A New Focus, A New look

I’ve been thinking of updating this blog for awhile now but wasn’t sure what direction I wanted to take it. Finally, I realized it’s not one blog, but two. Soon I will link you to my writing only blog. That blog will be the start of my “writing platform.” I’ll whine less about the lack of writing and focus more on the process of creating a writing life that will include the process of publishing at some point.

This blog is now all about the process of living a creative, rich, fully engaged life moment by moment. I spoke with my dad a few months ago about this. He was refinishing some furniture. Maybe upholstering it. As he described how he was going about this particular task, I commented that it sounded tedious. He agreed that it was, which was why it was so important to enjoy the process of doing it, otherwise, what was the point? Indeed.

If I had been a cartoon, a bright lightbulb would’ve glowed above my head. As a  kid I was able to live in the moment more frequently and enjoy the process of building a tent or fort, or reading a book that carried me away, or creating a fair for the neighborhood kids. It was less about the product and more about the process. Most adults reverse that and that’s where I’ve found myself, thus this new focus. Some processes you’ll read about in the future are: the process of meditation, yoga, exercise, letting go, parenting, reading, creating art, working through depression, growing up/older but mostly the process of living life each day with passion and awareness.

Books Read in May

“An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination” a memoir by Elizabeth McCracken
Once upon a time, before I knew anything about the subject, a woman told me that I should write a book about the lighter side of losing a child.
(This is not that book.)

I don’t know how she wrote this book without it becoming sentimental or maudlin. I mean it’s about the loss of a baby. A baby dies. So many ways the writing of that particular story could go wrong. But not here. Not here at all. She tells it slowly, calmly and deeply.  Each page is filled with joy, grief, clarity and tenderness as she explores what she calls “the happiest story in the world with the saddest ending.”

“Falling Man” a novel by Don DeLillo
It was not a street anymore but a world, a time and space of falling ash and near night.

From the first line we are back on that fateful day of September 11. We follow Keith from the ruins of the towers to the doorstep of his estranged wife, Lianne, and their son Justin. We watch as they try to cobble a family life back together, attempting to maneuver through this new world they find themselves in. Not only do we see the events through their eyes but also those of one of the terrorists. The story is haunting and beautiful.

Slumps and Slugs

So I’m not sure how or if to continue this blog. Obviously I am not compelled enough on any kind of regular basis to even show up. I mean, it’s been over a month since my last post. Granted, I was on vacation for almost two weeks but still… my entries are sporadic at best. So what is the issue? Is it the subject of the blog? Is it writing in general? I am feeling stuck. In some kind of creative slump. I came home from vacation bursting with all these grand intentions. It was June 1. I love the idea of the first of anything. It’s a clean slate. And June 1 is exactly halfway through the year, a perfect time to reflect of my goals and see how they are coming. Did I even do goals this year?  I honestly don’t remember. Not a good sign.

Here are some random thoughts on the state of my creativity lately (in no particular order):

• I submit stories to my writing group on a monthly basis but they are all older stories that I am rewriting. It feels stale.

• The obvious solution is to write new stuff.

• The problem is that all these older pieces that are so close are just hanging over me. I want them done so I can send them out into the world and move on.

• Why is it so much easier to write morning pages and writing practice prompts instead of diving into my stories?

• I am inspired and envious of several friends and acquaintances who are a) having books published this summer or b) have finished drafts of novels or c) are starting MFA programs

• The difference between them and me? They write on a regular basis. They did/do the work.

• And you can add a heaping dose of guilt to that because all of the above also have fulltime jobs. Unlike me. I know, I know. I’m a mom. I run a house. I do (very) occasional freelance work. But the girls are older. Need me less. And it doesn’t change the fact that I waste several prime daytime alone hours not writing most days. And I’m sure those who work fulltime are just rolling their eyes at my whining. I don’t blame you, really. I roll my eyes at myself. Just suck it up, I tell myself. Just go write. Just freakin’ do it already

• I can no longer tell if I struggle with this because I am exhausted or the struggle between writing versus not writing has exhausted me.

