Friday, May 25, 2012

Now, for some really nostalgic

wow, you are such an awesome writer, and each one is like a flashlight into your soul, you amazing woman!  See you at the apple orchard tomorrow!

"Even a single lamp dispells the deepest darkness." -Ghandi


From: rox@superok.com
Date: Sat, 1 Oct 2011 21:20:08 -0500
Subject: Writing with Rox Weekly Prompt—Saturday Night
To: rox@superok.com
Writing with Rox
 I love Saturday Night. Always have, always will. I think a lot of it has to do with 
the songs I heard as a kid of 1970s' LA, romanticizing the hot, hot, night at the  Disco Inferno. Plus, there was Saturday Night Live (Saturday Night TV...Love Boat, Fantasy Island...) and Los Angeles itself, never dark,  pulsed with the neon promise of roller skating around smoky rinks all night long or dreamy moonlit walks on the beach with surfer dudes.  Then when I was nine or ten I convinced Ma and her boyfriend to take me to see Saturday Night Fever when it came out. Sure, that made me the only kid at the ten pm showing, but I was young enough to totally zone out the R parts (boring!). By then, the allure of Saturday Night took on a big city archetype, yet   even away from LA, Saturday Night stole the show at Bar 717, the Saturday Night Dance where we square-danced the night away under the hippie starry skies of our No-Cal summer camp. 

A certain bittersweet nostalgia overcomes me as I write this now. I did not live up to the illusion of Saturday Night so starlit by my youngkid romantic days. No part of my life ever blinked in lights. Even having a song in my name did nothing for the dream, though that's all fine and good. Of course I realize my idea of Saturday Night was manufactured by Hollywood, but it was my childhood and one can't take the real out of that. I realize no one truly lives up to love's young dream. And of course I realize my real-life celestial string of enchanted Saturday Nights, some mighty-fine dipped in wild frolic, romance of the earthiest kind, adventures long forgotten, heroic and tragic and all in between—has far surpassed it's lovestarved young dream. And yet. And yet...

When it is going on ten pm, when Jude is asleep for the night, when all the early-to-beds are tucked away for slumber, somewhere in the marrow of my young bones, I alert to the sound of Saturday Night on the prowl: car stereos cranked, the cries of youth disking out of a moonroof, the drunken drag of a high heel on sparkly sidewalk,  bleach blond chortle, Mexican Radio, the screaming greens and reds of the traffic lights, and the choral anticipation of chance. This indeed may be my lucky night, my one-shot at love.

What is your Saturday Night story?


Nostalgic for an Old Time Summer Prompt?

On Fri, Aug 26, 2011 at 7:52 PM, Roxanne Sadovsky wrote...
WEEKLY
PROMPT                           
                                                   Jude and I just spent 4 days at the Wisconsin Delles, which was a hoot.           The highlights: 
Jude delighting in the many forms of colorful bouncy water fun
Me trying on a pink swim dress and Jude saying "wow, Mama. Now you're a woman."

Watching a little four year girl flirt with Jude around the pool and him going back and forth between being oblivious and flirting back. 

Devil's Lake State Park

Riding the mini train. Singing in the car.    Asking a perfect stranger to help me fill my tires with air and feeling no shame in asking him if they looked like they needed it. He pulled out his gauge. "I've been meaning to get one of those," I half-truthed, since I didn't actually know what it was, but had been putting off getting whatever it is I needed to do this myself.  He'd heard it before. I offered him whatever money he'd take. No way he would take it.

Blowing kisses through the window to the little girl who lived above the Mexican Restaurant with her family as she beat on the glass and cheerfully waved goodbye to her new friends. We'd  lunched at her restaurant and she joined us within two seconds of sitting down, wanting to lean her head on Jude's shoulder. He let her. Then he offered her half of his Pez. They exchanged pleasantries in Espanol. After a while, Jude simply replied "Si" to everything she said.
Am I the only one to experience such sublingual sadness while simultaneously loving and leaving each of these fleeting moments?

What are your summer snapshots? The images/moments you wish to preserve?



MEMORIAL DAY CREATIVITYPALOOZA!

Pitter Patter Goes the Paint
upon the big white page
Pitter Patter go the words
upon the canvas stage!

