Report from Santa Fe; Natalie Goldberg

Music Report from Santa Fe is made possible in part by a grant from New Mexico Tech on the Frontier of Science and Engineering Education. For bachelor's, master's, and PhD degrees, New Mexico Tech is the college you've been looking for, 1 -800 -428 -TECH. And by a grant from the Healey Foundation, Taos, New Mexico. Hello, I'm Lorraine Mills and welcome to report from Santa Fe. Our guest today is Natalie Goldberg, a new Mexico author. Thank you for joining us. Thank you for inviting me. I'm thrilled to be here. Well, I call you a New Mexico author, but your first book, which I will show here, called Writing Down the Bones and the Subtitle. Freeing the writer within. This book has sold over a million copies and it's been translated into how many languages? 14 languages. Right. So, although your feet are in New Mexico, your spirit is all over the world. Exactly. So, I've brought a few of your books because I'm so fond of them. I wanted

to show this one. This is called The Long Quiet Highway, Waking Up in America. Yes. Yes. Also, the great failure, and we have to talk about how provocative this title is. Using the word failure in the title. Yes. A wonderful, vivid, exuberant book called Living Color because you are also a painter. Yes, I am. As well as a writer. It's my secret pleasure. And then, the most recent book that I just love, this book is called An Old Friend from Far Away, The Practice of Writing a Memoir. Yes. So, we'll talk about those in a minute. But how did you... Tell us about your background and your New Mexico connection. You grew up in Long Island. I grew up in Long Island and I actually came when I graduated college in 1970 in English lit. I came to St. John's to the Graduate Program. And I'd never been out west. And I probably would never have come out west if it wasn't for St. John's. And I remember looking up at the sky and I

never got over it. And here it is, 2010. And I'm still in love with New Mexico. I'm sort of... I feel like a polyanna because I... It's my home. It's my very deep home. You did spend, what, 12 years in Minnesota? No, six years. Six years. But it had a very deep impression on me. I lived in Tauce and then I went to get married and I spent six years in Minnesota. And that's where I met my Zen teacher, Category Roche. And where I also learned to write, I think, really learned the craft of writing. Well, you talk about, like in the memoir book, the practice of writing memoir. How is the practice of writing like a spiritual practice? And then tell us what your advice is actually that has brought you so much fame. What are your thoughts on writing? Well, you know, it's interesting. If writing down the bones had come out in 1950, it would have been a flop. It came out at a moment

in American history where people were hungry for it. And I got fan letters from vice presidents of insurance companies in Florida. Blue collar workers in Nebraska, quarry workers in St. Louis. Across the board, even my Albuquerque, I was living in Tauce and renting a really cheap Adobe. My landlord in Albuquerque sent me poems after he saw that I wrote a book about writing. What I did was I gave permission to write. You didn't have to be brilliant. You didn't have to be hit by lightning. Everyone, it's a human right. Elephants don't do it. Trees, insects, clouds don't write. It's a human activity. And it should be available to all of us. And what I tell people to do is pick up the pen, shut up, and go ten minutes. And if you need to start, I remember, go ten minutes and

just keep your pen going. That is one thing that you say everyone can get a pen and spiral notebooks. And then again, just on anything, some of you got such provocative topics. Name some of your topics. I want to mention also that you do writing workshops. Say one of our member of our audience is just kind of always wish they could write. How would you tell them to get started? Well, if they came to the workshop, I mostly teach. I've taught for 25 years now at the Mabel Dodge Luhan House in Tows. And people come from all over the country and really all over the world. And I just start out, they're all scared, but they're eager. And they've traveled a long way. It's not easy to get to Tows from any place in the country. And they're tired. And I say, okay, the only rule you'll have to remember is keep your hand moving. When I say go for ten minutes, for ten minutes, you just keep your hand going. It doesn't matter. We're not

worried about good writing or bad writing. The main thing is you keep your hand going. And I say, and to start out, you're free to write the worst junk in America. And they just, oh! And then, you know, because people think the first word has to be the beginning of war and peace. And if it isn't, they quit. Or it was a dark and charming night. Yes, of course. Yeah, exactly. So then I tell them it's a practice. It's an athletic activity. Like anything else, you see a football game on TV. And they've been practicing many hours before they're on TV. Writing is like that, too. You have to be willing to write a lot of junk to start to find some gems. And you also have to meet your own mind and find out who you really are. Because often we live in discursive thinking. I have to go shopping. Oh, my knee, itches. Oh, this dress doesn't look pretty. It's all discursive thinking. But

