Field's End Writers' Community

"At the field's end, in the corner missed by the mower
Where the turf drops off into a grass-hidden culvert,
Haunt of the cat-bird, nesting-place of the field-mouse...
One learned of the eternal..." - from "The Far Field," a poem by Theodore Roethke

You may recall reading here about a writer's conference I attended two years ago on Bainbridge Island at lovely IslandWood. The organization which hosted the conference is called Field's End, and local author David Guterson is one of its founders. I attended with a bit of fear and trembling; it felt presumptuous to call myself a "writer," just as it has always felt presumptuous to call myself an "artist," though I majored in art in college and have many years of experience in creative expression.

Criticism of the product - whatever I produced - is part of the classroom experience for an art major, and I internalized all of the many critiques I received, until I began to experience fear and blockage when faced with a blank canvas...so I stopped painting altogether. That's what I call an artistic injury.

There is a wonderful painter/teacher named Flora Bowley whose writing and approach to art (and living) is helping me to re-visit this injury, and to breathe healing energy toward that place. I hope - someday - to attend one of her workshops, and for now, am benefiting from reading and reflecting on her blog postings and newsletters.

Back to writing: after Katie died, writing became a lifeline for me, and I grabbed hold of it, writing freely and frequently. Writing has always felt like a natural outcome of my inclination to talk and to process my feelings verbally. Though I wrote regularly on several blogs (this one, and three on my sidebar: Katie's Comforters Guild, the Katie Gerstenberger Endowment and Hopeful Parents), I didn't think of myself as, nor dare to call myself, a "writer."

I wrote and published "Because of Katie," served as a speaker, was published in magazines, but still the inner critic slid over from the painter-side of my brain and whispered, "...But you SELF-published your book; you're not a REAL writer, yet!" So I was hesitant to even attend this workshop. Thanks to encouragement from warm-hearted friends who also wanted to attend, I went anyway - and loved it.

A post-writer's-workshop function

I've since put my name on the mailing list for Field's End newsletters and email, and due to the inspiration received at the conference, my friends and I formed our own writing group, the "Sh*tty First Draft Writing Group" (the name is a nod to Anne Lamott's advice to budding writers to get your fanny into a chair and make "sh*tty first drafts," saving the editing for later).

A few weeks ago, Field's End put out a call for volunteers, and though I couldn't attend the meeting to learn what they needed, I replied to the call and arranged to meet two of the members of the Core Team afterward. I thought I might be able to help with hospitality, registration and whatnot. It was fun to meet both Barbara and Kathleen; they are welcoming, encouraging, kind and open-minded. We shared a lively brainstorming session, and the result of that meeting is this: I was invited to join, and am now a member of, Field's End's Core Team! It's an exciting step for me.

Field's End recently sent out a questionnaire to its mailing list and received 400 responses; that is a sure sign of a vibrant writers' community! Their mission statement includes these words:

"Field's End serves the writers' community and nurtures the written word through lectures, workshops, and instruction in the art, craft, and profession of writing."

The core team seeks to encourage writers who have not yet started, and desire to do so, as well as those who are farther down the path of writing; those who have self-published as well as those who have a publisher. It's a welcoming organization, not a snobbish/exclusive one, and I sense that there will be no artistic injuries inflicted here; perhaps even repair and restoration may come to those who have been silenced by an inner (or an outer) critic. I can hardly wait to see what unfolds.

The Sun Magazine | Dawn And Mary

The Sun Magazine | Dawn And Mary

My writing group gathered for dinner here the other night. The "Sh*tty First Draft Writing Group" has five members, each of whom has suffered the death of a child, each of whom has a strong character and a love for the written word. We meet to encourage one other to write - even what Ann Lamott calls "sh*tty first drafts" - or ideas that are still in our minds, or scrawls on scraps of paper...any writing, in any form, is welcome.

You might think this is a depressing group, but you would be mistaken in that assumption. Yes, someone occasionally cries, but there is far more laughter, lively discussion and deep listening. We share ideas, whatever we are working on and books we have read; we drink wine. We share our stories. We hold space for each other, talk about what it is really like to walk this earth without our child, in this new landscape which is continually surprising us. We remember our children, and we hold those memories together, with love.

One of our members, Robin (author of the blog Grief & Gratitude), is a wonderful resource - she has read all kinds of books and essays, and frequently shares them with us. I love that quality in her; she's a bit like a personal shopper for good writing on interesting topics. This week, she shared an essay by the writer Brian Doyle - an essay about two of the women who died in the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary (there is a link to article in The Sun Magazine at the top of this post).

The entire essay is brief and beautiful, but the last paragraph in particular struck a chord in me:

"The next time someone says the word hero to you, you say this: There once were two women. One was named Dawn, and the other was named Mary. They both had two daughters. They both loved to kneel down to care for small beings. They leapt from their chairs and ran right at the boy with the rifle, and if we ever forget their names, if we ever forget the wind in that hallway, if we ever forget what they did, if we ever forget that there is something in us beyond sense and reason that snarls at death and runs roaring at it to defend children, if we ever forget that all children are our children, then we are fools who have allowed memory to be murdered too, and what good are we then? What good are we then?"

As I prepare to attend the Ben Towne Foundation's annual BENefit this weekend, I look forward to gathering with parents, researchers, oncologists, hospital staff who treated Katie, family and friends who know firsthand that "there is something in us beyond sense and reason that snarls at death and runs roaring at it to defend children..."

I will be grateful to be in such company. We will hear stories of the progress made this year, progress in research and the treatment of cancer through T-Cell therapy at Seattle Children's Research Institute's Jensen Lab (the first patient is in remission!). I will join hands with others who are snarling at death - at cancer - and together, we will run roaring at it to defend our children - all children - because, in fact, they are all our children. 

If you'd like to learn more or find a way to get involved, follow the links to the Ben Towne Foundation and Jensen Lab.