It's raining words and paint, my artsy word lovin' paint slayin' friends! Come feast on the bounty! 


Intuitive Writing and Painting Workshop

 WHERE IN THE WORDS ART I?     .                        
       SUNDAY MAY 27, 2012          .             .         .          .       .           .
  .   10AM-3.30PM     .          .                           .
STUDIO INSIDE OUT, ST LOUIS PARK     .                 .   (
12 MAX   .     $85     .                 .                                 

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Writing with Rox (midweek edition!) Weekly Prompt—Ten Things


10 TEN 10 10 TEN 10 10 TEN 10 10 TEN 10


1. Find a cure for junk mail. I send it back if it comes with a sase. You?
2. Ride my bike around the world on a bike path like the Greenway.*   
3. Walk freely and with ease around on my hands.* Failing that, learn tablas.
4. Live on a yoga/drumming/kirtan/writing farm for one year or more with Jude*
5. Live long enough to be able to go by joystick (get your mind out of the gutter! Once my friend told me when I complained about boxy cars and traffic and the need for speed, etc,  that all I need to get around is a joystick! Brilliant idea. When?*
6. Host a radio  variety show where we have so much silly fun the whole universe is laughing*
7. Write and produce my play
8. Finish and publish the memoir
9. Swim under, around, through, with, the perfect waterfall on the most awesome paradise in the galaxy
10. Learn to speak German, Chinese, Ojibwe (thank you Mary!) and several others

*With Jude! 

For as long as I can remember I have been doing the "10 Things" exercise with my students, which means you write down ten things you want to do in your lifetime. In the past few years, a few students have wondered, "you mean a bucket list?," to which I've replied, "I'm not sure I know what that is." (Apparently there is a movie and I haven't seen a movie since Jude was born unless you count The Lorax (I do), but there was no bucket list in that one). 

Once we've shared our ten things (which is dreamy, amazing!) and learned how very cool and unique we each are, we then write a second list called "Ten Things I DON'T want to do in my lifetime." Consistent for me is "wear high heels" and "become apathetic."

Not only does this exercise remind us of who we are and what we really want (or don't want), but it also brings back hundreds of memories because every thing and anti-thing on these lists has a story behind it. Try it. You'll see! And then you just may want to write that story. And the next one...

What are the rules? There are no rules, as we say here at the Beach. No right or wrong. Just write your truth and be free! Also, this is magic wand writing. Anything can happen on this list. Wildest dreams=good. The impossible=possible. What you want=you can have. You're just writing a list...that's all. Go anywhere you'd like! Tip: the more specific details, the better. Not just "I want to travel," but "I want to travel to the Galapagos with so and so and swim with the blue footed boobies on a summer night while singing One Love...

That's it for this time, folks. No major clarity or rebirthing this week. Ma was even here for two days and it was smooth sailing all the way, save her missing her plane. Again. Oy vey and nighty-night! 
Rox

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY PROMPT—ALL ROADS LEAD TO MA

How was your weekend? Mine was good. The usual. I birthed my inner star. You?


You see, I went to a training/healing workshop with William Emerson, which was deeply healing, nourishing, awakening, etc, etc, to say the very least, as these sorts of weekends tend to be. * The focus, "healing the wounds of spirit, retrieving the roots of soul," would be a bit heavy to get into for a writing prompt (don'tcha think?), but the experience, to be sure, could easily fill the pages of my soon to be released memoiretta, "Book of Pocket Prompts for the Here and Now." (Yes, I'm kidding. Maybe). 


The point is that at one point when we were all sitting around circularlia floor fashion, someone wondered aloud if in some ways we were all motherless, to which I replied, "Of course! Why else would we be here?! All roads lead to mom, yes?"


 Now. Now. Now. Please don't get all up and up and up about dear mother. I know, I know. I am one for Tilly's sake! And lord knows how I love Ma. How that love is now true, true in the way of my newly birthed inner star. Oh Jesus... I can just hear Dada now... "Oh Jesus, Woman!"


