Tuesday Night Writing
Writing calls to me at times in a visceral, gut punch manner. I feel if I don’t put pen to paper I will either die or I will kill someone. Then I just get out a notebook and pen and write words or doodle until sense returns and I am not any kind of –cidal. There’s a difference, however, in the power of Life in Ten moments; there’s a magic of writing or of cohabitating and writing, a feel that we’re all in this together; we’re creating a higher power or channeling a higher power, where all of the voices join and become an amalgamated psalm or a raunchy ballad, but all of the moments tell of complicated lives lived and they occur in ten minute purges. We writers own a vomitorium, vomiting up memories and moments that cannot escape our conscious act of putting pen to paper.
I fall in love each Tuesday night with ink on the page and with stories of tar pit friendships, and relationships to a god, and the ways in which women love and furiously fight for some semblance of contentedness and THANK DUMBLEDORE IN THE SKY for these women because the holy and the sacred is alive within the two hours here, the space where anything goes and honesty is honored above all else, and if I tried to lie on paper, my ink would catch fire.
The stories on Tuesday nights are alive and filled with neighbor’s horses, dogs in costumes, cats for comfort, ex’es, loss, love, desire, sex, mental and physical illnesses and difficulties. We are the encapsulation of all that matters. We are the Wonder Women whose lassos of truth come rolling out and wrap about our own bodies and we take it, just as we dish it out. Just as it should be.
Hopewell, VA, USA. Cindy Cunningham writes to counteract alternative facts; most recently, this occurs via creative nonfiction/memoir. She was involved in the infamous Rest-Area-Potty-Riot on the way to the 2017 D.C. Women’s March. When not marching, she gains knowledge from her brilliant students at ARGS in Petersburg, VA.