Writers for Recovery Week 6

We really rocked on Week 6. Dan Bolles of Seven Days stopped by to talk with us about his life as a music journalist. We welcomed some wonderful new writers to the group. And we filled in the blank in the prompt "When I listen to ___________, this is what happens" with the name of an artist or band, and kept writing. The results included amazing personal reflections on musicians from Nina Simone to the Afghan Whigs. We'd love to read your take on the prompt, so write for seven minutes and send it to writersforrecovery@icloud.com.

For next week's class, write for 10 minutes on the following: "A poem to my addiction." Special guest next time will be Vermont Poet Laureate Sydney Lea. See you then!

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"This Is All I Remember From That Night" by Leslie Bonnette

Creeping down Shelburne road in my fancy BMW, must’ve been 2 or 2:30 in the morning, music blasting, I was lucky to have made it home without being stopped.  That three mile stretch home from Franny’s I could do with my eyes closed. The next thing I remember was my keys flying out of my hand. “GodDAMN it,” I bitched.  It was then I noticed the blackness of the night – no moon, not a star in the sky, I felt like a bird in a cage under a sheet at night. OK, I try to focus my spinning brain ~ I’ll have a cigarette and cool down. “Jesus Christ,” I thought to myself; “where is my lighter?” Fumbling in my pockets, I come up with nothing.  It must be in the car.

It was a beautiful night, and my keys couldn’t be too far. I stumble to my car – “SHIT,” it’s locked. Now I’m fuming; no cigarette, no lighter. I decide to crawl on my belly; arms outstretched doing the “snow-angel.” No keys.  I begin at the car reaching as far as I could to either side of me, inching slowly up the trail of the missing keys. The keys couldn’t have just disappeared; I heard them hit the ground. They are heavy keys complete with a bronze medallion of sorts with the Serenity Prayer some shrink gave me years ago. I should be able to find them.

Slithering on my belly, my fingers clawing into the grass for what seemed like hours -- nothing. Desperation was beginning to well inside and I began to feel panicked.  My husband wasn’t home (thank God), which was precisely the reason I had felt privileged to close the bar.

But what the fuck was I going to do? Scratching and groveling in the wet grass, lighter- and cigarette-less, I cursed.  Myself first, for being so drunk; my inability to figure out why I didn’t have – and couldn’t find – my keys.  Then God for making it so dark, then myself again for taking me to the limit of my alcohol consumption – again.  And again. And again. Then myself again for being me.

So I reasoned, with whatever neurons were still actively connecting, that I could stand up, (that is if I were able), find the porch railing and, holding on, steady myself enough to make it onto the deck, where there was a chair I could sleep in.

The next thing I knew the birds began to chirp and I perceived a piercing lightness through my eyelids, afraid to open them. When I did, I went to the edge of the porch and, there, within a foot of where my arms must’ve reached, were my keys, gleaming in the sunrise.

That’s when I knew I’d crossed the line.

Gary MillerComment
Writing on From Another Story's First Sentence, by Gavin Howley

Days before she met the novelist, Cora went to the library and brought home a stack of plastic-sleeved hardcovers with one-word titles like Heirloom and Ruffian andSeductress. She knew she needed to do a little research for her project, for it to be carried out successfully.  The novelist was appearing at the local Barnes and Noble Thursday night at 7.  Cora knew she had to be absolutely ready.  She was already pretty sure she had all the supplies ready to go.  They could be inconspicuously placed in her jacket, which she would certainly need in this chilly fall weather.  The sleazy low-rent romance novels from the library she knew would be required reading, unfortunately.  The novelist, Scarlett Lovewell, almost certainly a pen name, and a horrible one at that, even for this genre, had caused Cora enough pain and was going to have to pay.  This was going to be a very memorable scene, when all was said and done.  Cora’s extensive knowledge of anatomy was going to allow her to hit many of the main arteries.  Bright red blood.  Not the darker, slower moving deoxygenated blood returning in the veins.  Nope, she was after the high-pressure system, and if the store re-opened at all it would only be after an extensive cleaning of the walls and likely ceiling as well.

Gary Miller Comment
Writers for Recovery Week 5
Gary Lee Miller photo

Gary Lee Miller photo

We had a truly incredible session last Wednesday, with readings that ran the gamut from intense to hilarious. Visitors from the Burlington Free Press gathered materials and took photos for a Sunday arts feature that will appear on August 3. Best of all, it will include some of the work read by students for the Week 5 session!

Next Week, Dan Bolles of Seven Days will visit us to talk about his work and a writer and editor. He will not be writing about the group for Seven Days.

The prompt for Week 5 was "What the ghost said when it whispered in my ear." Seven minutes. Go!

Gary MillerComment
"The Person Who Is My Secret Weapon" — by Gavin Howley

The person who is my secret weapon is actually I think part of myself – someone that doesn’t get to come out that often. I feel that I have ambled along through life never really taking any chances or truly applying myself.  I managed to get a BA degree but it was kinda just something that seemed like the easiest path. I’d like to restart my life after high school and realize sooner that I can’t just mosey along through my own life. This secret weapon is part of me that does come out on occasion, when I really put in some effort or take a risk of some kind. He has made a few appearances over the years but has been dormant for quite some time now.

