A few weeks ago I drove my
familiar route from Traverse City to downstate Michigan. The roads were clear and the woods were filled
with unspoiled white on white drifts.
Just as I approached the up north town of Kalkaska the wispy morning
fog rose above the frosted pine needles and caught the rising sun, clarifying
the muted crystals in an avalanche of diamonds so breathtakingly beautiful I
pulled to the side of the highway to just observe. And on the radio, the Cambridge Singers sang “All
Things Bright and Beautiful,” from WIAA, the classical station out of
Interlochen. All points converged in a writing star as I
grabbed the spiral notebook I keep in the pocket of the car door to scribble
the memory.
Later I read, “How to Regain Your
Soul” by a favorite poet, William Stafford, as the points of his own writing star converged:
could happen to you. Your soul pulls toward the canyon
and then shines back through the white wings to be you again.”
As a child I scrawled blissful
stories of princesses in apple trees. As
a teenager it was imperative I tell my diary, Mindy, about all my loves lost
and loves gained. In college I lost much
of my spontaneity as I agonized over what the professor wanted. As a young teacher I uncomfortably taught the
importance of the paragraph with three supporting sentences.
The tragedy of my life taught me to
write again. When my high school
sweetheart, soulmate and dear husband died, I raged and ranted and cried and stomped
and the paper found me. Much of my
journal from that time stays hidden. But
that first summer I was invited to the Oakland Writing Projecthttp://oaklandwritingproject.ning.com/ where we shared,
conference style, our personal writing.
I unburied my writing song.
Anne Tyler said in an essay she
wrote for The Writer and Her Work, edited
by Janet Sternburg: “Even when I feel I have no ideas at all, and can’t
possibly start the next chapter, I have a sense of something still
bottled in me, trying to get out.” (12)
Writing is like that. The
arrangement of the words matters. The
images before me merge. My song, the way I write, gives to me mystery, mission,
message and meaning. It is how I sing
with the stars.
For Laura Roop
No comments:
Post a Comment