by Laurie Wagner | Jul 14, 2014 | Blog
And so, after a couple of fairly unproductive days of writing – or – not writing – as the case was – days where I’d meant well, had made a little nest on the couch, surrounding myself with not only a pile of bills, but a list of writing assignments and essays I’d started, but which were going nowhere. After all that, I found myself jogging in my town with a little group of work out buddies from my gym. Most of us aren’t real runners, we just take orders from this horribly fit man named Nate who has no fat on his body, and who we pay to push us around. Yesterday he told us to run five times around a hot, city block, lift heavy weights – sometimes running with those weights – do planks, crunches and an assortment of other horrible things – all of it culminating in something called a burpy, where you throw yourself onto the ground, do a push up and then jump – no – leap into the air and clap your hands like you’re simply delighted, when in fact, you really just want to throw up. We did this like 25 times. So there I was running and feeling sorry for myself because I’m certain I’m not built to run, and my middle aged legs feel heavy, and I’m huffing and puffing and tears are leaking out of my eyes, and I’m hoping that all this hard work will pay off so I can fit into these dresses which I want to wear for these upcoming weddings. And then...
by Laurie Wagner | Apr 7, 2014 | Blog
Mostly we use poetry to inspire and jump start our Wild Writing classes over here at 27 Powers, but the other day I came across a letter my then 10-year-old Zoe wrote to her friends at school telling them why they should vote for her for student council. It captured everything I love about being a human being; these sometimes feeble, sometimes heroic attempts at love + living. I tell my students that they will get so good at Wild Writing that they can use the back of a cereal box to write from, and write something beautiful. So why not the plea of a 10-year-old girl who wants to run for office? “My name is Zoe Wagner and this is why you should pick me for student council… 1. I am not afraid to talk in front of the whole school. 2. I want to help everybody 3. You can trust me 4. I’ll work hard 5. I’ll make everything right” This is my riff on it in class this week: Why You Should Pick Me 1. I make an awesome cup of coffee 2. I don’t hog the blankets 3. I keep coconut, black sesame snacks in the freezer 4. My mother says I’m very beautiful when I cry 5. I’m learning to make a solid fire 6. I still listen to Joni and Neil 7. Cowboy boots are never the wrong choice 8. Lately I am drawn to difficult conversations 9. I carry my Grandmother’s kerchief 10. My Father left me a pair of his old reading glasses 11. My Mother and I threw two shivas...
by Laurie Wagner | Mar 17, 2014 | Blog
A writer friend and I were walking recently and discussing the challenge of writing about deeply personal experiences. We agreed that writing about the important events or people in our lives was a way to unpack and understand them better. That was good. On the other hand, maybe certain things shouldn’t be written about because bringing them out into the light of day might take them from the sacred to the mundane, and even cheapen them to some degree. We’d have to rely on words and sentences, and perhaps we’d be misunderstood or the depth of our feelings wouldn’t be conveyed. As writers we weren’t sure how to approach this, how to use writing to crack open our lives so that we might investigate and share them, but not deaden them or turn them into sound bites. It reminded me how careful I’d been when my husband and I decided to split up after 26 years, about the language I chose to talk and write about it with. Before I even started telling people, I realized that the words I chose to tell the story with would get replicated and used again and again, by me. Words would be strung together to become sentences, and sentences would be strung together to become the story. And then the story would be “the way it was,” which would only be a slice of what was actually true. I wanted to be mindful of that. I wanted to remember that 26 years with another person couldn’t and shouldn’t be reduced to a short, pithy paragraph, an explanation. But then, we’re writers, so we...
by Laurie Wagner | Feb 25, 2014 | Blog
“If something inside of you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Risk being unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it. If you’re a writer you have a moral obligation to do this. And it is a revolutionary act—truth is always subversive.” – Anne Lamott Goodness, here I sit on a Monday night with a Tuesday morning deadline to write a blog post. There are a number of other things I could be doing, like watching the latest episode of Downtown Abby and finding out, good god, if Edith’s boyfriend, the father of her unborn baby, miraculously returns, saving Edith’s reputation and bringing her the happiness we know she deserves. Seriously, I’ve tried to write this blog post a few times, even looking back into recent Wild Writing journals to see what I could get away with. Nothing. I’m feeling pressed to do something and I’m feeling empty of anything pithy, funny, smart or admirable. Sitting here trying to rouse the troop of my words, I get this quote sent to me from my friend Marci Hannewald and I realize the jig is up. Forget about writing something funny. Something that bathes you in the best light. Forget about writing something important or sage and that will inspire people to want to work with you or know you. Just write about what’s true. “Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability....
by Laurie Wagner | Dec 30, 2013 | Blog
The other day on a walk, my friend told me that all of the big parts of his life were in flux; housing, work, money, love. None of them felt firmly planted, nothing was certain. And yet with all that uncertainty, he felt really solid. Meditation, walks with his dog in nature, art – – these were the consistents in his life, the things that he could rest in and which sustained him when all about him swirled in change. I’ve been thinking about my friend as I take a look at the year ahead and the expectations that I have for myself. There’s a tendency for me to plan ahead, to already have 2014 envisioned and ready to roll out; new business ideas, new classes, exciting new projects. Big plans fueled by big ambition – that’s where I’m comfortable – when I’m sinking my teeth into things and making them happen. But try as I might, that’s not where I am right now. I’m breathing, that’s for certain, and there are some wonderful small projects I’m offering in the New Year, but I’m moving more slowly. The big ideas, the flashy offerings, they’re not crystalized yet – they’re still fuzzy, still being fleshed out. And some of them may never happen. If I sound relaxed about this it’s only because this is what’s been working me for weeks, so I’m getting used to being in this foggy place where I can’t see past my own feet. I have tried to catapult myself to a “better” place for sure. In the last three weeks I...