Gary Miller Comments
Writers for Recovery Week 4 Prompt
Watercolor by Gary Lee Miller

Watercolor by Gary Lee Miller

This week, we were joined by special guests Jack Maroney, Jim DiReda, and Hank Rossi, who talked with us about the East Side of Addiction project.

The prompt for the week was "The person who is my secret weapon." If you'd like to try it, write for seven minutes and send the results to writersforrecovery@icloud.com.

Be sure to visit the group this Wednesday evening, starting at 5:30, when we'll visit with special guest Dan Bolles, Music Editor for Seven Days.

Gary Miller Comment
Writers for Recovery Week 3 Prompt
Copyright 2014 Gary Lee Miller

Copyright 2014 Gary Lee Miller

First sentences are doors to worlds. S0 says author Ursula K. LeGuin. For this week's prompt, choose one of these first sentences from Best American Short Stories 2013 and write what comes next. Spend only ten minutes. Don't think. Don't edit. Just write. Send the results to writersforrecovery@icloud.com and we will publish them. For a bonus prompt, write for seven minutes on the following: "This is all I can remember from that night."

Here are the first sentences: 

I’d been out of the conservatory for about a year when my Uncle Raúl died.

                 — Daniel Alarcón, from “The Provincials”

 

As a teenager, her junior year, her favorite trick involved riding in cars with at least two other girls.

                —Charles Baxter, from “Bravery”

 

When I was in college in Eugene I had a girlfriend named Nora Vardon.

                  —Michael Byers, from “Malaria”

 

Years later, you would wonder if it hadn’t been for your brother, would you have done it?

                  —Junot Díaz, from “Miss Lora”

 

Bob was in the dark.

                  —Karl Taro Greenfeld, from “Horned Men”

 

Goodwin Lee and his brother, Morehouse, had bought it at an auction, for nothing.

                  —Gish Jen, from “The Third Dumpster”

 

Lambright had surprised everyone by offering to drive his son’s girlfriend home.

                  —Bret Anthony Johnston, from “Encounters with Unexpected Animals”

 

Sandra holds her eldest child, S.P., tightly on her lap while she listens to her sister, who is telling about her husband, a heart surgeon. 

                  —Sheila Kohler, from “Magic Man”

 

Day after day I went through the paternal motions, testing my son while he tested me, trying to teach him not only to do what I said, which seems like a given, but also to see and taste the world in certain ways, with an ideal in mind, a purified version of the best way to live reduced to a rudimentary five-year-pld version: good eye contact with others, a sustained gaze, not just looking, but giving an indication of having seen, —a head nod—and maintained long enough to show respect and not too much fear.

                  —David Means, from “The Chair”

 

The small boy Samuel wakes in the dark.

                   —Steven Millhauser, from “A Voice in the Night”

 

For the third time in three years, they talked about what would be a suitable birthday present for her deranged son.

                  — Lorrie Moore, from “Referential”

 

This is a slow train anyway, and it has slowed some more for the curve.

Alice Munro, from “Train”

 

Tired of telling her own story at A.A., Hil was trying trying to tell the story of her neighbor.

Antonya Nelson, from “Chapter Two”

 

There is a picture of me standing with my cousin Nemecia in the bean field.

Kirsten Valdez Quade, from “Nemecia.”

 

Days before she met the novelist, Cora went to the library and brought home a stack of plastic-sleeved hardcovers with one-word titles like Heirloom and Ruffian and Seductress.

Suzanne Rivecca, from “Philanthropy.”

 

September 3rd

Having just turned forty, have resolved to embark on grand project of writing every day in this new black book just got at OfficeMax.

                  —George Saunders, from “The Semplica-Girl Diaries”

 

Sunday 1 January

Fair and very cold.

                  —Jim Shepard, from “The World to Come”

 

Her students are the devotees and tenders of machines.

                  —Elizabeth Tallent, from “The Wilderness”

 

The news from Spain is terrible.

                  —Joan Wickersham, from “The Tunnel, or The News from Spain”

 

There were cats in the barn.

                  —Callan Wink, from “The Bretharians”

Gary MillerComment
Writers for Recovery Week 2 Prompt

Copyright Gary Lee Miller 2014

Copyright Gary Lee Miller 2014

The main point of the prompts is to jump right in. Don’t edit yourself. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough. There is no way to do this wrong.

All you need to do is write for seven minutes on the following topic:

“If I were in charge...”

If you want, send your writing to us, and we’ll share it online! You can use your own name, use a pseudonym, or even be anonymous if you want.

Send your writing to writersforrecovery@icloud.com

Gary MillerComment
Writers for Recovery Week 1 Prompt

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The main point of the prompts is to jump right in. Don’t edit yourself. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough. There is no way to do this wrong.

All you need to do is write for seven minutes on the following topic:

“Dear World: Here’s what you should know about the real me.”

If you want, send your writing to us, and we’ll share it online! You can use your own name, use a pseudonym, or even be anonymous if you want.

Send your writing to writersforrecovery@icloud.com

Gary MillerComment