Writing Archives - Page 9 of 9 - Ashley Hackshaw / Lil Blue Boo

I don’t know how to write about Life is a Verb camp last week except in pieces, so here’s a tiny piece:

One of the workshops I signed up for was Naomi Shihab Nye’s Wind in a Bucket/Words in a Brain. In our workshop she read letters from children who had written to her and there were so many nuggets of wisdom. I was so inspired by her interactions with children and their poetry. I can never go back to where I was before that workshop.

Two days ago I went out with Boo to walk in the fallen leaves…we each had 3×5 cards and wrote down what we were seeing, hearing, thinking. Small index cards are much more manageable than a large piece of paper. We talked as we went and shared our ideas before writing:

This leaf is more lavender than brown.
These look like alligator backs and crocodile tails.
They pile up so quickly they remind me of dirty laundry.
They are perfect camouflage for the dog!

That night, when I read from an old book of poetry at bedtime, I hid her 3×5 cards behind the book and read her words back to her….only halfway through did she recognize the familiarity and with pure delight said:

Hey! That is MY poem!

Her words:

Leaves.
Can’t see the wind.
Red ones remind me of apples.
Thin like paper.
So many you can’t name them.
When they fall off it’s like leaving the family.
Sounds like cereal.
Go everywhere.
Near and far.
Yellow ones remind me of lemons.
Evergreens.
Maples look like dinosaur footprints.
Calling for you to jump in them.
Copperhead.
One person.
Piled on roofs.
Orange like an orange.
Dogwoods are the first to lose them.
Red oaks are the last.

And then I showed her this reading below…and she had tears in her eyes. I can see my child inspired…and that inspires me.

“Just think! No one has ever seen inside this peanut before!”

Naomi said: you don’t have to dream, just collect.

I love to collect, stretching myself to see things differently and not necessarily using it all up at once.

My words from the leaves:

Crumpily, lumpily, curly, twirly
In my hair, in my ears, everywhere, near and far
Chocolate shavings, orange peels, ashes from a fire
Lavender, ochre, burgundy wine
Elephant ears, spotted leopards, animal hides
Alligator backs, crocodile tails
Boats, hands, ear lobes, saw blades
Joan Miró
What does this look like? It looks like a leaf.

P.S. I purchased a book at camp (A Maze Me: Poems for Girls) and had Naomi Shihab Nye inscribe it for Boo. I found it on Boo’s night table this morning after she’d left for school. With a flashlight nearby. Marked at page 106. Whenever I find her secretly reading at night, I quietly backpedal through the door so I won’t disturb her.

I spoke about writing from the heart this weekend in Galveston at the Blog Elevated Conference. Yes I actually did it, despite being knocked silly and unable to turn my head after the car accident. And despite my being a deer in the headlights, the crowd laughed, and cried, and they were right there with me. And the genuine “thank you’s” afterward shook me to the core and made it all completely worth it because there is always that doubt: why would anyone want to come and hear what I have to say about writing? I have no certified expertise. I never did well in English and literature classes when I was in school. I thought I’d share a few things that I shared with those that attended my session because it’s all so very close to my heart right now. This is what I know today:

1. A writer actually has to WRITE.

This is a work in progress for me. I’m always thinking about writing, but not always actually WRITING. The book Page by Page by Amy Sellers is one that I love to read over and over, and never in order:

2. A writer has to disconnect every once in a while.

I am the QUEEN of excuses when it comes to writing: I’m too busy. The phone is ringing. It’s too hot . It’s too cold. I have to organize my space first.

I have to find a quiet place to really write. Maybe it’s for an hour a day, maybe for an entire weekend. Since we have such a small living space right now, I cleared out a section of my daughter’s room that I can use as an area for writing each day when she is at school. It isn’t glamorous but it’s all I need. It’s quiet, and without distractions. Stephen King used to write in his laundry room. It was a place where he could shut the door and show the world he meant business.

Sometimes I go to the library. Sometimes I just sit in my car in the library parking lot. Sometimes I ride the train by myself.

3. A writer needs input.

Just like Johnny 5 from Short Circuit….”need input”….who consumed books: I think a writer needs to consume books. I took this photo over the summer of Carl Sandburg’s house in Hendersonville, NC:

It was like walking into a time capsule. Incredible. Every square inch of his house is covered in bookshelves, to house the 14,000 books that he stored there. He had twice that but he donated half to a university. And in each book were tiny pieces of paper where he had marked things to come back to. He devoured anything he could get his hands on. When he died they found his jacket pockets full of newspaper clippings and phrases.

I am never without a book. I sleep with books. Books stack up next to my bedside. Magazines. Wikipedia. I live in bookstores. The more good stuff I put in, the more good stuff that comes out.

Also, input isn’t just about books. Dayna Steele who was the keynote speaker at the conference gave some great advice:

Never stop learning. Google everything. Google everyone. Look at the morning news. Know what’s going on around you. Continue to learn about things you know nothing about. Teach yourself stuff. Get out and meet people. Talk to people you don’t know.

I love to wander because I never know where it’s going to take me. It also give me a chance to observe and write about what I would never notice otherwise:

I think to write from the heart you have to live from the heart. They are undoubtably linked.

Live to write, not the other way around, right?

A few books that I recommend:

Page by Page by Heather Sellers

“Writing a book is exactly like love. You don’t hold back. You give it everything you have. If it doesn’t work out, you’re heartbroken, but you move forward and start again anyway. You have to. You don’t hold some of yourself in reserve. It’s all or nothing. There are no guarantees.”

On Writing: Memoir of a Craft by Stephen King

“So okay― there you are in your room with the shade down and the door shut and the plug pulled out of the base of the telephone. You’ve blown up your TV and committed yourself to a thousand words a day, come hell or high water. Now comes the big question: What are you going to write about? And the equally big answer: Anything you damn well want.”

Bird by Bird by Ann Lamott

“I heard a preacher say recently that hope is a revolutionary patience; let me add that so is being a writer. Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.”

So Many You Can’t Name Them

The Secret to Writing