First word - Danette Beavers: Cream

The haze sat like a furry cap on the bowl of the city, like the mold that had been on her cream that morning. She wished she could take a spoon and skim them both off, but she had been told by an old lover that the rot penetrates, even if you can’t see it, so she’d thrown the lot away–the cream, and the city, too.

She wondered, looking down through the plane window what she would do about her part in the pollution. “How many trees do I have to plant,” she asked herself, “to undo what’s been done?”

May 2, 2024

 

Suzanne Adam: Ellen

 Ellen – home for my late-in-life writer’s persona. Under her direction I found inspiration, motivation, skills and discipline. Thursdays were sacred, and I didn’t dare arrive late to her and Victor’s apartment.

Her stream-of-consciousness takes on the “first word” were often humorous, even wild, showing me how to loosen up the pen in hand and take off in flights of fancy. Ellen’s fanciful flights led to stories about Claude, the elephant with a pink scarf, and Agnes, the dissatisfied housewife who grew wings, turning into a liberated chicken.

Encouraging yet disciplined. She inspired and urged us to write and publish two anthologies, one a prize winner. Generous. She gave her time to help struggling writers. We were honored to help edit her memoir, “Jinxed” about her years in Indonesia.

I once joined her hiking group for a trek in the hills of Lo Barnechea. She hiked like she wrote – determined, disciplined. I would stop to check out the vegetation and the birds, then had to scurry to catch up.

I don’t know if she finished “Lest I Forget”, about her early years in Canada. Those stories left me wanting to hear more. Ellen’s memory continues to be the motor of the Santiago Writers, still churning out stories and songs after twenty plus years.

Thank you, Ellen. Writing is always on my mind, my bookshelves overflowing with “first word” scribbles, travel journals, copies of two published memoirs and my blog, “Tarweed Spirit”.

Judith Ress: To Ellen

 Dear Ellen,

Now that you have crossed the threshold, you can be our muse twice over. Your spirit has always hovered above the table as we write—demanding discipline, an economy of words, precise, bare-boned. You will allow the poetic venture, even the occasional mystical flaring- forth—but it must be austere, untainted with ego, capable of being recognized by a kindred soul.

I owe my ability to write Sonnets of the Heart to you! Ever since I received a 99 percent in my freshman English class at Central Catholic High, I knew I wanted to be a writer. But life got in the way as I tried to make the world a better place for us who are but “common, pale flesh”. 

I heard about Santiago Writers from a friend. You interviewed me: I told you I had been working on a manuscript forever—a fictionalized version about two nuns killed in El Salvador in 1980. They were my friends: “there but for you, go I”. Clearly you thought I had potential, and I was allowed to join. Then the steep learning curve began—What a midwife you became! I wonder if you ever finished your Memoir, “Lest I Forget” which gave us such tender glimpses into your own soul.

Be assured we Santiago Writers will not forget you, Ellen. You are present in every “jot and tittle” we set down upon the page.

Judith Ress

Santiago, May 13, 2024