Writing - grace grits and gardening

The Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollow: a special place!

May 2, 2015 By Talya Tate Boerner

Have you missed me? I just returned from my fifth residency at The Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollow, and I feel compelled to give my testimony. Dairy Hollow is the place I write best. Edits are accomplished. Ideas appear. Words flow straight out of my brain and onto my Mac while my fingers move as though I’m playing a song on the piano. (Chopsticks, to be specific, and we writers are all about specific.) After five visits, I realize there are (at least) five reasons for this productivity. And the reasons work together, a sum-of-the-parts sort of thing, if you know what I mean.

Know what I mean?

1. Setting. Dairy Hollow’s sole purpose is for creating. As a writer or artist or chef or architect or musician or photographer or WhoAmILeavingOut?, you will have nothing to do other than write. No kids, no spouse, no dogs, no chores, no job, no television. Each room includes a bedroom, private bath, and writing space. Some have mini-kitchens. All have wi-fi, coffee pots and wooded views. What more, pray tell, could one possibly need?

The “505” Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired house; stunning views; a place to write; Dorothy Johnson and Pat Laster critiquing.

Located in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, Dairy Hollow is nestled in the Ozark Mountains at the end of Spring Street. And yes, there’s a hollow just below the bend in the road. (Or a ‘holler’, if you’re an Arkansawyer.) Eureka Springs is unique and quirky, a town of twisty roads, steep stairs, and an estimated fifty-six miles of stone walls, most constructed by stonemasons between 1885 and 1910. Take a writing break and go for a hike. Explore. There’s so much to see. Every crack and crevice sprouts a seed. No matter the season, something will be blooming. You may get lost in the woods, but when you find yourself, you will be inspired.

Stone wall; birdhouse; Fall woods; Spring blooms.

2. Synergy. There’s a quiet energy at Dairy Hollow, a palpable, impossible-to-duplicate-at-home energy. Simply being around other writers helps me write. It’s that simple.

3. Schedule. There is no schedule (other than 6 pm supper). That’s the beauty of Dairy Hollow.

4. Food. At the end of a full writer-y day, residents gather in the communal dining room to enjoy a fantastic dinner prepared by Chef Jana (pronounced Yanna). Meals are creative, delicious, and plentiful. (They lean on the vegetarian/healthy side, although on my last night, she served us OMG fried chicken.) For breakfast and lunch, writers in residence have 24-hour access to the well-stocked kitchen (plus all those yummy leftovers). A writer could easily hole up and survive quite well at Dairy Hollow without ever stepping foot in a grocery store or restaurant. Amen to that.

5. Connections. During my past five stays, I have met interesting, accomplished people from across the U.S. and Canada. People from all walks of life. Many have become personal friends. All have touched me in some way.

Enjoying wine-thirty.

Dairy Hollow should come with a warning. At some point when you must pack your bags and head home, severe withdrawals will set in. The greatest shock comes at that first stomach grumble and you realize if you want to eat again, you must cook supper or order pizza or fetch takeout for yourself. That’s a major bummer especially when you know back in the woods of Dairy Hollow, Chef Jana is whipping up another fabulous meal for a new lucky group of residents.

To apply for residency or for more information, visit Dairy Hollow at www.writerscolony.org.

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

[tweetthis]Simply being around other writers helps me #write. #TheWritersColony #DairyHollow @Eureka_Springs @ARTourism [/tweetthis]

It is spring in the Ozark Mountains. The yellow flowers are blooming and the birds wake me at dawn and last night five planets lined up by the moon in the western sky. If that doesn’t inspire me to poetry what will?
― Ellen Gilchrist

Musical Pairing:

The Dixie Bee Liners, Down on the Crooked Road

on researching and writing and keeping it real

March 2, 2015 By Talya Tate Boerner

When I decided hey, I’m gonna write a book, I had no idea the amount of research that would be involved. Researching. Writing. Sitting around eating Jiffy Pop helps me keep it real. It’s all part of the deal I made when I set out on this adventure. One leads to another, Sunday melts into Monday, and shockingly it’s March. A year later. And I’m still working on “my book”. What began as memoir has morphed into fiction and taken me on a path I never imagined, even though I’m the person doing the imagining. Crazy how that works.

The setting for my story is part of me. The place I grew up during the time I grew up. 1972. And even though I lived that time and place, research is a big part of my project. Making sure I have the description, sound, smell, feel of a specific place or object accurate for 1972, that’s imperative. I want my readers to see through my eyes. Feel what I feel. Taste the Jiffy Pop.

