I received a wonderful email from Brianna Lyon, who discovered my book, Writing from the Senses, in Australia, before she moved to Germany. Brianna submitted this piece in response to one of the prompts: My Father's Voice.
Author: Brianna Lyon
The Voice of Granddad Lyon
I bet your voice was calming and gentle, like my father’s. I’ve seen what you created with your hands, like the kitchen you made for Aunty Margaret, and I can hear the hammer in your daily life. I wonder how you felt when you heard the voices of your three children, and that of my father in particular. I wonder if your voice sounds like my brother’s. You have so many similarities to my brother and father. Your eyes and stance are so alike. You often visit me in my thoughts; I hear your infectious laugh but not your voice. I wonder if you could fathom the longing have for your voice — just to hear you would soothe my family enormously. I wonder so many things about you, most of all about the sound of your voice.
At a Writing from the Senses workshop, we handed out brown paper bags that each contained a handful of fleece. "Reach in without looking," I said, assuring the group that there was nothing sharp or dangerous inside. "Write whatever comes up."
This exercise comes to us from Cynthia Moore, who has been on writing retreats with me from Tuscany to Santa Cruz. She suggests we write down all the noises we hear, outer and inner, going deeper until we reach the pool of silence. Write about that pool of silence.