Historical Exhibit # 1
I spent the last week of February as writer-in-residence at the College of St. Catherine, the largest college for women in the United States. The invite came via Associated Colleges of the Twin Cities Creative Writing Programs Spring Readings 2009. Kind remarks were received yesterday from students of professor Susan Welch, along with a charitable report from Treza Rosado at The Wheel. The student newspaper is named for the device upon which St. Catherine was tortured when she refused to give up her virginity. I learned this when I visited the cathedral, a very imposing medieval cave made of stone blocks from the Minnesota quarries. I asked about the elaborate design of the round stained glass window, the main source of light which could be perceived as a triumphant female metaphor yet is stated to be a symbolic representation of The Wheel.
When the Sisters of Saint Joseph of Carondelet founded the College in 1905 under the leadership of Mother Seraphine Ireland, they drew inspiration from St. Catherine of Alexandria, a fourth-century Egyptian lay philosopher who suffered martyrdom for her Catholic faith. The campus is like a park or eco-sanctuary in the city of St. Paul, and I was told of the wisdom and foresighted tenacity of a leading nun in earlier times, who thwarted city and state government demands to run road systems through the college campus. There are many huge and beautiful old trees on the grounds which were planted by the nuns whenever they came back from their travels bringing seeds and seedlings. On the fifth day of my visit a spectacular blizzard hit the Twin Cities and closed down classes by afternoon, and a no-travel advisory was issued. I missed an opportunity to visit to professor Wang Ping and her “river class” at Macalester College. It was lovely to be snowed in that p.m. with bergamot tea and a book and TV. I kept going outside, though, to stand under a big tree so I could listen to the way wind moved through it and watch the giant fluffy-wet snowflakes fall down and pile up.
Wang Ping is a voice for environmental conscience and in particular the effects of the Three Gorges Dam in her homeland. She appears, like me, to be obsessed with the mythological sturgeon and its fate which will predict our own (highly interesting last story in her collection The Last Communist Virgin). Ping has an important multimedia exhibit, see http://www.behindthegateexhibit.org/h....
I visited the actual room where Flannery O’Connor slept in the old nunnery when she stayed at St. Catherine. This reminds me of one of the students who came to see me at the President’s guest apartment. “You’re not like I thought you would be, your stories are so violent.” I laughed, “Well you better take a look at Flannery O’ Connor then!” a devout Catholic spinster who lived a quiet, routine, sequestered life and wrote stories like “Good Country People” which blew my head clean off.
Susan Welch went way overboard to ensure that I had anything I needed, showed me around and even drove me to and fro. On the last night of my retreat we were about to leave campus when I looked up at the architecturally pleasing old buildings one last glance, and saw a most astonishing sight. In the blue-black sky was a dazzling glowing sliver of sickle moon with a ruby-red planet winking right up to it. “Wow look at that! It’s the sexiest thing I have ever seen!” somebody said. Then the lights of an ascending jet plane floated through it like bubbles blown by the gods in jewel colors. Later somebody told me “Venus was the closest to the moon than she will be for another one thousand years.”
I was able to glimpse this celestial sight several times on the way to Ancient Traders Gallery, where Jim Denomie had a showing of his new work. He talked with me and others about his tribute painting A Beautiful Hero, Woody Keeble. In 2008 the President finally, finally, finally awarded a posthumous Congressional Medal of Honor to Woodrow Wilson Keeble, an alumnus and employee of the Wahpeton Indian School where I remember him as a family friend. “I grew up in the town where Woody Keeble never got his medal.” His entire company signed twice for the CMOH but the response was that the paperwork was lost and the time limit expired. The almost unbelievable bravery of this Dakota (Sioux) man and devotion to his troops is beyond a Hollywood movie. I felt that the outlandish art of Jim Denomie and its comical, poetic justice was a fitting honor and a scenic lookout on the trip of life.
Generally the experience of being a sometimes-writer is odious tedious torture, but some days are worth it, as when the rare bit of sincere affirmation appears like fairy dust in the mailbox. Professor Welch sent me these student response papers instead of any rotten tomatoes that might reasonably exist:
Exhibit A:
Lise Erdrich's class discussion and book reading is at the top of my list of positive St. Kate's experiences. Not that I haven't enjoyed listening to other authors like Joyce Sutphen, Catherine Watson, and Rita Dove, but Lise makes writing more accessible to students. Her down-to-earth communication style connected with me, making me realize that being a published author can be attainable; with more hard work of course.
Her approach to students had a no-nonsense approach, just like her writing: It is what it is. She didn't try to talk over our heads. In fact, she looked surprised about some of my lofty questions and her answers brought my head back down to earth where good writing happens. Her advice is not what I expected from an author, but what I needed.
Lise's classroom discussion and reading highlighted my biggest writing obstacle: me. She too has four children, an annoying dog, and a day job, but she has managed to carve out the time to write. I have nothing but excuses. It is time for me to take another look in the mirror with my eyes open so I can discover why I run from the thing that connects me to my happy place.
