read write with red ravine: what’s in front of you?
This week we bring you more in the collaborative spirit. The hosts of red Ravine, ybonesy and QuoinMonkey, invite you into their writing practice.
* * *
Almost exactly four years ago, in the summer of 2004, I met my blog partner. We were both attending a silent retreat with Natalie Goldberg in Taos at the Mabel Dodge Luhan House, near the foot of sacred Taos Mountain. It was the first silent retreat with Natalie for both of us.
For those unfamiliar with her book Writing Down the Bones, in it Natalie applies the principles of Zen practice to writing. Watch the mind, be present, wake up. She lays out these six rules, which we follow on red Ravine:
- Keep your hand moving. (Don’t pause to reread the line you have just written. That’s stalling and trying to get control of what you’re saying. Don’t stop until the time is up.)
- Don’t cross out. (That is editing as you write. Even if you write something you didn’t mean to write, leave it. Don’t backspace.)
- Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, grammar. (Don’t even care about staying within the margins and lines on the page.)
- Lose control.
- Don’t think. Don’t get logical.
- Go for the jugular. (If something comes up in your writing that is scary or naked, dive right into it. It probably has lots of energy.)
Before going to Taos, I struggled with writing. I might start a sentence and get stuck on whether to use the word “enchanted” or “delighted.” Or I would cross out entire paragraphs then slowly and painfully rewrite them. It was like squeezing the last remnants of toothpaste from the tube.
Natalie broke something open for me — for many of us — in that workshop. Through Writing Practice, we tapped our voices. Not those weak, choppy utterances of Monkey Mind, but the strong truthful voice that comes straight from the heart.
That week in July ‘04 was set up as a sort of sesshin — a week devoted to sitting, walking, and writing. We had a zendo, and we created an altar. We sat on cushions or chairs along the four walls. Once we dropped into silence, we didn’t even acknowledge one another over meals or while passing along paths. The only time we spoke was when we were asked to read our writing, small voices penetrating the silence. The writing was personal and powerful. Each day was nearly identical to the one before it. The routines created structure, and within that sameness and tameness, our minds went wild.
People ask me, “What happens when you become silent?” Something else awakens. I can feel every ache in my body from sitting for hours, can almost see the pins in my joints connecting knees to shins. Monkey Mind, that inner voice that constantly heckles and doubts — I’m not good enough, So-and-so’s writing is great, mine is shit — gets loud. I cry. I see vivid color. I feel the bottom of my feet when I walk.
In that July workshop I wrote, “Love is the color black.” Every emotion came through me, until they mingled into one. I broke. I found Beginner’s Mind.
What does any of this have to do with writing? Before one can be a great writer, one must overcome the urge to be tossed away. Especially with writing, we talk ourselves out of doing it. How many times have you sat down to write only to find a million distractions? Once you quiet the mind, you see what’s happening. As Natalie often said, “The energy of resistance turned is awakening.” Writing Practice, then, is about getting out of our own way.
Monkey Mind also prevents us from being present to details. I remember sitting on the flagstone patio outside the zendo and watching ants crawl. I don’t think I’d given ants the time of day since I was a kid. I’d fallen into the habit of daydreaming while walking through the steps of each day. Writers need to feel, to see and taste, so we can pass on through our writing the detail of human existence.
Each day of the workshop we sat, slow-walked and wrote. “Here’s a topic,” Natalie said in her low nasally voice. “How fast can you go? for ten, write.” Our hands flew across pages. “Wrap it up,” her voice again. Before we had a chance to look at what we wrote, she threw out another topic. Not anything grand like “Love,” but basic topics, the stuff of detail. “Pickles, for ten, go.”
When QuoinMonkey read, I took notice. She was gentle and deep. Later, when we swam in the brown water of the Rio Grande, I saw she was like me. Some people refused to get in — the day was overcast and the water muddy — but she and I were among those who jumped right in and leaned back, letting the current carry us down the river. We crawled out, soggy and shivering, walked back up the path and did it again. And again, and again.
After the workshop ended we began writing online together. We each applied, independent of one another, to a year-long Intensive with Natalie. Both of us were accepted. Midway through the year we decided to start red Ravine. We set out a vision and mission. We wanted to show how Writing Practice worked and to create community for writers and artists, whose work by its nature is isolating. Mostly we wanted to keep it going. We refused to go back to the way things were before July 2004.
Writing Practice for us is not simply a technique. It is a spiritual practice. At its most basic, it helps us to hold our creative energy deep in our bellies and learn how and when to let it out. It prevents us from being tossed away. Practicing writing with one another, heart-to-hand-to-pen-to-paper, we are witness to our individual and collective perseverance.
Finally and pragmatically, Writing Practice is the method we use whenever we need to write an essay or even a blog post. Write it out once using Writing Practice, then go back and shape it into a finished piece.
