Writing Classes are coming and So is Christmas

Carol Crawford is teaching a week-long class at the John C. Campbell Folk School in January 2024. Oh, how I would like to be there for that class. Carol is one of my favorite instructors of writing.

The Art of Creative Nonfiction, 

January 14 - 19, 2024, 

on the John C. Campbell Folk School campus.  Here's that link:

https://folkschool.configio.com/pd/1749/the-art-of-creative-nonfiction?st_t=2077&st_ti=2516&cid=2527&returncom=productlist&source=search

She promises to teach some online courses in the coming year and I will definitely sign up for one of those.

I plan to teach on Zoom this winter, January - February. Since I am not in the mountains for a while, I am happy I can take classes and teach online. I will 

give more details after Christmas.

I have a busy week ahead and one of the things I must do is take my car in to get repairs. I bought this pre-owned car a few months ago but I have found out the car had problems in the past that are showing up again. 

I did not know this when I bought this Toyota, and I am going to have to confront the dealership about it. Send me some good vibes, Readers. I don't like to do this kind of thing, but I will.

Beautiful Triptch by Gay Moring is displayed every Christmas

I hope you all are enjoying the holiday season. I used to get excited and anxious with Christmas shopping and guests for Christmas, but now my holidays are much simpler. I miss having family for Christmas dinner and holding the Beall family Christmas at my house. Barry's mother would drive down from north Georgia and stay a few days with us after we built our house. She always bought her homemade chili that was so good, and usually a chocolate cake. Barry's brother, Richard, and his sister-in-law would drive up from Florida for a weekend. I enjoyed them so much. 

Life is different now, but it is still good to be with my family, much smaller now.

Netwest Poet is published in the United Kingdom

One of the best poets I know is MAREN O. MITCHELL who is publishing her poems everywhere. The two below were recently published in the November issue of The Lake a UK publication.

 

  

  

  As They Go, So Go We

 

Being dazzled by June bug iridescence, in June or any other

          month, is beyond my recall, and at least six years have passed

 

since praying mantis youngsters climbed our garden plants

          with their gravity-defying sticky feet. Now wasps only

 

build duplexes, a shadow of their former eave condos

          that extended our roof line; hornets used to hang their mansions

 

in nearby trees, and invade the living room nightly through

          a secret entrance. While outside, they would eye me, hover

 

close, their frequency never mistaken, as I pretended I neither

          saw nor heard them, my only care the poem I was writing. Both

 

threats required diplomacy: move gently, (if at all), don't trust, pray

          quietly. It must be ten years since snakes traveled from the forest

 

to give birth in our shaggy yard, and I barely remember the shadows

          of turtles, their audacious road crossings, their compressed view

 

of life, and the slower snails, now only an occasional dot,

          Buddhas on stems. After my ankles, yellow jackets would chase me

 

down mountains as if they knew I had to stay on the trail to get

          home; fall spiders draped our fall house with softness to shelter egg

 

sacs, their plan for eternity. Yet, gnats still bite me with a dog-like

          clamp down, as though they hold a grudge, and mosquito specters

 

I see too late still inject me with viruses and bacteria. But, most

          upsetting, from bumble to sweat bees, (those little darlings who

 

spelunk into flowers and zap me as I deadhead), drop in less

          and less often. It is getting lonely outside. I don’t take it personally,

 

but eventually, absences will be personal: I like to know

          that unseen ants are aerating earth, I like to fall asleep, windows

 

open to the strum of insect bodies, wake to diamonded webs,

          and be illuminated by bee flight pointing out that I am alive.

 

 

The Theory of Everything

 

Every thing is always busy

becoming elemental elements:

 

red supergiant Betelgeuse of Orion,

is busy living while dying,

 

with irregular contractions

and expansions that were noted

 

by Aborigines and ancient Greeks;

my heart is busy with contractions and expansions,

 

finite beats

that began before I was aware;

 

unanswered phone calls

are busy being unanswered, synchronize

 

with activities of the callees;

insect oscillations fan out through air and earth,

 

and who notes them is a personal matter¾bacteria,

insect neighbors, redwoods, sand;

 

my fears, thoughts and complaints,

always busy¾

 

despite my occasional claim, I am not busy¾

beam out, intertwine

 

with all other busyness, expressions

that slam into paper,

 

but what the messages and what received?

And, as Jack A. Howard said, You're more

 

important to yourself

than to anyone else.