Mark Twain said Don’t say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream. That’s what I’m trying to do. Letting the old lady to scream takes work and time and research and remembering.

A sample of the things I’ve researched the last few days: Watergate, Chinese finger trap, phases of the moon in 1972, Memphis cotton trade, Mark Spitz. Just your regular, run-of-the-mill, 1970s stuff.

Sometimes I listen to seventies music while I write. Sonny & Cher. Tony Orlando and Dawn. Marvin Gaye. Yes I do. That takes me back to my groovy cassette player as quickly as anything. (I loved that thing. I hated that thing. It ate more tape than it ever played.)

Saturday I even made Jiffy Pop. Jiffy Pop was a weekend tradition at our house. Shaking that pan over the flame, hearing the kernels sizzle, then seeing the foil expand like a balloon (more quickly than I remembered) made that memory as real as it could be forty years later, plus it was a fun snow day activity.

Now, back to writing. If anyone needs me, knock three times on the ceiling, but only if you’re bleeding (to quote my friend Laurie Reichart).

Happy Monday.

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

[tweetthis]Writing, research and eating #JiffyPop to keep it real. #writingabook #fiction #1970s[/tweetthis]

Knock Three Times, Tony Orlando with Jimmy Fallon & Will Forte (sorry Dawn)

“The challenge of the writer is to transform—artistically and imaginatively—a unique personal experience into a universal, meaningful story.”

― Hillel F. Damron

the Economics of Cursive Handwriting

February 19, 2015 By Talya Tate Boerner

Since I’ve been on a letter writing kick in 2015, I’ve been thinking more about cursive handwriting and how something that was once a mainstay elementary school lesson is becoming extinct. Although my cursive handwriting has morphed into a hybrid combination of cursive and print, handwriting and old-fashioned letter writing go hand in hand.

Do you remember the cursive alphabet cards and how they lined the wall of the classroom like a wallpaper border above the chalkboard?

Big Q, little q.

That cursive Q was the strangest letter of all, and I’m certain I never perfected it. But somehow I think trying to form those calligraphy-like letters was an important lesson, a ritual that taught fine motor skills and discipline and patience.

When I was a kid, this was a cursive Q. Someone (Thomas Jefferson?) obviously confused it with the number 2.

There was a time when cursive handwriting was considered artwork. Look at this beautifully handwritten poem from a pre-civil war autograph book (courtesy of The Graphics Fairy).

I am not an educator, but I’m a parent. A parent of children who learned cursive in the 1990s, and I’m glad they did.

I understand that life has evolved and kids have changed and there is so much to learn and so little time in the classroom. I understand. I’d also like to think there is value to learning cursive writing beyond cursive writing. Perhaps sitting in the classroom practicing that Q over and over is what helps me sit at my desk today and write even when the words aren’t flowing the way I need them to flow. Maybe something as simple as cursive handwriting is the backbone for what follows. Reading. Fine Motor Skills. Hand Eye Coordination. Writing. Critical Thinking.

But.

Don’t we have more important things to do?

We have technology now, which is life-changing and if I had to live one day without my MacBook Air and iPhone, I’d go into sweaty withdrawals. Technology includes fabulous benefits and makes sitting at my desk and typing those cursive words easy. Kids are sharp. They know things. They tell us which apps to download and fix what needs fixing.

But.

Everything comes with a price. I was an economics major and this is basic stuff. Sacrifice one thing to choose another. Trade-offs create opportunity cost. If I choose to waste two hours on Facebook, I’ve sacrificed the opportunity to write a thousand words. And if instead of spending time on Facebook, I had written a thousand words and sold the story for $200, the opportunity cost of wasting time of Facebook is greater than mere time.

In our schools, if we trade-off cursive for more time to learn programming, what are we losing? And vice versa.

I believe we grow up to be the sum of our experiences. And there were plenty of experiences, not only cursive, that I found useless or a waste of my valuable young time. Math word problems, making my bed, going to church, practicing the piano, mowing the grass. If those things had never been part of my life, I would have had tons of time to do something else. What would the opportunity cost have been? Would I be the same person I am today? Something to think about.

Bottom line. Everything we trade-off somehow affects us. Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe not.

What do you think?

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

[tweetthis url=”http://bit.ly/19BRIY8″]Is there value to cursive writing beyond cursive writing? #opportunitycost[/tweetthis]