The role of the writer is not to say what we can all say but what we are unable to say.
Anaȉs Nin
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Early Bird Registration
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Interpretive Writing Intensive
Register now and save $150! Jan. 29-Feb. 3, 2012
Gold Bar, WA
Early bird discount good through Jan. 3, 2012 or until workshop is full, whichever comes first. back to top |
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Interp Writing Intensive
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Back issues of the Interpretive Writing Intensive newsletter
Articles ranging from the nuts & bolts of writing craft to essays about inspiration and imagination
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Hidden Stories
The ornament emerges from a box older than it is: a cottonball snowman adorned with pipe cleaner hair and arms, tiny felt buttons, and googly eyes. It's glued to a shard of wood that reminds me of a primitive surf- or snowboard. The snowman lists  a bit to starboard, as if reaching for the perfect balance point. His lean is always the same, no matter how he's been packed in the box.
This is the first Christmas tree ornament my son made. He had just turned four. It was the first year we stayed in Colorado for the holidays instead of making the long and expensive trek to Ohio. I thought my mom would be upset when I told her we weren't coming, but she said Kyle was old enough for us to begin our own traditions. In a way, she gave me permission to do what made sense for my young family, without trying to make me feel guilty or selfish. That might be the best gift she's ever given me, and I think about it every year.
Next, I lift what appear to be several large wads of Kleenex tissues--my version of packing material--from the box. I carefully unwrap three glass ornaments, more delicate than  anything I'd buy myself. I'm always sure I'll break such things (and history has proved me right more than once), but these three beauties, gifts from my youngest sister, are still pristine.
She's sent me a Christmas decoration almost every year since we stopped going back east for the holidays. The first glass ornament, a gold-limned globe with a glass angel inside, came the year Kyle was nine--old enough to be past the "childproof everything" stage. The second one, another globe, this time encasing a reindeer, arrived the next year, and a frosted glass peacock with fluffy airy feathers the year after that.
 The summer after the feathered peacock, my sister and I fought and didn't speak to each other for almost a year. We finally remembered the story of our mother and her sister, who spent decades not talking to each other, and decided we didn't want that for ourselves or our kids. I sent her a lacey flowery Christmas card (the kind she usually sends me) and she sent me a silly card that had Rudolph falling through the floor of an aerobics studio because he hadn't exercised over the holidays (the kind of card I usually send her), which I loved. Oh--here it is, in the box.
As I set the card on the shelf where I display it every December, I muse over the fact that she and I never actually discussed any of this; we just decided, at the same time, to stop being mad at each other.
The last three items I retrieve are older than the box. The first is a glass sphere, dark turquoise--my grandfather's favorite color--with two worn frosted lines running parallel around its equator, and three amazingly detailed images of Santa's sleigh and reindeer frosted between the lines. The surfaces of the other  two, one a ball and the other bell-shaped, are tightly wrapped satin thread.
I see my distorted reflection in the turquoise, feel the still-smooth surface of the satin, and just like that, the memories of my grandparents' house blossom around me: the tree--larger, lusher than any other (now I know it was a white pine, at least I think it was a white pine--but oh! so soft, not prickly like the one at home)--with carefully arranged ornaments, and my grandmother on the sofa beside the enormous window that looks out onto the backyard. Her leg, injured by polio when she was five, is propped up on the fluffy cushions, and she's holding binoculars and pointing out the birds in the backyard. I remember goldfinches the best, with cardinals a close second. And my grandfather in  his recliner--it was the same color as this glass ornament, I suddenly realize--tucked quietly in the corner where he could see us and the tree and the birds in the backyard.
Then there's the box itself. It's nothing special, as boxes go...except for the handwriting on the lid.
That's my grandmother's handwriting. Nothing profound; just a list of what's been in the box over the years. But I look at the handwriting and I see her at her desk by the window in her library, the fountain pen graceful in her blue-veined hand, the ink flowing like magic across the paper.
I remember.
Because of the objects, I remember.
These objects, from indestructible cottonball snowman to yellowing greeting card, precious-to-me satin-wrapped ornaments to a battered box lid, are more than just objects. They are story-holders. Stories live inside these objects.
Objects carry the stories.
The story isn't about the object, even if I include rich details and factual information about the object.
The turquoise ornament becomes my grandfather's recliner becomes my grandfather becomes the traditions of a family becomes a window into the culture of that time becomes a story about how we humans make it through the long night of winter.
The greeting card becomes the relationship between sometimes warring siblings and a metaphor for finding and sustaining peace.
A rickety bit of cotton on a bit of leftover wood becomes the story of finding balance and surviving life's challenges.
The ability of objects--simple, ordinary, everyday objects--to carry story is one of the great miracles of interpretive writing.