 

     

Maren O. Mitchell’s poems appear in Poetry East, Tar River Poetry , and The Antigonish Review. Three poems have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes.

Her chapbook is In my next life I plan... http://www.dancinggirlpress.com/.

She lives with her husband in the mountains of Georgia, US. 

Read a review of Maren's nonfiction book, Beat Chronic Pain

https://netwestwriters.blogspot.com/2013/04/book-review-of-beat-chronic-pain-by.html

 

Place, one of my main characters in poetry, nonfiction and fiction

There is a great good in returning to a landscape that has had extraordinary meaning in one's life. It happens that we return to such places in our minds irresistibly. There are certain villages and towns, mountains and plains that, having seen them walked in them lived in them even for a day, we keep forever in the mind's eye. They become indispensable to our well-being; they define us, and we say, I am who I am because I have been there, or there."

-- N. Scott Momaday, "Revisiting Sacred Ground," in The Man Made of Words

Many of my memories are piqued by places I have been. I write about my family and the farm where I grew up. I write about people and the place where I remember them. 

I write about Colorado where I have wonderful memories of Barry and our vacations there. That is also where we camped one night outside Estes Park and our kitchen tent blew away in a blizzard that came up while we slept. On another trip, we had so much fun with the college students who worked as staff for a ranch where we rode horses in the mountains. 

My only trip to California with Barry, Gay and Stu, created so many memories that make me smile. We had two days at the Mark Hopkins Hotel on Nob Hill in San Francisco. I will never forget the thrilling ride in a Taxi as the driver raced down the streets slamming on brakes then speeding away again. It was like a carnival ride over the hills and valleys. 

In New England we laughed so much and although I only remember one or two things we did, that place will remain in my memory as long as I live. The four of us went into a gift shop and walked around looking at the unique items with a seaside theme. After a few minutes, I noticed the woman who had been behind the counter when we came in seemed to be following us. She didn't say anything but stayed nearby. I told my sister, "That woman is following us. I wonder if she thinks we are going to steal something?"  We laughed at that absurd idea and continued to shop.

At the counter, as we paid for the things we wanted, the woman asked where we were from. We told her we were from Georgia. "I knew you were not from here," she said, "when I heard you talk. I listened and tried to decide where you were from."

We laughed later as we realized she was not suspicious of us. She just wanted to hear us talk.

I have written poems placed in hospitals, on airplanes, on ski slopes, in the mountains, on lakes, and in the house where I lived. I ground my writing in places and the place usually becomes an important part of my story.

One of my prompts for my students is to choose a place where they once lived and write down the things they remember about that place. Then note the people they knew or remember from that place. Often many stories come from those notes.

A special place for me, looking off the deck of my mountain home which holds many memories, and stories I will write about

 

Great Classes both online and in person

I received an email from my friend, Carol Crawford, today and I must share it with you, my readers. Carol is a writer, editor, and teacher of writing. I have taken many classes with her over the years. I met her when I first moved to Hayesville, NC in 1995. She was then the facilitator for our NCWN-West Poetry critique group. She is the kind of instructor I always want when I take a class. She never makes you feel dumb and never hurts your feelings. She is an "encourager" as I am when I teach.

The classes she will be teaching are through the John C. Campbell Folk School. Last year I took one of her online classes and learned a great deal about my own writing and where I want to go with it.

One of Carol's classes will be taught at the folk school in Brasstown, NC. It is a weeklong class and I am going to do my best to participate. With so much going on in my life at this time, I am not writing much and I have two books I want to complete while I am still able to think and work at my computer. However, if my genes are as good as my sister, June's genes were, I will be sharp until the day I cross over.  

Check out the dates and see what appeals to you.

Dear Writers,

 I hope you are enjoying cooler temperatures as you plan your fall and winter.  I want to let you know about a couple of writing classes I will be teaching in the next few months.  

 An ONLINE class, Plot the Path to your Memoir, Part 1, will be November 4, 2023. 

 The follow-up class, also ONLINE, Plot the Path to your Memoir, Part 2, will be January 27, 2024.  Here's the link: 

https://www.lessonface.com/apply/Plot-Path-Memoir

 An IN PERSON class, Creative Nonfiction, will be January 14 - 19, 2024, on the John C. Campbell Folk School campus.  Here's that link.

 https://folkschool.configio.com/pd/1749/the-art-of-creative-nonfiction?st_t=2077&st_ti=2516&cid=2527&returncom=productlist&source=search

 

Please feel free to write to me with any questions about these classes.  I encourage you to check out other writing classes at the Folk School as well. They have some great offerings!