(((((((((((*THE BACKSTORY: I'm a "work on myself" junkie. I dedicate myself to deep healing retreats at least twice per year in honor and discipline of reasons many. Last September I was buried in the sand as part of Shamanic ritual in order to surrender to "dark mother"; this past Mother's Day weekend, I apparently surrendered to my spirit and soul body by viscerally remembering myself pre, post, and moment of conception, as well as pre, post, and moment of birth. As an incubator baby, I went back and birthed myself out of the despair that consumed me during that time.  ))))))))))))))


Got that?


That's okay. I'm still getting it. But I like it. Because there I was on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in a St Paul lushly and cosmically colored basement floor, spread octagonally and then some with little dippers of starlight streaking inward and outward ad infinitum. 


Old Star
As soon as I declared myself a star ("I'm a star!"), I realized the high hilari-rony  of my proclamation, for I am rooted in mythology, part of the collective offspring of stars gone bad. Conceived on the same block where dreams were dreamt and sold, I was a tumble seedling of the Los Angeles facade, wombed only by the debris of an old Hollywood set gone feral, aiming aimlessly for rebirth on the big screen... in other words...stardom. Though I've long ago given up the dream of life on the silver screen, there has always remained a part of me that has deeply longed to be seen in a big way.  I won't go into any detail, but at the risk of sounding full of woo, thanks to this weekend, I have finally been acquainted with the true star I am and was always meant to be. 




New Star








So how does this relate to all roads leading to Ma and what on earth is the prompt?  


Ma and I have had a long haul. We ebb and flow. Neither is very good at assuming their familial role, admittedly on both ends. This has been so extreme at times that we have gone our separate ways, said things we'd regret, etc. I can't speak for Ma, but I personally had to do a lot of therapy (and writing!) to at last individuate from her, a process that begins at birth and peaks in adolescence, which many theories of development will illustrate in far finer language than I. But instead of getting lost in all that theory anyway, I'll just share my Mother's Day clarity: 


As usual Ma sent flowers and a sweet card full of loving flowing momlove. And as usual my thoughts swelled with defense mechanism, saying, "well... yeah, but... she... well... yeah...no she doesn't..." which has been a resounding echo of energy since, well, I guess, according to what I learned this weekend anyway, the moment of conception, possibly before. "Hmmm" I thought listening to those familiar words, observing the self-protective compliance they carried, "perhaps I oughta reconsider these thoughts..." And as I listened, I realized I'd been inwardly reciting this love-denying mantra for a very long time, long before words carved this "knowing" into a painful personal mythology. But  as I glanced the swirls of her familiar cursive, so like pink icing on a white cake, there was a spark of light, of love, so clearly alive in those mom letters. "This is love," the letters seemed to be saying, each and every taloned one. "Take it or leave it." 


I took it.








Of course this is neither end nor means to the end of suffering. This does not guarantee forever dissipation of issues and dysfunction and intense snarls with Ma, Jude, Dada...intimates future and past. This does not mean there is not a very epic story that precedes this one. But I shall not give it away here and now; I'll save it for the memoiretta. 


What mother issues do you have? It's okay. We all do. For some of us they are still in the embryonic stage,  but when we work them through, birth and love them, we soar...much like stars reborn. 


Fin (for now)............ 


PS: A PSA FOR YOU! And... if ya believe me, why not join my Tuesday Evening Healing Group, beginning June 14 on Healing and Dealing with Mother Stuff. 


Jude Star

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Writing with Rox 2012 Classes, Healing, Happy Hour, Mothers, Retreats, and More


New!  First Thursday Writing Happy Hour! 6.30-8 PM 
Fun! Creative! Low risk! Mix Metaphors! $10/Love Donation Please preregister!
6/7/12 Writing Party! Meet and Greet
8/2/12 Write a Kickass Singles Profile
9/6/12 Joy Writing: Stop suffering already!
10/4/12 Writing and Mindfulness
11/1/12 Start your Gratitude Journal already!

12/6/12 Writing the Holiday Letter you really WANT to write! Already!!!!
     ...                  ...                      ...
2012 Classes, Groups, Healing
Intimate gatherings, bright South Minneapolis loft studio, no writing experience necessary, all welcome.     Space Limited.       Pre-registration required.

Friday Morning Women’s Writing Group
10am-12:30pm (ongoing)    $36

Write together, share, peer review, discussion of craft, publishing, and the writing life. Students are encouraged to explore all genres of writing (poetry, memoir and personal essay, fiction, and more) and all are welcome.

