Lately, I have heard so many stories about childhood memories around religion, many not very favorable. Mainly, I think, it’s the unfavorable ones that have a profound effect on us.

Tell us about a memory you have that has to do with religion – positive or negative, inspiring or scary, something that made you think in a whole new way.

Don’t focus entirely on what happened but what it taught you, how it affected your life, and how it affects you today. Should you let it go? Should it define an entire religion?

I have a real longing for my grandfather’s grapes.

When I was little, we would go out in the vineyards on my great-grandparent’s property and pick grapes. Many a grape would go into our mouths before reaching the kitchen, and I can still taste the sticky goodness. My teeth would break through the thick outer skins, anticipating the sweet juiciness inside. Not wanting to miss a drop, the grape would go down my throat, seed and all. Welch’s white grape juice is as close as it gets to the taste I remember.

The grapes of today are nothing like those grapes of my childhood. They are thin-skinned and the inside of the grape has almost the same texture as the outside. The only word I can use to describe them is bland.

One day, however, I was meeting the woman who delivers a monthly bag of locally grown produce to me, and she said, “You’ve got to taste these grapes. They were just picked yesterday by an Indiana farmer.” I took a grape into my mouth and was immediately transported back to my grandfather’s vineyard. I said, “These are my grandfather’s grapes. I am seriously in heaven.”

The memoir prompt for this week has to do with cooking and you have two options to choose from.

When did you taste your favorite fruit for the first time? If you don’t remember, imagine it. Goldberg says that imagining often leads to the real deal. Also, it might not be the first time it entered your mouth, but the first time you really tasted it and it became your favorite fruit.

Give a recipe you love. This could be as simple as pouring a glass of milk. How did you discover it? What did you serve it in? Who did you serve it to? Where did the ingredients come from?

Here are some tips from Natalie (and she goes into much more detail in the book) to help prepare for writing.

1. Nail down eternity right now. Give me this sterling moment, just as it is. (pg. 69)

Goldberg writes, “If you can learn to be present now, the past becomes clearer, more precise. You know who you are – then what you were.”

2. Read aloud what you have written. (pg. 74)

Read to yourself or to someone else. This is a way of hearing yourself and how your writing comes across to a listener.

3. Try sitting meditation. (pg. 76)

Meditation is a way of identifying what’s really going on in your mind. This is another way to practice being present. 

4. Walking (pg. 87)

Walking is a great way to reduce stress and bring clarity to a situation.

For Memoir Prompt: Feeling Different – This prompt extended another week.

Being as quiet as I was growing up, there were many, many instances where I felt left out or like I didn’t fit in. Fortunately, I always had a few close friends and family that I could count on for feeling loved and understood.

For girls, the middle school period (ages 12, 13, and 14), tends to be especially hard. When I was that age, I went to a school that was a long walk from my home. For awhile, I would encounter a group of girls who went to a different school, one of whom I knew as an acquaintance from skating. Obviously, she had told her friends unflattering things about me and they would laugh and yell nasty things at me as they passed. This was really, really hurtful and I was more confused than anything. None of them knew anything about me so how could they judge and be so cruel?

I’m also reminded of something my own daughter went through in middle school which was similar. She made friends with some new girls in school and started hanging out with them more than her previous friends, who were the cool kids. She straddled both groups, but really liked these new kids. The boys started making fun of a few of these new girls, to the point that some actually left the school. One of the boys told my daughter that she had the potential to be cool if she only hung around with the cool girls. My daughter thought about that for about a minute and decided, if that was the case, she really didn’t want to be cool.

Looking back, it took strength of character and the support of loving people to help me and my daughter through these hard times. How others view us is a reflection of them, not us. It’s okay to be different.

There is a lot about bullying in the news these days. Whether we were bullied or not, I know that everyone has times when they felt different or like they just didn’t fit in. Or maybe great times when you really felt a part of something. How do you remember those times now? Do they affect the way you see yourself today?

Natalie Goldberg suggests you “list thirty ways you felt different from others as a child, whether because of race, religion, sexual preference, the shape of your body, your black toenail, or your dark mind.” (pg. 73) Then, pick one and write about it.

