Now, our days move with less activity and more reflection. A swarm of memory nags for attention. When the present slows and stills, who can avoid the lingering past?

I advise against it. Nostalgia is overrated. Sentiment is for saps.

And yet, in these heavy days, memories sneak in, sit down and take up space. Sometimes it’s best to give in to our misty water-colored memories, but with limitations. Let’s not drown ourselves in a glowing past, but instead, mine our memories for creative material.

I recently discovered a real gem of a book (50 years after it was first published; I’m always late to the party): I Remember by Joe Brainard.

It’s 167 pages of random recall. Each line starts with the same refrain, I remember, and it’s simple, funny, banal, and brilliant:

“I remember chalk.

I remember how much I tried to like Van Gogh. And how much, finally, I did like him. And how much, now, I can’t stand him.

I remember how sorry I felt for my father’s sister. I thought that she was always on the verge of crying, when actually, she just had hay fever.”

And that’s just page 28.

Memories are so powerful that we cling to them, and then push them away. And years later, when we forget our memories, we curse the loss of mind, our life, our sense of self.

Try This:

Start with I remember, and write the first thing that comes to mind. Don’t think, just write. Let your mind flow and your hand move. When that memory dries, make room for the next, and the next. . .
Now change perspective. Start with He remembers or You remember or . . . and write your first thought. It doesn’t need to be true or full or kind; this is writing, you get to make it up. Don’t think, just write.
When you finish your freewrite, review your work. Is there a good line or a passage with possibility? Start there. Write a story, a drawing, a play. Make a poem or painting. You now have the essential ingredients. Make something!
Feeling energized? Share your work with me.