April J. Asbury, Writer

Category: Craft

Spotlight: George Ella Lyon

October 13, 2022 / / 1 Comment
Author Gurney Norman hugs George Ella Lyon with a background of green leaves.
George Ella Lyon with Gurney Norman. Photo by Ann W. Olson

This long-overdue author spotlight honors one of my favorite writers, teachers, and people in the entire world: the gracious, multitalented George Ella Lyon!

In addition to her fiction, playwriting, songwriting, and poetry, Lyon’s books for young readers are a favorite in classrooms and libraries. Her newest book, Time to Fly, illustrated by Stephanie Fizer Coleman, features a hesitant baby bird enticed to leave the cozy nest for the first time.

Lyon is a writer who understands the importance of home, as well as the power of continuing to touch lives in a larger community. When her book All the Water in the World appeared in a cereal promotion, she was thrilled to think of her book finding families at the breakfast table.

Lyon’s work has traveled the world, perhaps none more so than her poem “Where I’m From.” She developed a writing exercise used by writers, teachers, and students of all levels; this year, her work turned up in a speech given by a certain familiar professor . . . Dr. Jill Biden.

. . . for my first lesson of the year, I use the poem, “Where I’m From,” by George Ella Lyon. Its verses tell the story of the author’s hometown, not in locations, but in sensations and experiences and memories. Then I ask my students to think about their own lives: Where does their inner strength come from? What made them who they are?”

First Lady Jill Biden, Los Angeles City College Commencement, 2022

Building Creative Communities

Lyon’s creative life is rich with teachers, mentors, and friends. She gives credit to her parents’ love of story and song, her marriage to a musician (a “partner who values the creative life as much as I do”), and her children who, she says, opened her eyes and deepened her soul.

“And I can’t leave out Richard Jackson,” George Ella says, “my beloved editor, who in 1984 invited me to write for children, giving me work that I love . . .” And of course credit also goes to “all the trees who have held and counseled me.” (Appropriate, considering her 1993 poetry collection, winner of the Appalachian Book of the Year award, was titled Catalpa!)

If you ask George Ella what she would most like to celebrate, a list of supporters, teachers, and fellow creatives pours out: Ruth Stone, Danny Marion, Gurney Norman . . . “Gurney got me to Hindman,” she says, “and you know what happens when you cross that bridge!”

At Hindman Settlement School, working with Jim Wayne Miller, washing dishes at the historic Appalachian Writers’ Workshop at Hindman Settlement School with Harriette Arnow, taking part in readings and classes and friendships, George Ella says she “grew up as a writer.” Those days have given her a writing community she still enjoys today.

Below is a writing prompt from George Ella Lyon that may look a little familiar: it’s a variation of a “Map” prompt shared by Leatha Kendrick. Lyon notes she and Kendrick are fast friends. Working together leads to learning together, not just about teaching, but about writing too.

In a perfect example of an entwined creative community, this exercise grew from shared work and creative community, including the shared inspiration of Jo Carson, who published maps of herself and her body in Now & Then magazine.

Writing Prompt: Mapping Your Memory House

While both Kendrick and Lyon begin the exercise with sketches, Lyon’s version “navigates memory in a different way.” Comparing these two is a great example of adapting a prompt for different audiences.

  1. Draw the floor plan of a place where you have lived. Show where all the rooms are. Use another page if you need to.
  2. Now make a note of a memory, something that happened in each room. Include hallways, bathrooms, closets, the attic, basement and garage. Write this directly on your map.
  3. Choose the memory that has the most energy for you. 
  4. Draw the scene in that room.
  5. Put yourself back there. Who was with you? How old are you?
  6. Take a sensory inventory. What can you taste, touch, smell, hear see? Write this on your map.
  7. Can you hear anyone talking? What do they say? Is there music?
  8. Is there something in this scene that you can’t draw?
  9. Is this a moment of power? Who has it? Does it shift from on person to another?
  10. Free-write this moment. You might begin “I am in the __________.”

We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection. Something closed must retain our memories, while leaving them their original value as images. Memories of the outside world never have the same tonality as those of home and, by recalling these memories, we add to our store of dreams; we are never real historians, but always near poets, and an emotion is perhaps nothing but an expression of poetry that was lost.

from Gaston Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space (1956, trans. Maria Jolas, 1969)

In Memory of Jeff Daniel Marion

August 4, 2021 / / 1 Comment

On July 29, 2021, regional literature lost a powerful and eloquent poet, teacher, mentor, editor, printer, and friend. Jeff Daniel Marion was a prolific author, publishing Letters to the Dead, Ebbing and Flowing Springs–in total, according to Still Journal, nine poetry collections, four poetry chapbooks, and a children’s book.

