Writing – MARY PAN

Writing Through COVID-19

May 6, 2020 No Comments

Like many people lucky enough to have a backyard during this time of pandemic, we’ve spent a lot of time working on the yard, creating space for the kids to run and play and take in the fresh air, get grounded in the earth. I’ve found this essential for myself as well, digging in the previously neglected raised beds, planting flowers and greens in the hope they will grow something new out of this time of desolation. I’m lost when it comes to gardening but, like many things during this season, have tried to embrace anything that offers potential for nourishment.

Usually for me that’s writing, taking pen to paper and letting myself discover what needs to be said. Lately though, I’ve been overwhelmed with ideas—for essays, for poems—but only fragments come out. I’m not sure if it’s the uncertainty of the time, or my life at this moment, or if it’s just there’s too much to write about, too much to process, too much to share. I’ve struggled to find creative space, both physically and emotionally.

Part of the backyard refresh, in addition to the basketball hoop, the dedicated fort-building trees, the shuffling of deck furniture, is a repurposing of a small shed. Cleared out of old bikes, shovels, cracked pots, and campfire wood, the whitewashed space now houses a seafoam writing desk and lilacs blooming at an opportune time. With this space, and the online offerings below, I find I’m emerging from a writing hibernation of sorts, finally having some urge to create.

During this time of pandemic, I’ve found so many generous spaces for writers to connect virtually. I’ve “met” with writers’ groups, both local friends well-known and those from all around the world. One thing I’m grateful for during this time is that many of the classes and gatherings I’ve longed to be a part of are now available via Zoom: Columbia University’s Narrative Medicine program has several offerings a week, Toronto’s Firefly Creative Writing has moved writing sessions online, Stanford’s Medicine and the Muse offers a weekly writing and sharing group that has been encouraging and approachable, Suleika Jaouad’s Isolation Journal email prompts have featured some of my favorite writers and thinkers.

I’m hoping to get back into a regular cadence of Narrative Medicine Monday posts and even Free Write Friday prompts, with a COVID-19 theme. But I’m also letting myself be fluid during this time, resting when I need to (anyone else find they just need naps in the middle of the afternoon no matter what the day holds?) and not demanding so much of myself—that I should be writing more or should be homeschooling in a certain way or should be innovating at work or should be anything other than what I need to be in this moment to move forward.

Here are some resources I’ve found that have provided writing community and encouragement to get pen to paper, finger to keyboard, soul to rest. Some are geared toward healthcare workers, but there are also opportunities for the general public looking for a creative space.

Be gentle with yourself, and those around you. May you find the space for rest and growth and the hope of creating something new.

The Isolation Journals: Author and speaker Suleika Jaouad will send you a daily thought and prompt from an inspiring writer, artist, person of note.

Firefly Creative Writing: Early morning (for us west coasters!) collective writing sessions, a prompt and 20 minutes to write together, to benefit small business rent relief.

Writing Medicine: Saturday morning time for healthcare workers and their families to write and share, led by Writer in Residence Laurel Braitman (who also has a wonderful TED talk on Storytelling and Writing) at Stanford’s Medicine and the Muse program.

Columbia Narrative Medicine: Virtual book club & narrative medicine writing sessions led by faculty and alums of the original program in the traditional style of close reading, discussion, writing, and sharing.

Hugo House Quarantine Write-in: One of many online offerings from this prolific Seattle writing community. Check out their classes, virtual happy hours, and other events too!

Writing

Tin House: On Acceptance, Rejection and Taking My Time

February 17, 2020 No Comments

The Tin House Winter Workshops are held on the Oregon Coast, in the small town of Newport. The quirky Sylvia Beach Hotel is an appropriate literary-themed home base, each room named after a famed author and decorated in the style of their particular genre. I applied to the nonfiction workshop at the last minute, feeling dejected from recent rejections and once again questioning my validity as a writer, as a creator of art. When I saw the instructors for this year’s nonfiction workshop though, I knew I needed to apply.

