This writing prompt invokes the mantra of not trying to reinvent the wheel, and so it is drawn from my final writing prompt of last summer. I understand as well as any the constraints of time and motivation, but I will do my best to find a stretch of time to answer this final writing prompt myself. For me, that means a chunk of uninterrupted time that spans three or four hours--not always easy with seven kids on vacation, but as I tell those same kids: if you ain't got time, you make time. Only you know what you need, but do your best to do your best. As an English teacher, I know that I will ask my students to write a narrative about their summer. If your teacher does the same, you will be one step ahead of the curve when school begins.
A good way to to start is to write a list of memories that each include an image and an action. From those memories, paragraphs can be written; from those paragraphs an essay can be developed, and that essay can become your final narrative. I promise I will do the same.
Enjoy your last week of the summer as much as I have enjoyed sharing in your summer experiences through your blogging.
Thanks again,
Fitz
Our house is a beehive of morning activity this morning. My kids, all of whom whom, except for Pipo and Kaleigh, have never been on an airplane before are running up and down the stairs in various outfits that might be fit for their cousin’s wedding in Oregon later this week. Emma is miffed that the plane that flies out of Boston at six o’clock tomorrow morning is not going to fly over Tennessee; Charlie is bummed that we are not going to Chicago. I’m clueless as to how they hold these places dear to their heart, but there is much we don’t know about our kids. Maybe the piles of books they bought for twenty-five cents each at the Brewster Public Library rummage sale (and which are now spread like stepping stones across the family room) have sparked their imaginations of travel to various and remote places. This trip is our last hurrah of the summer and our first foray as a family as travelers outside the cocoon of our Bus. It feels a bit odd to be going mainstream with the rhumb lines of our travels predetermined by airlines, taxis, and hotels. I’ve never spent so much money before on something I couldn’t take home and set in my backyard. Like the over-played MasterCard commercial, I am sure the memories will be priceless; but every memory is priceless, as long as it is kept in the scrapbook of our souls--as long as it is deemed a treasure by the passage of time and by the yardstick of our own making.
For the past four years of these summer writing communities my last writing prompt has always been an exhortation of sorts to simply remember your summer by distilling the images and actions, and and rephrasing the introspective reflections, of the water that has passed over the dam of your life. There is a parable in the New Testament that describes a vineyard owner hiring men at different times during the day. At the end of the day, he payed them all the same daily wage whether they worked one hour or ten hours. This angered those workers that put in a long day's work, as they received the same recompense as those who barely stepped into the vineyard. The vineyard owner pointed out that he had fulfilled his promise to all of them of a certain payment to be made at the end of the day. The religious allegory is, of course, that those who live a moral and upright life will always be rewarded at the end of their lives, and that those who come to spiritual realization later in life will also be rewarded in the same way. One does not trump the other.
I often think of the parable of the vineyard when I read your blogs. Many of you have put in a mighty effort all summer long writing and maintaining a record of your literary journey--a journey that is compelling and amazing. Though you may not fully sense it yourself, I see a remarkable growth in your narrative voice and the confident expression of yourself in your writing. You are the ones who have been working in the vineyard all day, and I hope you already feel rewarded. Others of you are coming to the vineyard later in the day, but you are no less welcome. My own kids fall into the category of those whose busy summers kept them from writing but whose experiences are no less meaningful and memorable. Though I may have to prod my abstemious offspring, I know that they will come to the vineyard later in the day and use their voice to find the spiritual rewards of their summer odysseys. If your own journal is sparse, I hope that you, too, will find a way to sit and sift through the grains of your summer and give heft and body, and a lasting testament to the inner and outer rings of these last few months.
There is an intrinsic beauty in preparation--especially if that preparation is a practiced and almost thoughtless motion. The first thing EJ and Pipo did when they got home yesterday (after two months away from home) was to find their fishing poles, untangle the impossible web of lines and hooks, dig some worms, and walk the mile to the mill pond to see whether the murky waters of their dreams would still relinquish its treasure. They didn’t need a lesson on fishing to know what they needed to do; they relinquished themselves to their hearts and let it take them where they needed to go. It was satisfying to see what can only be a subliminal desire on their part to recapture their old selves in their new bodies. You can never enter the same river twice, so I wonder what they were thinking in their silent meditations under the sultry willows that line the shore. Perhaps EJ and Pipo were only thinking of monster catfish, but I’m sure the gravity and momentum of time will reveal a greater memory and a deeper speculation on what the moment returned to them. Thoughts are only completed by the power of words. They are saved from the diaspora of forgetfulness by the eternal testament and saving power of the written word.
In the same way that we are preparing for our trip to the west coast--packing, paying bills, arranging for pets, sweeping and cleaning and renting cars--a writer needs to prepare to write a lengthy writing piece by preparing for the work that lies ahead of them. Neither Denise nor I are practiced in this discipline of modern travel. As such we are like writers unprepared to face the empty page. There is an awkwardness in our motions; there is always something we are remembering at the last minute and other things we will only discover when we unpack our bags. This preparation is something we assumed would be simple and easy to do, but for us it is not simple or easy; it is a humbling and awkward lesson in fallibility and inexperience-though not less joyful and exciting. We realized last night that we hadn’t even planned where to go from the airport. At the last minute, I found myself plotting and planning how to get the most out of our brief sojourn. At the moment of my greatest discombobulation last night I called my brother Tom-- an oft traveling businessman. I laughed at how simple he made the whole process seem. He is already in Oregon with his family, and he mapped out the very few bases we needed to cover. Refreshed and reassured, I went to bed with the serenity that only comes of knowing. Little brother Tom closed the gap of my trepidation and ignorance by power and giving of his free and well-practiced knowledge. In the same way we, as writers, need to listen to those who have been there and done that in the trenches of the writing process.
My hope is that all of you will make a final trip to your blogs and try to capture your summer in a way that is full and revealing and will stand as a monument to your time in the vineyard of your writing community. To keep the strands of your writing together, find a theme--a single word or sentence--that most fully expresses the core of whom you are, what you have lived, and what you have become over the course of your summer wanderings, and let that theme weave through the flow of your narrative. More important than the monster catfish was the reason my boys went to the mill pond, and more important than the details of our trip to Oregon is the dream that is getting us there. These are the things that people want and need to see from a writer. I don’t expect anyone to wait on every word of my travels or my boy’s successes and failures as fisherman(only a vainglorious fool trusts that a reader is only interested in his or herself, for a discerning reader reads for a greater edification) but, for my part, I do trust in the rewards of reading anything written in the vineyard that all of us entered knowing and anticipating what is expected from us as writers who wish to be read.
Each of us can only do what we set out to do. Good writing is both a task and an adventure. It is never one or the other. If you need help, guidance, or ideas, feel free to share your struggles in your journal or e-mail me, and I (and you, by commenting as well) will help you as best I (and we) can.
Thanks for reading and thanks for writing!
-Fitz
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