The Fresnel lens of a lighthouse holds the story of sailors finding safe harbor and the story of ingenuity and the story of the lighthouse keeper and his family. A lemur toothcomb carries stories of habitats and humans and the complexity of change. A pair of button-up shoes spins the story of a young woman's wedding in the midst of a war-torn country.
In my writing workshops, we do a simple exercise to discover stories hidden within an object. (I use the same exercise in my own writing, too.) In the space of an hour, workshop participants have generated poems, essays, memoirs, and short stories as well as more common forms of interpretive writing.
I invite you to try it. I call it Electric Details.
Begin by observing a fresh lemon. As quickly as possible, list at least twenty details for it. Be exhaustive in your detailing of it. Keep going! (Can you do forty? Did you remember to look inside it? Smell it? Roll it around?)
Go back over what you've written and pick out the "electric details"--anything on your list that zings you.
Trust your intuition in this. Pay attention to your own reactions as you read through your list. What makes you sit up? breathe faster or hold your breath? smile? bite your lip? exclaim? These physical reactions are zings--your brain and body recognizing an electric detail.
Now write, incorporating your electric details. You can write about lemons or this specific lemon or about anything else that comes to mind, just so long as you include your electric details. This is a rough draft, so don't worry about verbs or spelling or perfect punctuation. Just use your electric details and see what shows up on the page.
Write for a minimum of 30 minutes or three pages (typed or handwritten), maximum of 60 minutes and eight pages.
Read your draft out loud. If you're doing this exercise as part of a class or writing group, read it out loud to the group. (And listen as they read theirs.)
This exercise works for any object, including objects that are part of an interpretive program. Begin with an exhaustive examination of the object, listing at least twenty details. Select the electric details. Then write!
Judy P.S. Give yourself the gift of great writing--register today for the Interpretive Writing Intensive. Early registration is open through the holidays--register by January 3, 2012 and save $150!
Questions? Comments?
Let us know !email or call 888/886-9289 (toll-free)
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Register by January 3, 2012 and save $150
Combine your early bird discount with the group discount--register two more more friends at the same time and save $200 per person!
More details about the workshop below, too. Don't wait--register today! back to top
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Wallace Falls Lodge
January 29-February 3, 2012
Early bird registration is open!
Register today and SAVE!
$150 per person discount
($200 per person discount for groups)
Discount is available until the workshop fills OR
January 3, 2012, whichever comes first.
Join us January 29 to February 3, 2012 (Sunday night through Friday morning) at Wallace Falls Lodge, Gold Bar, Washington. This beautiful and secluded lodge is next door to Wallace Falls State Park and Wallace Lake. It's only an hour's drive from Sea-Tac Airport, about 45-minutes from Everett, Redmond, and Bellevue, and within a half-day's drive from parts of Oregon, Canada, and almost anywhere in Washington.
Grab your spot now!  Workshop size is limited to 14 people, and Wallace Falls Lodge has only so many single rooms--so if you want the best room in the lodge, sign up now! Workshop and lodging space are first come, first served. Registrants will be assigned to single rooms as long as single rooms are available; once all single rooms are full, remaining registrants will be assigned to shared rooms. All rooms are nonsmoking and have private baths. And did we mention that by registering now, you'll save big bucks? (And you can save even more if you register with two or more friends or colleagues.) Early bird registration saves you $150 and is open through January 3, 2012 (assuming space is available). Sign up with friends and colleagues: Register yourself and two or more friends (even if you're not from the same site) and save an additional fifty bucks each. Don't wait--register today! back to top
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Make it a great year with great writing!
Interpretive Writing Intensive
January 29-February 3, 2012
Wallace Falls Lodge, Gold Bar, WA
Freeman Tilden said interpretive writing should be
"concise, focused, inspirational, and engaging."
Lofty goals for any writer!
- What makes interpretive writing interpretive;
- How to create writing that connects with the reader;
- Techniques for strengthening language, including pacing, language use, and word choice;
- Strategies for organizing;
- How to write for any length or space;
- How to write for different media, different audiences, and different uses;
- How to write for maximum impact;
- How to write even if you think you can't;
- How to take your writing "off-site";
- Humble punctuation;
- Accessing--and improving--creativity (or, the Muse will visit if chocolate is involved);
- Dealing with writer's block (or, how to get the Muse to visit if you're out of chocolate);
- and MORE.
Make it a great year with great writing. Join us at the Interpretive Writing Intensive, January 29-February 3, 2012 at Wallace Falls Lodge, Gold Bar, Washington (about an hour from Seattle, WA).
Early Bird Registration Now Open
Register today and take $150.00 off the regular registration! Register three or more people at the same time and save another $50 per person!
Early bird registration prices effective through midnight, January 3, 2012 or until workshop is full, whichever happens first. To ensure a quality experience with plenty of individual attention, workshop size is limited to 14 people. Registration is first-come, first-served.
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