 

Carol

Website:  carolcrawfordediting.com

Email:  carol@carolcrawfordediting.com

 

My Friend, Gene Vickers, author

Glenda Beall is seated in front of Gene Vickers, author

A few years ago, I asked for members to volunteer to staff our NCWN-West booth at the Festival on the Square. A former student of mine, Gene Vickers, now an author of several books, stepped up to help.

The first time I met Gene was in 2008 when I taught a writing class to earn money to help pay for publishing our very popular Echoes Across the Blue Ridge, an anthology filled with poems and narratives by western North Carolina writers and by writers from the North Georgia mountains. 

My husband, Barry, had recently been diagnosed with cancer. I was still in shock and very afraid. I told my students in that class about Barry and what we were facing. I didn't dwell on it and went on to teach my class. At the end when I thanked everyone for coming, a man stood up and said to the group, " We need to pray for this lady as she faces some tough times ahead." 

I wanted to cry. I felt that this man knew what was happening to me and I did need prayer and comfort. That man was Gene Vickers who did not know me and I did not know him.

That year was as tough as it gets as Barry began chemo and radiation. We were both so afraid but had hope that he would beat this insidious disease that claimed the lives of so many. It had taken my dear brother, Ray, from me. I would not let myself believe that it would take Barry. But it did. In 2009, he died in a hospice center in Cumming Georgia after spending weeks in Emory Hospital.

In an effort to start a life with meaning and substance, I remodeled my daylight basement and began my writing studio, Writers Circle Around the Table. It was the best therapy for me as I grieved.

A few years later, Gene Vickers registered for a class at my studio. He was the only man in the class and I think he was uncomfortable. After the class closed, he asked if I would give him private lessons. I had not taught privately before, but I knew Gene did not like taking classes with others. And I knew he had a massive imagination. In class when I gave a prompt to have my students write something, Gene would write a full-fledged short story within five minutes. 

It was obvious he was a writer. But he had not been educated as a writer or taken workshops to fine-tune his capabilities. He was well-read and discussed authors he liked and how many of them ignored the rules we taught and felt were important. He came to my studio for one hour each week and I enjoyed working with him. He was a quick learner and I saw his progress increase every week. 

He was also a member of a writing group where he shared his stories and received feedback. His first book was filled with many of the stories we worked on in my studio. It is a delightful book in which teddy bears talk.  The bears are real and live in the home of Gene and his wife Elaine. He said this book was for his grandchildren. It is also a good book for empty-nesters. 

Gene followed my advice and found an editor who helped him publish the book.  His books are available on Amazon and in local bookstores.

This is one of my favorites:  "Set in the mountains of North Georgia, Amen and Amen is an unforgettable story about people learning to love one another in spite of societal boundaries and cultural divides. More than that, it raises questions about whether those boundaries and divides actually exist outside the minds of the characters who have been conditioned to dislike people who are not like them. Residents of gated mansions and double-wide trailers appear to have little in common with one another until a millionaire's son and the daughter of a factory worker fall in love.

Some say parallel roads never meet, but bridges can be constructed to connect them by those willing to chance it."

I think this book is timely as our country seems divided on many issues. Amen and Amen is an uplifting novel that I enjoyed very much. 

I am happy that I had a small part in this author's success, but my part was small. He is a man who has a natural talent and self-discipline that all writers need. 

I like that his books are not filled with vulgar language or murder and gore. He is a storyteller and like most of us Southerners, I was brought up on storytelling. 

If you have read any of Gene's books, let me hear from you and tell me your thoughts.

Enjoy the fall weather and maybe the hurricanes will leave us alone so we can be outdoors more. 

Classes postponed for now

Well, as we know, our best-laid plans can be upset and turned under in a minute.

I had planned to teach a class at ICL this fall, but I was too late to get on their roster. Maybe I will be on the winter list of instructors. If so, my class will definitely be held on Zoom as I will be in Roswell then.

I had other plans for September, but at this time, health issues have come up and have to be resolved before I commit. 

I won't lament the days I've spent on the phone and on email trying to communicate with the medical world. But will continue to see the glass half full.

