June 2004
Living in the country, I only had dial up and I never checked email on the weekends. Since my oldest daughter had checked her email, I checked mine that day.
I’d received an email from Frances, his partner. She told me that Ed had cancer but he’d been operated on and would be okay. I, who never cry, wiped away the tears from my eyes.
“It’s not good,” I told my husband. “We’ll have to visit him tomorrow.”
I explained that I had one of my "bad feelings." He nodded.
When I visited Ed on Sunday, June 13, the bad feeling intensified.
Outside in the hospital parking lot, I said, “He’s dying.”
“Don’t be crazy,” my husband said. “He'll be okay.”
My husband had joined Ed's writing workshops in April 2003 and he didn't want to loose Ed either.
June 17, 2004 - I wrote this in my journal.
I cannot explain exactly how I feel about Ed. I feel lucky that he calls me friend. You know that he has thousands of friends but you want to be his friend, too.
There’s gentleness about Ed when he speaks. He tells the best stories and I could listen to him for hours. He must have kissed the blarney stone and all Irish people would welcome him as a friend.
Ed visited me in my dreams and he shared wisdom with me. He reminds me of God. He’s nonjudgmental, caring, and he always knows the right words to inspire everyone. I view him as one of God’s angels quietly inspiring each person that he meets on the planet.
Ed listens to each one of us. He makes me feel as if he understands the real me that I hide from other people. It’s like he shares pieces of his heart and soul with you.
Sometimes Ed plays God in my dreams. When I told this to Ed, he laughed. I mentioned that whenever he reads his writing that I can hear his "voice."
“That’s the best compliment that anybody has ever given me,” he said.
I feel that Ed is more than a writer and more than a mentor; he’s somebody who has touched my soul and inspired me to aim for the stars. There’s an undefined quality about Ed that inspires each of us as writers and human beings. It’s like my daughter said, “We all want to wow him.”
Everybody gets Ed’s undivided attention. He gives us recognition, which a lot of us crave, and in turn our soul feels this love connection. He's one of the most pivotal person in my creative life. His influence has enhanced my writing.
I believe that Ed shares love from his soul each time we met at the writing workshop. We all desired to be his friend ‘cause there’s nobody on the planet quite like Ed.
Ed died on June 20, 2004 on Father’s Day. And the late Janet Bellinger said at the time, “Ed was like a father to all of us. The father that we wished we had.”
Ed, sometimes I wish that I could mentor the other writers like you but I can’t ‘cause I’ll never be YOU! I still miss you. Happy Father’s Day.
This week, Janet visited with me in my dream. I’d like to think she’s hanging out with Ed and writing novels in heaven.
Showing posts with label Ed Wildman - HWG HISTORY. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ed Wildman - HWG HISTORY. Show all posts
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
HWG HISTORY - Ed Wildman
This is an email that I sent to our writing group on April 6, 2004. I'm sure Ed would be proud!
Tuesday, April 6, 2004
I was talking to Ed yesterday. He said that he really likes our group because there's no friction in the group and you can tell that we all like each other. He also said that we are supportive and kind to each other. I told him that he was right -- we all like each other and it is a good group.
He also commented that when he took the workshop from Natalie Goldberg she mentioned that in reality they were all to learn from each other. He is happy that Carrie joined the group (March 2004).
Ed said that he hoped that we would pass what we learned to others . . .
He also remarked that everybody has made improvements with their writing.
I talked to Ed 'cause I told him that he had a very interesting life and if I were he I would be working on a book about his life. That we all enjoyed the characters in his stories because he'd captured the essence of them. I told him, I couldn't wait to read his memoir.
I really like our group because each of us contributes and we all inspire each other. There's always a good feeling in the group. It is like we were meant to be together and write.
Blessings
Nancy
Tuesday, April 6, 2004
I was talking to Ed yesterday. He said that he really likes our group because there's no friction in the group and you can tell that we all like each other. He also said that we are supportive and kind to each other. I told him that he was right -- we all like each other and it is a good group.
He also commented that when he took the workshop from Natalie Goldberg she mentioned that in reality they were all to learn from each other. He is happy that Carrie joined the group (March 2004).
Ed said that he hoped that we would pass what we learned to others . . .
He also remarked that everybody has made improvements with their writing.
I talked to Ed 'cause I told him that he had a very interesting life and if I were he I would be working on a book about his life. That we all enjoyed the characters in his stories because he'd captured the essence of them. I told him, I couldn't wait to read his memoir.
I really like our group because each of us contributes and we all inspire each other. There's always a good feeling in the group. It is like we were meant to be together and write.
