Show me the way to go home

 Today we wrote some favorite song lyrics and from there wrote memories, intuitive writing, etc, associated with those lyrics. I say "some" because we couldn't possibly get to them all; they breed and they're elusive. Still, a lyrical warm up into deeper writing, which lead to, naming a very few:

singing in the car (or not)

singing at camp

singing in the kitchen

forlorn

Madonna

memory loss

love of grunge (who knew?)

Brazil

deathbeds 

Kool Aid

just like yesterday

John Denver

picnics

old tapes

mixed tapes

you say hello

goodbye yellow brick road

I'm still standing

singing for peace

all versions of home and longing to leave and get back there

Dolphins

 Who knew there was so much to write about dolphins? Who knew that some of us are dolphins? Do you remember Dolphin Shorts? We didn't write about those, but we sure could have. 

Watch it Shimmy

 Today we wrote about Jell-O.

Losing Control

 We wrote about that today, especially losing control of our bodies, and how hard that can be when having  to go out in public out of control

we could all relate to that one

There's more, but that's enough

Happy Halloweeeeen! Prompts

 Happy Halloween! Why does that tickle the tummy? Must be all those eeeees. Something instantly wonderful about that. That's my instant bliss: e's in a row. You?

Today we wrote about: (naming a few)

candy

costumes

being bad

bad influences

Stealing

Fire pits

KFC

Being that house on Halloween

seeing loved ones age and decline

the thing someone said or did that cut off your innocence/life force when you were a kid

cats

confessions

kids (you, yours, in general)

how hard it is not to clip their wings 

do I dress up as a warm mom or a cat?

Today we wrote about

walking alone 

(and walking alone for the first time)                                                                                                                   pumpkin spice water

neighbors stopping by

witch costumes

shaking

carnivals

that one little thing that makes you happy

everything

                            ...

It's Fall, Writers! Prompts abound! Infinitely so! Every word has a story!

Come write, share your writing, be writing, read to us, read to yourself, read to others...Writing is your friend! Writing is love! 🧡

How is your getting together going?

 All to soon, we will look back and remember on these reunion-ing times by the narrative we'll use to describe them and leave it at that: 

"Sweet. Overwhelming. Quenching. Confusing. Amazing. Like it's 1999. Underwhelming. Exhausting....etc etc."

But how is it going right now? On the inside, intimate experience of this unprecedented time? What are the details for you? The teeny tiny details? Are you still crossing the street on your walks? Are you judging?  What did it feel like to unmask at Target? Go to your friend's house again? Gather with others? Has hugging changed? What is it really like for you? What are your post lockdown getting together stories?

For history, for human evolution, for you and your people, all people, you'll want to remember. You'll want to be the voice that's there for you when you forget and you get lost and swept up and feel a little disconnected from the dominating vernacular and narrative written and spoken in hindsight. 

Write your truth, here, now, for you. For the record. 

You might disagree with it, all those years later. You might be grateful. But there it will stand, in writing, a map from where you've come. 

LockDOWNstairs day 22

 Remodeling always takes longer than planned. Longer than they say. Longer than the promise our  confidence grants in the rosy beginning, all eyes on the finish line. I ought know this by now, all the nights I've spent sleeping on the floor for whatever reason, whether by necessity, choice, or in the Bardo, waiting and remembering, of two worlds, but not quite this one.

The good news is that it has yielded some great prompts about sleeping on the floor... so many places across the ages: the barn loft at Camp Bar 717, the plush wine-pink carpeted floor at CC's—my French nextdoor neighbor growing up—in my Smokey the Bear sleeping bag, at the foot of my brother's bed when Ma was out too late, beneath stars, beneath rain, wide awake, through an earthquake, beneath the unfamiliar ceilings of friends and lovers all only writing can help me remember. 

The best news and happy ending (or unexpected twist if we're talking writing) is that it dawns on me just now, at day 23, how comfortable I've become sleeping on the floor. How easy it is to get up and down. How quickly I fall asleep and how ready I am to rise. Like so many things in the every day details, another reminder that so much life is to be found where and when you least expect it.

So try writing about all the places/times you've slept on the floor. Or sleep on the floor and write about it. Or both. The point is, do both.

WWRW—Be also proud of what language you didn't learn and other Pandemica* you planned to do but didn't

 *Spare-time accomplishments during the Pandemic

One of the great prompts to come out of Wednesday Writers today was "Things I meant to do during the pandemic, but didn't."  We ran out of time to write it, though I can't wait to write it and see what happens!

I might just discover it's ok that I didn't:

Learn German

Start Learning German

Call everyone I know to check in

Write everyone I know to check in (but does this count?)

