WordSisters

Author: Ellen Shriner

  • Write Anyway

    Every birthday I consider what the past year has brought and what I hope the upcoming year will bring. This year as I entered a new decade, my focus was also tempered by the awareness that my time isn’t unlimited, and I want to use it well. What will the coming days and years consist of? Family and friends, health upkeep, travel, fun and for me, writing. 

    At first, asking what role writing will play in my life seems silly. Creative writing isn’t something you have to retire from. I can write as long as the words and ideas come. But the deeper question is—What are my expectations about publication?

    Widely published authors like Stephen King and Joyce Carol Oates can continue publishing as long as they care to. It’s a different matter for the writers I know, who have a modest number of publications. Like it or not, the marketplace may decide for them. Because it’s a personal and potentially painful decision, writers don’t always discuss the dilemma.

    In the past 20 years, I’ve written two book-length memoirs, but I’m not seeking publication for either of them. I learned what I could about writing books, but it wasn’t enough. The real gift is what I discovered about myself through the writing process. I’m proud of myself for doing the work. I’m at peace with the idea the books won’t be out in the big world. 

    Instead, I’m focusing on writing short memoirs, essays and blogs. My talents and skills are better suited to short pieces. Most years I publish one or two. Not a breath-taking record, but enough for me. Knowing my words and ideas find an audience in an anthology, literary journal or blog is plenty. 

    Publication plays a small part in my commitment to writing. I write because it helps me make sense of my world.

    Two quotes sum up my outlook. The first comes from a blog by Amy Grier who was struggling with her writing and the state of the world in November 2020. Her thoughts are still relevant:

    “Writing tethers me to the world in a way nothing else does . . . I don’t know who will be president, what’s happening to my country, even what will happen to me. But I’m going to write anyway. It’s my remedy for despair. It’s how I will survive.”

    The next comes from an interview with Margaret Atwood, who offered a few rules for writers. After making practical writerly suggestions, she also said this:

    “Nobody is making you do this: you chose it, so don’t whine.”

    For as long as it pleases me I will honor my creative nature and write anyway.

  • Peach Seed Mystery

    I have very few memories of the man I knew as my grandfather (Mimmie, my great aunt and Pa, my great uncle raised my father). Pa was a white-haired smiling presence during our weekly visits to Mimmie and Pa’s duplex. He was a quiet man, but many 77-year-olds would struggle to find something to say to a 5-year-old. During one conversation, I recall him teasing me about having “strawberry blonde hair.” I was sure he was mistaken. I had “yellow” hair. 

    He also fed squirrels on their wide front porch. Pa would make a clicking sound similar to a tsk to call them, and the squirrels would take shelled walnuts from his open palm. Apparently, he was unaware or unconcerned about squirrel bites or rabies. He taught me to make the clicking sound but told me never to feed the squirrels without him. He’d gotten in trouble with Mimmie when a squirrel slipped into the house and climbed the drapes. After that he was more careful.

    I’m not sure how I came to have his peach seed monkey—whether he gave it to me because I liked it or if it came to me after he died when I was 8. It’s a peach pit carved in the shape of a monkey and it has tiny red eyes. As a girl I was sure they were rubies, my birthstone. That peach seed monkey was forgotten in a drawer of keepsakes until recently, when I read The Peach Seed by Anita Gail Jones (a novel I recommend). 

    Before the novel, I didn’t know carving peach pits was a thing. I used to assume Pa carved it, but now I speculate about its origin. Born in 1882, he’d lived through WWI, the Great Depression, and WWII by the time I knew him. Was the peach seed monkey a bit of tramp art he bought during the Great Depression to help somebody who needed a handout? Did he pick it up as a novelty at a county fair? Did a friend show him a peach seed monkey and Pa decided to carve one? He might have.

    Pa liked making things. He was a firefighter stationed in a neighborhood that had few fires. To pass the time during slow shifts, he made a small burgundy afghan using a technique that was a cross between weaving and braiding. Mimmie, and later, my mother used the afghan when they took naps.

    I’m left with this odd artifact, scattered memories, and a lot of questions. I keep it in my office along with other mementoes that bring to mind my parents and grandparents. 

    I still prefer to believe the monkey’s eyes are rubies.

  • Graduation 2024

    The School for Adults teachers coaxed me to attend the Honors Program and General Education Diploma (GED) Graduation because I’m a volunteer tutor. I was somewhat reluctant since graduation usually means long speeches, uncomfortable seating, and potential boredom, but I’m glad I showed up. The pride of the students being honored touched me. 

    I followed the crowds of American-born and Spanish-speaking students and their families as they streamed in. All were dressed up—women in dresses and heels, men in fashionable clothes. In other families, the women wore special hijabs—dark colors embroidered with gold threads or embellished with gold sparkles along the cuffs. Everyone’s children wore their finery. 

    The place looked and sounded like a party—music played, a long table was laden with cupcakes and other sweets, and round tables were covered with pastel tablecloths ready for families to gather after the ceremony. I found a place at the back of the hall next to another tutor, a retired engineer from India who helps students with math.

    My role is working one-on-one or with small groups to help adult learners improve their writing and reading comprehension. Some of the students are native English speakers who got off track and didn’t finish their high school degrees. Others are immigrants learning sufficient English so they can attend college or keep up with their children’s schoolwork. Some students have university degrees from their home countries but have to start over here with a GED. When I tutor students, I ask their goals, but I don’t ask why they dropped out of school or what their immigration status is. 

    I was pleased one of the GED graduates I know was a featured speaker. She’s in her early 20s and a native speaker, so her language skills are good. She didn’t need much from me–math was her nemesis. For four years she showed up, sitting quietly in the back when class met in person. During COVID, when classes and my tutoring went online, she was in and out of class, but she persisted.

    Her speech was plainspoken but so heartfelt. Her pride in earning the GED, a milestone many of us take for granted, showed. Now, with the equivalent of a high school diploma, she plans to work full time to save money for college. 

    Another GED graduate I know is a woman from Sudan. Her written and spoken English are very good, she and was so skilled in math that she could have taught the class. I met with her once when she wanted an explanation of a writing assignment. She required a GED so she can pursue her dream of going to medical school. 

    A student speaker in his 30s spoke in heavily accented English about leaving Venezuela. He has a family and was established in his career, but political turbulence forced him and his family to leave. He spoke with passion about his gratitude for the opportunity America gave him. Now that he had his GED, he hopes to become an electrician and have his own business one day. 

    The majority of the students made level gains, meaning they advanced from basic to intermediate or from intermediate to advanced classes. Level gains merited a ribbon which students wore proudly. Their accomplishments are so hard won. 

    I am in awe of these students’ persistence. Their progress is slow. Many start and stop because they’ve changed jobs or don’t have daycare. Most don’t have time to do schoolwork at home. But week after week, year after year, they show up. I wonder how many of us who finished high school by 18, would work as hard to get a GED. The facts of their stories may sound ordinary, but for them, the diploma is life-changing. 

    So often I feel discouraged about the state of the world, but seeing the students’ pride and sheer joy in their accomplishments renewed my faith in humanity.