• Instead of writing today I watched reruns of “West Wing” on the DVR. Felt like a slug.

• I have energy now. It is 8:28 at night. It could just be that I hit slug bottom. Nowhere to go but up and off the couch.

• I could use my facebook status updates to announce my writing intention for the day and then be accountable. I kind of like that idea. Nobody really cares but me anyway.

• I get mired thinking about the state of publishing and the economy and wonder if my scribblings are really worth all those trees I use up. (Good God, no wonder I’m not writing.)

• I’ve lost my connection to writing or why I am writing. For so long I wrote just for myself. Teaching myself. No English degree. No MFA in creative writing. Was there joy back then? Did I enjoy the process? I think so. At the very least I was dedicated to the process.

So that’s where I am. And where I’m not. Kind of in this creative limbo. I’ve lost my way a bit and that is uncomfortable. When I first got my driver’s license, getting lost was a huge fear of mine. Not so much anymore. I know that all roads lead home eventually.

All I truly know is this: Not writing is not an option. I’ve considered it. Even hoped that it could be possible.  But even though I am in the dark right now, as I often am, writing always lights the way. Always. Every. Single. Time. Like now, for instance.

Books Read in April

“No One You Know” a novel by Michelle Richmond
When I found him at last, I had long ago given up the search.

This reminded me a lot of her other novel, “A Year of Fog”. Both focus on a woman involved in some mysterious crime that goes unsolved for years. The previous novel involved a missing child, this one revolves around a sibling’s death. I noticed similarities in the structure as well. The way relevant scenes from the past inform the current mystery. Also, the way several interesting subjects are woven into the story. This story includes the beauty of mathematics, the role of story in our lives, the art of being a cupola. It’s made me think about certain subjects I am passionate about and/or curious about that I can weave into my own stories.

I particularly enjoyed this passage:

“We live our lives by way of story. Over time we connect thousands upon thousands of small narratives by which to process and remember our days, and those mini-narratives add up to the bigger story, the way we see ourselves in the world.”

“Time of My Life” a novel by Allison Winn Scotch
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

I am always intrigued by stories about the road not taken. I love the movie “Sliding Doors.” Carol Anshaw’s novel “Aquamarine” explores a similar theme. In “Time of My Life” Jillian Westerfield  can’t stop asking herself “What if” even though she as a seemingly lovely life, home, husband and daughter. She wakes up one morning, seven years in the past. She looks as she did then but has the memories and knowledge of who she is now. Determined to create the life she had been wishing for she soon begins making choices that have unforeseen consequences causing a ripple affect in both her past and present lives. A very enjoyable and thought-provoking read.

“The Echo Maker” a novel by Richard Powers
Cranes keep landing as night falls. Ribbons of them roll down, slack against the sky. They float in from all compass points, in kettles of a dozen, dropping with the dusk. Scores of Grus canadensis settle on the thawing river. They gather on the island flats, grazing, beating their wings, trumpeting the advance wave of a mass evacuation. More birds land by the minute, the air red with calls.

Don’t you love that last phrase? The air red with calls. It’s perfect. I know exactly what he means. There is much to admire in this book: the beautiful descriptions, the fascinating research on the brain and all the ways it can go wrong, the mysterious nature of Mark’s disease in which he recognizes his sister but does not believe that she actually is his sister. This happens after a mysterious car accident on a deserted road. His sister comes to care for him, giving up basically her entire life. I had high hopes for this book. The back flap copy sounded promising. That first paragraph took my breath away. It’s a National Book Award winner. I even recommended it for my book club. And because I did I managed to finish it. But it took me the entire month to read. I made the mistake of thinking I could read it during our long car ride back east and this book required deep concentration and that wasn’t gonna happen in the car with my family. I can’t quite put my finger on what it was. It felt like there were so many characters and situations going on that I didn’t know which one to care about most and therefore really didn’t care about any of them very much. There wasn’t an urgent question I found myself dying to know. Still, much to admire. The way the cranes are used as a motif throughout is beautiful. And some of the descriptive passages are exquisite.

