surprises in store are enlightening and enlivening.
J.
Writing Through Crisis starts September 30
As humans our instinct is to make meaning, especially in times of distress. This virtual class will include many in-class writing exercises to identify and express the complex emotions that arise in crisis. We’ll discuss how to create a sustainable writing practice in times of uncertainty and use our writing to process concrete and ambiguous loss. You’ll make new connections with other writers and reconnect to your own values and intentions. Although I’ve offered this class before, the content will be refreshed for returning students. No writing experience is required, only the desire to explore on the page, express yourself creatively, and make sense of life’s challenges. This class will meet on Zoom on Thursdays, 7:30pm-8:30pm, September 30 through October 28 (5 sessions). Register now.
The next yoga & writing workshop, Ground in Gratitude, will be Thursday, September 23, 6:30-8:30pm. This is a great way to replant your feet on the earth and find gratitude that will feed the remaining months of this crazy year. These workshops have been such a solace, providing much needed space to slow down and find clarity. Early bird registration ends September 9th!
Fun fact about me: I am obsessed with the song Scenes from an Italian Restaurant by Billy Joel. I have listened to it, and The Stranger, the album it appears on, several thousand times in the last few years. Scenes From an Italian Restaurant is an epic song with multiple narratives. To my great pleasure, the podcast Strong Songs broke down the song in a recent episode (and thanks to my oldest friend for introducing me to this podcast in his great newsletter). I know nothing about music, but this podcast is a wonderful introduction to both the technical language of music and the depth of what we can hear if we listen deeply.
To Go Poems
There are poems we all come back to when the world feels chaotic and threatening. Here are two of mine—would love to hear yours!
Life on Mars by Tracy K. Smith
The Conditional by Ada Limón