“Stuff your eyes with wonder. Live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.” – Ray Bradbury
Many of you know that last weekend, I was blessed with the opportunity to drive to Virginia for a storytelling workshop with one of my favorite authors. For three nights, I stayed in the home of Rachel Coker and four other girls who share my love of storytelling. I’ve been looking forward to the dream factory workshop for months, and I am so thankful and amazed at everything my friends and family did to get me there. It’s incredible how close I became to four strangers from every corner of the country and I learned so much from Rachel and the other talented storytellers I met this week.
My parents were gracious enough to make the long drive up to Virginia on Thursday night. By the time we pulled into Rachel’s driveway, my stomach was a flurry of butterflies and excitement. I couldn’t believe I was actually there! Rachel, her sisters Hannah and Ruth (both of whom I was also thrilled to meet), her parents, and four girls welcomed me on the front porch and introductions were made. I was exhausted from the trip and starstruck by Rachel and Hannah and these four girls I knew I would become fast friends with. Soon we were curled up on the sofas in the spare room above Rachel’s garage, cracking up at Napoleon Dynamite and spreading sleeping bags out on the floor. Every night felt like a sleepover with friends I’d known for years, and I miss it already.
Despite our long trips the day before, the girls and I were wide-eyed and bushy-tailed at six-thirty Friday morning. We positively couldn’t wait to see what Rachel had in store for us the first day. After breakfast we piled into the car to explore the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. Taylor Swift was our chosen car playlist the whole weekend, which I certainly didn’t complain about. 🙂 We split up in groups once we got to the museum, and Rachel told us to pick out one piece that really stood out to us. Some of the art was odd or silly or confusing, but I personally loved the French Impressionist exhibits.
After the museum we drove to a park for a picnic lunch. It was drizzling a bit, so we sat beneath a gazebo to eat our sandwiches and share the photos from our favorite paintings or sculptures. As we ate, Rachel began discussing the big picture of why we write and are all drawn to certain stories. When we look, read, or experience art that we grow to love it is because it reminds us of something already in us.
She taught us that as storytellers, reflecting our roles and our own experiences is key to telling good stories. In a painting or photograph, you are only seeing one small story or frame of the whole big picture. It’s like reading one sentence of a book. The same can be said of a book or essay. When writing a story, you have to decide what you want it to mean. That is the small story of the big picture a reader needs to walk away from. It is as if you are viewing one perspective from, say, WWII. It’s only one little story of an even bigger one, but it still carries weight.
Later that day we shopped around Carytown. There were such adorable boutiques, thrift shops, and vintage stores! I ended up buying a pleated skirt from one of my favorite higher-end brands for a great price. (I’m ridiculously happy about this skirt, you guys have no idea.) 😀 When we got home, we spent a few hours of quiet time to write and go through our cameras and reflect on what we learned. That night we tuned in to the opening ceremony of the Olympics (rating all of the countries’ outfits) and chowed down on Olivia’s giant bag of Reese’s cups. (my biggest weakness.)
On Saturday morning (after we slept in a bit more!) we were up and ready to go the farmer’s market. One of the girls bought sunflowers to take pictures with, but mostly we walked around with our cameras and got the prettiest of flowers and tomatoes photographed. Virginia gave us its all in the humidity department that weekend, so popsicles were a must. (Unless you get the fresh peach flavor. Apparently those taste more like carrots.)
Just past the farmer’s market was, in Rachel’s words, “the magic portal that brought us back to the nostalgia and wonder of yesteryear’s stories”: Mermaid Books. There were oh-so-many old books, post cards, and first editions. To be perfectly honest poetic, it was like walking through a wonderland of possibilities. I bought a copy of Emma by Jane Austen (even though I already owned a copy, but this edition was just so pretty) and an old bookmark about Beatrix Potter. Rachel asked us to find a book that reminded or was a favorite of our childhood. I chose a copy of Little Women, because my grandmother gave it to me in the second grade and introduced me to Louisa May Alcott.
After time spent browsing Mermaid Books, we went to Yorktown Beach for another picnic (this time underneath a tree, because SHADE.) We all discussed which books we loved as kids. This time Rachel talked about the books that first captivated us as children; the way we would became so enamored in those worlds that we marveled at them and pretended and played as if we were in the books. As we get older, we’re not encouraged to marvel and wonder at these worlds anymore; much less our own world.
In Rachel’s words, “if you let yourself be in awe of a skyscraper you look like a tourist. There are so many things that we’re told should just be ‘normal’ or everyday things that we don’t allow ourselves to marvel at because of embarrassment or shame.” But allowing ourselves to be fully immersed in feeling and wondering and excitement is apart of being storytellers. By being comfortable with gushing over things we marvel at in our lives, we can appreciate the wonders of our stories and reflect the magic of life in a truly honest way.
After lunch, we made our way down the street (melting in the heat) in search of Ben & Jerry’s and a chance to dip our feet into the water. Yorktown Beach was beautiful, and the perfect place for pictures.
In the car ride home, Rachel explained an assignment that we’d share on Sunday. We would write our names on paper and draw a name from a hat. The name of the girl we drew would be someone we would write about — the workshop through their eyes, what we learned from them, what we observed about them. During our quiet time, I wrote down words that came to mind when I thought of Mary. I wrote down notes and a page on my computer about everything I learned that day. There was so much to be written that I thought of all that I wanted to say before my fingers could move fast enough on the keys. We finished the night by sharing our writing from that afternoon, and Rachel made strawberry shortcake for us to eat while watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
On Sunday, I woke up early to finish writing about Mary and we joined Rachel and her family at their church. We came home for lunch and packed the last of our things before settling down for one last sharing time. The weekend had flown by. I felt (and feel!) so full of new things to experience, observe, and write about. Just before our parents arrived, Rachel pulled out her laptop to read a scene from the draft of her third novel (!!!) and we all listened in awe and excitement. (It was wonderful, and I can’t contain my excitement to read the entire book.)
And so concluded my wonder-filled weekend at the dream factory workshop. I’m brimming with ideas and an itch to create a new story, so I’m off. Thanks for making it all the way down here, if you’ve read everything. (It’s taken me a week to complete this post, but hey, my teacher – aka mom – is printing it to count as school. Win/win.)
