Special Writing Stuff from AWA
and a precious Christmas morning captured in words
For the past four months, Amherst Writers & Artists (AWA) has hosted special monthly workshops; a trial run for writers at all levels to experience the method. These workshops were a smashing success, with more than 80 participants at the final one in December, led by Sue Reynolds. The unique aspect of this format is that once the prompts have been delivered and the timed writings are complete, participants go to breakout rooms where they are facilitated by a skilled and experienced workshop leader. These rooms are so sweet, with a maximum of six writers to read read and offer feedback on the freshly generated writing. It’s intimate, safe, and simply brilliant!
These four trial workshops were so popular and successful that we’ve set up one for every month going forward. The next one is on January 20 facilitated by Margaret O’Brien. All are welcome for as little as a $10 donation. They are open to everyone but are also part of a new level of AWA membership, where, for $50/year, one can attend up to eight of these sessions. There are additional benefits to becoming a Writer Member, including, but not limited to:
Reading Events – semi-annual reading events of selected submissions
Publication – an annual compendium of submissions from writer and affiliate members.
Special Website Link - to register for upcoming events, with easy access to the calendar listings as well as special sorting tools to find Affiliates and their ongoing writing groups by region, date, or type.
If you’re interested in becoming a Writer Member, please click here.
In the December trial workshop, Sue Reynolds offered the prompt inspired by Maya Stein to write about a moment when “you or your character didn’t want to change a thing.”
I find these kinds of prompts where we are invited to slow right down deeply beneficial on more than one level. The obvious one for the writer is an exercise in using sensory detail to evoke emotion. But when a prompt like this is used to recall a personal memory, it is in itself a powerful meditation as well as a way to find renewed appreciation and gratitude for those crystalline moments in one’s life where all is as it should be. Because this life is inherently fraught with all sorts of things I don’t want to itemize or even mention here right now, we need these opportunities to stop and take stock. And in doing so, the practical benefit is that our awareness grows keener and our writing becomes richer. Win-win.
I chose to write about Christmas. Especially because so many Christmases have been less than delightful, and this past one shimmered.
Twinkle lights smaller than my baby fingernail peek between the branches of the pine sapling my son cut this year. A single candy cane and one paper-thin wooden star are all that tiny tree can hold without collapsing. It’s been set in a slender vase surrounded by a red towel. Outside, snow falls and falls, sparkling in the dawning blue light.
Years ago, I donated all the Christmas decorations to Value Village. I didn’t want to think about Christmas; its anticipation, its drowning disappointments, the leavings and the heartbreaks. Instead, I took my son south—one year to Mexico, other years to Cuba.
Each of the new decorations was a precious gift. Hand-painted glass, crystal, beaded, copper sparkles—they hang in a pretty row along the top of the window. Packages wrapped in silver, red, and green, and bags with pictures of snowmen, sleighs, and such spill out from around the tree into the living room. One cat snores under the wood stove, and the other watches with one eye from her perch on the back of the couch. On the table, a tray of croissants warm from the oven and cups of creamy eggnog.
My son is the master of ceremonies. He’s set up his Go-pro to record our receivings, our openings, and our laughter. He selects a red and white striped package and hands it to me. “This is for you, Mom,” he says. Welcome to Christmas 2022, he says to the camera and angles it toward me. The others watch and wait with murmurs of anticipation as the paper peels, followed by morning squeals of delight. With each gift, whether to me, his partner, or his father, who lives with us now, or when it is his turn to receive, the others turn to share in the discovery and delight. Red plaid sleep pants, a spa gift certificate, a painting set, a puzzle, a white dressing gown, a serving dish shaped like a medicine wheel…each one welcomed. Why I chose it, how I will use it, why I love it already… The gifts we give back with each present.
The cats yawn. The little lights twinkle. The morning stretches on with laughter, croissants, and creamy cups of eggnog. On the other side of the window where the pretty ornaments hang, snow falls and falls and falls.
What a lovely picture you painted, Deepam. I loved the sensory detail of the cats, the egg nog, the lights. You've captured a beautiful feeling. (PS: Thank you for your masterful facilitation in the AWA breakout room last week. It was wonderful to write with you again!)