Follow through on teaching my son to juggle 

Paint a mural in the group room

(Yet) Clear my table in the group room

Watch Spanish soap operas in Spanish

Blog everyday 

Write back

Call back

That damn closet upstairs

Finish painting the upstairs walls

Give up sugar

Make hand-made cards

Submit writing

Start another writing group

Memorize the Hanuman Chalisa 

Om every day

Learn valuable new skills by choice (not by necessity)

Attempt fixing the upstairs burner on the stove

Caulk (man, why does that very word incite so much ire?)

Develop a webinar

Write more lists like this

you might

want to write

about this

Movie review of your life

 Hello Writers!

It has been fun to remember some favorite writing prompts I did in high school, many of which keep on giving to this day. One of them, offered by my awesome journalism teacher, Montsy,  was to "write a movie review of your life." Who would play you (Jo from Facts of Life)? Where would it take place (LA; at the beach, mostly)? What would the main conflict be (hmmm....who am I?)  Who was the antagonist (er.... my brother?)? What was the soundtrack (Led Zeppelin, of course)?  Supporting characters? How do you most change? What does it take to change? On and on... you could play and play with this one. 

What makes it especially cool is how much you'll discover by taking liberties with direction, scenes, sunset shots, long shots, cut scenes, director's cuts, close-ups, and of course good for dialogue, main scenes, music,  lighting, tone, costumes, "bad scenes," 'famous scenes," praise and critical analysis, etc. You could compare it to other reviewers, who would say it much differently, and other movies for that matter. Be fair and give praise! A very generous prompt.

I loved it then and I've been wanting to do it again ever since. A great way to get inside and outside yourself to remember or expand upon a particular time and situation. You could try writing one of your entire life, your childhood, or just for a day or an afternoon. It's just a wild prism of cool and creative in every which way. So have fun with it! Be into it. Because if you're not, who's really writing your words? Who's telling your story? Who's in charge? 

Garden Greens

Hello Writers! Boy, I could tell you stories about the garden, the greens,  the grass, the grape leaves, the baby bunnies beneath the arugula, the heart shaped leaf faces, banners of foliage, the bowls of fresh greens I miss eating with Ma at Crispin Green, the wilting Romaine, the purple flowering mint, the heat of the pepper greens that are much hotter than the ones we buy so what are we doing wrong?, the many kinds of basil, the Japanese pine tree my friend brought over for my 50th birthday, the limp, unloved salads at Panera during my lunches with my friend Katie that I also miss, mint hill, Buddha Park beneath the volunteer mulberry tree, the ambling Maple, the moss, the moss, the moss... oh, how I love the moss and wish for a whole plague of it to take over the entire lawn until it's another planet 

and the round, green, labyrinth, word I can never spell, that we walk over and over in and out to lengthen and unwind the green days as though it will somehow help us take it back again, like the past, when all the green is gone

Turns out

Green is Good Prompt

So are Sprinklers

I feel so much better now and I hope you will too after you write about green, garden greens 💚

Long time, no see...

Hello Writers!

I guess I mean that literally, as well! It's been a long time. Here at the Beach. Here on the page.  Hope you are all safe and healthy and managing as best you are able and that your writing practice is offering some respite and refuge amidst all this. For me, yes. Writing continues to be my daily prayer and the calm I feel as soon as I start writing you is the ripening of that prayer. It's hard to explain, but you know what I mean, I think.

Wanted to let you know that I am blogging over at "What I Really Want to Tell You" from time to time and would love any and all of your posts to publish there. As you know, creating a living document right now is so essential, for so many reasons. There are so many things we will soon block out, little details, with everything changing so fast day-to-day. Even the most mundane details are fascinating.  Please share if you are moved to do so.

Also, I am still holding all my classes via Zoom, So if you are wanting to get back to your writing practice, please let me know. I am also doing private writing retreats if you just want some time to write together and share.

Missing you all and hope to see you soon. Please keep writing, especially if it feels life giving and grounding to you. 💙

"I’m going to take some time and write down all the good I’ve seen in people and the universe"

Tonight one of my students sent me an email sharing that she gave herself this prompt and I think it's just about the greatest prompt I ever heard. An invitation to stop the running around, the self defeating habits and thoughts, the gift wrapping and the guilt, the apologies and the regrets, the things you will always grieve and the life you could have lived, the person you could have been, the not enough's and the I'm too muches... All that on and on come and go of being human.

So tonight, or as soon as possible, take some time to write down about the good you've seen.

Like the cat's white paws on your heart and
all the pretty holiday lights
and your son saying Mama, can I have a hug?
and Ma sending a text saying how sorry she is about Ram Dass and do you want to talk? Because I'm around, she says
And all the love that went around today all over the world because of Ram Dass dying yesterday
And everyone saying Merry Christmas whether they mean it or not because
It's a start and a start counts for a whole lot of good I've seen
And I could go on and on about all the good I've seen.... every day, every hour, every moment...

