What Lindsay says of writing and reminiscing

What Lindsay says of WRITING & WRITING & REMINISCING REMINISCING

by Jazie R. Pilones

Have you ever found nostalgic items that reminded you of a good childhood while cleaning your room after a year? Or walked past a spot on the street where you rescued your first cat? Or heard a heartfelt song played in the restaurant that reminded you of your ex? Posted an old photo of your mom and dad on Instagram with the #throwbackthursday?

There’s just something good about these memories that makes us feel all sorts of emotions, isn’t there? More than the nostalgia, reminiscence can also be therapeutic, sometimes, depending on what you are looking back on. But what’s essential at the end of the day are the lessons these memories taught us and how it shaped who we are today.

Since the pandemic, most of us are stuck at home doing work, while others are too busy looking for something to do, and some pick up where they left off with their old hobbies such as, among others, writing.

Although writing has been part of her for the longest time, Chicago-based writer-slash-editor Lindsay Phillips goes back to expressing herself in writing and spends more time nurturing it amid the pandemic. “I’ve written on and off for years, but it was during the pandemic that I became more disciplined,” Lindsay shares with NRM.

Lindsay is among the countless who have endured the banes courtesy of the disruptions brought about by COVID-19. But she, too, is among those who endeavored to look at the brighter side—seeking light in dark places— and proved that we could do something creatively productive and uplifting at these trying times.

“I was laid off because of COVID, and I needed a way to structure my days and feel productive. Writing helped to ground me in a time when so much was out of my control. I liked knowing that I was creating something,” says Lindsay.

Of Memories and Looking Back

Lindsay’s demonstrated works primarily deal with memory and contrasting emotions that arise when examining the past. Her work has previously been featured in The Vanguard and at UW-Madison’s Literati Conference.

Often, we say that what we create is inspired by personal experiences, carrying in it bits of ourselves. How was it for Lindsay?

“I was laid off because of COVID, and I needed a way to structure my days and feel productive. Writing helped to ground me in a time when so much was out of my control. I liked knowing that I was creating something,”

“My writing has always felt incredibly personal. Most of the time, I write about thoughts or memories that I keep going back to. Writing lets me explore them as thoroughly as I want to, and it gives me the ability to look at something from a few different angles at once, which you can’t always do in the present moment,” she adds.

Although we may not exactly like everything we remember, one cannot deny how each event of the past forms the person he or she becomes today and in the future. For Lindsay, nothing influences her more to write and add richness to life other than her recollections.

“I think the reason I always come back to memories is that they change. Technically, they’re made up of one moment. But each time you think about one, it changes a bit. It could depend on your mood when you’re reflecting on it, or information you know now but didn’t at the time. All these things color that memory, and I love the idea of all those layers of emotions and revelations piling on top of one another,” Lindsay says.

“I hope my poetry creates an immersive image of a specific moment, especially the moments we often think of as mundane. I hope it shines a light on those and reminds people to look a little closer.”

Apart from poetry, Lindsay looks forward to trying her hand at fiction.

“It’s always felt a bit intimidating, creating a fully developed story arc, but it’s a goal I have for myself. But yes, I will continue to write about memories,” she shares.

Lindsay’s works, Blue Green Grey and White Flags are among New Reader Magazine’s treasured pieces in this issue. Flip through our pages and read more of her works.

My writing has always felt incredibly personal. Most of the time, I write about thoughts or memories that I keep going back to. Writing lets me explore them as thoroughly as I want to, and it gives me the ability to look at something from a few different angles at once, which you can’t always do in the present moment,

Ivanka Tsepesh

Dirt road walk home

ELIZABETH WITTENBERG

Bamboo creaks a haunted house’s cry in the wind

Ghosts live on in trees. As breeze breathes heavy with memory, bamboo stretches away, screams to be left alone.

Banana leaves take a different approach as dust blows amongst the places where they are split at the veins, they whisper.

And between gusts, still air meets a collective clench.

Elizabeth Wittenberg was born and raised in Chicago but now calls New Orleans home. She has been an avid reader and creative writer since childhood, reading and writing a little bit of everything. She loves to travel, spend time outdoors, and make people laugh. She has had many random jobs.

Lines

ELIZABETH WITTENBERG

we are twenty-five and I have just begun to notice laugh lines forming at the corners of your eyes

the most beautiful thing I have ever seen so much so that the sight brings tears to mine

slight narcissism - a joy in seeing something you’ve worked for come to fruition

it is always a team effort though a community art project carving lines into the faces that we love

I chipped the last stone from the deep indentation between my mother’s eyebrows the chisel passed off to me by my brothers worry in relay

and those lines by your eyes, I cannot sign my name to in the same way but that will not stop me from picking up a brush and making it my job to make you smile

iolya

pluie_r

The Forest

ELIZABETH WITTENBERG

I enter the forest wild and messy just like me she is mean with her sticks disguised as snakes and her snakes disguised as sticks I step gently so as not to disturb her and all her guests find accidental satisfaction in each and every heavy crunch underboot sink deep where the muck is thick, mired in I admire parasitic vines strangle-holding mighty trees I swat mosquitoes extricate myself from forced stillness I move through her, as the breeze rattles leaves dry with the cyclical nature of time I forget that I am not alone here hear barking dogs and laughing kids I walk faster to maintain depth in and also with the forest I hear music from a house beyond the woods’ edge and know I have met my trail’s end I turn around and trudge out, head down in reverence I find a clearer puddle to wash the muck off my boots