Alchemy in Ink

Ravinia at Work

Every writing workshop should be like this: held in Joanne Rossman’s magical store in Roslindale, Massachusetts; attended by spirited, quirky, open-minded writers; nourished by chocolates and macaroons; and presided over by Ravinia, whose literary contribution is Poe-ish indeed.

It is a grand two days, filled with words that often go right to the heart of the matter, with the sound of pens scratching across paper the old-fashioned way, with some tears, some laughter, with the age-old attempt to express what we feel about so many things: clotheslines, dogs, beach houses, ghosts, household hints, fathers, sons, daughters, mothers, husbands, great aunts, names, keys to rusted locks, lovers, high school, wallpaper.

At the end of it, I drive the long way home, my mind swirling with all the words and touched by the courageous efforts to push those words down the long blue lines and then say them out loud.

That’s one of my definitions of grace: to be part of that effort, to witness it, to know that as long as life continues to knock on our doors and whoosh its way in, there will be writers saying, “Welcome.”