Ashley Harris

We are always at the beginning of things, in the fragile moment that holds the power of life….we are always at the morning of the world.

I often think of this quotation by the Chinese-born French writer François Cheng, but especially in the morning. This is indeed the most “fragile moment” for me as a writer. I love autumn because it means I can sleep with the windows open and wake up to the sounds of dawn: the cry of a blue jay or the jingle of our wind chimes.

This is the time when I feel most compelled to slip out of bed and into the pages of my journal. It’s paramount that I do so quietly, before waking the dogs and before the rituals of the day intrude, even breakfast.

Here, staring out the window at my desk, I can revel in the day’s first light, that gentle shaft of sunlight through the trees. Sometimes a deer will surprise me and we find ourselves staring at each other, transfixed, wondering who will look away first. When the window is open, I can hear the distant crow of roosters, even the salubrious moo of cows from miles away. This is when the gentle buzz of inspiration floods my senses.

This “fragile moment” is when I am able to conjure up the most creative metaphors for a poem or even finish a paragraph of prose that had troubled me the day before. New structures and themes for my work often reveal themselves now. I also am privy to a special kind of clarity that brings perspective. The work that is most pressing always emerges, and I gain the single-mindedness needed to finish it.

However, if just the tiniest sliver of the rest of the world emerges, say my husband J.P. rises and turns on the television or if a neighbor decides to roar down our common driveway, the spell is suddenly broken. Now I am lured too easily into other rituals, and my “fragile moment” slips away forever.

You may know this already, and you may be even more disciplined than me about seizing these precious nuggets of time, but if not, try it yourself. Climb out of bed early one day and ignore your normal to-do list. Go to your favorite writing perch, grab a notebook or your laptop, and let your imagination wander. You’ll be surprised at how much this “unstructured” time contributes to the larger plan. You may even experience a whisper of serenity, which will seep into the rest of your day, and make that to-do list of other tasks less daunting. Better yet, you may experience a creative rebirth and the power to begin again, every single day.

Consider joining me on October 12 at 6 p.m. for Fueling the Fires: Journal as Inspiration, a special Zoom Workshop hosted by Charlotte Lit. In this session, I’ll lead a discussion on how journaling can help us tap into that fragile moment and transform our scribbles into polished stories, essays, or poems. Hope to see you there!

I used to rage against all the weeds in our yard. However, a few years ago I accidentally sprayed pesticide on a snail and I’ve hated myself ever since. So today, when I see a healthy patch of knotweed outside my writing window, I think of the little creatures–crickets, frogs, lizards–who might be thriving inside the oasis of green.

Recently, my embrace of wild things served as the theme for an essay about the intersection of gardening and writing (“Lost in the Weeds”) for the September-October issue of Poets & Writers. In other writing news, earlier this month I was stirred by actress Christina Applegate’s announcement of her M.S., and wrote a guest essay for the The Independent.

Where are your latest obsessions lurking? They may be in a journal entry or other assorted jottings. Let’s find out! Consider joining me on October 12 for Fueling the Fires: Journal as Inspiration, a special Zoom Workshop hosted by Charlotte Lit. In this session, I’ll lead a discussion on the many options available for journaling as well as techniques for transforming these scribbles into polished stories, essays, or poems. Hope to see you there!

I wondered if I’d hear him in April, National Poetry Month, although he sometimes doesn’t return to our woods until May. But he is, after all, a poet himself. And this morning, first thing, while walking the dogs, I heard that familiar soft trill. His winter sojourn in Central America is over, and he’s back! Of course I didn’t see him, he’s too shy for that, but his voice is unmistakable.

I had the honor of being asked to contribute to the “Poetry Out Loud” celebration for Charlotte Lit this month, and I’m so glad I chose to read “Waiting for the Wood Thrush.”

Check out it here, along with the work of even more Charlotte Lit faculty members and poets. Here’s hoping that you’re having a splendid month, and you’re writing a little poetry yourself.

If we needed confirmation beyond Punxsutawney Phil’s shadow that winter wasn’t through with us yet, the fact that I packed away my sweaters last week should have cinched it. It’s almost April, I thought. The sight of all my shorts organized and hanging so neatly in my closet cracked me up this morning. Especially as I grabbed my scarf, long-sleeved sweatshirt, and scrounged around for my jeans. A belated April Fool’s joke on me! Oh well!

Last night’s cold spell may have nipped at our plum blossoms but the delicate dogwood petals would not be deterred. Their edges have curled a bit, but they will bounce, bloom, and bounce again. Then, as I walked around the yard surveying the damage, a cluster of bright yellow dandelion flowers caught my eye. Aha! Another survivor!

I’ve written before about the capriciousness of spring in North Carolina, and for all the drama, at least it’s exciting. What plants will come back, and what plants have already said goodbye? The toughest, like the dandelions, have strong roots, rely on their “friends” for support, and know that if they hang on just a little bit longer, they’ll make it in the end.

The parallels between the hardiest of weeds and writing are obvious, so I won’t restate them here. I’ve hunkered down this winter and spent my time indoors writing, learning from other writers, and whooshing my work out the door. I was thrilled to have two flash essays published in Permafrost, my first article in Wired magazine, and also a service piece in Carolina Woman for Mother’s Day. And because April is National Poetry Month, I collaborated with my friends at Women on Writing to focus on poetry, and pulled together a special 5-Minute Poetry Guide in the monthly newsletter. FYI, it’s also chock full of markets and contests for writers of all genres, so I encourage you to take a look.

Today, however, I am struggling, with an essay that just won’t take off the ground. But I’m going to take a lesson from those dandelions and hang in there.

I love abecedarian poems, also known as “ABC” poems, which is a poetic form that dates back to ancient times. They’re so much fun to read and write. And there are so many ways you can write one, such as having every word in the poem follow a sequential alphabetical order, as Robert Pinsky does in his own “ABC”. Or, you can start every line with a sequential letter of the alphabet, as I did in my poem below. I like this latter style very much, because you don’t have to worry about where to break the line — the poem does it for you! So I hope you give the ABC poem a try today.

All We Are

belies what others expect….
can they not see we
don’t care for trifles such as
evening parties with Chardonnay or
foie gras on Melba toast
grumbles about the neighbors
high cost of airfare and foreign travel—
instead we live for the
joy of one last piece of cake
kept in the freezer a little too
long but delicious licked from fingers,
moments with the dogs in the yard
nuthatch on the feeder, look!
oh! now there’s a chickadee
Puss the Minor mews for kibbles
Qu’est-ce que c’est? asks the other cat,
rescue of turtles on the road
stop, there’s another one!
too soon it’s twilight and we
undo the stresses of the day
vanilla breezes, whiff of pine
waft through the window and the
X words in Scrabble fade to
yodels of coyote
Zanzibar can wait.

Interested in learning more about writing fast, writing short? According to beloved author Dinty Moore in his preface to The Rose Metal Guide to Writing Flash Nonfiction, flash nonfiction is “marked by the distinct, often peculiar, voices and sensibilities of the author and these works examine the deeply human–and often unanswerable –questions that concern all serious art.”

Join us on Saturday, February 13 at 10 a.m. at a virtual meeting via Zoom of the Burlington Writer’s Club. I’ll lead a brief discussion of the form and a writing prompt so you can pen your own! Register here.