Writing with Regan

Fall brings its own sort of abundance. Like our lives, and the stories we gather, there is a time for unfolding, for sorting; for letting what is there emerge.

Join me in-person for my second and final memoir class offering this year.

Registration deadline September 6.

For more information and to register: https://writingwithregan.com/memoir-stirring-the-embers-fanning-the-flames

This writing life. It is not easy. It is solitary and hard and challenging. I created a Google doc. It means I can dive in here and there from any device in the moment. Sometimes a quick thought turns into two hours. Othertimes two minutes. It all adds up.

On the heels of a long and difficult day, I notice a tiny uncurled bud on the climbing rose in my garden. And beside that, a bud unfurling. And above and beside, roses in all their transitions. A reminder to not only stop and smell the roses, but to notice what they have to impart, a deeper message. Writing is like that: what you give sunlight and space and water to unfurls - it becomes, opens; blossoms. The stories open as we feed them, just as roses do.

This one is deeply meaningful to me. We all need to take time to day-dream, watch the clouds. This is the place where imagination flourishes.

International Women’s Day. I Will restrain myself from the many thoughts I have had today, and instead, say this.

I am so deeply grateful to all the women in my life, past, present, and future. It is you, each and every one of you, who enrich my life on a daily basis. I have the amazing privilege of calling so many women my friends. They range in age and background and culture and across nationalities, they have incredibly diverse perspectives on life, and they are all absolutely fascinating and beautiful, in every way. They teach me and inspire me with every breath I take. There is not one amongst you who has not changed me and grown me into who I am now. I am so deeply privileged to have so many of you. I would love to call you all out by name, but many of you would hate that, and the list would break Facebook.

I can truly say that each and every one of the women in my life are essential and amazing and exquisite and important. Your energy is divine. Each and every one of you literally changes and informs this planet every day with every breath you take. My deepest wish is that you all truly understand, know, and accept your importance, impact and beauty. There is not a single one amongst you who does not make a deep impact, most certainly in my life. I am so grateful to you all. Thank you.

Exactly. So profound and true.

Celebrating 20 years of teaching at Langara College this year.

‘Writing from Scratch’, the course starting later this month, is already full. Next session begins in May. However, there are spots still available in my Memoir course taught over Zoom from my writing studio, starting March 5. Details on my website.

https://writingwithregan.com/memoir-stirring-the-embers-fanning-the-flames

A follower recently asked me to share a sample of my writing, which is something I rarely do, but I decided it was not such a bad idea. So here it is, a piece written recently.

"Secret spaces. I remember as a child the secret spaces I had. I grew up on a farm in Africa (I know it sounds like a movie, so not). Well, not exactly a farm, an acreage would be a more appropriate description. But even as I say that, it is utterly inaccurate. Which farm or acreage or plot of land or cityscape was it? Because, truth is, we moved at least once ever year, often more. But the true thing is we mostly lived in the country. The countryside of the various places we lived in. Mostly surrounding Nairobi, only once (my favourite time), in Kericho.

Kericho is tea growing country in Kenya. Green and fresh always. A one lane town in the brief time I spent there, yet that time holds such intense memories. First night in a new and strange house. Feed the kids. So mum bought some sausages and eggs, figured out how to use the wood fired stove, and fed us. And we all awoke to our undone house with horrendous headaches and stomach aches, only one bathroom and seven people with food poisoning. No idea how we managed that first day. But we did.

Later, there is a farm next door and they deliver milk to us every morning, in large steel urns, and I learn first hand the saying about how cream rises to the top.

The stove is large and has many plates and burners, but it literally is a wood fired stove, so nothing gets cooked unless you figure that out. Firebug me loved this. Challenging as it was to cook on. But someone managed. Mum I guess.

That house has a sunken living room. We had very little money. It was the early 70’s. My mum used to sew. She made giant shaped pillows of many sizes, hessian. Rough fibres, woody colours, oranges, greens, reds, and browns. We sprawled on those cushions, listened to the Soundtrack of Jesus Christ Superstar, with sliding doors opening to a large green forest wide open, a little worried that the naughty vervet monkeys who populated the trees just feet away might come to visit. And the storm, the immense and powerful thunder and lightening. Warm tropical rain. Us, safe, happy, with music and friends and family.

Walks down memory lane. This is not at all the story I meant to tell. This is not a secret space. I guess the secret space story wanted to remain secret. Will revisit another time.

You just have to take the moments as they come."

Regan d'Andrade

Sharing my recent newsletter (below) with information about my memoir course, which ran for the first time in seven years this past fall. Have decided to offer it again in early March, in case of interest. Also, if you haven’t yet, consider subscribing to my newsletter - it’s sent out once every few months, and contains all of my latest information and updates.

January 2023 Newsletter 📚

I have reached 400 followers! Thank you for your continued support. I could not have done it without each of you. 🙏🤗🎉

So very clever, love her.

Culture critic Fran Lebowitz on writer’s block, technophobia and telling the truth ‘You don’t have to love everyone, or like everyone. You just have to leave people alone’

It has been said that writing your story not only changes you, but changes the story; that the very act of writing changes the experience. This is profound. I puzzle over this thought often. Can you change the past by visiting it with a pen? If you change the past, does that not also change the future? These are some thoughts to ponder when writing into the space of memoir. For the first time in seven years, I’ll be offering my memoir course this September. If you feel called, registration deadline is September 10.

For details: https://writingwithregan.com/memoir-stirring-the-embers-fanning-the-flames