Natalie Goldberg, in “Old Friend from Far Away,” writes about Allen Ginsberg. Many people don’t know who he is, and those who do remember him think only of his sexual or drug-related adventures. However, Goldberg says that Ginsberg was one of her most important teachers.

“Sit when you sit;
talk when you talk;
cry when you cry;
lie down when you lie down
and die when you die.”

She says that his voice, which wasn’t good, gave you courage and made you want to sing. She would sing this song by herself at the top of her lungs.

About fifteen years later, she could not believe that she had the opportunity to teach with Ginsberg. Today, Ginsberg has passed on but Goldberg still displays a photo of him when she gives retreats. She says that she wants to continue to honor him; to say thank you.

Write about someone who was a true teacher for you. Tell it straight. Who were they? What was it about them that affected you? How did they make you feel?

Note: Remember you can still write about previous memoir prompts. So, if you have a moment that changed your life or a first love you want to write about, go for it!

“Being in love is a loss of control. Suddenly your life is dependent on the eyebrow twitch of Joe Schmo. It’s terrible – it’s thrilling. Everyone wants it.” (pg. 22 – Old Friend From Far Away)

She says that writing is also a form of love. The love should exude through every cell of your body, through your hand, and onto the paper. Love (and writing) makes things come alive.

For this week’s memoir prompt, write about your first love, whether it be Joe Schmo, your Dad, or a family pet. Tell us about the ups and the downs, the thrills, the spills, the rejection or love returned.

For the memoir prompt – A moment that changed my life

Today, I was writing a new Squidoo page on how an Ansel Adams book and George Winston CD piqued my interest in photography. What they really did was make me want to visit Yosemite National Park in California. After visiting Yosemite with my family in June of 1995, I wrote “My life has never been the same since.” Aha! What was it exactly that changed my life? What was the moment? I would have to say that it was seeing Half Dome, one of the most well-known mountain peaks at Yosemite, for the first time.

When I saw Half Dome for the first time, I was in awe. I felt such a connection with Adams and understood why he felt compelled to photograph it so many times. I hadn’t even taken my first photography class at the time, so of course, my photos do not do it justice. But I will never forget how I felt when I really saw it with my own eyes. I was not the same since.

We moved to Indianapolis two months later and I signed up for my first photography class a month after that. The rest is history. Whether I never sell another photograph does not matter. I will always love the art and the craft of photography.

Thanks to Alex and Carrie for braving the six-word memoir. Feel free to add your six-word memoir to the post at any time.

We received the following note from Larry Smith, editor of Smith Magazine regarding that post.

Hey EWN — Thanks for the Six-Word Memoir mention. Love your site. And I’m sure your community would be interested in SMITH Mag’s newest book project, “The Moment.”

The Moment will be a book of personal stories about how a single moment—a single, decision, happenstance, accident, call, conversation, tweet, text, or email that had a profound effect on you. SMITH books always features a combo that’s pretty unique, with famous people (Sarah Silverman, Dave Eggers, Steven Colbert, Malcolm Gladwell, Dr. Jane Goodall), alongside unknown folks (most of whom have never been published anywhere). If you had a couple hundreds words about a “Moment” (or as many as 750) or a photograph, postcard, or ticket stub with a caption that tells your story, we’d be so delighted to include you in this book (out next fall). Of course, we’ll include your bio at the bottom of your contribution. Submissions are due by Dec 15, and the book will be published by HarperCollins in Fall 2011. A longer explanation and a few examples can be found at http://www.smithmag.net/themoment/.

So, I thought that might be a interesting prompt for the memoir group this week. Post a blog entry about a moment that had a profound effect on you here at EWN and, if you’re interested, submit it to Smith Magazine.

This week I am out of town again (without Natalie Goldberg’s book) and I know you’re all going to be busy writing ghost stories. So, for this week’s memoir prompt, can you distill your life story into six words? Mine is “Trying to figure it all out.”

Just reply to this post with your six word memoir. Here’s a video to get you thinking.