Freedom

I read this article a few days ago and had to share it. It’s all about freedom from technology. From social networking sites. Time suckers I call them. Ron Carlson says that email and the internet are incredibly dangerous to a writer. If you are writing on a computer, you are a mere click away from an entire world of distractions. One little click and you’re off. Off track. Off topic. Off your game. Off your writing goal for the day. I love the idea of an application that cuts you off from all that distraction for whatever time limit you impose. I like the idea of it and the fact that it must be a universal problem and not just me. It’s always helpful to feel you’re not alone in your bad habits or weaknesses.

I don’t have the freedom application but we are leaving on vacation today and I’ll let that be my freedom app. No checking e-mails from the road. No facebooking. No blogging or reading blogs. No lists of things to do each day. Even my workout routine is getting a break. I’ve been working out every day for the last two weeks in anticipation of not working out at all next week. I am bringing sneakers for some walks or maybe even a gym at the hotel and a swimsuit for the pool. It’s all about freedom from my usual routine.

And the books I am bringing with me (always a critical decision):

“The Echo Maker” by Richard Powers (for book club)

“No One You Know” by Michelle Richmond (library book)

“Livability” stories by Jon Raymond

“American Wife” by Curtis Sittendfeld

“This is Not Chick Lit” stories edited by Elizabeth Merrick (maybe)

So I’ll be back the week of April 13, creatively refreshed. I’ve been thinking of making some big changes to this blog. Give it a different look. A different focus. Maybe this break with inspire me.

Books Read in March

“A Mercy” a novel by Toni Morrison
Don’t be afraid. My telling can’t hurt you in spite of what I have done and I promise to lie quietly in the dark – weeping perhaps or occasionally seeing the blood once more– but I will never again unfold my limbs to rise up and bare teeth.

A slender novel that packs a powerful punch. Each chapter alternates between different characters and each voice is unique and distinguishable from the others. The story takes placer in the 1680’s when slavery was just beginning. Florens is the only character who tells her own story of looking for love after being handed over to Jacob as partial payment for a bad debt. The novel tackles slavery, religion, prejudice, smallpox but the at the heart of the story is a mother who does what she has to in order to save her daughter, Florens, and a daughter who may never recover from that deed.

“The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted and Other Small Acts of Liberation” stories by Elizabeth Berg
I began at Dunkin’ Donuts. I hadn’t gone there since I started Weight Watchers a year ago because I had to lose weight; my doctor made me go.

In spite of the light-hearted title, these stories are anything but. They dive deep into the food and body obsession most girls and women experience at some point if not most points in their lives. The characters range from young girls to middle-aged women to old women nearing the end all struggling with choices they’ve made, food and otherwise.

“The Man of My Dreams” a novel by Curtis Sittenfeld
Julia Roberts is getting married.

I love the way this novel is structured. Each chapter reads like its own complete story. It gave me so many ideas for my own book that I had to go out and buy my own copy instead of relying on the library copy I had. While I was there I picked up her two other novels as well. She just gets inside Hannah’s head in a way I wish I could get into my own character. I’ll be reading it again with pen in hand.

“Now You See Him” a novel by Eli Gottlieb
At this late date, would it be fair to say that people, after a fashion, have come to doubt the building blocks of life itself?

Two things drew me to this book. First I had read one of his stories in BASS and loved it. Second, two of the characters are writers and we all know I love reading about characters who are writers. It was in the mystery section of the library but I’d have to say it is a literary mystery, meaning it didn’t feel like a genre story. The characters had too much depth. I think of mysteries as being motivated by plot. This story is motivated by characters. Deeply flawed, struggling characters. So it has the best of both: characters I cared about and enough happening that it kept me quickly turning the pages to find out what happens next.

“Zen in the Art of Writing” by Ray Bradbury
Zest. Gusto. How rarely one hears these words used. How rarely do we see people living, or for that matter, creating by them.

I know I’ve owned this little gem of a book at some point but can no longer find my copy so I borrowed it from the library, once again restraining myself from underling in it.

