Oly Pages ‘Writing Mindfully’ prompt responses
Published September 14, 2026
As you learned in my JOLT News column this week, I attended Oly Pages’ soft-opening event, “Writing Mindfully,” where community members came together to meditate and write. During the event, we were given four prompts and 10 minutes per prompt to write without editing, simply following our stream of consciousness.
The event’s code of conduct stated that what happens there stays there, but because these are my own words and I remain an open book, I have chosen to share my free writing with you. I do this not to flaunt my capabilities (or lack thereof depending on your opinion), but to simply invite you to let yourself write freely, without fear, and to think outside of the box.
These prompts offer only a fragment of insight into the incredible creativity and genius of Star Wuerdemann’s Oly Pages practices. May this sneak peek inspire you to attend one of Oly Pages’ events in the future.
Enjoy my unedited scribblings!
Prompt #1: What is in front of you? You can’t get it wrong!
Looking forward, I also look up.
I see a window with a view blocked by a wall.
The small strip of sky reminds me
I am not alone.
Across from me is a gentleman with a dark cap and glasses.
I swear, I’m not trying to cheat or invade his privacy,
But I notice his hand writing is old fashioned calligraphy.
I imagine his hand has a story.
I sip the tea on my right.
It’s warmth greets me like a hug.
Notes of cinnamon, peppermint, and something I can’t quite identify
Dance on my tongue.
The woman on my left takes a deep breath.
Is she tired? Is she sad?
Woah, she is left handed! Watching her, I realize now, for the first time in 28 years,
That I really am a righty whose style is similar to that of a lefty.
The table is smooth, a dark wood who’s color scheme makes me feel at home.
It’s crazy how five of us are experiencing the same thing, in different ways.
I guess she was right — What is in front of you,
You can’t get it wrong.
Do I dare look behind?
Wait, that’s not part of the exercise.
How refreshing it is to not crank my neck
In search of meaning of what is behind.
I think our bodies were made
To look forward.
It is organic to listen to this instinct.
The bell rings.
Prompt #2: What is behind you?
An unsexy bathroom lays behind me, but I respect the way she is tidy.
I giggle a little because next door is the water fountain.
I guess this corner is a one-stop shop.
The past, rather what is behind, can be like that.
See, we all have these memories that are unique and nuanced.
They exist together, but seperately, like a quilt laid on a bed.
I wonder if our ancestors knew this, and that is why they started quilt making?
Perhaps, we are meant to look at quilts like maps,
Guiding us to the exact corners of our hearts,
Where memories reside.
When she said this prompt, I felt a moment of dread.
There is something behind me that i’ll always regret.
A name that when whispered,
gives me sweats, yet sends a haunting chill down my spine.
I still feel unsafe knowing he could be lurking in the shadows, behind me.
People say, “you’re safe, he’ll never come back,”
But I will never feel confident of that
Til he breathes his last breath.
Wow, that got dark.
…Then again, darkness lurks in the shadows.
Our world would be made of shadows,
If there wasn’t light.
I must continue to draw towards the light.
Prompt #3: Everything I know about Potatoes
This makes me sad,
Potatoes and I were once good friends.
Right now, we are in a complicated space.
Our relationship is on the rocks.
I love potatoes when they dance with oil,
It’s just the encore that unsettles me.
Mashed — ooo, I am picky about that.
There must be no skin or chunks, and lots of butter and salt.
I loved instant potatoes in the past,
but she didn’t taste the same as she once did.
Growing up sucks.
Oh my God, what other forms of potatoes are our there?
Baked? Too chunky.
Boiled? Never done right.
Sweet? Cannot be the orange kind, but I do like those baked.
Why the fuck are we writing about potatoes?
Get a grip, we love whimsy and besides, potato season is coming!
You do have those dumplings from World Market at home.
The German ones that are like Matzah Balls.
You need to make a beef stew with those.
Will they taste the same as before?
Oh no,
Stop the trauma, drama dump.
They are potatoes!
Why is food such a complex topic?
It used to be simple.
I wish we could know our intolerances, our allergies, without it always being
Such a big deal.
I never wanted to be a teacher, not really,
So why must I always give lessons?
Wow — I never told anyone that.
I wanted the nostalgia of the classroom,
And of learning,
But not the responsibility.
Prompt #4: Tell me about a time you were embaressed
Oh God,
Do I have to?
Oh geez,
Let me look through the encyclopedia of awkwardness.
My childhood ones, I remember those with laughter,
Shame has exited that space.
My teens?
Oh, here is a good one:
At a choir retreat, I asked a boy,
Who I had a smaller crush on,
To go to homecoming with me.
We were friends,
And he said yes to humor me,
Because I made a BIG hooplah out of it and got everyone’s attention.
We both felt gross about it,
And I said,
“Let’s pretend that didn’t happen”
Or something like that to set us both free,
And we never spoke about it again.
I wonder if at a class like this if he would bring that up?
Bless his heart.
I had questions back then
On whether or not he was gay,
And that remains unknown.
Asexual?
Who knows.
Bless him.
I wonder if the existence of this embaressement is
Why I still have high school stress dreams,
Why we all do?
My dreams always center around my senior year of choir,
Why is that?…I know why.
I try to preserve those memories as joyous,
But honestly, they were not.
One of my best friends disowned me,
and it broke my heart more than it should have.
I hate that I was hurt more than I let on.
The choir was never the same as the year prior.
Bummer.
I didn’t want to be there anymore.
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