You Gotta Love It!

My writer’s group meets once every two weeks. We call ourselves Hen’s Teeth because committed writers are “scarce as hen’s teeth!” We also happen to love chickens and a couple of us raise a few hens and roosters. At the end of each session, one of us assigns writing homework which is usually based on an exercise gleaned from one of the many wonderful writing books that inspire us. Our exercise this week struck me as a unique way to get in touch, not only with good writing, but with a deep gratitude for life.

The exercise comes from Writing Toward Home, a book by author Georgia Heard. Here it is for you to try at home:

“Each day for a week, fall in love at least 3 times. Write it down. Describe in detail what you fall in love with. What is the feeling that comes over you when you experience this falling in love? Each time we fall in love, something that before was closed inside us opens and creativity begins to flow.”

Got it? Three times a day for one week, allow yourself to fall in love with something--person, place or thing--and write about it. That is, “freewrite” about it, meaning don’t think about it too much. Write whatever comes into your mind without editing or even lifting your pen from the page. Simply write until you run out of things to say or your hand gets tired, whichever comes first. My experience thus far is that I might not realize I’m falling love at the time, but when I reflect on my day, I never have trouble remembering three instances and how I felt when they occurred. See if you find yourself, and your awareness of the fat generosity of Life, expanding with each writing. Following is a short write I did after having dinner with friends, Liz and Susan:

I fell in love with the moon swimming out from behind the clouds in the parking lot of Hunan’s in Fayetteville as we exited with two of our best friends. The conversation at the table had been thick with recent loss and potential loss, lightly salted with jokes and laughter. I ate a lot, but barely tasted the food I realized later, filling a hole that was both physical and emotional. Listening intently, I wanted to help but didn’t really know how. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair–this was cigarette talk to me. But hell, nobody smokes anymore. Except me. No apologies, just please, please, please let’s go outside. And when we do, there she is. Rolling in rough weather, nearly full white globe that human-whispers me, “Always here, changes predictable, yet I’m different everytime you see me. Light in the darkness, slow-moving meteor, crazy mentor, I am the moon.” We discussed this writing exercise over Chinese food and fortune cookies, wondering if we really fall in love with something 3 times a day. All our heads swivel on their stems to regard that fat white goddess racing between tatterd black curtains of clouds, and Liz and I sigh together, “Now there’s something I could fall in love with...”