Bi-Weekly Wednesday Morning Group
10am-noon (ongoing)            $30
Write together, share, peer review, discussion of craft, publishing, and the writing life. Emphasis on writing as discovery, gifting, and sharing.

Tuesday Evening Healing Group*
7pm-9:15pm (ongoing)        $45 (or what you can)
Ready for deep healing? Awaken to your most authentic self in a nurturing, safe, encouraging community. 
*Special 6 week session begins June 12: Dealing and Healing from the effects of Narcissistic Mothers  

New! WORD JAM! Thursday Afternoon
2-4pm(ongoing)  $30/what you can
Worderers...warriors of the word...lovers of the written,spoken sungin' dancin', meanderin,' unfettered word... come play with words!

Intuitive Writing and Painting Workshop

 WHERE IN THE WORDS ART I?     .                        
       SUNDAY MAY 27, 2012          .             .         .          .       .           .
  .   10AM-3.30PM     .          .                           .
STUDIO INSIDE OUT, ST LOUIS PARK     .                 .   (
12 MAX   .     $85     .                 .                                 



...Summer 2012 Classes THURSDAYS at THE Loft Literary Center register at www.loft.org  REGISTER ONLINE
The Healing Memoir Begins June 15  8 WEEKS!
Intuitive Writing   Begins July 12 6 WEEKS!

Teens! Can You Hear Me Now? Writing for Outsiders, Misfits and the Counterculture June 18-June 22

 2012 Retreats
PROJECT 25: Call and Response Retreat Series
Retreats from 10 a.m. – 10 a.m. $150
Deeply healing, collective raw writing creates powerful and unique stories of wisdom and self-expression, connecting us to our immediate and intuitive truths. Participants limited to 8.

A CALL AND RESPONSE TO ANGER
Saturday July 14-Sunday July15, 2012
 ...           ....                 
A CALL AND RESPONSE TO GRIEF

Saturday November 3-Sunday Nov 4, 2012
                     
Wild Woman Solstice Writing Retreat: Write yourself wild, free, and reborn!
Saturday June 23, 2012 
10am-7pm                       $99                        Check website for details!

Psychodrama and Writing Retreat
Deeply powerful healing that will change your life.
Saturday July 28, 2012 
10am-4.30pm                             $99

Writing and Gentle Yoga a day of nurturing
September 15, 2012    10am-4.30pm  $99
                            
Writing and Creativity writing into bliss
October 13, 2012         9am-2p       $50


Monday, May 7, 2012

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY PROMPT—MELANCOLE-IA

Lately I've been asking everyone I know and/or run into with great urgency, "Have you seen Melancholia?" I'll find a segue, a far reaching one, at any given moment to slip in this burning question. "You went out of town this weekend? Wow. Well, that reminds me of that movie Melancholia... did you see it?"

The typical response is blank.

Or, "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew... sounds like a winner."

I recover by explaining the plot of the story, that's it's directed by "one of those art house indie Swedish folk" and explain that Melancholia is the name of the asteroid on course to collide with the Earth. The "melancholia" part, I add, is also because, yeah, one of the characters is a bit of a downer.

"Huh," is the response to that one.

Though I truly would enjoy discussing this movie with someone who has seen it, the problem here isn't about the movie per se, but the way I pronounce it, which is exactly the same way my father would pronounce it: "Melan-cole-ia." Thats' M-E-L-A-N-C-O-L-E-I-A, with a long O. The proper pronunciation, as I'm sure you are well aware, is melancholia, —cholia, as in cauliflower, with a short o.

It's not like I'm unaware as this is happening. "Why am I saying it like that? Am I suddenly British? WTF?" I inwardly panic, watching the long O bounce over my credibility as a WRITING TEACHER to complete strangers, and perhaps, old acquaintances who have been suspicious all along.

It's naive of me to think they don't notice, but at least they are kind enough not to comment.