I’ve admired Esmé Weijun Wang‘s work and, in fact, met her briefly at AWP 2019. I asked her to sign my copy of The Collected Schizophrenias after an awkward non-conversation where I blurted out something about being grateful for her essays. (I am not good around celebrated authors or actors, let me just apologize in advance. Or in retrospect. Sorry, Bradley Cooper.)

Attending my first writing workshop with Tin House and with Esmé was a gift I didn’t realize I needed at this stage of my career. My small cohort of incredible women writers were generous in their feedback and kindness. Their critiques were insightful, their encouragement sincere.

Esmé and the other talented instructors, T Kira Madden and Sophia Shalmiyev, each gave lectures and readings (one of which, I surprised myself by crying through.) Other highlights included the book exchange, dive bar karaoke, participant readings, and moonlit morning runs on the compact coastal beach.

One night we talked about our writing goals for the year and I mentioned my participation in #Rejection100, a group whose purpose is to celebrate the act of trying. Sometimes, I feel too uneducated in the literary world, sometimes I feel too old. Sometimes I feel my voice is too privileged or too uninteresting to have anything of significance to add to the conversation.

T Kira’s lecture, and time with these writers, gave me permission to move beyond my own expectations and the world’s requirements of my work. She challenged us to ask questions of ourselves: What are you writing toward? What are you writing about? How do we reframe our ideas of what “no” means? I like the idea that in nonfiction we are “chasing the question, honoring the unknown.”

Esmé asked us on the last day of the workshop what we’re taking away with us, what we are offering to our fellow participants, from this time on the coast. I said I would take away, and offer, permission. Permission to, as T Kira encouraged, lean into my interests, to listen to my mistakes. Permission to write into the paradox, to take my time. I am impatient and this rushed world fuels this tendency. In writing, in creating, in listening to the story that is tumbling within, I’m learning to take my time, allow rejection to serve as a teacher, not a declaration of who I am. I’ll continue to honor the unknown, and give myself permission to chase the question. Even if I don’t know quite where I’m headed.

Writing

Narrative Medicine Monday: Karyotype

November 4, 2019 No Comments

Poet Rebekah Denison Hewitt is one of Narrative Magazine’s poetry contest winners this year. Her “Karyotype and Other Poems” are a sequence of three poems that reveal different aspects of motherhood, from fetal testing to the fear and risk inherent in parenting.

In “Karyotype,” Hewitt illuminates the process of cell-free DNA extracted from a mother’s blood around ten weeks of gestation, a test that provides genetic information about the fetus. Hewitt’s genetic counselor “begins / to list every disorder / a lab can find in a fetus….” When this relatively new test became available with my third child, despite my medical background, I was still struck, as Hewitt seems, by the wonder of it, these fragments of my baby’s DNA floating through my veins: “The needled blood / from my arm a soup / of genetic code.”

Though Hewitt recalls a high school quiz “matching symptoms to disorder,” there is a turn in her reflection on the soul: “I think souls must exist / in wanted things. Dogs go to heaven, not roaches.”

Hewitt notes there is a calculation to how much information we really want to know: “Just trisomy 21, 18, 13? / Or microdeletions, too? / My blood contains the risk / of something missing—a malformation / of the head—or worse.” Ultimately, though, she brings the question back to the essentials of what makes us human, beyond that of just our strands of DNA: “What makes this body inside me / more than an animal, clawing its way out…”

Writing Prompt: Hewitt writes about what she learned of some genetic disorders in high school and how she recalled this later when she was getting cell-free DNA testing. Think of something you learned in a science class that, many years later, manifested in an unexpected way in your life: genetics, biology, chemistry. Alternatively, think of a time you had a medical test done and the broader issues (what constitutes a “soul?”) that test might’ve brought up for you. Write for 10 minutes.

