Don't Let Them Stop You
Late-March One-Day Retreat
Hello writers,
It pretty much sucks out there. Frankly, I would much rather pretend I’m living in the 1990s and immerse myself in 20th-Century literature and Downton Abbey (1910’s-20s) or even The Americans which takes place in the 1980s and highlights the violence of the Cold War, a time that feels downright halcyon compared to now.
For many of us, it can be dangerously self-destructive to pay too much attention to the news, especially as it seems to change every five minutes, but it's equally dangerous to check out completely.
The danger of paying too much attention is that they will steal your joy, your mojo, your very will to persevere. They will so discourage you that you will not be able to summon up the energy required to write.
The danger of paying too little attention is that you will isolate yourself from humanity, and so become divorced from your primary mission as communicator/interpreter/artist. Any survivors or students of genocide know that at the extreme, failure to pay attention can be fatal.
Of course, artists have always needed to create havens and retreats for themselves. The stereotype of lonely artist, laboring in a remote garret is there for good reason. We need both to protect our solitude and to create and maintain that connection with our audience.
This paradigm of finding that just-right balance pertains to my own healing journey. As you know, I broke my right wrist on February 1. Due to climate change and the subsequently horrible icy conditions in the northeast, I am not alone in suffering. My husband Tom fell while skating in mid-December and is still dealing with post-concussion syndrome. As with my injury and recovery, he is getting advice in stereo, with some advising him to do nothing but rest, and others encouraging him to “work to his edge,” to exercise that gray matter to remind it how it works.
My surgeon, whom I adore, is of the “use it or lose it” school. As you know, I began fingerpicking the day after surgery. But either because I slightly overdid it or due to my peculiar physiognomy, I developed a recurrence of my long-ago De Quervain’s Tenosynovitis—tendinitis on top of a broken wrist. So the thumb must snooze, while the rest of the hand needs to move and push itself beyond or up to the "good pain" threshold.
Thus, I am dictating this newsletter, as well as pretty much everything. And I'm discovering the great gifts in writing in this manner.
At first, it was almost impossible for me to "compose” using my voice. I’ve always enjoyed that magical alchemy of thoughts and images traveling through my hand or hands when I am handwriting or typing. Ideas emerge in a singular way when they bypass the human voice.
On the other hand (har har), for most of our history, we were an oral people. The Iliad and Odyssey, as well as mythologies all over the globe, were passed down by poets, who likely sang their stories in metered and/or rhymed verses, the better to remember them. Any songwriter can tell you it's much easier to remember lyrics when they rhyme.
Currently, I am working on the end of my novel, Moby-Jane. There are a number of new scenes I must write, and as always, I am standing with one foot in the Pantser section and one foot in the Plotter section. This is how I’ve always written; I don't go bushwhacking into the unknown exactly, but neither do I have a trail map to get me from beginning to end. I love the surprises that come when I am in the zone and a character says something or does something I absolutely did not plan for them.
Yesterday, I worked on a scene in which the band The Big Idea performs at the Bowery Ballroom in lower Manhattan. One of the characters is struggling with a longtime personal issue, and I knew I wanted one of the other characters to call her on her behavior. I had two different characters in mind for this moment of calling out, but when I got to that point in the writing, a completely different character – in fact the last one you would expect – spoke up instead.
I knew then, that I had found my feet, so to speak, in this new modality of oral writing. Because I can’t type faster than a peck peck peck, because dictation=many typos, ummms, false starts, I think the glacial pace is actually benefiting my novel. I consider the scenes I’m working on for several weeks instead of a day or two. I find myself looping back, replaying the scenes in my head as I go about my humble shoe-tying tasks.
This isn't to say that when my hand and wrist heal, I won't return to long hand and typing, (especially now that I have Scrivener!) but I know I have a new tool in my writing tool belt.
Have you experimented with dictation? Have you noticed certain platforms do it better than others? What are some of your success stories? And how the heck are YOU getting through these trying, unprecedented times for goodness sake?
I just donated via ActBlue to the three Democratic House candidates––Gay Valimont (FL 1), Blake Gendebien (NY 21), and Josh Weil (FL 6)––who hope to fill the red vacancies left by Matt Gaetz, Elise Stefanik, and Michael Waltz, respectively, for the special election on April 1. If they win, we get the House and stand a chance to staunch the bloodbath. Let’s do this!!!!
Peace out and carry on,
Nerissa
Upcoming Opportunities
Extremely Necessary Daylong Late-March Retreat
Although there will be two official and fully-resourced retreats this summer (in July and September), by popular demand and selfish need to apply my own bum glue, I’m holding an Early Spring Daylong No-Frills Retreat on March 29.
No frills because I will not be providing lunch (bring a bagged lunch)—just coffee, tea and seltzer water.
We’ll start at 9 am, with a prompt. Break for lunch at noon. I’ll read a second prompt at 1pm. We’ll share work at 3:30pm. Plan on being here until 5pm.
You can attend either in person or on Zoom. Links and address will be provided once you have registered.
This retreat is half price for all ANNUAL PAID subscribers to this newsletter and members of Morning Seeding & Tending, which you can join via my Ko-Fi site here. I will send out coupon codes to all current members later this week.
If you aren’t currently a paid subscriber, what are you waiting for?
Summer is coming! Come to my summer camp July 14-18, or my 6-Day Back-to-School retreat Sept 16-21. Or join a Weekly Workshop for Spring! Right now, I have two spots in my Wednesday evening group.
Join my Community Writes Tuesday evening group! For the price of becoming a regular subscriber to this newsletter, you get a writing group with a feedback-free open mic. We begin with a prompt at 6pm, then we write for an hour. At 7pm, there will be a half-hour-long open mic, with up to six readers reading for 5 minutes apiece. Friendly feedback in the chat. (Free to any member of Morning Seeding & Tending––part of the $20 a month the program costs.)
Or, for more accountability, join Morning Seeding & Tending, which also gets you Community Writes Tuesdays. Subscribe via Ko-Fi to become a regular member, or try it for a month via my website. We are a jolly yet non-naggy accountability group of dedicated writers who show up, set intentions in the chat, listen to a prompt (or not) and then get the writing quotient for the day done. “Done” being, at times, better than “brilliant and immortal.”
Latest Blog Post
Here is a sermon I delivered on February 16 at the West Cummington church called “Navigating the Disorienting Landscape.”
…How do you find your spot on the earth when the very ground has vanished?
Isaiah 51:6--Lift up your eyes to the heavens, and look upon the earth beneath: for the heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment, and they that dwell therein shall die in like manner: but my salvation shall be forever, and my righteousness shall not be abolished….
What I’m Reading
Casey Mulligan Walsh is a friend, a longtime Nields fan, and an absolutely superb writer and member of the literary community. Her memoir about the death of her son is a brave, openhearted, and inspiring story. Here is her beautiful Tiny Love Story, published in the New York Times.