That’s what we want you to do with us today. Set a timer for ten minutes and get ready to write without stopping, without crossing out and without judging whether what’s flowing from the pen is good or bad. Give yourself over to it wholly. Even if the thought of it seems dumb, take a leap of faith with us this once.
Your topic is What’s in front of me.
.
.
.
.
Once you’re done, take the raw writing that comes out and polish into a more finished piece of poetry (or prose). We’ll want to see both the raw and the polished pieces; we’ll leave the comments open right here for a couple of weeks. So drop a link to your blog post with your writing for us — and your companions — to read.
If you’re so moved, join us in making Writing Practice a part of your daily life. Do it each morning as soon as you get up. A form of meditation or calisthenics for writers. It will change your life.
As always, we are deeply grateful to Natalie for her mentorship and guidance. Please read more about her here.
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ybonesy and QuoinMonkey are the founders of writing and art community blog, red Ravine. ybonesy lives in the central Rio Grande Valley north of Albuquerque, and QuoinMonkey lives just outside of Minneapolis.
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Photos used with permission.
Gateways, Taos, New Mexico, July 2007, photo © 2007-2008 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Mabel’s Lights IV, Taos, New Mexico, July 2007, photo © 2007-2008 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Cart & Coal, Taos, New Mexico, July 2007, photo © 2007-2008 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Taos Mountain (The Spaces Between), Taos, New Mexico, February 2007, photo © 2007-2008 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
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[...] The best part? You, too, are invited to write on the topic, which you can get by clicking HERE. If you have a blog site, post your work and provide a link (at Read Write Poem and here). If you [...]
Yep. Leave your link in the comment section right here! We’ll leave the lights on for a couple of weeks (rather than just the normal “one”).
Wow, what a sublime experience! There are so many wonderful pieces of wisdom in this post, thank you for sharing!
This is a fab post. I really enjoy both your work, wish it hadn’t taken me so long to find you and the backstory is illuminating, I had wondered at how the powerful connection between you was fomred, given you live very far away from each other. I write in a fairly similar way, blurt out a basic skeleton for an idea for a poem, then I go back and hone it. I love the moment when the skeleton’s built and I can start putting muscles, fat, skin on……..but I’m a constant editor, I used to work as one, so the nitpicker in me is always at large. I’m going to try this tomorrow or the day after and see what happens. Thanks.
Today in conversation with my husband I quoted Quoinmonkey from her post Many Moons of July, and also ybonsey’s description of how writing from silence cracked her open. Diving deeper is a continuous process, and these words help me in the journey.
The Writing Topics on red Ravine ground me, help instill a sense of ritual in my writing life.
A bow of gratitude to you both!
And to you, too, Christine. We’re excited to be working with you and the RWP poets this way. (And, Deb, thanks for all your work as well in getting this post ready. You guys are such a professional bunch, really.)
Jo, I like how you describe your process — blurting out the basic skeleton, going back and adding muscle, fat, etc. I can’t imagine editing while writing poetry, at least that first draft. I’m also curious about the revision process in poetry. I remember a post QM did about Donald Hall; she linked to an interview he did on his revision process. I was struck by what he said about poetry requiring more revision than prose, at least for him. (I think I remember Ted Kooser also talked about this, how he’ll tuck away poems for years then bring them back out to finish them.)
I’ll be interested to hear what folks think of Writing Practice and how it is similar or differs, too, from what I’ve heard called “Free Writing.”
I owe a huge debt to Ybonesy and Quoinmonkey because it was reading Red Ravine that actually started me not just blogging, but actually writing again in the first place. It’s an amazing internet powerhouse of inspiration and I do encourage everyone to go and check it out!
[...] poem started as a writing practice from redravine and readwritepoem, two of my favourite sites - the challenge to spend ten minutes doing uncensored free writing on [...]
Here’s a post with my WP and the poem that came out of it…. I do love these!
forest soul, savannah soul
It is so humbling to read these comments. A debt of gratitude to you all and to Deb for working to format the post. Much appreciated.
Christine, you were one of the first bloggers I met when ybonesy and I first started red Ravine. And then I found out you were based in Georgia which made me feel even more connected. I’ve always felt a blog kinship with you and your writing.
lirone and jo, I have so enjoyed your comments and back and forth. I am constantly amazed at how much you can learn about people through electronic writing and connections.
ybonesy, I’m curious about the revision process in poetry, too. I remember that Donald Hall piece and reading how it sometimes takes him years to hone a poem to his satisfaction and publish it. That was an amazing interview with him. If readers here have insights into that, I’d love to hear them, too.
I don’t consider myself a poet by trade. But I love poetry. I do write haiku as a daily practice. And I’ve been told my prose sometimes lends itself to the poetic (though I’m not always exactly sure what that means (?). I remember the day I could finally call myself a writer. And I’m wondering how each of you as poets get to a place where you feel you can call yourself a poet?
oops. sorry about that blank comment post. here’s a little something too -
<a href=”“>awareness
I think calling yourself something is often taken too seriously, thought to require too much expertise, or professionalism. I think it’s not about a level of achievement, but about the intensity of what it means to you.
