Writing with Elephants

Years ago, I drove through Ottawa observing vacationers relaxing in their pleasure boats, cyclists peddling to their own music, and elephants trekking along the Rideau Canal. Yes, truly. Elephants. I was in one of those socially distant unsettled states of mind. Still, this unexpected siting helped me write a short essay - The Summer of My Burnout.

Later, while on a mission trip to Uganda, I listened to the trumping of an elephant during a morning coffee as he stood socially distanced from his herd. "He's misbehaved," my African friends said. I wanted to swim across the Nile to join him. The day before, I received an email from my husband, a minister saying he was moving to China. He resigned from our church and renounced his faith a few months previous. The unexpected scene of elephants gave momentum for the essay – Where does the Minister's Wife Go when the Minister Quits His Faith.

Next month I graduate with an MFA in Creative Non-Fiction. Whenever I tell someone about writing a memoir for the last two years, I watch as their eyes widen, head bends, and lips curl. How do you write so much about yourself?

Without the elephants, I couldn't 'fashion a text,' as Annie Dillard calls it. Creative non-fiction is not so much as the 'I' but the 'Eye' I discovered these past two years. The process of writing a spiritual memoir has opened a vast world of mystery and pleasure. I haven’t seen any elephants recently, but I keep a list of those out of the blue meanderings that open a memoir to a wider landscape.