Finally, I have to say that I will forever hold this one memory close: on a freezing cold wintery night, I got to drink hot tea and discuss my writing with Lise Erdrich in her pajamas. Perfect. If I would have known I would have wore mine. And to find out later that she was not feeling well. Now that’s approachable.
Exhibit B:
Upon meeting Lise Erdrich, I found that she is a woman with an exceptional resume. I always thought that women of that measure were too preoccupied with their personal self. She is not anything like I anticipated. She is actually humble and extremely giving of herself and her time, including family and community. I was astounded to discover that my favorite story in her book, Night Train, was the very last story she wrote before sending it in to the publishing company.
“Well Adjusted Individual” sums up life as we know it. She also stated that she does not have the same writing style today as she did back in her twenties. I really enjoyed meeting Lise. It was an experience I will take with me for years to come.
Hearing her stories, I realized that becoming an author does not happen overnight for most writers. I learned that writing is more of an experience, one that can only be polished with time. Personally, I have not really had the confidence to sit in front of a keyboard and write a story from the heart because I feared ridicule. Understanding that character changes and life experience can bring an idea to life has inspired me to let go of the reigns that have been holding me back.
Exhibit C:
She won the Minnesota Monthly Tamarack Award for a story, which appears in Night Train, her short story collection published by Coffee House Press, 2008. But Lise Erdrich has been writing and illustrating her stories since she was a child. “Writing is kind of a nervous tic. I can’t explain why I write; I’ve just dabbled in it all my life.” She is private about her creative works-in-progress. “I don’t show my work to anybody or discuss it. I just send it out.”
Lise Erdrich is one of three writing sisters. Her younger sister Heid has published poetry, and her older sister Louise is famous for her best-selling novels, including Love Medicine. Lise and Louise’s names are so close that sometimes readers are confused. “You are NOT Louise!” yelled one audience member during an author reading of Lise Erdrich’s books. “It was hilarious,” said Lise.
Do the sisters talk over their writing with each other, comparing notes? “Never,” said Lise. “It’s not we’re avoiding it or anything. It just has nothing to do with family reunions, or cooking, or kids. There’s some teasing maybe, but we won’t talk about our writing construction.”
She draws inspiration for her writing from many life experiences, but really enjoys working with and playing with language: “I’m taken by language and by hearing different versions of something. All of the things in one story come from here and there—it’s synthesizing something.”
She enjoys working with short forms, because “then the reader is a participant and has to make associations.” Making the reader a partner in making meaning is one of her aims: “What is implied? That is the question we ask.” When she works with high school students in workshops, she asks them to create six-word stories. Here are two of her students’ creations: “She told me she was eighteen” (implying that the protagonist is now a registered sex offender), and “It’s a good day to die” (Native American student implying that a warrior’s life has been lived right enough so that death holds no fear, or that things are so bad it does not make any difference now).
One hundred years from now, Lise would like to be remembered for contributing something different or unique: “I’m not interested in trying to do things that have been done—I want to try something new.”
When the Sisters of Saint Joseph of Carondelet founded the College in 1905 under the leadership of Mother Seraphine Ireland, they drew inspiration from St. Catherine of Alexandria, a fourth-century Egyptian lay philosopher who suffered martyrdom for her Catholic faith. The campus is like a park or eco-sanctuary in the city of St. Paul, and I was told of the wisdom and foresighted tenacity of a leading nun in earlier times, who thwarted city and state government demands to run road systems through the college campus. There are many huge and beautiful old trees on the grounds which were planted by the nuns whenever they came back from their travels bringing seeds and seedlings. On the fifth day of my visit a spectacular blizzard hit the Twin Cities and closed down classes by afternoon, and a no-travel advisory was issued. I missed an opportunity to visit to professor Wang Ping and her “river class” at Macalester College. It was lovely to be snowed in that p.m. with bergamot tea and a book and TV. I kept going outside, though, to stand under a big tree so I could listen to the way wind moved through it and watch the giant fluffy-wet snowflakes fall down and pile up.
Wang Ping is a voice for environmental conscience and in particular the effects of the Three Gorges Dam in her homeland. She appears, like me, to be obsessed with the mythological sturgeon and its fate which will predict our own (highly interesting last story in her collection The Last Communist Virgin). Ping has an important multimedia exhibit, see http://www.behindthegateexhibit.org/h....
I visited the actual room where Flannery O’Connor slept in the old nunnery when she stayed at St. Catherine. This reminds me of one of the students who came to see me at the President’s guest apartment. “You’re not like I thought you would be, your stories are so violent.” I laughed, “Well you better take a look at Flannery O’ Connor then!” a devout Catholic spinster who lived a quiet, routine, sequestered life and wrote stories like “Good Country People” which blew my head clean off.
Susan Welch went way overboard to ensure that I had anything I needed, showed me around and even drove me to and fro. On the last night of my retreat we were about to leave campus when I looked up at the architecturally pleasing old buildings one last glance, and saw a most astonishing sight. In the blue-black sky was a dazzling glowing sliver of sickle moon with a ruby-red planet winking right up to it. “Wow look at that! It’s the sexiest thing I have ever seen!” somebody said. Then the lights of an ascending jet plane floated through it like bubbles blown by the gods in jewel colors. Later somebody told me “Venus was the closest to the moon than she will be for another one thousand years.”