A good test is to have had at least one moment when a particular activity was really important for you. A moment when you really learnt, or expressed, something of the essence who you are. And the more such moments you have, I think the more natural it becomes to think of yourself as someone who expresses themselves that way.
If you have done that through poetry (and having read some of your haiku, QM, I suspect you have!) then for me you can call yourself a poet…
lirone, great response. And it makes sense. It’s about the intensity of an art form. And when you started expressing the essence of who you are through a particular art form. As I think about this more, it would also be about a willingness to take creative risks with that art form. Natalie would call that — “what are you willing to put your ass on the line for.” I’m going to think about his more, too. Thanks.
It’s hard to be a poet by trade these days, but it’s within our power to be poets through action, by writing our words in an intense, metaphorical way. So, yes QM, you are a poet and a writer, and an artist. You share all these art forms, you live through them, or rather the art lives through you. That’s how I see you, how I see myself, and many others in our little corner of the web, on our little wave of time.
WHAT’S IN FRONT OF ME?
During a recent trip to the local county fair . . . . it was something somewhat scary:
DON’T SMILE AT ME THAT WAY, at NICKERS AND INK
glad i stopped in another inspiring post.. having just begun to write in a serious nature and letting go this post is so encouraging… at first i wrote about nature and things that were outside of myself or so i thought… and now with the courage of feedback and reading other writing blogs i am trying not to hesitate, cross out or think thaz too personal to share… trying to find ways to expand the writing thoughts that are new and challenging so this a blessing… thank you… most appreciative of the links too…
Like ybonesy said, this is a lot like free writing, except that I think if you get more practice writing like this every day, I’m sure the scream of unconsciousness will circle around a theme–and become more centered if you will, like Zen or meditation or even yoga. The thoughts slow like breathing in and out deeply, whereas for free writing, it’s more of a rush of writing whatever comes to mind, even the silliest of things, and doesn’t necessarily go towards a central theme. The topics are disjointed.
Am I making sense? I hope so. This type of Zen writing actually clears my thoughts, assuages my daily worries, and brings me peace. Oh, and it also sharpens the senses, and like Deb was saying, it taps into our true hidden voices!! Taking a calculus course this summer was a real downer, and to keep a part of my sanity, I wrote a few peaceful poems during that time. But you know what? As of today, I can celebrate my freedom–no more math until next year!!
And speaking of which, here is an example of one of my peaceful poems during my calculus torture: finding solace. However, I will be back to try this prompt!! I so need a break, and off to meditate here I go!!
A~Lotus, what you’re saying does make sense. I don’t actually know that much about “free writing” and whether it is a super-fast process (but I believe you when you say it is), yet I do know that Writing Practice slows down my mind even as my hand is moving fast across the page.
ybonesy, yes!! You put it exactly–it slows down the mind, whereas for free writing, it quickens the mind so the thoughts are really jumbled, or at least that’s how I see it as. I mean, people won’t call it “free writing” without a reason. Just seeing the word “free” emphasizes that type of hurried thoughts with fast hand movements across a page.
It’ll be interesting to see how other folks compare and contrast free writing and Writing Practice, as you call it… Is there another name for Writing Practice?
I loved that book. Perhaps, I’m not a real poet, but I don’t follow those rules. And, I don’t plan on starting. I think someone should write how they want.
alright…I tried…
http://anuvuestudio.wordpress.com/2008/08/16/whats-in-front-of-me/
Hi! This is my first encounter with your site, and my first effort at one of these challenges:
http://scintillator.wordpress.com/2008/08/16/whats-in-front-of-me/
Hi
I tried it out. You can find the poem at
http://musingsbytrinath.blogspot.com/2008/08/whats-in-front-of-me.html
It’s so nice to see everyone here. New and not-so-new folks both.
ybonesy & QuoinMonkey: A big “You’re most welcome and we’re glad you’re here!” I do want to give a shout out to Carolee who acted as the yenta in this get-together. (She is such a party girl.)
I can hardly wait to dig into this exercise. I just picked up Writing Down the Bones last winter and while inspired, got caught up in lots of other things, and need the gentle nudge to try it first hand.
[...] This passage is an unedited free-write based on a prompt from red Ravine, which you can find at readwritepoem. The process of writing ybonsey and Quoinmonkey practice is a dive-deep kind of writing, based on [...]
http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com/17495.html
I did half-and-half with this piece, that is half-raw and half-polished it into a poem. I tend to write better stories that way, although with this piece, I’m not sure if I made any sense towards the end.
I did my best with this prompt!! It IS much more difficult than free-writing, that’s for sure!! I think I need to start on meditation again since I’ve been out of practice!!
[...] free write exercise, in collaboration with red [...]