With Zoom,  I am taking classes, listening to writers, and keeping in touch with my friends here in my community. 

It is difficult now to work at my computer as I did only a few years ago. I must learn to use the voice element to dictate to Word. I plan to submit an essay by the end of this month, so I had better hurry.

I am grateful for many things. One is that my sister, Gay, is coming to take me down to Roswell, GA very soon. We will have a good time.

I hope you are having a good time wherever you are and whatever you are doing. Don't forget to read a good book. 

See you next time.

Glenda Beall and her sister, Gay Moring in the kitchen

What's on My Mind

First I am grateful for many things, but today I want to say thank you to Ian and Daniel, two teenage boys who moved a computer desk upstairs for me yesterday. It was not easy because they had to take the desk outside and up a couple of sections of steps with a sharp turn near the end. They did not complain one bit even though I know Ian's hands hurt him. They did a couple of other things for me, too. I paid them, not a huge amount, but Daniel said, "We like to help people."

I am also grateful for close and loving family and friends that I can share my fears, my concerns with and know they are there for me. 

One of those friends is Estelle Rice who told me she will be 99 years old in October. She was my co-author for Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers and Fins, a collection of creative nonfiction, short stories, poems, and photos about the beloved animals that have graced our lives. 

Estelle and I have a deep friendship that goes way, way back to the early 1990s. She taught at my Writers Circle studio more than once and we always enjoyed her classes. A true artist in many ways, she is also a visual artist and a musician. I spent a couple of hours with her last week and we had such a good visit. I encourage her friends to send her notes, cards, or letters and tell her what she means to you. Give flowers while you may, not when your friend is gone. She doesn't do email now. I understand that. I get so frustrated when my fingers don't want to go where I want them to. 

I am also grateful for my dear niece who spent a long time on the phone with me this weekend as she tried to help me with selling my house when it is ready. She sells real estate in Georgia and can't work here in North Carolina. I feel very appreciative because she doesn't like to talk on the phone.

While I am frustrated again with the medical system, I am not going to dwell on that.

 Every day is a good day when I think about all I have to be grateful for. Today my rural mail carrier drove up my steep drive and around my house to bring a box that would not fit in my mailbox. I often hear or read that people complain about our mail service here in Clay County. But I have always had very good mail carriers who went the extra mile for me.

I hope you have much to be grateful for and that the bad times don't get you down. My blogger friends, I hope to get to your latest posts today and read about your exciting and interesting lives.

Writers Circle Around the Table again

I am excited because I have decided to start my writing classes again. I am looking at September and trying to decide whether to go virtual or teach in a classroom. 

I have heard from several writers who would like to teach for Writers Circle Around the Table again. Although I have only taught memoir writing for the past few years, I might think about doing a poetry workshop. 

I began learning to write poetry with a terrific teacher, the late poet, Nancy Simpson, and all of us who took her classes learned so very much from her. You can hear us talk about that in this video made when we honored her after her death. 

She taught us what makes a poem. She taught us how sound is so important in a poem, and that is something that you will find in my poetry. Also, metaphors are a part of poetry that many don't use enough. I have every handout she gave us and the lesson that went with it. 

I always loved poetry, but it was Nancy who taught me why.

Thanks to Raven Chiong, we have this photo of the poetry critique group she leads each month at the Moss Memorial Library in Hayesville, NC.

Netwest Bee City Poets facilitated by Raven Chiong - standing, far right first row

This group meets at the Moss Memorial Library in Hayesville, NC on the first Thursday. All who write poetry are welcome.  

If you are just beginning to write poetry and want some good feedback on your work, this group has many experienced poets, published and knowledgeable. The first row in this photo includes Brenda Kay Ledford, Glenda Barrett, Mary Ricketson and Joan Howard who all have published poetry books and their poems have graced the pages of many journals and reviews. 

I am proud and I know Nancy would be proud of so many of her students who became outstanding members of NCWN-West and whose books now live in homes not only in the mountains but all over the country. 

Yes, I am getting the itch to work with writers, especially those who are just putting their toes in the water and who need to know more about their opportunities. 

I will be getting out the word when I schedule my class in September. Meanwhile, if you live in Hayesville, Murphy, or Hiawassee, GA let me know if you prefer to meet in a room or online.  gcbmountaingirl@gmail.com 

Here is a prompt if you need something to get you writing:  Begin by writing, I will never forget the time when ...