Red Room Where the Writers Are

Months ago, a friend of mine read a book on writing memoir by Natalie Goldberg, called Old Friend From Far Away, and when she finished it she immediately emailed me about it.  I searched the public library, but apparently it was 'too recent' to be stocked (although the Miami library had it, hmph).  It was also way too expensive for me in hardback.  So I sighed and let go.

But then I was in a bookstore with my parents (cha ching) and I saw the book, in paperback no less!  So of course I jumped at the chance to get a free-to-me copy in a more portable form, and I've been reading it ever since.  Today, howeve, was the first time I tried to do any of the exercises.  The result was more promising than I expected.  I wrote a few pages, but more importantly I felt the old writer's juices, which had been slowly ebbing, start to flow again.

Just to share, here's the exercise I did on what 'home' means to me:

Home for me is my worn Zinnia bedding, my just-right flat, squooshy pillow, the news at 5 with my mom, and her perfect green salad every night.

Home is a dark, quiet apartment in London, a mild curry served with hot sauce on the side (for the chef), a TV show about medical myseteries or embarassing illnesses, and the early-morning burning desire to strangle a seagull while its friends and family look on in horror.

Home is a dorm that smells like Chef Boyardee, a roommate who eats frozen peaches and wears face paint and dances around in her undies, and a cozy jersey-sheeted bed at any minute of the day or night.

 Home is a creamy Caffe Latte, drunk standing-up at an Italian train station, with a poorly concealed smile on my face as I eavesdrop on the old folk who hang out here all day, gossiping and teasing each other.

And home is this, a sunny sidewalk in a city full of noisy buses, staring old men, hipsters' butt cracks, and gleeful children in overpriced boutique clothes.

Home is where the heart is, and mine has been scattered all over the globe.  Like a lizard who loses and regrows her tail, I've left pieces of myself in a hundred places.  But so have they left bits of themselves in me, a fair trade I think.