So write and spread the good! It goes especially well with all the perty lights.

So much love to you all! ✨💙🌊✨🎆🙏💙💙💙

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Close encounters with kindnesses

This morning the Friday Writer's enjoyed our annual Pontoon Day along one of the lakes out west on Highway 7, don't ask me which. There were many delights of the day, naturally, and never enough time to write them all down.

It had been a while since we'd all been together (nothing rallies writers like a pontoon!) and so much to write about, given the pace of summer. What struck me most during check-ins was the mention of kindness: directly, indirectly, subsequently, in hindsight, humbling, life changing, and most importantly, the essential detail to every story.

On and off the page, we thirst for kindness; the offering and receiving, knowing and recognizing of said human elixir changes protagonists and antagonists alike. And subsequently, though rarely intentionally, changes the world.

So we wrote out our memories of recent encounters with kindness. I wrote about water, the way my Zumba teacher smiled at one of her students as they boogied in tandem, a fellow hiker patiently waiting for us slow walkers to take our time, offering words of encouragement to us all, small hands at summer camp offering high fives to bigger hands and vice versa. Someone offering an arm to steady a fellow walker on an incline. A peaceful walk with new friends. Loud hoots of encouragement to everyone on stage. The raw writing written and shared with others. A student offering her pontoon and lake for the day for all to enjoy. And on and on. It's endless. It's infectious!


Try it. Write out your recent kindnesses. You'll like it. My dad used to say, quoting someone, that petting a cat lowered your blood pressure. And of course!  A reciprocity of kindness, a self generating energy of the heart, poetry in motion. So try it. It's good for you!

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Dear Amber...better late than never...

Oh... I love you Amber. To show up raw and open for us to love you and support you. 

I feel like awards and trophies and accolades should be given out these days to those who show up raw and messy and real because that can be the hardest of the hardest. Anyone can get good at sports or music or throwing shit around the field or writing for that matter, but so few of the few show up for real, 100% spirit, where we can go and just be who we are raw alive vulnerable. They just don't hand out trophies for that kind of thing, but if I ran the world I'd make it a thing. 

Anyway... anyone can get good at the shiny stuff that looks good to be good at, but so few of us can get good at vulnerability. So awards and trophies and confetti and candy and hugs and candles to you Amber. 

If I had Amber's courage, I'd show up more often in tears or raw or open out there in the world with so many rules and edges and old ways of being that no longer need be; no wonder so many of us often feel so alone and pointless: we often look inward towards self-blame, whereas there is still a huge dysfunctional world out there that has forgotten intimacy. And this takes atoll. This takes a huge toll that no amount of protesting can disarm unless we are talking a heart Revolution, a revolution of the highest hearts of ourselves, to show up as love with love. Not with anger or Wars or this is mine that is yours, but with our hearts. 

But what does this really mean? How do we begin to show up hurting in this Modern Age where battle of wits, battle over he knows the most and scares the most is in charge? Of course I don't have the answers, but I know writing helps a whole lot. And of course smiling at babies; that is what Jude and I do... we smile at babies... let them know that that the world is also very much a loving place. I think that's what it comes down to. We show up with our hearts where it's safe. "Satellites," as Deb says. And we leave the light on when we go.                  

                                 Love, 

                                                Rox

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Another reason why I love writing

I love writing. And I especially love writing with others. Whether I'm writing about the swimming pools of my childhood—those little blue dots of paradise—or the more silly or difficult things, when I write with others, all is well.

I think writing together teaches us to love one another. To love each other until it's effortless. We just do. We can't help ourselves. And the love bubbles over like an Irish Spring or an infinity pool... or whatever memory that's surfaced on the page this morning.   

And sometimes it occurs to us one morning in the middle of writing group, the same writing group we've been showing up for year-after-year, how healed we are. How that thing we thought we could never do, or say, or that seemed so insurmountable, is really no big deal.  That here we are, free. Relaxed. Feeling welcomed, knowing how much we really belong. Not just here, but in all of life. And we wonder why it took so long to get here, yet we know it was all part of it, the same way we know this is also part of something to come, that we're not done.

And I want to say if anyone finds this notebook or any of them and feels as though they are prying: Don't! Read on! Read on until you find yourself in these pages, until you see yourself in every page, in every vibrating letter that carries infinite life. Read on until you see yourself in love, as love.

               

                ...