The entire book is filled with zest and gusto. It oozes off each and every page. And it has me wondering if maybe I am not writing what I should be writing. It should be more fun and normally I hate the word “should” but really, shouldn’t it? I mean, I am not making a living at it so if I am going to spend my time doing something, it should at least be fun. Or maybe I am confusing fun with joy. I love getting lost in a story. I love finding the story buried beneath pages of scribbles. I love discovering the perfect word or sentence. All that brings me joy.

I love what he says about plot:

“Plot is no more than footprints left in the snow after your characters have run by on their way to incredible destinations. Plot is observed after the fact rather than before. It cannot precede action. It is the chart that remains when an action is through. that is all Plot ever should be. It is human desire let run, running, and reaching a goal. It cannot be mechanical. It can only be dynamic.”

The main thing I got from this is that he enjoys the process of writing. Not just enjoys but revels in it. He would sit down to write for the day and have no idea what he was going to write so he’d just start typing words. Free associating until that thing, that kernel emerged and he was off and running. Or writing.

I’ll definitely have to find my old copy or go out and buy a new one. This goes back to the library today and I already miss its energy.

“What I Talk About When I Talk About Running” a memoir by Haruki Murakami
I’m on Kauai, in Hawaii, today, Friday, August 5, 2005. It’s unbelievably clear and sunny, not a cloud in the sky.

Running and writing are the two threads woven tightly throughout Murakami’s life. One balances the other. One feeds the other. He says that beyond talent, the two most important qualities a writer needs are focus and endurance both of which he learns over and over again through his training for marathons, ultramarathons and triathalons. He writes:

“Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest. If you’re going to while away the years, it’s far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that’s the essence of running, and a metaphor for life_ and for me, for writing as well.”

He continually sets goals for both his writing and running whether it is to finish a novel in a certain amount of time or to never walk in a marathon. His dedication is inspiring. I felt an urge to underline so much of this book but since it’s a library copy, I restrained myself. But I will be buying my own copy where it will go on the shelf of books I go to again and again for motivation.

Share and Tell

1. Check out The Urban Muse for adventures in reading, writing and the creative life.

2. Make your own book here.

3. For a visual feast go here.

4. This makes me yearn for my art school days of sitting behind the Philadelphia Art Museum or in Rittenhouse Square with my own sketchbook.

5. Watch this video on the economy made by high school students that got President Obama’s attention.

Books Read in February

“Cost” a novel by Roxana Robinson
Her memory was gone.

This story was stunning and heartbreaking. It covers family, memory, addiction and what happens when all three collide. What really impressed me was the POV and how we got inside each character but it never felt sudden or forced.

“A Cold Day in Paradise” a novel by Steve Hamilton
This is a murder mystery that I read for my book club. It won two awards in its genre. What I enjoy about mysteries is the pacing. Much to learn from mystery writers about plot. Things happen. You’re never stuck in somebody’s head as they ponder their belly button. I did have a strong inkling of who was behind it and I was right although I didn’t guess at the motivation. Quick, easy read.

“The Heretic’s Daughter” a novel by Kathleen Kent
The distance by wagon from Billerica to neighboring Andover is but nine miles.

As a direct descendant of Martha Carrier, a woman wrongly hanged as a witch in Puritan New England, Kent has a unique perspective with which to write this novel. Using her own family stories, research and imagination she brings to life one of the more disturbing chapters of our history.

“72 Hour Hold” a novel by Bebe Moore Campbell
Right before the devastation, I had a good day.

Yet another story of a mother struggling to help an adult child who has totally lost their way. “Cost” is about the devastation of addiction. This story is about the devastation of mental illness. Keri’s daughter. Trina is diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Meds help, if she takes them. They help if she doesn’t drink. If she doesn’t smoke weed. When she does these things, she slips off the edge into paranoia and violence. The novel gripped me and I read it late into the night as this mother does what she believes she has to do in order to keep her daughter safe.

