debbie leaman writing workshops

Writing Prompt Responses by Bob Bader

In a recent online writing class, I’d given participants two writing prompts, “open the box” and “leaving.” They had 10 minutes per prompt to write whatever came to mind. Below are Bob Bader’s responses:

“Open the Box”

Open the box of chocolates and enjoy, Sanders, creamy dark and luscious. She slowly removes the wrapping and passes the box around, pick one. A special treat on a special day. You are young or so young. Time is short or so short; but you don’t know that now. No, for now, all there is her and that box of chocolates.

Writing Prompt: “Write what you didn’t say . . .”

Grab your writing tool of choice and see where this thought takes you. Put away your inner critic and just start. The goal is to keep writing, so don't worry about grammar or even making sense. It's all about getting your uncensored thoughts onto the page. When you’re done you can hit “delete,” shred the page or keep it. But, I can guarantee this: you’ll feel a little lighter for saying what you’ve wanted to say.

Writing Through Grief Workshop Featured in The Park Record

A shout out to Scott Iwasaki of The Park Record for writing an article about my upcoming Writing Through Grief workshop in Park City.

“Someone in the throes of loss, whether it’s the death of a loved one, a sickness or a divorce, may feel a jumble of emotions,” says writing instructor Debbie Leaman.

To help people deal with these feelings, Leaman created Writing Through Grief, a six-week workshop that she will lead every Wednesday from Feb. 26 through April 1 at Jewish Family Services Park City Offices, 1960 Sidewinder Dr.

The nondenominational class is open to all writing levels, Leaman said.

Dream, Dream, Dream . . . By Lois Maxson

Three young people, three different dreams, and one aging American tourist.

     I heave my carry-on into the overhead bin and prepare to settle into my seat, when I realize I now have a seat mate.  When I checked in online the night before, there was no one assigned to the window.  As I comment on this fact, the young man with clear azure blue eyes and a length of pale blonde hair sweeping across his face grins. “I’m here now, he says.  “Would you like the window seat?”

     “No,” I reply, “my cranky joints prefer the extra room the aisle gives me.” 

Who Were You . . . And Who Are You Now? By Mary Prior

(This piece was in response to a writing prompt from the workshop, “Creative Aging: Re-Imagining Your Life.” Participants were asked the simple question: Who were you and who are you now?)

I WAS as skinny, shy child, a dreamer. I was a would-be artist, and according to my early teachers, I was a poor reader. Thus labeled, I feared failure.

I AM a reserved adult, not shy, but quiet and observant. I am an excellent reader. I read for information and for relaxation and maybe sometimes for escape. I have taken many university classes, and although not degreed, I believe that my education may be a “little north of average.”

Reluctant Planning By Debbie Leaman

“You should learn how to use the snow blower in case I’m not here one day,” my husband Howard mentioned over dinner last winter. No snow was predicted.

I put down my fork. “What do you mean not here? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But maybe you need to learn a few house things, you know, just in case.”

Jubilation By Holly Webster

Me, retired? The word ‘retirement’ seems repugnant— dismissive and a relic of old social norms. It conjures up images of shuffling around in slippers, padding quietly through the days, waiting for the end. I'm not quiet. Nor do I shuffle. That’s not who I am.  And, I am certainly not waiting for the end! 

Fishing Without a Hook By Lynn Decker

Boxing up the last odds and ends of my work life, I sorted thirty-four years of books, papers, talismans and stuff among a few boxes and the overflowing recycling bin. I reached for one particular talisman, a button pin – Fishing for Solutions. Faded from years of exposure to finger oils and sunlight – it was smooth and perfect, nice in the hand to finger and flip while thinking. Given the handling and the dozen office moves during my career, I am not sure how it survived. It both reminded and inspired me – of the chase, chance and opportunity that every day and every challenge presented. I’d been working the last 14 years in fire and forest conservation across the U.S. The wicked fire challenges for people and our forests was both a passion and compulsion – and now it was over for me.

2018 Silver Pen Writing Contest Winners Announced

Silver Pen Writing Award Partners, Salt Lake County Aging & Adult Services, Salt Lake County Library, and Salt Lake Community College Community Writing Center, invited all older adults to participate in the 2018 Silver Pen Writing Contest by writing and submitting their own essay or poetry based on JOY . . . read the winning essays and poems . . .

Strands of Loss – Strands of Grief – Strands of Gratitude by Madeleine Sigman-Grant

From the earliest time, I can remember strands of yarn in my hands. Even before I could manipulate a needle, I held my arms out as my mother laced skeins of yarn around them so she could roll the yarn into balls. That motion symbolizes my life – unravel, rewind, create, unravel yet again . . .

Connecting with My Inner Artiste! By Cathleen O’Connor Ph.D.

Summer is approaching, and I am looking forward to that time of year when life seems to naturally slow down and I get to catch up on books I haven’t read, dip my toes in the water and breathe a bit more deeply.  

Retirement: Diving into Danger by Howard Leaman

“What are you doing with your time, now that you’ve retired?”  That was the question the Ski School Director asked me during our pre-season ski instructor orientation. My answer to him was not even close to adequate, especially when I realized that many of my friends have been wondering that very thing for themselves.  What I’ve been doing is not so much a “list,” as much as a continuing process of calibration.

Initially, thinking about going from a busy medical practice to “retired,” I'd developed a sense of impending dread. Would I become useless, cranky and senile? Would my health deteriorate? Would I “fail retirement,” and become depressed with nothing to do, and have to go back to work? 

No— I’d prove my continued vitality.