Write with me!  /......

www.writingwithrox.blogspot.com

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—The paper doesn't fall far from the tree

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—We are all rooting for you Landen

right now, trillions upon millions of candles are being lit in prayer, fountains of tears are raining down love and healing upon Landen and his family, writers are wracking their hearts and souls to express what even thousands of lifetimes cannot express because there are no words, no song or poem, to touch the depth of grief and dystopic horror and compassion and helplessness and hope and faith and love that every mother—no, every one—must be feeling at this moment... And so, we write what we can. And we listen. And we let the words carry all the love and light that they were made to do... So, write the love, writers... write the love...

https://www.gofundme.com/Landonprayers

Help For Landen - Mall Of America Attack Victim

This is Landen, he is the sweetest kindest 5 year old you will ever meet. His soul is soft and gentle and instantly brings a smile to everybody he meets. He is full of energy and life and enjoys soccer, playing with friends and family and playing hockey with his brother and sister. He was enjoying a day at the Mall of America with his mom and friend on Friday morning when a stranger maliciously grabbed him and threw him over the 3rd floor balcony for no apparent reason. The family doesn’t know him and are completely clueless as to why this monster would target their family with this heinous act of violence. My wife and His mother have been best friends since they were 3 years old. They have grown up together, started their families together and truly have a lifelong friendship for the ages. Their family is always so generous to others, they give without expecting anything in return and are the type of family you always hope to live next door. Landen has a very long road to recovery ahead of him. He suffered life threatening injuries, many people who fall from that distance aren’t as lucky to make it. He has many surgeries ahead in his life to try to get back to a normal life for a young, vibrant boy. We started this GoFundMe for their family to help cover the immense medical costs and rehabilitation costs for the long ahead. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to hear about their story.

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Why chanting is good for writers

Now now... don't worry. I'm not going to proselytize.  

Last weekend me and TCF drove to Madison to see our favorite HindJew Krishna Das (KD) who we've been following all over the place for years because, like yoga, like writing, it works, which for me means it brings the love, opens the heart. And open the heart it did.

But it also opened up something unexpected, something I'm not used to opening much because "I'm a writer" and I let the page do the talking: my mouth.

As a writer for so many years, I tend to tell myself "Oh I'll write about that" whenever something happens or when I know I need to release something; in other words, I tend to save it for the page, which is a well intended, often fruitful practice. However, years and years of writing and editing and shaping words in my head—while deeply beneficial to the page—has gotten me into the habit of withholding my speech, rushing the details, or minimizing its place in the oral tradition. As a quick wit vulnerable to intoxication by repartee, often accused of relying to heavily on "yeah, yeah, yeah," I struggle to embrace the longwinded fanfare of storytelling, especially my own. I've been writing for so long, in fact, I've nearly forgotten the curative power of talking. Don't get me wrong; one of my all time favorite endangered species is long, deep conversation, which is a prompt for another day. I'm just saying when it comes to telling my stories, writing is my telling of choice.

No wonder my chanting went hog wild, renegade. This was not my comfortable key of C.  I  embraced my uglier tones, pushing through vocal ranges ordinarily way out of range, ones I'd rather not tread. I sang it out. I sang off key. I sang out a voice I kept hidden. I sang out a voice that came out sounding like my mother's. I sang out creaky cranky corners of my body that hadn't ever been offered melody. And while it wasn't easy, (an ugly voice brings up some gnarly darkness, shapeshifting memories, rejected and neglected parts of self), I felt like I had no choice: I had to sing through it.

After 3 hours of chanting with KD, we headed back to the hotel and before I knew it, I was talking nonstop, telling TCF all these stories about childhood and college, some rather difficult things. I forget how it came up, but out came the story about my brother's friend Jason, that irresistible combination of gorgeous and bad seed who stayed over night too frequently, or my boss Steve at Venice Beach who I still try and purge with each word I write or the guy who threw glass bottles at my bike as I rode home in the night or my mom's boyfriend or the "slow" girl and blonde boy on the block I took it out on and all  the wrong things I had done and been done to. And as I talked, I could feel these things happening again as though it was happening now, moving through, the same way I feel when I write, in perfect flow.

And I wished I could call all those people up that I'd hurt, intentionally or not, and apologize for what I'd done. And I also realized that there were also people out there, perhaps ones I'd forgotten who were also sitting in hotel rooms at this very moment wishing they could call me up and apologize too. And I realized that it felt so good to talk it out. And that if I hadn't talked it out, it might not have ever surfaced at all, page or otherwise. In fact, once I was done talking I realized I had some great stuff to write about, which I may have never found if I kept saving it for the page. And then it was done and we ate some yogurt and strawberries. Where had those stories been my whole life? What had they been? Unnamed blockages of driftwood? That dissonant wordless song?

So don't be so writerly all the time, writers. Talk a little. Don't save it all (for better or worse) for the page. It's good to talk.