“The Suicide Index- Putting My Father’s Death in Order” a memoir by Joan Wickersham
In the airport, coming home from vacation, he stops at a kiosk and buys grapefruits, which he arranges to have sent to his daughters.

This is the best memoir I have ever read. Ever.  I am in awe of the heart-breaking precision with which she attempts to piece together some semblance of who her father was, who she thought he was and how he could be the man who took a gun down from his closet, walked into his study and shot himself. The structure ambles in time, much like grief, which is by no means a linear process. She takes us with her on this devastating journey that I know will haunt me for a very long time.

“Here Beneath Low-Flying Planes” short stories by Merrill Feitell
It is Thanksgiving, the great day of dinner, of Dockers and dress shirts and marshmallow-sweetened squash.

This collection won the Iowa Short Fiction Award in 2004. It’s a slender volume of stories but each one is deep with character. In one, a middle-aged woman caught between her own fear and restlessness finds both on a solo cross country trip. I fell in love with the title story that closes the collection with a breathtaking sweep of individual loves and lives.

“An Abundance of Katherines” a YA novel by John Green
The morning after noted child prodigy Colin Singleton graduated from high school and got dumped for the nineteenth time by a girl named Katherine he took a bath.

I seriously laughed out loud as I read this book. The voice is incredibly engaging as is the friendship of the two main characters Colin and Hassan. Colin is a nineteen year old child prodigy with a talent for anagrams who is afraid that he will never live up to his early promise. He has only dated girls named Katherine and had been systematically dumped by each one over the years. The last one sends him into an emotional tailspin and causes him to set out on a roadtrip with his best friend Hassan. All Colin wants is to matter in life. To that end he attempts to mathematically prove “The Theorem of Underlying Katherine Predictability” which he hopes will predict the outcome of any relationship.

“Blue Jasmine” a YA novel by Kashmira Sheth
So what if this summer is cooler than last, Seema? Last summer you were not leaving us.

I read this for mother/daugher book club and there will be much to discuss at the meeting. It tells the story of twelve-year-old Seema who leaves her extended family in India to live with her immediate family in Iowa. We see the startling differences through Seema’s eyes as she adjusts to new seasons, weather, school, friends and kids who are not friends. Everything is bigger in America including the roads, gas stations and stores and Seema tries to find her way in this big new world.

“Looking for Alaska” a YA novel by John Green
The week before I left my family and Florida and the rest of my minor life to go to boarding school in Alabama, my mother insisted on throwing me a going-away party. To say that I had low expectations would be to underestimate the matter dramatically.

Miles Halter, with his obsession for famous last words, is not impressed with his so-called minor life in Florida and decides to pack up and go to boarding school in hopes of finding “The Great Perhaps”  (famous last words of Francois Rabelais). There he meets his roommate Chip “the Colonel” Martin who renames (ironically)  him Pudge. He also meets the wild, moody, unpredictable, sexy Alaska Young. He is quickly lured into their world of cigarettes, sex, alcohol and pranks that they take to an art form. The book is structured into segments before and after. Events lead up to the event that will change their lives forever. We see Miles transform from who he was before boarding school and after, who he was before the event and after.

Why Write?

Why paint? Why sew? Knit? Garden? Play the piano? Play football? Snorkel? It’s funny how the pursuit of any other creative endeavor is rarely questioned. But writing? We question the validity of it all the time. Is it really an appropriate use of our time here? Isn’t it a little selfish? Maybe even self indulgent? Especially given the state of the world. These are the kinds of questions Becca posed this week. How do you find to positive things to write about in these troubled times?  Do you think the written word has the power to effect positive change?

This has been on my mind a lot recently. I keep telling my family and friends that I absolutely must stop listening to NPR first thing in the morning. It’s usually bad news followed by horrendous news followed by impending bad news. Who needs to start their day that way? Not me. Years ago I stopped watching the news before going to bed. Again, why should I go to sleep with all those dire warnings and disturbing images in my head?