Blessings
Nancy
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
LATE ED WILDMAN - HWG HISTORY
Even after five and a half years since Ed Wildman died, it’s still difficult for me to write about him and how he inspired me. I miss him and his mentoring.
In the Hills, a local magazine, included an article about Ed’s writing workshops. In the article, Ed spoke about writing poetry even though he wanted to write a novel. At the time, I was writing poetry although I’d always dreamed of writing novels. I cut out his telephone number and pasted it in my journal.
When I tell that story, people asked me, if I thought he would fix me. I didn’t consider it a problem, but I thought Ed would understand the way I wrote.
Since my second near-death experience, I’ve related to incidents in my life differently. I realized that if it weren’t for a bad review of my poetry, I wouldn’t have taken Ed’s workshops. What seemed bad at the time turned into something I consider miraculous. I would never have wanted to miss knowing Ed.
On October 25, 2001, I awoke with a bad migraine. The rain pelted my windows and I wanted to stay home. Only having dial-up, I called my husband and he faxed me directions. I asked the Universe for a sign that I should attend these workshops hosted by the Dufferin Arts Council.
While driving there, when I reached the building, the rain stopped, the sun shone, and a rainbow hung over the structure. Everybody at the workshop commented about it. Like the rainbow, Ed was magical. He could always find something good to say about everybody’s writing.
The first writing prompt inspired by his attendance at the Natalie Goldberg workshop that he took in Taos, New Mexico, was What I remember . . .
The next one was What I don’t remember . . .
If writer’s block has become your enemy, why not try these writing prompts?
He insisted that if you followed Natalie Goldberg’s writing practice as defined in Writing Down the Bones, that you would never be blocked again. He also read from Wild Mind another Natalie Goldberg book about the power of reading aloud your writing.
When I started to write the prompt, what I remember, I clenched my fingers. I knew I’d have to read my writing and I couldn’t believe it. Instead of writing poetry, I switched to writing horrible memories about my family. I could hear my mother’s voice scream in my head, “What happens in the family, stays in the family. If you tell, Children’s Aid will take you away.”
After fighting the urge not to write, I wrote about my family. I thought if I block it, I 'd experience writer’s block.
When we wrote the What I don’t remember is prompt, again my family history appeared on the page. When I read both these stories, people averted their heads and I felt ashamed.
Ed thanked me for sharing these stories. Later, he would tell everybody that once Nancy wrote her stories, it opened everybody. They felt free to go where the pen took them.
To be continued . . .
In the Hills, a local magazine, included an article about Ed’s writing workshops. In the article, Ed spoke about writing poetry even though he wanted to write a novel. At the time, I was writing poetry although I’d always dreamed of writing novels. I cut out his telephone number and pasted it in my journal.
When I tell that story, people asked me, if I thought he would fix me. I didn’t consider it a problem, but I thought Ed would understand the way I wrote.
Since my second near-death experience, I’ve related to incidents in my life differently. I realized that if it weren’t for a bad review of my poetry, I wouldn’t have taken Ed’s workshops. What seemed bad at the time turned into something I consider miraculous. I would never have wanted to miss knowing Ed.
On October 25, 2001, I awoke with a bad migraine. The rain pelted my windows and I wanted to stay home. Only having dial-up, I called my husband and he faxed me directions. I asked the Universe for a sign that I should attend these workshops hosted by the Dufferin Arts Council.
While driving there, when I reached the building, the rain stopped, the sun shone, and a rainbow hung over the structure. Everybody at the workshop commented about it. Like the rainbow, Ed was magical. He could always find something good to say about everybody’s writing.
The first writing prompt inspired by his attendance at the Natalie Goldberg workshop that he took in Taos, New Mexico, was What I remember . . .
The next one was What I don’t remember . . .
If writer’s block has become your enemy, why not try these writing prompts?
He insisted that if you followed Natalie Goldberg’s writing practice as defined in Writing Down the Bones, that you would never be blocked again. He also read from Wild Mind another Natalie Goldberg book about the power of reading aloud your writing.
When I started to write the prompt, what I remember, I clenched my fingers. I knew I’d have to read my writing and I couldn’t believe it. Instead of writing poetry, I switched to writing horrible memories about my family. I could hear my mother’s voice scream in my head, “What happens in the family, stays in the family. If you tell, Children’s Aid will take you away.”
After fighting the urge not to write, I wrote about my family. I thought if I block it, I 'd experience writer’s block.
When we wrote the What I don’t remember is prompt, again my family history appeared on the page. When I read both these stories, people averted their heads and I felt ashamed.
Ed thanked me for sharing these stories. Later, he would tell everybody that once Nancy wrote her stories, it opened everybody. They felt free to go where the pen took them.
To be continued . . .
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