Distraction

The Art of Not Writing My Memoir

The Oxford Dictionary defines distraction as a thing that prevents someone from giving full attention to something else. Raise your hand if you fit that category. Raise two hands if you are an overachiever at distraction.

My last entry on Firmly Rooted was May 21st shortly after heavy rains carried precious topsoil down Indian Creek to the East Nishnabotna (pronounced how it sounds), to the Missouri and on to its confluence with the Mississippi; its final resting place, the depths of the Gulf of Mexico. The fisher people of the Gulf have little appreciation for the deadly poisonous substance dumped in once bountiful waters. This “gift” is on behalf of farmers upstream in the Missouri River watershed and their earth destroying practices. I hesitate to say farming practices; it’s more akin to surface mining.

Case in point about distraction; I just veered off into the depths of the destruction of my passion - the land.

Back to the beginning……. my heart is heavy and my head is full of guilt. I have not written for my subscribers on Substack for far too long. The past few months have been busy with greenhouse, strawbale house, raising chickens, that are now in our freezer, and a multitude of other busy-ness. Grandchildren play an important role in this also. When they were small, they spent weekends on the farm. They are older now and involved in plays, concerts, science projects and sports. The commute has changed, it is now our turn to drive an hour into Omaha to engage in their activities. Oh, one more thing, I am older now and move a bit more slowly.

A look at my phone calendar gives a snapshot of the fullness of my days. Scrolling from June to September, three themes emerge - political, farm and family/community. Rarely is there a day that pops up “nothing planned.” Usually that is because I forgot to enter something.

A snapshot of June. Note - in the daily entries, it indicates that I must click to get the total day commitments.

There are no entries scheduled for writing. I do write a column every other Friday for my daily newspaper, The Atlantic News Telegraph. I keep that deadline in my head and neglect to put it on the calendar. The content is concentrated on local issues; sometimes delving into state and national opinion. I slam the Iowa state trifecta that has our state spiraling into a culture of white supremacy. Rarely do I get pushback. In fact people will stop me in the grocery or hardware store to whisper encouragement to keep writing - several of them are from the R side of the aisle.

Bottom line is there are too many things going on in my life that keep me distracted from writing about me. It’s awkward to write about me so I put it off. The life I have lived while occupying my space on earth has been a life of risks and challenges; joys and sorrows. What stories do I tell? Where do I begin? It started during my senior year in high school and that is 56 years ago! Dilemma - how do I transfer life experiences to a page, to a certain word count, to a precise number of pages?

I learned the skill of writing from my junior high and high school teachers. The basics were drilled into my brain. Sentence diagrams always puzzled me but I slogged through them. My teachers patiently instructed me and I found out I liked writing.

I continue to learn new and proper ways to write by participating in online classes. In November 2021, in the midst of COVID 19, I signed up to take a writing class with Mary Swander https://maryswander.substack.com. Mary brought sixteen of us together on Saturday mornings to share our stories, to instruct us in the ways of writing and to edit each other’s work. Our class had deadlines; write something by Wednesday evening for her to edit before the next class. As the class came to an end, we begged Mary to continue. Our formal training ended in March of 2023.

Mary divided us into subgroups that met in between our regular class. Several of the subgroups continue to meet to this day. My subgroup, the farmer group, morphed into Gaia as we entered the fall of 2022. We have tried diligently to meet monthly, but summer commitments to “other” work and enjoyment, drastically cuts our writing time.

“I want to hear your story,” friends and family tell me. “Please get it written.”

Two years ago I was privileged to spend three lovely weeks immersed in writing at Whiterock Conservancy https://www.whiterockconservancy.org - Mary and Liz Garst offered me the opportunity to concentrate on my memoir.

“One week sounds wonderful.” I told them. “Why not three?” coerced Liz.

I now carry guilt for not fully producing the memoir I started years ago. Still workin’ on it.

Then last week happened. My commitment to move forward, to put words on paper that reflect my life as a woman, mother, farmer and political activist was reactivated . Participation in The Okoboji Writers Retreat https://okobojiwritersretreat.com for the last three years has introduced me to a world of creative stimulation, encouragement and motivation to write my story.

“Brush those nasty demons off your shoulders!” “Don’t listen to the whispers in your ear that say you are not good enough.” “That would make a great title!” “Get Your Butt in the Chair.” “Believe in yourself.” These were parts of conversations and workshop advice during this intense but exciting event.

This picture represents only part of the fantastic, sharing, loving group of people who brought a dose of joy to my life.

OWR raises money for scholarships of which I have been a past recipient. The retreat is a luxury time away from distraction especially during this election year when my life has been swallowed by political commitments. The outdoor setting on a historical landmark calmed my mind as I walked or was golf carted through woods and prairie.

Today I am savoring the spirit of the warmth of new and renewed friendships. The peaceful lake, the music, the poetry, the people lifted my soul allowing me to bask in the sunshine of fall. Mother Nature cooperated by gifting us fine weather.

I awake each morning full of gratitude for the life I have led. I cannot allow myself distractions from sharing life experiences with others. Lessons learned, the successes and the failures may give others the courage to live a life on a road less traveled.