We are living in unprecedented times. News, both good and bad, is literally at our fingertips. Constantly updated moment to moment. We are bombarded with the bad economy, global warming, healthcare, foreclosures, and terrorism and now North Korea wants to test a missile. Perfect. Unless we make a conscious deliberate effort to unplug on a regular basis, I think we begin living in a constant state of stress.

With all that’s going on in the world, with the economy the way it is, with two girls who will need to go to college in three then six years, I often wonder what is the point of my writing. It has not brought in much money in the twenty years I’ve been doing it. It has actually cost money in the form of classes, conferences, retreats, books, postage, and internet access. I walk through bookstores and see the shelves bulging with books already published. Who needs my words? I look at the environment and wonder if my words are worth the life of the trees it will take to create my books. I look at the stacks of notebooks I have already filled and think of all the trees I have already used just to be able to spill my thoughts and stories out of my head and onto a piece of paper. I look at the state of publishing and some would have you believe it’s nearly impossible to break into.  So, why write?

Well. Many reasons.

1. Words matter.  Words can build us up. Inspire hope. They connect us to ourselves and each other. Stories open us up windows to worlds previously closed.

2. Writing rights my state of mind. So when the doom and gloom all get to be too much and anxiety threatens to suffocate me, writing brings me back to the current moment. Here I am, in this moment, tapping my fingers on these keypads, hearing the rush hour traffic whine past. Anxiety is all about fears of what might happen. Writing drops me smack into the present.

3. Writing clears space inside my head. It can get awfully crowded in there with worst case scenarios. If they stay in the darkness of my own head it all tends to get greatly exaggerated. But, if I spill it onto the page, it loses much of its power and no longer weighs me down.  

4. If we don’t use our gift of writing, it’s a smack in the face to the universe. 

5. When I write I feel energized, focused, calm.

6. When I don’t write I feel sluggish, distracted and restless.

7. Um… it’s fun. Most of the time. Well, some of the time.

8. And again.. . words matter.  They can be a light in these dark times. The world can always use a little more light. And the world can also use people who feel connected and passionate about what they write and that passion spills out into the world. See, it’s win win win all around.

Creative Lulls

Moods, creativity, energy, the tides. What do all of these have in common? Cycles. Up cycles. Down cycles. Ebbing and flowing. Becca wrote last week about resurrecting her writing. I’ve had that same feeling of panic as I grab my book mentors off the shelf hoping to infuse me with some inspiration. They usually include: Anne Lamott, Natalie Goldberg, Heather Sellers, Ron Carlson. I’ll also take books filled with prompts to the bookstore and write, write, write. Along with this panic there is also a dose of guilt. A thin layer of shame at wasting my time, my talent. These days I try to take a more holistic view. Every part of my life is part of a cycle. I couldn’t possibly write eight hours a day every single day. First of all, my cut-off is usually five hours and that’s if I’m on a deadline. My usual attention span is two to three hours.

When I let my writing go it is usually under the guise of housework, errands, etc.. But that is a choice I am making. Those dishes could wait. Everything can wait. When I realize I am avoiding my work I try to figure out why. It is almost always because I am lost. I don’t know what comes next whether it’s the next sentence, scene, chapter, or project. Having that downtime lets things mull in the back in of my mind. The thing is, there is a fine line between percolating and procrastination.

When I hear resurrection I think that the thing has died and I have to bring it back to life. I never let my writing die. Even if I’m not actively writing, I am thinking about it. There is always some tenuous thread keeping me connected to my work. For me it’s more like resuscitation. My project or chapter or page or sentence needs some CPR. But bringing some thing back is always harder than just maintaining it in the first place. I read somewhere how it’s easier to keep a rocket orbiting in space rather than launching it out there over and over again. Same with writing. Writing a little bit on a regular basis is much easier than starting from square one again and again.

So creative lulls are a natural part of the process. But the trick is not to let the lulls lull you into thinking that thinking about writing is as effective as actually writing. I love this quote from Heather Seller’s blog:

“You must always keep changing your process!” Maria Irene Fornes says. “Because there are two of you, one who wants to write and one who doesn’t. The one who wants to write has to keep fooling the one who doesn’t!”