The children’s book, Hello Crow, is one of my favorite illustrated books. This story celebrates the wonder of nature, which lasts a lifetime, accompanied by Leslie Bowman’s vibrant artwork.

A selection of Marion's books, including a volume of Hello Crow, an issue of Iron Mountain Review, Letters to the Dead, The Chinese Poet Awakens, and Miracles of Air
A celebration of Marion

Another illustrated jewel is Miracles of Air, a 12-page chapbook illustrated by George Chavatel, a beloved artist and professor at Emory & Henry College for many years. Marion hand-set 226 copies, including 26 lettered “A-Z,” signed by author and artist.

Marion shared a vision of the book as a whole piece of art, not just free-floating poems. (Those poems, floating now across digital pages, still shine with their own grace and integrity.) Marion’s vision gave us a cohesive creation of poetry, visual art, and printed design.

When I began this post, I almost typed the cliched words, “A voice in poetry has fallen silent.” But that isn’t true at all. Through his carefully-crafted work, his numerous students and readers, we can still hear his voice, and it will echo for generations.

Jeff Daniel Marion Online

Remembering Some Advice

In addition to his writing and teaching, Jeff Daniel Marion was a printer. He spent long hours hand-setting type, an experience he described to classes and workshops.

Writers often say each word matters. (The legendary William Strunk Jr., of Strunk & White fame, commanded us: “Omit needless words.”) As a printer, Jeff Daniel Marion said he learned a much deeper appreciation for cutting excess words.

Marion would laugh as he described long hours setting a poem word by word, letter by letter. Once each word meant extra work, he was acutely aware of the words a poem needed and the words to let go.

Few of us have access to vintage printing presses, but his story is a reminder to slow down, read closely, and then read even closer. Take a poem or paragraph you need to revise and copy it by hand in your most careful print. Have patience, give your full attention–have mercy on the printer!–and savor every word.

What we leave behind is memory,
those little seeds drying on the sill,
the hope of harvest
to return again and again.

     Jeff Daniel Marion, from The Chinese Poet Awakens

The Highland Summer Conference is Back!

June 28, 2021 / / 2 Comments

COVID interrupted all our lives, and we still live with its consequences. The Highland Summer Conference is one of many longstanding traditions that 2020 interrupted. This July, however, the annual workshop and class marks its 43rd event. Rejoice, writers and readers–the Highland Summer Conference is back!

Banner for the 2021 Highland Summer Conference, July 19-23 2021. Photo of Diane Gilliam, guest writer.
From the 2021 Highland Summer Conference flyer

The Highland Summer Conference evolved from a residency program at Radford University, Virginia, in 1978. This creative workshop, hosted in the Blue Ridge mountains, features Appalachian themes and Appalachian writers. This year, the workshop welcomes two favorite guests: Diane Gilliam and Leatha Kendrick.

Photo of guest author Leatha Kendrick. Public readings in McConnell Library, July 20 and 22, at 7 PM.

Students can take the workshop for course credit, as both undergraduates and graduates. If you don’t need the credit, you can still take the event as a conference (with a special rate for seniors, too).

If COVID has been hard on your finances, you can still attend free readings on Tuesday and Thursday from the guest authors. And, if you can’t be here in person, this year also offers virtual participation.

I’ve participated in the Highland Summer Conference as a student and a guest author. The experience remains a special one.

One of my favorite comments about the HSC experience is from Bonnie Erickson, a frequent participant, quoted in the 1997 volume of ALCAlines: “In this class you write about life–your life. . . . Some write about happiness, but just as many write about pain. Many write of success and some write of failure. Many come in wounded. Hundreds leave healed. I was among the latter.”

What a testament to the power of a writing community. With the return of the HSC, particularly with guests such as Diane and Leatha, attendees can refresh the creative spirit, produce new work, listen to a pair of fine writers, and maybe even find a little healing themselves.

Spotlight: B. Chelsea Adams

June 24, 2021 / / 1 Comment

This is my first “Spotlight”: a series (I hope) of posts about favorite regional writers, their works, and their favorite “getting started” exercises. Today I’d like to turn a spotlight on an excellent writer, teacher, and mentor, B. Chelsea Adams.

