I attended a workshop this weekend on using memories in your writing. I suspect that the teacher did not name the workshop herself or even write the description, because she never mentioned the word memory. Instead, she simply presented three writing exercises: look at an object (moose antlers) and describe it in a unique way; ask yourself a question that’s been bugging you and answer it; describe a favorite place. It was fun, in any case.
There are always folks at these conferences who leap at the chance to read their writing: one lady, who was wearing a flouncy maroon hat clearly selected to coordinate with her flouncy maroon sweater, literally leaped onto the stage to volunteer. Since I did not do so, but my favorite place makes me so happy, I’ve decided to share it here.
It is a rocky point but what draws me there is the sand—warm sand. Is it really there or is that just my memory playing tricks on me? No, I think it is there—maybe just a ten-inch patch of sand, but it warms like the rocks—maybe once was the rocks—and the sunshine seems to become one, so that when you touch the sand it is like holding the light in your hands. If you are lucky—and you usually are—the wind will blow high in the trees, so that there is just the slightest sense of ripples on the water but your ears still fill with the rushing sound of the trees playing you a daytime lullaby. There may be blueberries to pick or flowers on the branches to enjoy or perhaps red leaves—a second type of light—but if there is nothing at all, then still be happy because it means there is nothing but lacy branches to frame your view and you can gaze out at the island instead.
Here, you can finally take a deep breath—let the trees bring a fresh platter of oxygen to you and share some carbon dioxide in return. They don’t mind—they really like it, and they like you, too, because you sit so still that a chipmunk might mistake you for a tree stump and scamper right across your foot. You are still because this is a sacred place and you are part of the ceremony. And if you wait—do nothing but wait—no effort, no movement required—then ever so gradually, you will see stars.