I was able to glimpse this celestial sight several times on the way to Ancient Traders Gallery, where Jim Denomie had a showing of his new work. He talked with me and others about his tribute painting A Beautiful Hero, Woody Keeble. In 2008 the President finally, finally, finally awarded a posthumous Congressional Medal of Honor to Woodrow Wilson Keeble, an alumnus and employee of the Wahpeton Indian School where I remember him as a family friend. “I grew up in the town where Woody Keeble never got his medal.” His entire company signed twice for the CMOH but the response was that the paperwork was lost and the time limit expired. The almost unbelievable bravery of this Dakota (Sioux) man and devotion to his troops is beyond a Hollywood movie. I felt that the outlandish art of Jim Denomie and its comical, poetic justice was a fitting honor and a scenic lookout on the trip of life.
Generally the experience of being a sometimes-writer is odious tedious torture, but some days are worth it, as when the rare bit of sincere affirmation appears like fairy dust in the mailbox. Professor Welch sent me these student response papers instead of any rotten tomatoes that might reasonably exist:
Exhibit A:
Lise Erdrich's class discussion and book reading is at the top of my list of positive St. Kate's experiences. Not that I haven't enjoyed listening to other authors like Joyce Sutphen, Catherine Watson, and Rita Dove, but Lise makes writing more accessible to students. Her down-to-earth communication style connected with me, making me realize that being a published author can be attainable; with more hard work of course.
Her approach to students had a no-nonsense approach, just like her writing: It is what it is. She didn't try to talk over our heads. In fact, she looked surprised about some of my lofty questions and her answers brought my head back down to earth where good writing happens. Her advice is not what I expected from an author, but what I needed.
Lise's classroom discussion and reading highlighted my biggest writing obstacle: me. She too has four children, an annoying dog, and a day job, but she has managed to carve out the time to write. I have nothing but excuses. It is time for me to take another look in the mirror with my eyes open so I can discover why I run from the thing that connects me to my happy place.
Finally, I have to say that I will forever hold this one memory close: on a freezing cold wintery night, I got to drink hot tea and discuss my writing with Lise Erdrich in her pajamas. Perfect. If I would have known I would have wore mine. And to find out later that she was not feeling well. Now that’s approachable.
Exhibit B:
Upon meeting Lise Erdrich, I found that she is a woman with an exceptional resume. I always thought that women of that measure were too preoccupied with their personal self. She is not anything like I anticipated. She is actually humble and extremely giving of herself and her time, including family and community. I was astounded to discover that my favorite story in her book, Night Train, was the very last story she wrote before sending it in to the publishing company.
“Well Adjusted Individual” sums up life as we know it. She also stated that she does not have the same writing style today as she did back in her twenties. I really enjoyed meeting Lise. It was an experience I will take with me for years to come.
Hearing her stories, I realized that becoming an author does not happen overnight for most writers. I learned that writing is more of an experience, one that can only be polished with time. Personally, I have not really had the confidence to sit in front of a keyboard and write a story from the heart because I feared ridicule. Understanding that character changes and life experience can bring an idea to life has inspired me to let go of the reigns that have been holding me back.
Exhibit C:
She won the Minnesota Monthly Tamarack Award for a story, which appears in Night Train, her short story collection published by Coffee House Press, 2008. But Lise Erdrich has been writing and illustrating her stories since she was a child. “Writing is kind of a nervous tic. I can’t explain why I write; I’ve just dabbled in it all my life.” She is private about her creative works-in-progress. “I don’t show my work to anybody or discuss it. I just send it out.”
Lise Erdrich is one of three writing sisters. Her younger sister Heid has published poetry, and her older sister Louise is famous for her best-selling novels, including Love Medicine. Lise and Louise’s names are so close that sometimes readers are confused. “You are NOT Louise!” yelled one audience member during an author reading of Lise Erdrich’s books. “It was hilarious,” said Lise.
Do the sisters talk over their writing with each other, comparing notes? “Never,” said Lise. “It’s not we’re avoiding it or anything. It just has nothing to do with family reunions, or cooking, or kids. There’s some teasing maybe, but we won’t talk about our writing construction.”
She draws inspiration for her writing from many life experiences, but really enjoys working with and playing with language: “I’m taken by language and by hearing different versions of something. All of the things in one story come from here and there—it’s synthesizing something.”
She enjoys working with short forms, because “then the reader is a participant and has to make associations.” Making the reader a partner in making meaning is one of her aims: “What is implied? That is the question we ask.” When she works with high school students in workshops, she asks them to create six-word stories. Here are two of her students’ creations: “She told me she was eighteen” (implying that the protagonist is now a registered sex offender), and “It’s a good day to die” (Native American student implying that a warrior’s life has been lived right enough so that death holds no fear, or that things are so bad it does not make any difference now).
One hundred years from now, Lise would like to be remembered for contributing something different or unique: “I’m not interested in trying to do things that have been done—I want to try something new.”
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