Folks, I know how to pronounce this word. I'm no stranger to melancholia—personally, professionally, academically. I often consider myself a "melancholia buster," in fact, when playing around with silly professional titles less threatening sounding than "therapist."  All the same, this quirky wrong turn of phrase is a direct inheritance from my dad, who indeed fathered several thousand misnomers and malapropisms. He reversed names in ways I never imagined possible. He dropped vowels and in their stead inserted sounds yet unsung. Some words even fell by the wayside only to be replaced by total humdingers. "Open the light, Rox," he'd say, when evening fell over a room. Once when I was visiting someone a hundred years ago in DC, Dad called looking for me. 


"He called me Carol," my macho lover confided, bemused, handing me the phone. His name was Carl.


 So here I am all these years later saying "hey, have you seen Melancole-ia?" 


I'd say dad would be proud, but the truth is I don't think dad was really aware that he did this. To him, Princess Di would always be "Princess Dee," and that's the end of it. Me, I'm quite aware. And frankly, endeared, once I get past the embarrassment. It's no surprise I inherited this trait, really. I also have his handwriting (sorry students!), his perioceptive challenges, and now, some of his gestures.  It's the weirdest thing: I'll be standing talking to someone and catch myself suddenly demure. "Well, what do I know?" I might say after a heated conversation, which is quite out of character as I really do believe I know everything. Still, when spoken, those words are oddly genuine.  In this way, I've exceeded my self-expecations thanks to dad and his quirky kindness. Whenever he played host to anyone—anytime, anywhere, say in conversation with a stranger—but mostly when people came to see him at his beach house loft overlooking the ocean, he made sure they enjoyed every moment of it with a sort of childlike fervor. He'd give up the master bedroom, his car, his routine, his opinion, anything. "No, no," he'd say pawing at the air when folks would object, "take it, take it. What do I need it? Don't be silly. You take it. Enjoy." 


So here I am pawing at the air and speaking malapropisms. 


Since dad died in 2008, I've felt him move through me a bunch of times. I don't say this with any particular woo or belief system (though he did come to me during a Shamanic journey last October in my drum circle, but that's another story), but with the awareness that he lives in me more powerfully than ever before, perhaps as an old mechanism of survival. Perhaps this means I am still in denial, keeping him alive within me so as to never have to really say goodbye. Now, that's what I call "Melancole-ia."










WHAT TRAITS/QUIRKS/ENDEARMENTS/ANNOYANCES/ETC HAVE YOU INHERITED FROM A PARENT? SO I'VE GOT MA'S ADD AND DAD'S QUIRKY LINGO, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT? AS ALWAYS, WRITE UNTIL YOU FEEL LIKE IT IS ENOUGH FOR NOW AND AS ALWAYS, PLEASE, PLEASE SHARE—EITHER WITH ME OR SOMEONE (ELSE :))YOU LOVE. THANKS FOR READING AND SHARING AND HOPE TO WRITE WITH YOU SOON! XOOX









Conversation Fillers Kill Conversation

Conversation fillers kill conversation

Hello Everyone! I'm googling myself again and having a laughfest reading my columns from the University  of Minnesota when I wrote for the Daily. Sometimes it feels like I am reading someone else's memoir, but at other times, it is so unrecognizably me! xoxoxo

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

WRITING WITH ROX WEEKLY PROMPT—DANIEL'S GETTING MARRIED!




THIS IS DANIEL. HE IS DIGGING A GRAVE FOR HIMSELF ON THE SHORES OF CROW WING, MN. COME NIGHTFALL, ALONG WITH 15 OTHERS, HE PLANS TO RELEASE WHAT NO LONGER SERVES HIM INTO THE LOVING WOMB OF THE DARK MOTHER. HE'S A BIT TENSE HERE. AND DETERMINED. HE HAS NO WAY OF KNOWING IF EVERYTHING IN LIFE WILL BE OKAY. HE'S NOT SO SURE. BUT LOOK THERE IN THE BACKGROUND... SEE THAT  GORGEOUS BLONDE SUNNING HERSELF ON THE ROCK, GENTLE BLUE WATER WHISTLING TOWARD HER ON THIS SPECTACULAR FALL DAY?  AT THIS POINT, DANIEL HAS BARELY SPOKEN TO THIS AMAZING PERSON, ONLY SANDSTEPS AWAY. AT THIS POINT,  DANIEL HAS NO WAY OF KNOWING THAT SOMEDAY SOON HE IS GOING TO ASK THIS BEAUTIFUL WOMAN TO MARRY HIM.