It was a hot, blue-skied summer day. The sunlight created glistening pinpricks in the apartment complex pool. My babysitter had brought me and my siblings there because she had friends who lived in the building. No lifeguard, but since it was such a nice day, there were many adults and children in and around the pool.

I must have been pretty young because I was not yet comfortable in the deep end. The depth of the pool was clearly marked along the edges in deep black paint and a blue rope lined with white, rocket-shaped floaters separated the shallow end from the deep end.

Maybe I was feeling a little risky that day. Hand over hand, I slid along the wall of the pool until I got to the blue rope. Before I knew it, I had slipped under the rope and was now holding onto the wall in the deep end. It was exhilarating! I let go to go under water for a few seconds but when I reached for the wall it wasn’t there. Panic set in quickly, and my arms began to move wildly around me searching for that edge. The thought of not being able to breathe was traumatizing. Where were my siblings? Where was my babysitter? Didn’t they see that I was struggling?

It must have lasted for only a few seconds, but after what seemed like an eternity, one hand caught hold of the rope and I pulled myself to safety. Out in the blazing sun again, everyone was laughing and talking just as before. No one knew what had just happened. To this day, I remain afraid of drowning above all else. Still haven’t watched Titanic. But I learned something very powerful that day. Sometimes, I would just have to save myself.

For this week’s memoir prompt, we are going in over our heads to write about swimming. Here are some ideas:

* A memorable time swimming with family or friends
* Learning to swim or not being able to swim
* A competitive swimming event
* First swim in the ocean
* A moonlight swim
* Seeing a fish swimming
* How do you feel when you’re swimming?
* Have you ever almost drowned?
* Did you ever feel like you were drowning, metaphorically?
* Tell of a time when everything was going swimmingly, you were “in the flow.”
* Did you ever feel like you were swimming upstream, metaphorically?

My entry for the memoir contest to write about a father, uncle, or grandfather.

Just like everyone, Grandpa, you had your rough and smooth edges. I just wish I had known and understood both a little better. Although we had Sunday dinners at your place for many years, I feel like I know very little about what made you tick.

Here is what I know about you.

You were the second of six kids, born to teetotaling parents who grew grapes, acres and acres of them. I assume your love of gardening came from them. One of your brothers committed suicide; I’m not sure why or how old you were when it happened, but it must have had a huge effect on you. You married Lou when she was only eighteen and my mother came along soon after. For another nineteen years, you and Lou continued to have kids, six in total. A frugal man, you worked in finance at General Motors your whole career, and learned to invest your money wisely.

Here is what I remember about you.

There was always a huge vegetable garden at your house and you were the gardener. Thinking back, you must have spent a lot of time nurturing those plants, whether out of a love for growing things or frugality or both. However, I mostly saw you on Sundays and remember going out to the garden with you and my siblings and cousins to harvest the veggies, often corn, for our dinner. You taught us how to do that properly.

Sunday dinners got a little wild and crazy sometimes. My Mom was the oldest of six kids and all of them would be there, with spouses, girlfriends or boyfriends, and kids in tow. Often, when we arrived on Sundays, you would be on your stomach on the living room floor, watching TV, smoking a cigarette, and drinking a beer. I am sure the beer was not your first because you would be louder than usual, and often say outrageous and funny things. You had a great laugh at these times.

Alcohol has always played a part on both sides of my family history and your love for beer is a top memory for me. The resulting beer belly played havoc with your knees and as you aged, I remember you waddled when you walked. The smoking played havoc with your lungs causing emphysema in your later years.

You were a character, often getting on the phone after a few drinks, and calling high-level government people or the phone company to give them a piece of your mind. We all laughed when, after fifty years of marriage, Lou had had enough. She said, “It just isn’t working.” She got her own place for a while, but then you both compromised and lived together in a duplex owned by one of your daughters. I remember you lived on the main floor and Lou lived upstairs, but you still played cards and ate meals together until she died in 1989. You were gone two years later.

Grandpa Ted, you were my only living grandfather and I don’t remember ever having a one on one conversation with you. Now, that may be because I was so shy or that my memories are vague, but it makes me sad. What were your hopes and dreams for life? Were you proud of your kids? Do you wish you had done anything differently?