Writing

Artist Trust Grants for Artist Projects

October 21, 2019 No Comments

Publishing is rife with rejection. As a physician, I wasn’t prepared for this reality when, several years ago, I began venturing into the writing world, taking classes and submitting pieces with little understanding of the industry or norms, without any concept of what I might expect.

As I’ve delved more seriously into writing, I’ve learned to accept frequent rejections, listen and learn from the talented and established artists and editors around me, and I hope become a better writer myself in the process.

Given how gray my Submittable account usually is (you writers all know what I’m talking about!), I was absolutely thrilled to get the very unexpected and welcome call that my 2019 Artist Trust grant proposal was accepted. Artist Trust supports Washington State artists by encouraging “artists working in all disciplines to enrich community life throughout Washington State.”

My grant will support professional development to further my book manuscript exploring mental illness and identity. This award came at a time when I was questioning my validity and voice as a writer, so this support is not only a financial boost to my project, but also serves as an inoculation against the imposter syndrome lurking within. I am indebted and honored to be a GAP award recipient, especially among such outstanding artists.

I’m so grateful to Artist Trust for the important work they do to amplify and energize Washington State artists, and I’m particularly appreciative of the recognition and encouragement the GAP award provides.

Motherhood, Writing

Writing Motherhood

September 15, 2019 No Comments

What a privilege to be part of this Hugo House panel on Writing Motherhood last month. I was blown away by each of the readings from these talented mama writers, and particularly excited to meet poet Amber Flame. I first saw her at a Seattle Lit Crawl (coming up again October 24th!) reading work inspired by Whitney Houston. Carla Sameth read from her wonderful memoir in essays, “One Day on the Gold Line,” and my dear writer friend and talented teacher Anne Liu Kellor read a new poem. Samantha Updegrave served as host, shared a striking essay, and guided the panel discussion following the readings. The gathering was even a highlighted event by The Seattle Review of Books.

I enjoyed the chance to discuss how and why we write about motherhood, as well as how motherhood has influenced our writing and the writing life. For me, I came to writing as a serious vocation only after I became a mother, so motherhood tends to infuse and influence much of my work. Though I write about much more than motherhood, the fact that I am a mother is so central to my identity, just like being multiracial, or a physician, or growing up and living in the Pacific Northwest are all integral components to the lens through which I create art. I’m grateful I had a chance to discuss motherhood and writing with these extraordinary women and hope to continue this important conversation.

Writing

Mark

May 16, 2019 No Comments

I wrote the braided essay “Mark” a few years ago but never found the right home for it. On a bit of a whim, I submitted the flash piece to the 2019 EPIC Writing Contest and am so pleased it won Honorable Mention. Tonight, at a reception for the contest winners, I read the piece. A stranger came up to me right after, tears in his eyes, and expressed to me how much it meant to him, both because of his own history and that of his children. I won’t go into details, but was touched by his clear connection to the essay and told him I was grateful for sharing some of his own story with me.

As I walked back to my car, I realized: this is why I write, why I share. As a nonfiction writer, as a memoirist, as someone who writes about the raw issues of my life and of those in my life and work, I’ve struggled mightily this year with how much is appropriate to divulge, what stories should be shared with the larger world and which are written just for myself or my writing group or my children. What I’ve learned in recent years, though, is that the more we disclose, the more authentic we are with our stories, the closer we become to others. When I share my own struggles, my own failings, my own fears and hidden joys, people are compelled to open up regarding their own. Just like the stranger at this reading – there is comfort in camaraderie, in the recognition that we all struggle, we all have great challenges in life. Being completely authentic with others is therapeutic and connecting in a way I never imagined possible.

Though in this age of social media and superficiality and anonymous critiques, opening up about your vulnerabilities can be biting at best, crushing at worst. Knowing that creative nonfiction, poetry and memoir are in my writer’s blood, I’ll have to continue to wade through the murky waters of authenticity and exposure. A wholly unexpected interaction like I had tonight, though, makes me want to write more, share more, and connect more with others. That is, after all, what creating art and being part of humanity are all about.

