It's the Little Things
Following your attention; starting small; a forgotten poem; a writing prompt; SPRING CLASSES!
I’m so excited to announce that the full list of spring courses is now up on the Muse website. Check out the courses here and/or scroll to the bottom of this newsletter for a list with brief descriptions.
I have a batch of interrelated ideas floating around in my mind having to do with small noticings and connection (with the world, with creativity, with ourselves):
1
I’ve been thinking (again? still?) about the importance of allowing yourself to notice what you’re drawn to, to follow your own attention. Sometimes beginning writers (or those returning to writing) need permission to connect to their own small delights and curiosities and to follow those threads. I wrote about that here.
And I think this is true whether we write down the noticings or not. There’s an opening up to the world and to the self that happens when you give yourself permission to follow the small internal pulls. What if we gave ourselves full permission to follow our own noticings, to take a walk and find five things that please us for unspecified reasons of our own? This is a practice at the heart of gratitude and also poetry, a kind of spiritual noticing that is both humble witnessing and also a commitment to seeing yourself, to honoring your own view from wherever you are.
2
When I was in college, I saw an exhibition of the drawings of Elizabeth Layton, a woman who later in her life found respite from mental illness through art. I’m not sure where I saw it exactly or how I came to be there, aside from the Kansas connection. (Layton was from Wellsville, Kansas, and I went to college at the University of Kansas.) Below is part of her story, and you can read more here and here.
Layton comes from a family of writers and journalist and was herself managing editor of her hometown newspaper, The Wellsville Globe. The editorial content of her drawings reveals the influence of her journalism background. Following a divorce she raised five children, which perhaps explains her empathy for those who find themselves in situations beyond their control. She also suffered from bouts of depression for much of her life, which caused her to identify with those tormented by the pressures of modern society. Her work dispels the myths and misconceptions of old age. She examines personally and unexpectedly painful subject matter that rejects the stereotypical image of a grandmother. These drawings reveal the expectations of the wide-eyed child, the young girl filled with vitality, the wife and lover, the nurturing parent, and a strong-willed and opinionated social activist. Elizabeth Layton was struggling with bi-polar illness and profound depression when she began contour drawing, and art became more than therapy for this Wellsville, Kansas, Native - it saved her life. Her drawings and writings have enriched the lives of countless others and have been exhibited at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American Art, and in more than 200 art museums and centers throughout the U.S.
This chance encounter with Layton’s art and story has stayed with me all these years as a sort of companion, as art and artists sometimes become.
3
I’ve also been thinking about “Mike Birbiglia’s Six Tips for Making It Small in Hollywood. Or Anywhere.” I read this advice from the comedian and actor when it was first published in the Times in 2016, and I’m realizing more and more the truth of tip #5:
BE BOLD ENOUGH TO MAKE STUFF THAT’S SMALL BUT GREAT
Eight years ago, I made a network sitcom pilot based on my life. It was a dream come true. A sitcom about my life? What could be better than that for a standup comedian? Well, it didn’t get picked up. I was devastated. But here’s the kicker: Failing to get that sitcom was the single greatest stroke of luck that’s happened in my entire career. The show wasn’t truly my comedic voice. It was watered down by network and studio notes to the point of being like dozens of other bland sitcoms.
After that, I no longer wanted to create projects for the Hollywood gatekeepers. The networks. The studios. Since then, I’ve created a handful of pieces for “This American Life,” self-produced three Off Broadway one-person shows, toured hundreds of cities around the world, and written, directed and starred in two feature films. All outside the system. Based on that work, I’ve been offered small movie roles by people who work inside the system. Which is to say: Leaving the system behind and creating something of your own may actually be thing that gets you into the system, hopefully on your own terms.
The point is, forget the gatekeepers. As far as I’m concerned, what you create in a 30-seat, hole-in-the-wall improv theater in Phoenix can be far more meaningful than a mediocre sitcom being half-watched by seven million people. America doesn’t need more stuff. We need more great stuff. You could make that.
This part!: Leaving the system behind and creating something of your own may actually be thing that gets you into the system, hopefully on your own terms. This feels vital for artists, for anyone who has experienced the inner draw to make something that doesn’t have a place among the “gatekeepers.” How can you start where you are?
Finally, I believe that Birbiglia’s sixth piece of advice here is really the lifelong project of many of us:
CLEVERNESS IS OVERRATED, AND HEART IS UNDERRATED
Plus, there are fewer people competing for heart, so you have a better chance of getting noticed. Sometimes people say, “One thing you have to offer in your work is yourself.” I disagree. I think it’s the only thing.
Now I’ll give you a poem and a writing prompt.
Here’s a poem I found on my old blog this week when I was searching for something else:
It's the Little Things
(for Ethel)
A small man looked at me, pinched me, and called
me "Little Bit." Pushed himself back from the table
with his feet. Got in bed with me and read Shel
Silverstein poems, pausing to ask me if I knew
what very small thing could scare even a hippopotamus.
"Hm. A virus?" I said. He just looked at me. "No."
I received the forgotten technology of a very small
book in the mail, delivered by the US Postal Service,
coming wraith-like from a bird-bone-collecting
woman to my north. She used to haunt me and
be too small and pale and laugh at my jokes like
an attendant spirit but now she is a vengeful ancestor
goddess, but one who is on my side. When she
came to New York I positioned her on the floor and
anointed her with oils. I placed a smooth stone upon
her third eye and called her spirit halfway back to her
body, as instructed by the small voice in my head.
This is why I receive this forgotten technology and others.
During the pandemic, poems by boys came winging or
crawled out from where they rested, speaking of my
smell, my equanimity, my tendencies, my intoxicating
qualities, and wanting to keep me company by eating
my snacks. You can't take that away from me, and
I have the bruise to prove it.
And here’s the writing prompt:
Get still and quiet and take three slow, deep breaths. Write for ten minutes on instructions from the small voice in your head.
SPRING CLASSES AT MUSE
Memoir in Collage
Instructor: Megan Baxter// March 13-April 17
This class will guide you through crafting a memoir from life’s twists and turns. A collaged approach to memoir composes a narrative through fragments and found items, building a story from many smaller pieces. EARLY BIRD PRICE ENDS 2/15.
Stringing the Beads: Craft Your Personal Essay
Instructor: Joanna Penn Cooper// March 13-April 9
This guided four-week online course is for intermediate to experienced writers of nonfiction who are interested in workshopping an ongoing or new essay project in an online group setting.
Shapes of Stories
Instructor: Nancy McCabe // April 17-June 25
This course will help you expand your writer’s tool kit by experimenting with a variety of structures—everything from straightforward, traditional presentations to offshoots of the lyric essay, such as braids, collages, and “hermit crab” essays. EARLY BIRD PRICE THROUGH 3/20.
The 30-Minute Memoir
Instructor: Joelle Fraser // April 17-June 11
In this eight-week course, manageable daily writing assignments will help you break down the task of writing a memoir.
2023 Drop-In Generative Writing Workshops
Join us for a selection of three-hour workshops will happen on the fourth Saturday of the month from January 2023 to June 2023. The sessions can be taken separately or together. Our next meeting is Saturday February 25th. Paid subscribers to this newsletter receive 10% off these online generative workshops. Founding subscribers receive 30% off.
I am seeing "create something small" around me a lot these days. If only! My challenge is that my ideas are often HUGE. Then I get mired into the largesse of the idea, can't winnow down and become stuck. Argh!