Monkey mind, we all have one. It’s that mind that never stops thinking. It is also your critic and judge, telling yourself that you can’t write. Natalie Goldberg says, “Monkey mind can take the form of your mother, a nun, a professor, a priest.” That’s why you need to make yourself write, schedule it, do it with others (like on Extreme Writing Now).

This week, we will be holding another contest for the Memoirs group and the winner will receive a copy of Goldberg’s book “Old Friend from Far Away.” If you haven’t tried writing memoir yet, why not take the plunge. One of our first prompts was to write about a mother, aunt, or grandmother and we got some really great memories. This week, let’s switch it up to writing about a father, uncle, or grandfather. Do you have a special story to tell?

Write a blog entry up until Sunday, September 19th at midnight. All entries will be posted on Extreme Writing Now’s Facebook page, where the person with the most “likes” on their entry will win the book. Voting will continue until Sunday, September 26th at midnight.

Any questions? Post them here.

Writing about itches, especially metaphorical ones, was not as easy as I thought it would be. I can think of several times in my life when I felt an itching to do something and jumped a little too quickly. Sometimes those don’t work out so well, like the time my neighborhood friends and I decided to explore the underground tunnels we found for the university near our house. The security guard caught us and I had to spend the rest of my day writing “I must not trespass on private property” one hundred times.

But many times, if an itch just doesn’t go away, it is most likely your intuition, your true, inner self telling you something very important. Here are some of the big itches I paid attention to.

* An itch to travel – We didn’t get to travel much at all when we were kids, but a trip to the Bahamas at the age of 19 opened my eyes to a whole different world out there just waiting to be explored. I’ve loved traveling and discovering new worlds ever since.

* An itch for education – I always had an itch for learning. I thought this meant a university education, but I’ve since discovered that school learning is only one small part of education.

* An itch to photograph – It started with the gift of a camera, then a desire to see the Yosemite Park that Ansel Adams saw. Now I know that this itch is about seeing what’s really there.

* An itch to write – This is new and I don’t know where it will take me, but I thank you all for inviting me along.

What do you itch for?

Yes, the memoir prompt is that simple this week. Write about a time you itched, physically or metaphorically. (pg. 50)

And here is a clip from an interesting section of Natalie Goldberg’s book called “Sideways Step” about not entering your memoir writing head-on, but sideways. She talks about a friend who wrote really good short stories, but hadn’t yet revealed his true self, “his generosity, his crazy, ironic, smart-ass, dark humor and wit and his basic deep intelligence.” Eventually, you have to let the wind take you back into that real self so that your writing will become transparent. Someone reading your work will know its you. After twenty years of writing, her friend finally created “Daddy Needs a Drink,” irreverent essays about raising his kids that you couldn’t stop reading. She says they were “funny, mean, sarcastic, but also intimate, tender and vulnerable.”

Who are you and what’s your itch?

Memories of elementary school are scarce indeed, yet second grade (known as Grade 2 in Canada) at St. Patrick’s School, will always stand out for me because of two very different incidents.

St. Patrick’s School was aptly named because of its location on the border of the city of St. Catharines and the small town of Merritton in Ontario, known for its Irish immigrants. My classroom looked out onto the playground and, if you looked further in the distance, you could even see my house, across the main thoroughfare called Glendale Avenue. The school sat at the bottom of the Niagara Escarpment, protected in a way by the hill, and so it felt like a safe place to be.

Although I didn’t know it at the time, it was to be my last year at that school, because our family moved into a bigger house on the other side of town during my third grade year, and I would then attend a school called Christ the King. I don’t remember who my teacher was that second grade year, but I’m pretty sure she was not a nun. Two things happened that year at St. Patrick’s school which made it memorable in my books.

