Write Where You Are:  The Art of Being Present on the Page

 

We don’t need to know what we are going to say in order to begin writing; we simply need to be present. We start writing wherever we are, writing what may seem hopelessly mundane. But if we stay with ourselves, observe life closely, open our senses, let everything in, and record specific details, a mysterious expansion and ascension occurs.

 

This class is open to motivated seekers and scribblers at all levels, who are looking for a small, supportive group where they can connect with their creative core and express themselves through writing. It offers students the opportunity to listen to their authentic selves, to see and be seen, to listen to others and also to be heard. Class size limited so students receive individual attention and support.
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2012 Classes

Winter
January 26
February 2, 9, 16, 23
March 1, 8, 15

Spring
April 26
May 3, 10, 17, 24, 31
June 7, 14

2012 Winter and Spring Classes
meet at the following times:

Thursday afternoons 1:30 - 4:00 
Thursday evenings 7:30 - 10:00 

Class offerings for Summer and Fall 2012
will be posted in the Spring.

$380 per 8-class session

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Bella Talks About Her Writing Class

 

My students are wise, accomplished men and women from diverse backgrounds, with various degrees of writing experience.  Some have never written before; others have been writing for decades. Everybody learns from each other.

 

My class is not genre specific, because no matter what you’re writing (poems, essays, fiction, memoir, blog posts, plays, or performance art)—the process is the same. The structure/container takes on a different shape, but the creative process does not. While most people gravitate toward a genre that feels right for them, several of my students write more than one genre.

 

My focus is on process rather than product. Engaging in the creative process honestly, and with integrity, automatically generates product.  Product is excrement of process. I guide people as they work from the inside out, and provide an expansive yet intimate setting.

 

Writing classes take place in my San Fernando Valley home, a.k.a. “The Tree House.” Many students have said my class feels like a retreat, and part of this has to do with the surroundings, which include floor to ceiling windows with a view of mountains and sky, bird song in the morning, comfortable seating around a coffee table covered with inspirational books and journals, flowers and candles. I eliminate clutter, which helps people think clearly, and allows energy to circulate freely. In the wintertime, flames flicker in the fireplace.

 

 

On a psychological and emotional level, we come together in a spirit of celebration and exploration, with a clear intention for compassion and receptivity to whatever emerges. I think about what it means to “hold space” for people: to bear witness and suspend judgment, and ask myself, How can I be of service?  I am open not only to my intuition, but also to divine guidance. Most students crave the freedom that comes from a nonjudgmental atmosphere, so I keep Rumi’s poem, “There is A Field,” in mind.

 

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and right-doing there is a field.
I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.

I encourage my students to stretch out on this sweet-smelling grass in this field where there’s no right and wrong, and explore inner landscapes, remaining open, no matter what’s expressed, or how it’s expressed.

 

I try to help students access whatever divine sparks are ready to fire, remind them we are all connected, no matter our level of experience, and we are all engaged in the same struggles. We want the best for each other. When one person succeeds, we all do. This work is neither a race nor a competition.

 

Classes begin with a five-minute grounding meditation, which helps students come into the present moment. I begin and end the meditation with Tibetan bells or a singing bowl, and invite students to connect with their breath, and drop down into their bodies. I may also ask them to extend kindness and blessings to themselves and others.

 

After the meditation, I distribute a handout with the day’s writing prompts, and ask for a volunteer to read them aloud. The list contains one or two pages of one-line prompts I’ve selected or created with my students in mind.

 

After the prompts are read, we practice timed writing exercises. My motto here is: everything is allowed—permission grated to write junk or what you think might be meaningless drivel. There’s no wrong way to do this, as long as you are open to what comes. You don’t have to share anything you write with anyone—your writing is for you.

The timer serves as a deadline, bypassing critical thinking and allowing thoughts to flow freely. Students keep their pens moving, write as fast as they can. No matter what people are working on, the prompts give whatever is percolating underneath the surface a chance to come forward in fresh, unexpected ways.

 

When the writing session is over, students read—either what they’ve written during the timed session or something they’ve brought from home, or both. I try to hold my comments to the end so I don’t influence student comments—unless I am bursting at the seams with enthusiasm—which happens more often then I’d like.

 

It’s important to set the right tone for sharing work. This is not finished material—far from it. I don’t offer false praise, but celebrate what’s there, and see it as an opportunity for discovery and growth. I ask, “Where is the energy in this piece? Are there seeds that, if watered, might sprout? Are kernels ready to pop?” I also look for transformation lines, which are charged sentences that, if mined, have power to deepen the writing.

 

In the feedback portion of the session I celebrate courage, honesty, vulnerability, and the willingness to go deep. Then I look for threads to pull whatever timid or reluctant stories might need unraveling.

It’s easy celebrating my students' work. There’s always something to get excited about. People are brave. It’s humbling and inspiring to bear witness to a person expressing something painful or deep, some truth that’s been hidden, shamed, or forgotten.

 

During these moments the room goes silent. Then, slowly, words emerge. Someone might say, “Wow, That’s amazing, how did you do that?” It is stunning to watch a person take a personal risk with their writing. Everybody gets inspired and feels freer to take her own risks. When people share from their depths, they are communicating on a Soul Level—this is the place of authenticity, wisdom, and divine intelligence.

 

Many are challenged when it comes to recognizing their innate wisdom. Some judge their work and themselves harshly, and are plagued by insecurities and doubts. I am convinced we are all capable of much more than we know, and while the focus of my class is writing, I encourage students to release limiting beliefs, so they may move out of their own way, and make room for maximum, authentic, creative expression and expansion.

 

Out-of-class assignments are optional and individualized to meet each student’s needs. Many students require support or assistance creating and honoring their writing practice. My intention is not only to help students “Write Where You Are,” but also to meet each person wherever he or she may be, and act as a guide propelling forward movement.