The Writer’s Nose

I’m in Taos to teach a workshop called The Writer’s Nose. I’ve taught dozens of workshops over the years; all anyone wants to hear about is writing memoir, which is beginning to seem quite dull to me—the same old question, “I’m afraid my family won’t like it,” which is a dead end as far as I can see because family never will like the truth. But a writer might take comfort from the fact that few relatives ever read what we write…

In an attempt to make this latest effort a little more fun, certainly for me and maybe for my students, I’m going to try to get them to think and write about using their noses.

If you think about what you are reading now—and of course I’m making the risky assumption that you ARE reading—check if there is any mention of smells. One reason may be that we are all horrified and embarrassed by bad smells and these are often the most potent around. They certainly arouse many associations, more than perfume, cigarettes, French wine, etc.

To inspire them, I’ll bring out a wooden box given to me by a friend years ago. Inside it are about twenty sweet little boxes, tied with white ribbon and decorated with flower decals, labeled on the front with their contents:

SAFFRON
SAGE
CLOVES
NUTMEG

…and so forth as well as little tin can of BAG BALM and another of VAPORUB. And a cigar.

The point is not to identify but to use the smells (all good, by the way) to conjure up a mood, a relationship, a situation, a place.

Of course there are some smells we can no longer find. For me, the perfume of Sweet Peas will always call up my mother but since Sweet Peas have been hybridized, they no longer smell.

And I doubt if the Madeleines I buy at the supermarket smell or taste at all like the ones that evoked his childhood for Marcel Proust.

I’ll let you know what happens. Meanwhile, try an experiment, find something that smells (or stinks?) and write your associations…

In Writing writing workshops Taos SOMOS