Writing

Book: My Caesarean

May 1, 2019 No Comments

Today’s the day! My Caesarean, published by Experiment Books, launches – just in time for Mother’s Day. I’m proud to be part of this anthology that Publishers Weekly calls “an enlightening reading experience for both those who’ve had C-sections and those who may.” In “Upside Down,” I wrote about having a planned primary C-section with my first baby, who was breech. Each story in this collection is unique, but the thread of shared experience reveals a true sisterhood. Happy Book Birthday to My Caesarean!

Writing

AWP 2019 Recap

April 1, 2019 No Comments

My first AWP conference was everything I thought it would be: overwhelming, inspiring, and engaging. At times I felt like hiding in a small dark room by myself, at others I was torn by all the panels and gatherings happening simultaneously, wishing I could somehow replicate myself so I could be in all places at once. I met and interacted with admired authors, poets, editors and other emerging writers. I left Portland exhausted and elated.

As an emerging writer who hasn’t had formal training, I didn’t have the same MFA reunion or tribe that other writer friends enjoyed, but I did benefit from a new cohort I now belong to: the AWP Writer to Writer Program. Diane Zinna runs this mentorship program, now in its tenth session, with contagious enthusiasm. I was able to meet Diane and my mentor in person at AWP, as well as other Writer to Writer alumni.

The panels I attended were varied and largely helpful. I learned about writing and teaching flash nonfiction, the perils and pitfalls of writing about real people, writing through trauma, managing parenthood and the writing life, and so much more. I was able to hear Cheryl Strayed and Colson Whitehead speak about the writing life and their craft and hear my own mentor Emily Maloney and writing friends Anne Liu Kellor and Natalie Singer share their work.

I applied for a Tin House intensive workshop on writing the very short essay with Melissa Febos, and and was thrilled to be accepted. An afternoon writing offsite with courageous and creative women was a highlight.

photo credit: India Downes-Le Guin

One of the biggest joys, and hurdles for me, of the week was sharing my own work at a paired reading. I read an essay that has not been shared publicly before and holds particular emotional weight. It was freeing to release this work out into the world and I’m grateful it was well received.

Writers are, by and large, a forgiving and authentic crowd. Though many, like me, are introverts, I was impressed that the feeling of holding space for each other infused the conference. I moved out of my own comfortable cocoon of anonymity by walking the book fair, approaching editors of presses and journals I admire, striking up a conversation with unsuspecting poet Jane Wong as I was walked by the Hedgebrook table (hopefully in a decidedly uncreepy way), and doing a public reading myself.

I tweeted some favorite quotes from the event, but wanted to share these pearls here as well:

“Be willing to dig through the layers of artifice to get to the deeper truth.” – Cheryl Strayed

“What is the purpose of art? To suggest potential realities or states of mind that would not otherwise suggest themselves.” -Richard Froude (a fellow physician!)

Jessica Wilbanks shares she learned “to trust my subconscious more than my intellect” during her writing process.

“Trust that isn’t absolute isn’t trust at all.” – Alison Kinney

“Living a trauma is living a trauma. Writing a trauma is a reconsideration, an attempt to capture yourself in the reconsideration.” – Alison Kinney

“The purpose of art is to lay bare the questions that have been hidden by the answers.” – James Baldwin

“I’ve learned that writing a book will not make you whole.” – Colson Whitehead

“It is a joy to be hidden and disaster not to be found.” – D.W. Winnicott

“Telling this story was worth more than my comfort.” – Melissa Febos

“Real people are more than the worst or best things they’ve done. Craft requires we honor a person’s complexity.” – Lacy M. Johnson

“Be rigorous ethically and in craft before you put your work out in the world. [When writing about real people] scrutinize your own intentions.” – Melissa Febos

So much of writing feels like a solitary pursuit, laced with overwhelming rejection. But, like I’ve experienced in medicine and motherhood and many other aspects of my life, finding a tribe, a cohort of passionate individuals to help support each other and share in community, is invaluable. Thanks, AWP 2019, for providing that space.

