This Monday began Mondays Are Free. Mondays are Free is daily writing calisthenics. It’s a gym for my writing muscles. (Find out more about Mondays Are Free here.) I have decided to jump write/right in. I will share my writing exercises, hoping my commitment to going public with my emerging digital journal joyfully and lovingly reinforces my desire to write daily. In his introduction to Mondays are Free, Ross Gay mentions creating community as a project goal. I am intrigued by the notion of a daily writing practice that involves creating community — with intention, attention, and creation and care.

Follow my Mondays are Free writing exercises. It’s like watching me train for a marathon. See me transform from the start of the training to the finish line at the end. 

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EXERCISE 001 — THE LIST

[We were asked to list what is on our writing desk.]

My writing desk today: My writing desk is complicated right now. It is always a bit complicated, meaning it lives between multiple locations — coffee shops, tables on different levels at home, and my desk. Right now, I am up three flights of stairs, confined to my bed, bathroom, scooter, drafting board, and table. My current writing desk spans my ability — my pain threshold, my desire to sleep, my boredom. Perhaps my complication right now is mainly about recuperating from foot surgery. My writing desk is a drafting board that started out as a place where I did undergraduate theatre major assignments like light plots and costume renderings. My writing desk calls on every ounce of everything I have ever used to conjure, create, and persevere.

My “real” writing desk — the one that sits downstairs beyond the reach of my healing foot tendon — is surrounded by books that have been mostly read and lightly tended over decades and moves and schools and group book exchanges. Lately, I have shifted to listening to books, which I feel guilty about because I love to hold books and make notes on bright-colored notecards, like a conversation between me and an author except that the author does not really get to weigh in. 

My “real” writing desk sits beside my degrees that I mean to hang, Ganeshas that I have collected from all over our world, my unfinished and barely started journals and calendars, and a shelf of our blended angel choir family. It is an antique, small, sturdy oak desk. Not big enough to stretch all my stuff out on and spread my arms and mind wide. The desk drawers are deep and wide, making them hard to keep organized. There is an ebb and flow to organization where old stationary and frayed unsent cards gets stuck. Hole punches and power cords are lost in the abyss. The most important thing on my writing desk, more important than diplomas and Ganeshas, is the signed letter of encouragement from Maxine Greene, framed in special glass on my wall. It is a reminder that we stand on the shoulders of those who came before, that we must do our work, and that our core values — our commitments, as she describes them — must guide our work.

EXERCISE 002 — WHISPER IN THE ARCHIVES

[We were asked to describe a mundane task in detail that describes this time to someone studying the 21st century in the future.]

I watch peaches grow in a small orchard of 20 or so trees in Atlanta’s Piedmont Park during the spring and summer near my house. The orchard sits next to the popular dog parks. The orchard is a sacred space for me. (As I write this, I have been unable to walk through the park for a long time. The orchard will be one of my first destinations when I am back on my feet.) Until I started walking in the park, past the orchard, I had no relationship with peaches beyond a summer love affair as a child. I had no idea of the time it takes for peaches to become peaches, the growing cycle of peaches, or even if peaches grew on trees. Today, the orchard is sacred to me. It is a place where I slow down and pay attention. It is a place where I breathe and smile. It is a place where I leave the noise and fear behind.

It seems to me an archive of the 21st century must record that nature is still nature, perfect time is still perfect time, and sweetness is still sweetness. Today, when so much is upside down and sideways — and just plain painful — seasons are still seasons, trees are still trees, and peaches are still peaches.

EXERCISE 003 — OBSERVATION DRILLS

[We were asked — Step 1: describe a mundane object with 10 statements with no descriptive language. Step 2: describe the same mundane object with 10 statements using descriptive language.]

Bedroom Light Fixture w/out descriptors

1. 9 lightbulbs

2. 9 rings connecting lightbulbs to light source

3. 9 shades covering light sources

4. One base on ceiling shielding the point at which the electricity enters the lamp

5. One connective dome holding separate lights together

6. Seams throughout shade

7. Two screws securing lights to ceiling

8. Natural light from window casts a shadow with lightbulbs

9. Extensions connect shades with lightbulbs

10. 5-inch circle shades at the base 3-inch circle shades at the top

Bedroom Light Fixture w/descriptors

1. The fixture could be a Viking army

2. The fixture could be an octopus

3. 9 light (Viking or octopus) eyes gazing up and down

4. 9 Tentacles in darkness swimming through balls of light

5. 9 Tentacles in daylight swimming in shadows

6. 9 Viking soldiers being driven by Viking officer

7. 9 little light kingdoms

8. Each light a Viking officer standing guard waiting to light the dark

9. If you turn the fixture upside down it could be a fleur-de-lis

10. Or, a bowl of whimsical noodles

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