Welcome to Writing in Company. This is a community for you, whatever your experience with writing. It’s an invitation to write about what matters—grief, gratitude, grace, and more. Each week I share some words and a writing prompt, meant to be jumping-off points. Use the prompts however you like—to journal, to draft thoughts for your own writing project, as meditation or prayer ideas, or for another creative endeavor. You can always look back through the archive for more ideas. Grab your pen and paper, and let your words loose on the page.
This post was originally published in 2021 back when I had a handful of readers. I’m with the same friends this week, doing the same things I wrote about then, and even more grateful for them. It’s a good one to repost. Hoping you have good snacks and good friends you can swap stories with yourselves. Maybe write some of them down…
[originally posted August 2021]
I'm writing in the living room of a rental house inhabited this week with four friends from seminary. We are reading (a little) theology together, and swapping stories from 30+ years ago. Grateful to have carved out the time together, and nervous about rising COVID levels. One of us had it back in the fall. One of our mothers has it now. One not-yet-vaccinated young niece has it. All of our congregations are wrestling with new waves of policy-making related to the Delta variant. It's good to be with old friends in the same trenches. We've known each other a long time. We've supported one another through dating woes, marriages, church calls and transitions, illness, death, parenting, and care-taking of parents as they age and their memories fade. In between chewing on chapters from Barth and handfuls of pistachios, we are telling tales from our twenties when we were young, and as nerdy as a group of seminarians can be. I'll be honest, I remember fewer stories than my friends do. While that worries me a little (am I having memory issues, or am I simply not observant in the first place?) I'm grateful to figure in silly and significant memories of others.
Here's this week's prompt in a poem from Billy Collins. Where will your memory and imagination go on the page?
a writing prompt from Billy Collins
Forgetfulness
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue
or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
— Billy Collins, “Forgetfulness” from Questions About Angels. Copyright © 1999 by Billy Collins.
a little writing advice
When I use a poem as a prompt, I am never sure what I'll do with it going in. Sometimes a phrase jumps out at me:
A memory "...decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain, to a little fishing village where there are no phones."
Or "...a love poem that you used to know by heart."
I might write the phrase out, then just keep writing, and let my pen reveal whatever is in my brain that I haven't consciously thought yet.
Today, I am struck by these lines, "...and even now as you memorize the order of the planets, something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps, the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay." As I am reading Karl Barth's theology with my friends today, what else is slipping away? That will be my first line, and I'll see where my thoughts go.
Where will you start?
August Writing Hour - Saturday, Aug 24 | 4-5 pm Eastern
My next live writing hour on Zoom for paid subscribers is this Saturday. If you want to write in company with others, you are welcome to join in. You can upgrade your subscription for a month ($7) just to try it. A separate email to paid subscribers will go out with the link, or you can find it on my Substack tab called Writing Hours. Let’s write together.
like | comment | share
Join in the conversation with others in the comments. Tell me what you think about the prompt, or where your writing takes you.
Know someone who might enjoy this prompt or others? Please share!
Clicking the heart to like this post helps keep my writing prompts visible and my own writer’s heart grateful.
Love this poem—first time reading it. The first two paragraphs (stanzas?) stand out to me as we are currently realizing the severity of my dad’s cognitive decline. He can tell you about all of his accounts, interest rates, dog grooming schedule, etc - anything that is historical or routine. He is not remembering details of conversations from a few hours ago.
What a lovely poem! As I reflect on the abundance of memories in my heart and soul, I also feel blessed to know that the only thing I will leave with are the treasured, precious moments.
I am making some special memories at my niece’s wedding this afternoon and I will miss writing with you all!
JoAnne