Writing

Narrative Medicine Monday: Poof

March 25, 2019 No Comments

This elegy by poet Amy Gerstler was selected by this month’s Poem-a-Day curator, Maggie Smith. I wrote about how Smith’s poem “Good Bones” hangs on a nondescript bulletin board in our clinic, though I never did figure out who posted it there. Each morning this month, I’ve been eager to see what poem Smith selects.

It’s no surprise that I think poetry provides much needed perspective to the world of medicine, and Gerstler’s “Poof” is no exception. Gerstler begins with a small bag of ashes on her lap, a gift from her late friend’s family. She recalls the service, the details of “staring at rows of docked boats” and the woman’s “impossibly handsome son.”

Gerstler speaks directly to her old friend, remembering that “You were the pretty one. / In middle school I lived on Diet Coke and / your sexual reconnaissance reports.” She imagines an alternative storyline where “your father never hits / you or calls you a whore.” Through Gerstler’s memories, both real and imagined, we get a glimpse of their bond, of the woman she, and this world, lost, even though we never learn her name, her vocation. (Why is it that these are the first things we ask? Always: What’s your name? What do you do?)

Gerstler gives us a remembrance that is more: a cinematic illumination of who this woman was: “You still / reveal the esoteric mysteries of tampons. You / still learn Farsi and French from boyfriends / as your life ignites.”

I like that Gerstler considers alternate storylines of their history together. Our formative years can be like this, wondering what different versions of us might transpire. I imagine (and, reaching middle age myself, have already succumbed to such reveries) our later years might also be prone to wondering what other tributaries of life paths might exist in the universe.

Ultimately, we learn that their lifelong relationship remains much as it is was in their adolescence: “I’m still lagging behind, barking up all / the wrong trees, whipping out my scimitar far / in advance of what the occasion demands.” Gerstler’s tender flashes of moments between the two is a tribute not only to her late friend, but also for all of us who are lucky enough to have kept company with cherished friends over the decades.

Writing Prompt: Think of a person (or patient, if you’re a medical provider) important to you who was suddenly gone. Write them an elegy in second person, or, alternatively, a letter. What are the memories, the moments, that stand out to you? Did this person vanish, as they did for Gerstler, with a “poof,” or would you use a different way of describing their absence from your life? Alternatively, consider writing an elegy or a letter to a long-time friend or patient who is still alive. Write for 10 minutes.

Narrative Medicine, Writing

Narrative Medicine Monday: The Fall of Icarus & Musee des Beaux Arts

March 18, 2019 No Comments

I’m just finishing up a wonderful poetry course taught by Michelle Penaloza, and recently explored ekphrastic poetry. These are poems written in response to a piece of art. She had us read two different poems written about Brueghel’s “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus.”

I found the poem by W.H. Auden relates to medicine and illness in a way, a commentary on how suffering exists in the world while the rest of life goes on. Auden observes how well the “old Masters” understood suffering, “how it takes place / While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along.” For people who are struggling with illness, especially chronic illness, this normalcy and indifference of the rest of the world can seem almost as an affront. When dealing with a difficult diagnosis, it can be painful to see the world advance as it always has, even though it must. In Icarus’ case, Auden notes that “the expensive delicate ship that must have seen / Something amazing … / Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.”

Writing Prompt: Consider writing your own ekphrastic poem or free write in response to Breughel’s “The Fall of Icarus.” What do you notice about the painting and how might you expand on its meaning? If you’re a medical provider, have you seen others suffering but, for whatever reason, had to move “calmly on?” Do you think medical training or the medical system contributes to this type of response? If so, how? As a patient, have you experienced an illness or suffering while the rest of the world goes on, unaware? How did that make you feel? Write for 10 minutes.

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