After The Training

 Westminster Retreat in Alamo was a beautiful setting, with hiking trails, deer, wild turkeys, wild blackberries and a sense of quiet wherever I went. It was a good place to be. There were days in triple digit weather and we were challenged by the heat but got to ease into an ice cold swimming pool at night, before dinner. The food was amazing, the staff was wonderful and the teaching was amazing.

 The best thing for me about this training was being with this community of writing women who came from different regions, cultural backgrounds, class and sexual identities and bridged all of those differences with a kind and generous intent. I would have liked to see more diversity, people of color, men, and more of us without college degrees but the differences we did have were apparent and I was surprised by how I was seen and accepted. I am poor, fat, did not finish college and I'm very loudly Queer. I expected some push back, or to feel invisible. That was not my experience.

Our mutual acceptance and encouragement to succeed was tremendously helpful. The conversations we had, on trails, at dinner or headed to bed after a long day were about writing, about the power of writing and about wondering how we could take this work and learning back, what would we do with it? Who might we reach?

I have been working with this method for a decade now with Jen Cross and that method has sunk into my bones, it's a part of me now. What I learned at the workshop were things I hadn't considered before, different styles of facilitating and most of all, to trust that I can do this work well. That is a kind of gift without measure. I discovered my own emerging style as we led practice groups. I learned that I hold a generous space for writers and their work, that I have a kind approach and that I can't seem to stop offering profanity as some part of my feedback when someone's work cracks me open. (I'm working on that)

I learned, as I always do when Jen Cross presents her work with trauma survivors and writing about sex, that this work can be done with anyone who is willing to at least sit in the chair.That night  I looked at that room of women, the difference in ages and what I assumed would be a vast difference in comfort around writing about sex and thought- how will this work??? What happened that night was simply amazing. By the end of the evening, almost everyone had shared a fierce piece of writing about sex and there was such a richness and beauty to the writing and an almost giddy feeling in the room when we were done. There were tears and there was laughter. There was power in that room.

I learned this: Assume Nothing.

I learned that there are so many people who are engaged in the creative, and trying to find a way to do that important work and still put food on the table and pay the light bill. There are so many of us hungry for writing and art and the life affirming, healing work of creation.

I will never forget the endless generosity that brought me to this place: each dollar given that was a sacrifice made on my behalf, each word of encouragement, every kind thought shared brought me this gift that I will use for the rest of my life. I will never forget that first night, ten years ago, when I walked into Jen's writing group For Queer Survivors of Sexual Trauma, awash in a flood of PTSD sweat soaked flashbacks, and how gently she welcomed me in, how she held a generous space for me and my fellow writers and how my pen flew over the pages. I'll never forget the spark of power that filled up that small room that was born with the rise of all of our voices, our words, the act of reclaiming and declaring our own desire. That was the beginning. That was my life changing. This is another beginning. This is my life changing. Thank you.

It's the night before the AWA training. I'm full of anxiety/anticipation and gratitude all at once. I'm feeling this stretching feeling again. Making room for all of this gratitude, making room for your help, making room for each and every kind and supportive word.

I learned early to not want things. Not even secretly. It never turned out well. Loving things we had was also dangerous. Like our dogs. For a long time not wanting things worked for me just fine. Once I got out, I worked hard at what jobs I had and if that wasn't enough, I worked more jobs. I never thought about my secret ideas about writing. My yearning was buried underneath working, taking care of my children and trying to heal from old traumas.

But I did write. Sometimes years would go by between the bouts writing, but I did write. I wrote poetry and song lyrics and later, in a good creative writing class, short stories. I still never thought I could be a writer- even though I was. That is what is so fine about this AWA method. A core principle is that everyone has a unique and creative voice, everyone is a writer. From the beginning or from right now. Anyone who has every told anyone a story- is a writer. We all have creative genius.

I finally realized that writing keeps me even. Without the words hitting the page I am not well. Not well in my body or in my mind. It's a dis- ease. It's only when I'm actively writing that the way my brain works makes sense. My hands feel like they belong to the rest of this body. Words make this body belong to me. Sharing those words, sharing writing space is healing and has given me amazing, life long gifts that I share with the other people in my life. Writing makes me sane, un-breaks me- gives myself back to me. A way to get clear no matter how chaotic things are in my life or in my head.

I'm going to pack now and get ready to go tomorrow. I'm going to nebulize soon because my lungs are unhappy which makes me nervous about staying in a place that may have scents or chemicals I am allergic to. But I'm going, no matter what. And I want this- for myself and for what I believe I can share with you. And that wanting, that determination to go no matter what is thanks to each of you who has offered money, time, shared my links and given me encouraging words. Amazing words.

I've never has so much affirmation in my life. So much that I don't know how to hold it exactly, it makes my hands shake. But this is the kind of gift that lasts forever, that makes more room for giving in return and starts a chain reaction that touches- we don't know- we can't know how many people are touched by kindness.

Thank you.
I'll see you on the flip side.

Dreaming bigger and half way there

I've been dreaming big for awhile now and I'm starting to dream bigger. I'm thinking about my dreams and all of our dreams. I'm thinking about how when one of us stretches into who we are, we help others stretch too. How it's a kind of circle that expands and breathes and always has room for more of us in it. The circle has room for all of us; day dreamers, activists, healers, artists, writers. Today I'm feeling like it's actually possible. This life I've thought about as a myth but wanted since I was six years old- the life of a writer, is possible. If it's possible for me it's possible for all of us. As it becomes more possible for me I am determined to help make it possible for all of us. I am shifting and shifting and shifting more. More words on the page, more room in my life, more material in my dreams, more belief in myself, in my community, in you.

It is thanks to you, all this shifting and hopeful, joyous noise in my own head. I'm so amazed by the support and kindness of the people around me. My partner called me today to tell me that a donation came in today that puts me at the 48% of my goal. Yesterday I was getting anxious about being able to raise the funds to meet my payment plan for July. Today I feel hopeful again and it's because of my donors and supporters and every single encouraging word.

A year ago I researched this AWA training and stopped thinking about it.  I just knew I couldn't afford it. This year, thanks to the support of the people in my corner,thanks to my fellow writers in Dive-Deep I have up-ended my thinking about what is possible, about my writing and what I can do with it. For the past several years I wrote a novel once a year for nanowrimo and then let them sit there untouched. Today I have made significant progress on my novel and have several other writing projects at work. This change was caused by a tipping point hit in the company of supportive writers who not only told me I could do it but expected me to do it. To become my best creative self. Thanks to that support I was able to ask for yours and you are giving it. Amazing.

Today, writing is the most important thing I do and everyone who knows me knows it. Today I know that asking for help is okay, that my community enthusiastically supports me and believes that I will be a good writing facilitator. I know that my writing voice is important and appreciated. I call myself a writer, not in hopes that it will be true one day, but because I am. And that calls for big thanks. I imagine a world where everyone, regardless of class or educational level or race or gender or sexual orientation, gets to be their own best, creative self. A world where there is more art, music, and writing, more crafting with wood or metal, more fire breathing, more dancing. Each time people support me, I am hopeful for the rest of us.

So I am sitting with this deep gratitude and terror- because it's scary to be believed in. It's scary to get close to what you want to do, to who you truly are. It's scary to imagine failing, and to imagine success. And you all are holding up a mirror that shows me a writer who writes and a writer who helps other writers write. In turn, I feel that failure is not an option. Big thanks, big terror- they go hand in hand and that's not a bad thing. Some fear keeps me wide awake and present. Fear keeps me going forward. Fear is just more material to write from and to write through. Thank you.