The second incident couldn’t be more different. While my parents were taken with the Kennedy’s, I was also influenced by action south of the border, namely the Mickey Mouse Club and one Annette Funicello. According to Wikipedia, she was the most popular Mousketeer, and in 1963, she would have been 21 years old and in the process of making her first beach party movie with Frankie Avalon. As a second grader, I knew her as the Mousketeer, and I wanted to be her. So much so, that on a test paper where it says NAME at the top, I put Annette. When the papers were being handed back, Annette’s was saved until last. The teacher said, “And who may I ask is Annette?” (as if she didn’t know). I raised my hand, she returned the paper, and then proceeded to give the class a lecture on the fact that if you wanted to change your name, you had to go to court to do it. Totally unnecessary and showed no imagination, in my opinion.

Do you remember kindergarten? If you don’t remember much, Natalie Goldberg says that’s okay. Begin from there and start writing.

In one her workshops, she assigned third grade as a prompt. One person wrote about how he had missed third grade entirely because he was in Bergen-Belsen, a concentration camp. He did not talk about the concentration camp. Instead, he talked about what he had missed from third grade, the things he didn’t learn. It was mesmerizing. She says,

“We had heard of the horror of the camps but to distill it down to a loss of third grade grammar and history had a startling effect. We felt the pain in a new way.”

Write about a grade (or an age) in your life? What did you miss? What was extraordinary?

Frank Sinatra has been a part of my life since as far back as I can remember.

My parents came of age in the Rat Pack era. In the early 60′s, it was cool to smoke, drink, and party to the music of Dave Brubeck or Frank Sinatra, depending on your mood. In my elementary school years, I remember falling asleep often to the sounds of Sinatra at the Sands – Come Fly With Me, The Shadow of Your Smile, etc. and often feel that the music from that CD is ingrained in my DNA. The rat pack monologue on that CD I could probably recite by heart, “I feel sorry for people that don’t drink because when they get up in the morning that’s as good as they’re going to feel for the rest of the day.”

In my early teens, my Dad would sit me down for a lesson in understanding Frank Sinatra’s phrasing and why he was the master at that. Later in my teens, I was able to join my Dad and his friends as they rented a bus to take them to the Frank Sinatra concert in Buffalo, New York. They all partied hard on that trip, playing Frank music all the way. I remember leaving my seat at the concert and sneaking up the aisle to get a photo of Frank on stage. A man the size of a house stopped me and said to take the photo and scram. Shortly after this concert, I came home from school one day feeling a little down. No one was home and I put on some Frank music to help make me feel better. It was then that I knew I was hooked all on my own.

In College, I was known as the girl who loved Frank Sinatra, my own little calling card. I like to think that I introduced Frank Sinatra to many of my peers who might never have learned of his genius. At my wedding, my Dad and I danced to Street of Dreams, the perfect song for both of us. Six years later, my Dad died, and on the first anniversary of his death, my kids and I danced to Frank Sinatra all day long. I decided to write a letter to Frank, telling him what his music meant to me and how it would always remind me of my Dad. Ten days later, I got the surprise of my life when I received a letter back from the man himself. It is one of my most prized possessions.

I had the chance to see Frank in concert two more times before he died. And, on the day of his death (May 14, 1998), my neighbors made me a cake, and we had a little wake for Frank, with some Jack Daniels on the side. Still, when I hear his voice, it is the most comforting thing in the world.

Do I sound like I have a schoolgirl crush? It doesn’t feel like that. Frank Sinatra had a gift that he developed fully. Whatever you think about him personally, his music has touched so many others, not only me. Yes, the music is connected to childhood memories, but it’s the music I adore, he’s just the conduit.

For the memoirs prompt – Nuts About Memoir.

On page 46 of Old Friend from Far Away, Natalie Goldberg writes, “Think of the history of nuts in your life.” Notice the word “history” here. By adding this word, she is not asking us for feelings about nuts. History implies details – dates, places, depth. Also, the history of nuts could mean nutty friends or nut allergies.

She goes on to say that “adding a strong noun in the front or back of your topic cracks open your mind to different ways of seeing the usual.”

Here are some examples:

* My belief in paper clips
* Romance with chocolate
* An incident with vanilla
* Episodes with mice
* A legendary dog
* My sugar archives
* Public record of eating hamburgers
* The saga of my ill will

Use one of these or come up with one of your own to write about. Make it your title.