#epochwritingcircle

[carrieredway]

Epoch Writing Prompt

December: Holly leaves

Holly leaves for the winter season foraged from my yard. The pointed and prickly leaves poke my hands as I carry them inside, and arrange them in jars and goblets. It reminds me of grief. When my father died, my grief sometimes physically felt like a thousand tiny pin pricks at any time.

How does the prickly nature of holly leaves feel on the body? The rough scratch across skin? How could it relate to how grief feels?

Writing prompt: The winter holly leaves scratch thin skin.

[carrieredway]

Epoch Writing Prompts- February in Seattle, WA

Snow fell heavily for a few days in February. Spring had already shown a bit of herself but the snow blanketed any new growth. Except for this one leaf of a sprouting daffodil stem in my yard. She grew tall and has one blade out in defiance of winter.

For February, consider the end of this daffodil leaf and how it pokes up out from a foot of snow. Imagine how the leaf is bearing the weight of snow. Is it smashed down, or does it find a place for both the snow and itself? If snow could be grief, how does the daffodil, who thought spring was coming, wear the burden? Does the daffodil think it's a burden, or a temporary part of time?

Writing prompt: The daffodil wore snow like a cloak.

[carrieredway]

Epoch Writing Prompts- January at Taylor Creek

I will routinely post a few guided writing prompts for the Epoch writing circle here. In 2019/2020, I hosted a couple of writing circles that explored death and cycles through nature. Since we cannot meet in person, it is my hope to share these prompts through the blog here and continue the writing circle in this way.

For January, we will look at natural elements found near Taylor Creek in Seattle. Photo by Carrie Redway.

Moss growing on a tree. Imagine how the moss feels to touch. Is it wet, soft like velvet, cold? Is the moss part of the tree, or separate?

Consider grief as a plant.

Imagine what grief would feel like if you could hold it, or touch it like you can moss on a tree. Think about how it would smell. How does it change and spread like moss on a tree, if it does?

Consider how this moss started. Did it grow a little at a time? Did it extend slowly around the tree, or rapidly, or all at once?

Writing Prompt: Grief is a plant. The moss told me its origin story.

[carrieredway]

Epoch: a writing circle

A few snaps from the latest writing circle, up in the loft space of Cortona Cafe. We worked through prompts about fox skulls, mice myths, barnacles, shells and more.

[carrieredway]

epoch: a writing circle exploring death through nature and cycles

I facilitate a quarterly guided writing circle. We use prompts in art, literature and natural elements to explore death, transitions and cycles. All writing levels welcome.

The next epoch writing circle:

Sunday, February 16, 2020

2pm to 4pm @ Cortona Cafe

See the Facebook event for more details here.

[carrieredway]

Excavations

Dandelion

This poem came in two parts, several weeks apart. Nature is woven into my stories and poems in a lot of ways, and Dandelion was no exception. I started writing about my sadness around dandelions. I have always found these brilliant yellow orbs to be so magical. Springing up in random places. In between sidewalk cracks and being these hearty little beings. However, I know that they can be invasive for gardeners and a nuisance. I heard someone speak of dandelions with such disdain that it really bothered me emotionally. And I asked myself why?

A couple weeks later, I facilitated the Epoch writing circle about death through cycles in nature. After the Epoch writing circle, this poem came alive. I thought about dandelions again, and how I associate dandelions with my uncle who was killed in a helicopter crash in the early 2000s. This was the first major death I had experienced and it was traumatic. I have a fond memory when I was a child of creating this flower and weed crown from dandelions and clovers and other small flowers from my grandmother’s yard, and him wearing it one summer afternoon. His death and this flower weed is completely connected in my memory.

Deer Bones

I am moving my work into the realm of decay now. And the things that decay us emotionally, specifically the things that we do to ourselves that shove us into a constant state of weariness. 

A friend sent me a picture of deer bones found in the woods. There were all these beautiful mushrooms growing where the deer’s stomach and chest cavity would have decayed. I thought of this and how things in this world steal our mindset that we are all connected. Thus the poem took a turn toward how in the end, there will be nothing except what we all have in common again. Death and decay. 

-CR

[carrieredway]

Epoch: a writing circle

Sunday was the inaugural Epoch writing circle event. In the loft space of the Cortona Cafe in the Central District, a handful of humans gathered to explore death through nature and cycles. We looked at art expressing death and decay, the transition of leaves, origins of rocks, among other things. Prompts helped guide but not direct the writing. It was a beautiful, blustery fall day to share space in this manner.