Familiar Faces

Photo by Pat Christman

Chances are, if you get out a bit and know a few people, you’ve run into Ronda Redmond.

She was there when Hockey Day Minnesota had a mullet-growing contest (the proof is in the hockey card made for the occasion, the one that shows an illustrated version of her in pink locks and blowing a big bubblegum bubble. She was there — tap dancing, no less — when a group of bon vivants created some joyous musical theater by mashing up Meatloaf’s “Bat out of Hell” with “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” And she was there — sad and proud — reading from her book of poetry, a feat powered mostly by the kind of fuel you only get when you’ve lost the person you love most.

Redmond, who agreed to answer our questions just days before her mother’s funeral, is an example of grace, kindness and strength, and her insights about writing can serve as universal truths about the healing power of artistic expression.

RONDA REDMOND: When Maureen Gustafson calls you up and says, “I’m looking for someone to volunteer for a hair adventure,” you don’t say no. Or at least I don’t. The Mankato Area Foundation has done a lot for the area, and I love the awareness that the JZ Cancer Fund brings to men’s cancers. Too many men don’t pay attention to their health. I was happy to draw attention to both organizations.

Also, I got my own hockey card. Though, in my defense, I didn’t realize that was part of the deal until after I agreed to Maureen’s adventure.

MM: You’re well known in southern Minnesota as a writer. When did you first discover that writing was something you were good at, and who encouraged you to pursue it? RR: I remember writing this essay about my dog when I was in grade school. I don’t remember the specifics, but it was a moment when my parents seemed genuinely impressed by what I’d done, and I wasn’t much of a student. It stuck with me. I don’t know that they were thrilled when I eventually decided to get an MFA in creative writing, but I got encouragement from creative people I knew. I worked at The Hag for a long time and was sort of in and out of calling myself a writer. Patti Ruskey wouldn’t hear it. She was always asking me if I was writing and give me a hard time if I wasn’t. Sometimes fledgling artists need people around them who call them artists. It helps give them the courage they need to claim the title and do the work.

But the one thing that I’ve heard over and over, starting when I was a kid, is people saying “Ya, that is exactly what I mean,” or “That’s exactly what it’s like.” My biggest charge as a writer is when I can find a way to say something that hits. A lot of time it comes from a really simple use of

language that is somehow out of the ordinary. Unexpected. Most of my professional life has included some level of technical writing, and the thing that keeps me interested and excited to do that work is the way that I can use language to capture intent or direction. It’s the kind of thing that makes a big difference. And the best part is that I always find a way to play with words.

RR:I love teaching creative writing. And I love the creative community around the Arts Center. The thing I’ve learned most from my students is how to give myself a break as a writer. I’ve worked with so many writers who don’t yet see what is wonderful about their work and they can be so hard on themselves. I love showing people what is amazing in their art. Talking about how good it FEELS to write something that surprises or thrills you. Encouraging them to keep going, keep reading, keep writing. At some point along the way, I started to realize how much kinder I could be to myself.

Being in an intense creative period sucks me in. I get pulled into the work like it’s an entire person who is taking up space in my world. When a poem hits, I get a little crushy on it. I look at it over and over. It’s like driving past the house of someone you have a crush on when you’re 16. I get to fall a little bit in love with it for a time. Then I get to launch a new adventure and, hopefully, find my way to the next crush. There is so much joy that is available in the process, but you have to give yourself permission to be in that joy. When you find that, there’s nothing like it.

RR:I can’t imagine getting through that period without writing. My husband died very suddenly. It took me a long time to wrap my brain around it. I looked at it from all different angles. Nothing was off the table. I’d wonder what the exact midpoint of his life was, and I’d spend two days writing about it. Or I’d imagine that I could reconstitute his Ronda Redmond has published poetry and taught writing classes around the area.

ashes (think, Tang) and imagine the ingredients and the ritual that would bring that magic. Writing it out gave me a way to not only process what was happening, but to actually use my craft as a way to explain it. To myself. Because it made NO sense to me. I absolutely wrote for myself. I’d get stuck on a thought, and by making it into a poem, I could kind of get out of my own way and be something other than a stunned widow. I could make art. I could take something gut-wrenching like taking his clothes out of our closet, and throw a complex poetic form at it (a sestina) and my artistic brain would focus on making the words work and my heart had space to say everything it needed to.

At the end of all of it, I had a body of work that I was incredibly proud of. I got to say exactly what it was like for me, and maybe someone else has read it and felt less alone in their loss. Working with a hybrid publisher to put the chapbook out there was perfect for me. I’m still seeking publication of the full manuscript. (rondaredmondwriting.com)

RR: When I got my MFA, the last place I expected to land was in Information Technology (IT). The looming reality of student loans caused me to take a few tech writing courses on my way out the door, and I ultimately found a way to use my sensibilities as a writer in the business analyst role. It’s all about finding “that’s exactly what I mean!” between the people on the business side and the technical people who can make it happen. It’s a kind of stewardship to take the language that guides the development process and make sure it evolves as it needs to. And Capstone seems like a great company. It satisfies my need to feel like my work is bringing something good into the world.

RR: I’m scared of butterflies. They are just so fluttery and in your face and their little wings are so fragile. BUT, I’m working on a project to turn my front yard into space for pollinators, so I’m going to have to breathe into that one eventually.

RR: Don’t expect to be good right away. But find a community of writers who will help you discover what IS good about your work and encourage you to keep going. It takes time and practice to become the writer you hope to be. Be patient and kind to yourself. Enjoy the moments that feel good. Surround yourself with writing and writers that fill you.

RR: “Almost Famous,” “Abbey Road,” and “The Cider House Rules” by John Irving.