A Way of Knowing
a nugget of love
This activity is made possible by the voters of Minnesota through a grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board, thanks to a legislative appropriation from the Arts and Cultural Heritage Fund.
February is an important month, for so many reasons. It’s the month of love. The month of friendship. The month of fish parties. The month of getting away from everyone & everything you know and going on a writing retreat by yourself. A time to reconnect with the sunshine and take photos in the slated morning light and admire how damn good you look and remember what it feels like to s l o w d o w n. It is the month of cleaning up baby poo (and dog poo!) and the month of pterodactyl cries, cries that shatter your soul and rebuild you all over again in the same breath, as you step into a new skin, a new form, a new era of life. It’s the month of short brisk walks outside despite -8 degree weather. The month of driving alone for hundreds of miles towards a destination bigger than yourself, surrounded by tall trees the whole way down. The month of choosing yourself again & again, no matter how much it hurts. The month of remembering. Love is old love is new love is all love is you. Friends and chosen family are lifeblood. This month also marks the ninth anniversary of moving back home from Malaysia and starting chemo at Cincinnati Children’s and my year-long process of survival and healing. In my story, this month marks the beginning.
March is my birthday month. I spent my 36th birthday in downtown LA, where I started my day with Jolibee and ended it with Taco Bell Cantina, which is a fancier version of Taco Bell but still very reminiscent of the Taco Hut (Taco Bell + Pizza Hut) down the street from my college apartment in Columbus, Ohio. I was in town for the week-long Association of Writers & Publishers Conference, where I presented on the panel “Advancing Craft & Community” with The Loft Literary Center, StoryStudio Chicago, and Lighthouse Writers Workshop, and we talked about the struggles of getting people back in the door, as well as the joys of being reunited once again in the flesh. They placed us in a large conference room, where all forty or fifty of us crowded together in the front, elbow-to-elbow, and filled the gaps the best we could. Administrators from Ohio, Texas, Washington, and more attended, reminding me that we are not alone in this work.
I share and celebrate this month with my cousins and my dad, who is now the same age as his father when he passed unexpectedly in 2000. I was 11. This month, I said goodbye to my sweet grandmother, Judy Ann Wulfeck. Part of her will always reside in me, from our shared name to her small stature and fiery spirit and determination to forge a path of her own. She taught me the business of art. That what we create with our own hands is valuable and to be cherished. In high school, she gave me a book with all her favorite columns from the Cincinnati Enquirer and read every handmade book I wrote, every column I wrote for my high school newspaper, and framed every flower and edamame shell I drew. She mailed me a copy of the Daily Word every week for years and dog-eared pages she thought I might like. (Truth be told, sometimes I read them, usually I didn’t. I wish I would have kept those glossy pages for the messages she inscribed within.) When her and Floyd were more mobile, they walked to and from the nearby Walmart and during COVID, figured out how to pivot to Zoom to virtually join the congregation. She was a horsewoman and collector of costume jewelry and flapper dresses from my great-great grandmother. She loved that we were both cheerleaders in college for a few semesters.
When we were cleaning out her house, when she moved into Memory Care, I found a copy of my blog post about my cancer diagnosis printed and tucked away in the magazine holder next to her tufted corduroy recliner. The creases in the pages signaled a familiarity, a way of knowing. A remembering that love was here. She encountered the world different than most, and she embraced her faith and her truth. When I transferred from Suffolk to Ohio State, she and Floyd piled my tiny boxes into their faded, boxy red Jeep Cherokee and drove me to Columbus, where she proceeded to boss around my stepfather about where to drop off my stuff and stuck her tongue out at him and plugged her ears when he tried to refuse. She reminded him again to claim the bigger room for me. She showed me how to take up space, no matter where I went and what it took. I love you Grandma, my nugget of love, rest easy. This month will never be the same, and neither will we.
At the Walker Art Center, they are showing an exhibit called “Ways of Knowing” until September 7 that “challenges assumptions about how we come to know what we know” and eleven different artists excavate what truth means to them. Obviously I plan to see it ASAP and will probably drag KG along for the ride. My essay On the Making of a Mumu, published by Fourth Genre, explores the blurring of reality and imagination and questions belief/science as I face circumstances beyond my control. I also co-edit and curate The Rumpus column “We Are More,” and we recently published these stunning five poems by Jen Siraganian that are worth a read.
Events Coming Up in April:
Next episode of Mumu Stories with Rachel Werner is dropping soon/this month!!!
Come to this reading and open mic with Sherrie Fernandez-Williams and Patti Kameya at XIA Cafe in St. Paul on Sunday, April 13 from 2-4PM. I might read a new lil something! RSVP Here!
I’m leading a 3-hour adult class on Saturday, April 19 at 10AM-1PM CT on Experimentation with Hybrid Memoir with the Loft! Join us as we play with form, explore examples of hybrid memoir, and generate new material together. There are still a few spots left!
Personal Narrative Writing for BIPOC Teens: Free Youth Workshops - In Person and Hybrid Options
I am facilitating a drop-in Minneapolis-based personal identity writing workshop for BIPOC teens who want to build online and in-person connections with peers as well as participate in occasional special projects and/or events. There’s an optional public sharing component and option to submit work produced in the workshop in a published anthology. Each session will have readings, generative writing prompts and time to write, discussion, and more. Let's create together!
Drop-in meetings take place on Tuesday nights at 5:00-6:30 PM CT in person (St. Paul and South Minneapolis location) + hybrid online option: May 6 | May 13 | May 20 | May 27 | July 8 | Sept 9 | Dec 9 | Dec 18 (hybrid all-ages reading & open mic). Free for all youth participants in Minnesota! Feel free to drop in for one or for the entire series! Please sign up below or email info@mariannemanzler.com to join!
🩷🩷 the month of pterodactyl cries!!!!!