writing and keeping your hand moving, your hand is connected to your arm and your body. And first grade where you learn to write. I hope kids are still learning to write and not just use a computer. It's connected to something else. And if you keep your hand going, you drop to a deeper level. And you meet wild mind. You meet your own wild mind. Well, you are a Zen Buddhist practitioner. Yes. So where is the interface here? You say that writing is a process. The journey is not the end. It's the actual journey itself. So where is this interface? The interface is completely 100%. Writing practice is a completely legitimate Zen practice. Like anything else. When you meditate, the bell rings and you'll sit for 10 minutes. And whatever comes up, you can't move. You know, you might have just tornadoes of

emotions or an itch or whatever. You keep sitting through it till the bell rings again. In writing practice, whatever comes up, you keep your hand moving. You might start sobbing. You might start laughing. But the practice is that you show up and you keep your hand moving. And I always tease my students. I said, don't worry. Nobody has ever died of writing practice. And some young student once came up to me right in my face and said, I want to be the first to die of writing practice. But what is, you know, through that kind of repetitive movement, you can get into another state. Yes, of course. That's what I mean. You go into, um, finally, what happens is writing does writing. And you get out of the way. And you then use, finally, say what you really want to say. What you really think, see, and

feel. Rather than what you think you should think and feel and see. Or what's polite. Polite writers can't be polite and get good writing. Well, your memoirs, I'm thinking particularly of the long quiet highway and then the book that followed that, the great failure, you wrote from such a deep level and you had such hard things to face. And you face them all. I think you have a quote that once you are no longer afraid of your own interior voice, then then nothing an outside critic can say can harm you. Yeah. I mean, you know, of course you get a little, you know, I'm not perfect. But yes, once you, for instance, I just finished another memoir, which my agent is sending around right now. Um, and for two and a half years, I just wrote. I didn't show it to anybody. And I didn't because I wanted to trust my own mind, my own voice, and give enough space for

everything I knew and felt to come out clearly. So it's a practice over a long period of time. And then I have to stay with that truth. She's sending it around. Simon and Schuster might say, Natalie, this is the worst book you ever wrote. And I have to think I did my very best. Well, there's that interior truth, but I'm also, um, I want to ask you about the exterior truth. Because sometimes when you write about family members or, or leaders, then it's not, might, might not dovetail with their sense of themselves and their memory of what happened. That's so true. What happened when memoirs or memories collide? Well, you might get in trouble. People get in trouble. And every writer has to face that. And finally, you have to make that decision. You have to make a decision, um, does this mean enough to you? And also, this is your truth. Often my father would read my book and he'd say, that wasn't how it happened. And I said, Dad, for me it is how it happened.

You write your own book. You know, so, um, people either love it or they hate it. But you as a writer can't be tossed away. And it's part of what you have to face that you learn to stand up. But really, if someone's open, they can see another dimension. They can learn about you and another dimension of your mind. And maybe another dimension of them. Well, the magicians always say it's all done with mirrors. Yeah. And a memoir could also mirror back your experiences, someone else. But talk about the word memoir. Ah, memoir. It's French. Yes, it's French. It would not be chronological. The French would never be like that. Autobiography is chronological. You know, like Ben Franklin's autobiography. He was born. He went to this elementary school. He did this. He did this. Memoir follows the movement of

the mind and the way we remember. So it's really a study of memory and the way human beings remember. You know, you can see lilac. You know, hopefully they'll be coming out this spring. You'll see a lilac. And suddenly it'll put you back to twin oaks, oak neck, oak neck lane in Babylon on Long Island. And you can smell the ocean at the end of the lane. That's how memory works. It's not chronological. And that's why it's fun. Memoir, you can write a memoir about my life with coffee. You know, a memoir of how I love softball. You know, my love of horses. Well, we are so used to a memoir being written by an older person who's accomplished a lot. Lord Mountbatten would write his memoir as at age 80. Yes. But now tell me, 25 -year -olds are writing their memoirs. Oh, it's a totally revolutionary

thing. You're right. The form was that you look back at your life at the end of your life and you wrote a memoir. And you get, you know, you passed on some wisdom, hopefully. But, you know, it's a tremendous American energy. We're impatient. We don't have time. We want to understand things now. And why it's so popular is they took an old structure and they cracked it open. And when you crack something open, energy is released. And young people, when I went on book tour for an old friend from far away in St. Louis, 12 seniors came from high school, came to my talk. And they came up to me and said, we're here because after the next week we started our memoirs. So we wanted to hear what you had to say. But even better, when I was in the Bronx on my book tour, a fourth grade teacher had me sign the book for her class and she said, my students have just finished their memoirs. Isn't that wonderful? Fourth