Portrait of B. Chelsea Adams in front of trees.
B. Chelsea Adams

Chelsea was born in Fairfield, Connecticut, and she has spent much of her life in southwest Virginia. She earned an M.A. in English and Creative Writing from Hollins College (Hollins University today), working with writers such as R.H.W. Dillard.

For many years she taught at Radford University; I met her through my mother, Jo Ann Aust Asbury, as they taught in the English department. Chelsea’s friendship and her generosity with her gifts has left an expansive legacy within the creative community. Writers have blossomed in her writing groups, flourishing in a rich creative company.

Chelsea’s work runs from the elegiac to the playful, the contemplative to the sensual. Consider some of the titles from her Sow’s Ear Press collection, Looking for a Landing: “Chaos Theory,” “Aesthetics of Dying” . . . And, in contrast, the simply-titled “Bike Ride” and “Cows.”

It’s hard not to love her slender chapbook, Java Poems. This elegant book is a paean to the writer’s elixir of life: Coffee! The truly fortunate have been lucky enough to see Chelsea perform her “java poems” live, beatnik style, complete with beret and the jazz accompaniment of her husband, Bill.

Chelsea’s poetry collection At Last Light is available from Finishing Line Press. Both her fiction and poetry regularly appears in Floyd County Moonshine, including their most recent issue. Her 2020 novel, Organic Matter, promises “romance and roadkill” and is currently available on Amazon.

The Sure-Fire Poetry Exercise

Below is a “sure-fire” exercise from B. Chelsea Adams. Answering its deceptively-simple questions will put you “in place,” giving you a quick path to concrete imagery and creative experssion.

Answer these four questions.  (The answers can be real or made-up.)

  1. Where are you?  (But you can’t say, “I am . . .”)
  2. What are you doing?  (You can’t say, “I am . . .”)
  3. What are you thinking or feeling?  (Don’t say, “I am . . .” or “I think/feel . . .”)
  4. What do you see?  (But don’t say, “I see . . .”)

And that’s it! Have fun, and see if it’s “sure-fire” for you, too!

Writing Craft: Gospel of the Flute Master

June 7, 2021 / / 1 Comment

During an overdue cleaning of the guest room, I discovered a folder of notes from my days as a high-school first-chair flute-player. Inside this folder, I found fingering charts, tiny pages meant for flip-folders, and handwritten notes.

Some of the notes were from a tutoring session with a professional musician. This experienced flautist spent a long Saturday teaching students about posture, alternate finger positions, and better embouchure. I also found notes labeled as the instructor’s “GOSPEL.” Decades later, those notes still stand out as powerful advice, not just for musicians, but for creative writers too.

Here’s the “Gospel” for flute players:

Silver flute with gold mouthpiece in blue velvet case
My beloved flute, terror of neighbors and housepets
  1. ALWAYS build or relieve tension. Play like you’re going somewhere.
  2. Less tight = less tense = faster runs
  3. Bring everything forward + breathing [is] easier. [Remember to take] 3 BREATHS—back, belly, chest

How much of our love of music comes from suspense? We love the building up and relieving of tension. (OK, that probably sounds like certain other activities, too.) The advice is good for more than just Bolero, however. His points are great advice for the writing craft—fiction, in particular, but other types of creative work too. Even actors, when they leave the stage, are told to exit as if they have somewhere to go!

If you want lovely fast runs on the flute, tightening up will not help. Gripping your Gemeinhardt like it’s a life rope won’t make your music faster, louder, or easier. Sometimes you need to loosen your grip, take a step back, and—this leads to # 3—breathe.

Breathing lets you play the long notes, the high notes, the eerie low notes. As writers, we’re often told to practice reading our work aloud.

When we read aloud, breath means everything. What is the pacing of my work? Where am I taking a breath–or a pause–in my poetry? If I race through a long passage breathlessly, is that a problem? Or does my breathlessness heighten what I want to convey—panic, rage, little-kid excitement?

Thanks, long-ago flute tutor. I don’t know what we paid for that Saturday instruction, but the lesson was priceless.

Handwritten notes in messy cursive
The handwritten “Gospel.” And I thought my handwriting was messy now . . .

© APRIL J. ASBURY, 2021-2023. Unauthorized use or duplication of material without express written permission from this site’s author is prohibited. Excerpts and links must provide full, clear credit to April J. Asbury with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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