Writing Found a Home

I was late and sat in the back.  My first writing class.  But I was hooked before I even sat down!  Twenty men and women of various ages and backgrounds were in the room where the collection of Art and Manga books call home in our local Books & Books.  They were rapt, listening to the instructor, eloquent as a feather, laying the framework for our six weeks together.

Tingles danced over my arms as I reached into my bag for my diary.  I was engaged, caught up in her reverence and passion for a thing she clearly loves.  She talked on writerly habits, having a writer’s journal, writing daily for at least fifteen minutes, reading like a writer.  She expressed in words several of the things I have learned since sitting down and committing to this blog.  Like the extraordinary gems of material hidden in the ordinariness of our own lives.  Like the way a writer thinks, examining the event of the day or the moving moment and creating words to recreate this picture to someone else.

We were given a class exercise – to write a paragraph each on three childhood memories – and the silence was broken only by the odd chuckle and the dizzy rush of pens.  I smiled down at my book feeling like a little girl again on the first day I realized that I could read.  I had cracked the code!  Found a new world to explore.  Once again I am in that moment.

This class will change my life.

And I won’t be alone.  The excitement in the room was like the 22nd person – hard and defined by bones covered in flesh.  The questions asked and experiences shared came as though from one massive tank of thought.  I learned something that will stay with me forever.  There is a community of writers.  Everywhere.  Watching, observing and loving the moment enough to write it.  Even here in my home town.  People like me who shut down a part of their day to spend with a pen and paper or notepad or laptop to pour themselves out for a moment.  There are people who take the colours of life and recreate them more brilliantly in black and white.  Others are fluent in my language.

This morning I have my blog to commit to and my homework to do.  I am praying for the time to do it all – both mean a lot to me.  And so I am giving fair warning – much of the frilly bits of my life will be cut for a time to make space for this thing that promises to take over, to bring a new chapter of meaning and a whole new purpose.

Onward with the Journey!

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6 thoughts on “Writing Found a Home

  1. Gosh, I wish my writing teacher was like that. I took a creative writing course as an elective unit in University and the lecturer was horrible – he was a sort of man where you couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious, loved the sad macabre (as apparently all the staff did) so writing about anything “happy” lost marks because it was apparently conventional, was a hard marker in general, and barely instructed in any other forms of writing beyond creative forms, which were also part of our assessments (essays/critiques, book reviews, etc).

    • It’s like a music teacher isn’t it? If you don’t like rock, don’t go to a rocker for lessons. Also, this is a community setting and not so much a university class. Much more casual.

  2. I sat beside Bushlins and listened to our animated and eloquent instructor, as she combed the room with bright wide eyes, and noticed how many of us avoided her stare. The truth is though, I was sucked into Buslings’ shoes, in my mind I was like wow….nice feet and pretty shoes. I scribbled a note in reference to the shoes who knows there might be a story there.

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