grade. I know. But when you think about it, everybody has something to say. Fourth grade. What is my peanut butter sandwich taste like? Well, the other thing is that the, the, the itemization of the details, the full experience. That's what I love about the interface of Zen with this writing practice because you are there to, to categorize, to detail all of the sensations. What does this moment smell like? Taste like, what do I hear? Yeah. All that they use is your whole body. That's what I mean about it being athletic. Writing is athletic and it uses your whole body. And you know, when I'm writing, yeah, exactly, what does it smell like? And details, you have to be present to notice detail. I had a student, actually, a Vietnam vet who came to study with me and he went to the Albuquerque Airport after the week was over and his plane was late. So he thought he'd do some writing practice and he wrote me a letter. He said, Natalie,

the airport is full of details. Of course, everything is, but we don't notice it. It was, I'll never forget that. There's a theory about why time goes so fast as we get older, which is that we no longer look at all the details. These fourth graders are full of everything is happening right then. They pay attention to each thing and so time stretches out. But, you know, an older person might just say, I got up and had breakfast. It's not like, I lifted the spoon and looked at the glint of the milk in the cereal. Okay, so you just gave me the key to slowing up my life, which I'd like. I mean, slowing it up, not getting old before I'm old. Do you know what I mean? Yes, yes. Because, yeah, that's probably exactly it. But we seem to speed up as we get older. And I want you to tell us, defiance in for our audience. Oh, Lord. What is the main tenant of being here now? Yeah, I think the main tenant is direct

experience. You know, you taste something. You feel it. You smell it. You're alive now. And you have direct experience. For instance, all the tenants of Buddhism, you don't just take them in and believe them. You have to experience it in your own life and make sure it's true for you. But there's a lovely saying, Alan Ginsburg, you know, the great poet used to say, had a song, cry when you cry, sit when you sit, talk when you talk, die when you die, die when you die. So just be right there. No place else. Well, that is a challenge because our life is so full of distractions. I know. It takes so many things to just take us out of ourselves all the time and to draw ourselves back in and not be doing to -do lists and things like that while you're sitting there or writing to -do

lists. Yeah. Yeah. And really, the present moment is where you find memory. You know, the memory of my childhood home. Where do I find it? Look over my shoulder. There's no old house. You know, it doesn't even exist anymore. The only place I can find those things is inside myself. In the present moment, they come up and I remember them. So, you know, we're always looking after things. But really, if we stop, the world comes home to us. In your workshops and in your books, you have many suggestions for things to get people running. Can you just tell us some off the top of your hand? Well, I tell you sometimes, actually, I was surprised in writing down the bones. This was one of the most popular chapters. I tell people to get out of their house. Because people, you know, it's, oh, I have to clean the refrigerator. Then, alright, I have to do the dishes. I say,

go to a cafe. And I mean, you know, like a coffee shop. Some place where you're finally there, get some coffee, get a, you know, any kind of drink that you have. And go. And what's nice, you know, Mozart, when he was composing. At the same time, he had his wife read him short stories. So, that part of him that wants to be social and have activity was taken care of. And the part of him that wanted to write could drop deeply and write. So, when I find myself in a cafe, the part of me that doesn't want to be lonely or isolated, has a social life, feels content. And then, I get to write. You also suggest having writing dates with a fellow writer again. So, you're no longer the ink stained, rich, the scribe writing in the middle of night, but you're out somewhere. Yes, I used to have a regular Monday night date with my friend Kate Green

in Minneapolis. We'd meet at seven o 'clock at the Quasante Express. And we'd write from seven to nine. And our rule was, when we got together, we didn't talk because we would dissipate our energy. Hello, Kate. Hello, Natalie. Go, 20 minutes. Lips. And then we'd use that topic and just go. And then we'd read it to each other with no comment. And then another 20 minutes. Red glasses. Go. Right. And some of the other topics that you suggest to get people started, can you? Well, the ones I use over and over again is, I remember. At any time you get stuck, I come back to it. I'm thinking of. I'm looking at. Tell me everything you remember of third grade. Write about Jell -O. People get hysterical, Evie. Tell me everything you know about ice cream. About meatballs. You know, specific, real things.