So what's it like to be a writing teacher, anyway?

What's it like to read so many stories from so many different people who have all led/are leading such extraordinarily (same, but different) human lives? What's it like to be trusted with so many amazing stories, read to me week-after-week-after-week-after-week-after-week? 

By the power vested in written words, I  have magically traveled everywhere. Everythere. And everyhere. I've been in the back of impoverished busses bound for the city. I've been in Minneapolis when the streets were still road. I've been orphaned in large cities, incubated, adored, lost, found, loved...  I've been to countless  Midwestern farms. 

I've read about small towns and big universities. I've read about first jobs, first kisses, first cars, first heartbreaks, first days of school... I've read about what happens when you lose someone you love and I've read the prequels, the stories about getting up the courage to ask the person you think you love to go for coffee, to a concert, to a movie, to get married...



THIS IS DANIEL. HE'S GETTING MARRIED.







One of the things that strikes me most about being involved in this amazing work and the stories of my students over the years is how we, in a community of writers, become so invested in the stories and lives of others. On numerous occasions we have joked that we know each other in our writing groups more than we know our families, coworkers, etc. But this is no surprise. When we linger with folks and go deep into their stories week after week, we build closeness.

But the other thing, the one thing I can say I have learned the most about being a writing teacher, is that the stories we share are gifts. I often feel as we are writing together in community that we are carefully wrapping presents for ourselves and one another and then ten or fifteen minutes later, we all gather beneath the writing tree and unwrap our gifts, unwrap our words, one-by-one. It's a sweet, simple, powerful ritual. For those moments, it's world peace. 


So, why all this? Why all this waxing wonderful? Because, Daniel is getting married! And this week's prompt is writing him a Happy Wedding story and posting it right here on the blog. Why? Because, say it with me..."personal writing is the best gift you can give!"( Do you want a new stove or do you want a story about the time your mom cooked linguini on her first stove? Do you want a shiny new car or do you want a story about your dad's first date in his 52 Chevy? Remember Cameron in Ferris Bueller's Day Off? "What do you love, dad? You love a car!!!") Okay, so maybe you want a new car. TODAY. But a story lasts longer, lives forever!)


Why else? Because it's good for you. Because if you write it, you'll feel as good as you would after any yoga class. Because the reason we write really, is to communicate, to share, to see and be seen, hear and be heard. To raise consciousness. 

 Why else? Because Daniel is a man who deserves a thousand wedding wishes, whose journey toward happiness and authentic living and peace to all is an inspiration to many. Because Daniel, like many of us, has had some ups and downs in life. He's had some fairly tough struggles with his story, at times giving up on himself. But deep down he knew he would find truth and light and friends and dancing and drumming and Hudson Wisconsin and the joy of making pizza and motorcycle joy, winding down spring streaming roads of paper lilacs, ringing sweet nectar, paving petal-by-petal, the crepuscular creamy meadow toward good home.    Nu? What's not to celebrate? How could you not want to wish wellness and blessings on that?

SO, HERE'S THE PLAN: DON'T WORRY IT'S REEEEEEEALLY EASY:


2.  Scroll to the bottom of this story and find the place where it says Comments and Click

3. You'll get a box. Step inside that box. Type your Happy Wedding story.

4. You may have options to post anonymously or as you. Either is good. 

5. Failing that (I know it's scary... oh, how I know it...) You can also send to me and I will post.


WHAT DO I SAY? you might ask? Whatever you want to say! Say it from the heart. Tell a story about your wedding or a wedding or your dream wedding. Say Mazel Tov or Namaste. Give wedding advice. Whatever! Dare to talk to a stranger or/and if you know Daniel, talk to him as the amazing writer, human, chi gong ninja that you know and love.

So Mazel Tov Daniel, my brother. And Mazel Tov to all brides and grooms and lovebirds everywhere. Love is a beautiful thing and the more we can celebrate the love that is all around us, the more love we will have within, without, witheverywhere. Choose love, brother, and Happiest Winding Meadow Trails to you and your beloved! xoxoxooxxo