Exclusion, Rejection, Reinvention
When in doubt, try tie-dying.
“This is remembrance––revisitation; and names are keys that open corridors no longer fresh in the mind, but nonetheless familiar in the heart .” -Beryl Markham
Dear writers,
It’s a rainy Friday in early May as I start this draft. I should not be writing a newsletter. I have less than a week to hand in the final third of my novel draft to my editor and every moment of writing time should be spent like drops of precious oil on this project of mine, this ancient project, this LONG LONG marathon of a project. But I felt something fierce inside me demand to pause to connect with the world—that would be you. After all, you are the reason I’m writing these books in the first place.
I woke up yesterday in a bad mood. As is my practice, I sat in the old tattered easy chair in my study upstairs with the intention of taking some quiet time. But before I did anything impressively spiritual, this classmate of mine from college popped into my head and so (naturally) I Googled her on this highly spiritual tool I have called an iPhone, which sometimes accidentally accompanies me to my prayer time.
This classmate was not exactly my friend. We were, briefly, in the same singing group. If students at Yale could be lined up on some kind of arbitrary Nerissa-ordained spectrum, I would have placed her at A and me at Z. Or me at Alpha and her at Omega. I haven’t thought about her in years; I didn’t envy her in college, though some might see her as conventionally enviable. But yesterday, for some reason, seeing certain details about her current life filled me with a stabbing envy, coupled with a really unpleasant memory.
At my college, we had to “rush” singing groups, a term that made me (makes me) cringe and kept me away freshman year. But when I screwed up my courage to audition as a sophomore and was accepted into this all-women’s group, it felt like some kind of socially-ordained proof that I was both a singer and an acceptable human and not the iconoclastic weirdo I knew myself to be. At some point in that year, I was made “assistant pitch,” which translates to assistant conductor, which really translated into…nothing. Or at least, that’s what I did with that office. At the end of the semester, I was, appropriately, voted out and replaced.
I should have taken this demotion as a blessing––then as now, I had the disease of overcommitting myself and barely had time to breathe. But my pride was hurt. So after my summer vacation, during which I started writing songs, performing with my sister and this guy we’d just met, I called the pitch and told her I was quitting the group.
This was a very good thing to do! It meant I could pour all my attention into Tangled Up in Blue, the group I’d started the year before, a group of folk-music-loving iconoclastic weirdos like me. It also meant I was free to write songs and get better at the guitar. And that guy we’d met over the summer? Turned out to be the future guitarist for the band I would found (also my first husband and my frequent songwriting collaborator). All around win-win.
Yet still, that residue of bitterness, this odd envy. Why, child?
I sat with the feeling and decided I hated it. Well, who loves rejection and exclusion? So I kept sitting with it until it blurred and dissipated into my body, and asked me some good questions. Is it a fatal weakness that when I get even a whiff of potential rejection, I’m apt to pick up my ball and go play in my own backyard? Certainly this has limited my opportunities. It keeps me from calling music festivals to try to get my band gigs. It keeps me from querying agents and literary journals to try to get my work published. It keeps me from going to SXSW and AWP because (sometimes) when I’m aware of powerful people, I freeze and/or flee.
On the other hand, maybe rejection and exclusion, or rather the feelings they evoke, are somehow toxic to me. Maybe my avoidance is a helpful, self-protective mechanism. Maybe my aversion is akin to the feeling of dread and nausea we get when standing on a precipice—a warning to back off. Maybe I’m a dog and that feeling is the equivalent of my electric collar, and I’m meant to stay within this fenced yard because it’s HERE that I’m called to work.
Who’s to say? What I DO know is that I love what I love, and I have dedicated my life into making art as a kind of thank you to the artists who made the work that lit me up, that continues to light me up. I am so proud to be a humble scribe if it means I have even a minuscule shot at writing something that positively impacts another person. I admired the music my sophomore singing group sang, but not the way I loved Tangled Up in Blue’s repertoire. I admire 300-page women’s fiction novels, but I love family sagas that spill over into sequels, and I love genre-bending unclassifiable works of all kinds.
People have often told me something will not work, and then I try it and it does. Like an old white jacket, badly stained, which I decided to dye sage green.
It’s a few days later, and the sun has come out. My child came home from college for Mother’s Day. My other child has a baseball game today. My draft is, for now, done and en route to my editor. I just listened to this interview of Ocean Vuong, which I loved so much I want to listen to it every day for the next six months. We are picking up our copy of his new novel The Emperor of Gladness later today, though Tom got first dibs on reading it, so I’m reading Niall Williams’ The Time of the Child, a sequel to This Is Happiness. In order to create just a little more chaos in our lives, we think we might get a second dog for Hudson to play with when his sister Greta is occupied with the rabbits in her own backyard.
Love, Nerissa
Summer Writing Camp
Only four spots left!
Finally–give yourself to your writing for one delicious week! This is a fantastic opportunity to delve deeply into an existing project, work on a phD thesis, start a children’s book, edit and revise, or just revel in the community of writers, the beautiful surroundings, the quiet, the on-going discussion of writing and literature. Poets work on haiku; there are spaces for songwriters to compose in private rooms; there are indoor and outdoor spaces to curl up in and write to your heart’s content.
Summer retreat is like summer camp for writers. Take a week to exercise your muse, make some new friends and enjoy Northampton in the summer! Sign up for more information here.
September Back-to-School Weeklong Retreat
Immerse Yourself in a Week of Creative Writing
Join us in person or remotely for a transformative week dedicated to your writing.Whether you're diving into a memoir, starting a children's book, revising your novel, or simply craving the camaraderie of fellow writers, this retreat is your perfect escape.
Why Attend?
Deep Focus: Delve deeply into your project with uninterrupted writing time.
Creative Inspiration: Surround yourself with a community of writers in beautiful, serene surroundings.
Diverse Opportunities: Work on anything from poetry to songwriting in dedicated indoor and outdoor spaces.
Flexible Participation: Join us in person or via Zoom; all group discussions will be accessible online.
Daily Schedule
9:00 AM: Gather in Nerissa’s cozy front room (and on Zoom) for a brief discussion and an optional writing prompt.
9:30 AM - 11:30 AM: Dedicated writing time.
11:30 AM - 1:00 PM: Family-style lunch break with an optional walk around the picturesque Childs Park.
1:00 PM - 3:00 PM: Afternoon writing session.
3:00 PM: Sharing hour for those who wish to discuss their work.
Meals & Refreshments
All-Day Access: Coffee, tea, light snacks, and seltzer.
Lunch: A hearty one-dish grain and vegetable salad provided, or bring your own lunch to store in the studio refrigerator. A microwave is also available.
Explore: The lunch break is long enough for a quick trip to Northampton, just 1.3 miles away.
Why Northampton?
Inspiration: Exercise your muse in a vibrant, artsy town.
Connection: Build new friendships and grow within a supportive writing community.
Relaxation: Enjoy the peace and beauty of Northampton in the summer.
Take this opportunity to fully immerse yourself in your writing and rejuvenate your creative spirit!
You can attend either in person or on Zoom. Links and address will be provided once you have registered.
Membership Opportunities
For regular accountability, join Morning Seeding & Tending, 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.”