What about writer's block? When someone asked Garvey Dahl about writer's block, he said, well, then you don't have to do it. If you can't write, then just don't. You're free. What do you tell people about writer's block? If you want to write, forget about writer's block. There's no such thing. Pick up your pen and physically move your hand across the page. Now, some people out there are going to say, but I use a computer. Well, then use the computer. Go for 10 minutes. It's a different physical activity. So a slightly different bent of mind comes out. Not better or worse. But finally, there's no excuse. Go. You know, when Hemingway was asked about writing, he said to, for him, because he wrote on a typewriter, he would describe the white piece of paper in there as the white bowl. More ferocious to take on was that blank page. And for those who write on the computer screen, the blue screen. Oh, yeah.

Oh, my goodness. I never heard that about Hemingway. That's wonderful. I love Hemingway. And I love the idea that that white page is a white bowl. Yes. It's formidable, more formidable than a snorting, pawing, sharp -horned bowl. So you need some athletic energy. You've got to go. You know, you can't. There's always resistance. Even when I'm writing a great thing. And I've stopped and I can't wait to get back to it the next day. The moment I sit down, there's resistance. And I have to get through it. I'm sure runners experience it when they go out to run. That's human, that's how the problem of human beings. Oprah, use one of your quotes in her, one of her guides to living sort of thing. Tell me your thoughts on stress. Yeah, you know, she took it out of writing down the bones. And I don't, it was something like stress is an ignorant state of mind.

There's nothing that important. Do you remember? Well, I just remember that stress makes you think that everything is an emergency. And it's not. Go lie down. Yeah. Okay. You know, I wrote, I wrote these books many years ago. So sometimes when someone quotes me, I'm always, I said that. Yeah. Because it was in that moment. Uh -huh. Uh -huh. So can you tell us a little bit about what you're working on now? I just finished a book called Everything I Ever Wanted. And it's a memoir. And it's about my mother. It's scary because my mother and I had a really hard relationship. And you know, people don't talk about your mother that way. And I finally decided to put it down. And it really, I feel tremendous. I'm working on it and spending the time and care about my mother and I. Because I mostly, it was painful. So I never looked at it. Yeah. Spending that time day after day.

It might not sound like it, but I felt tremendous love and care. Even though I wrote things that weren't happy, I realized I honored our life together and our time together. So give some advice to someone who's listening who's always wanted to write. What would you, what would your advice to them be? I'd say write a lot, do writing practice and find writing friends to write with. Because when you have someone writing across from you, it keeps you kosher. You know, I kosher. Genuine. You can't stop. Their hand is moving so you have to keep moving. So write with friends. Read a lot. Not a lot. But really study the mind of the authors that you're reading. And listen deeply. Really listen. Listen to the crickets outside if they ever come. And listen to the wind. Listen to the people you're talking to. And listen to yourself. So three things.

And what about that interior critic? Oh, I call that interior critic monkey mind. I hate you. You're stupid. This will never come to anything. You're nobody. It doesn't matter. Who do you think you are? You're going to get in trouble. Does this sound familiar? Yeah. What writing practice does is your monkey mind will comment. But writing practice, you're right. You keep moving so the creator gets to come out. And it's a chance to separate out the creator and the editor. So that the finally you can really speak. Later on you can look at it and see if it's any good. Two weeks later when the blood has dried. Well, most people don't realize that everyone has a story. And everyone has an experience. And it's just so fascinating. Books are constantly coming out of just this little tiny slice of reality. And we're all so enriched

by it. So I want to encourage people to just sit down and do the practice and just write. It's so wonderful. You know, you connect with yourself. Why did I start? I wrote up one poem in Ann Arbor, Michigan. And when I was done writing that poem, I never felt so whole and complete. And because of that, I've never felt like that. I kept following it. Well, unfortunately we can follow this no longer because we're out of time. It went so quickly. I know, but I want to show our audience these books again, writing down the bones, freeing the writer within. And then we'll just mention your memoir book, an old friend from far away, the practice of writing memoir. So our guest today is Natalie Goldberg, writer extraordinaire and New Mexican. Thank you for joining us. Thank you so much for having me. Well, it's been a pleasure

and I want to tell all of our audience to write. But I'm Larry Mills. This is Report from Santa Fe. And we'll see you next week. Past archival programs of Report from Santa Fe are available at the website ReportFromSatFA .com. If you have questions or comments, please email info at ReportFromSatFA .com. Report from Santa Fe is made possible in part by a grant from New Mexico Tech on the frontier of science and engineering education for bachelor's, master's and PhD degrees. New Mexico Tech is the college you've been looking for, 1 -800 -428 -T -E -C -H. And by a grant from the Healey Foundation, Taos, New Mexico. Thank you.