Remembering What I Forgot.

Writing Begets Writing

I spent much of yesterday frantically looking outside myself for inspiration/motivation to actually sit down and write something. Anything. I clicked from site to site, link to link searching for those magic words that would propel me to the blank page. I considered taking (yet another) on-line class that I’ve heard only wonderful things about. But. $900 and I am saving for a trip to Europe with my daughters.

Luckily, in the middle of this panic mode, my heart stepped in. “Sweetie,” it said. “Just go sit down and write. Anything. It doesn’t matter what. You know this. You know that writing begets writing. You know that showing up is more than half the battle. You know to show up even on days you don’t want. Especially on those days.”

So, I listened to my heart. I sat down and the words just tumbled out of me. I don’t know what the quality of the work was but that doesn’t matter. My objective was quantity, of any amount. Just write something.

My heart was right. I know this. I know this deeply and profoundly.

I spent decades not knowing this. Decades reading every writing book I could get my hands on. Decades spent reading more about writing than actually writing.

Yesterday I forget what I already knew. And that’s okay. I remembered again.

 

Advertisements

#MonthofFaves ~ 5 Must Haves for Winter Survival 

Shout out your favorite brand or stores or favorite items.

winter-scene

Image found via Pinterest.

My little space heaters are vital in the winter. This one corner of the house where my writing room is on the ground floor and my yoga room above it, are always so much colder than the rest of the house. When I get up in the morning, the first thing I do is turn on the one in my yoga room, head downstairs to feed our cat and dog, brew a cup of tea, sit in my nook to write my morning pages then head back upstairs to my now warm, cozy yoga room to practice and meditate. Same for my office where I write. I no longer have a laptop at the moment, so I must come in here to write. I light a candle, turn on the heater, have a cozy blanket draped over me and I’m all set.

Cozy blankets are another must-have all winter long. I have them in the family room where we watch TV, in the living room, in my office, in my yoga room.

My teapot gets a lot of use in the winter. Not only does it keep me warm but I find that I eat less junk if I have a cup of tea to sip instead.

I am making an effort to get outside more this winter. My natural inclination is to basically hibernate which just promotes a vicious cycle of lethargy. I bought a pair of thin thermal long underwear and top this year so hopefully that will allow me to venture out to the park near us more frequently. Actually, even once would be more frequent than usual. I also got a membership to Planet Fitness, my theory being that when it is too icy to walk at least I can out of the house and get some exercise.

my-cozy-nook

My nook by the fireplace is by far, the coziest spot in the house. I have a basket next it filled with books, notebooks, pens, mindful coloring books and colored pencils. Light a candle, brew some tea, (or pour a glass of wine) drape a blanket over me and I’m in for the night.

What are your winter must-haves? Please share in the comments or link to your post.

Check out the challenge here. 

The Masks We Wear.

 

bda8719cbbccdb7f48aefca461e9c803

Image found via Pinterest.

I don’t remember the first time it happened.

But I’m sure I was young when I first donned that mask that would allow me to be accepted, liked, loved.

Maybe when I pretended not to be upset.

Or laughed at a joke that I actually found offensive.

When I said, “Nothing” to the question, “What’s wrong?”

Or when I somebody asked how I was and I said, “Fine” when really I was trembling with sadness, shame or rage on the inside.

We learn at a young age to mold our outsides to be acceptable to those we love most, to those who don’t even know us at all.

I did it just the other day when my best friend of 37 years came over so we could go to dinner and a movie. I’d just gotten home from teaching, the house was a mess because I just didn’t feel like cleaning. But I did this brisk 30-minute clean before she arrived.Why? She is the last person who would judge me for anything much less having a messy house. I was judging me.

And there it is.

I judge myself harshly and then feel compelled to pretend I am other than who I am.

Yoga has helped with this. Not just the poses. We all know that the poses are the very tip of the yoga iceberg. The more I practice, the more I show up to my mat just as I am on any given day and do what I can do on any given day, the more I am peeling away those layers of masks.

Some days I just need Child’s Pose and Savasana. That’s it. I’m done.

Other days I need to sweat and move and build strength.

The biggest revelation is that one day is not better than the other. They are just days. Days when I show up to my mat. And when I show up to my mat, I show up to myself.

No matter what I do when I show up to my practice, whether it’s Child’s Pose or Warrior or Crow, I am shifting energy. Energy that has gotten stagnant and stuck in my body. When I come out of a pose that has gotten to be too much, I am honoring who I am, not trying to prove I am something I’m not. Same when I pass on going deeper into a pose just because the teacher suggests it.

Yoga has been about learning to trust myself. Trust my body. Trust what I feel. Trust what I need. Trust what I believe. Trust in the Universe.

And when I deeply trust who I am, there’s no need to wear a mask.

mask-truth-self-quotes12

The Beauty of Seasons.

7dcbcd3bfdf62d70c6934b252aff366c

Found via Pinterest.

It’s September 1. Windows are open, A/C is off (for now). I hear the rustle of leaves as some begin making their descent back into the earth. Facebook is filled with photos of kids going back to school. The wide open space of summer is winding down as we get ready to begin the turning inward that fall and winter bring.

Fall is my favorite. I like it more than January 1 for clean slates and hunkering down to create and accomplish the life I dream of having. No matter how old I get, I will always ride this back-to-school energy. I stock up on notebooks and pens. This year, I bought an awesome new planner (undated) that I am starting to use today. If I was going to create my own planner this would be it. It’s the perfect balance of goal setting and dreaming, of intentions and accountability.

After getting our girls back up to school, I went through and cleared out the house. Threw away over-stuffed files, old clothes. Went through the junk drawers, the fridge and freezer. Everything has a home in my home now and my life is so much easier.

As part of stepping lightly into a more structured routine, I signed up for an on-line writing course that starts on Monday. I am finishing up revisions to my novel-in-stories and revising my agent query letter (which seems to be harder to write than the novel!) My other WIP is waiting patiently in the wings, ready for me to dive back into that world.

I have my yoga and meditation practice to both ground and uplift me—two things I desperately need in this heated political climate.

When I lived in Arizona, I loved the weather, the blue skies, the palm trees, having a beautiful in-ground pool in our backyard oasis. But. Once I moved back to the midwest, I realized how much I missed the change off seasons. I missed it on every level—physically, mentally, emotionally and energetically. The changing of the seasons stirs something within me, something primal and deeply rooted. They mimic the ebb and flow of my energy, my creativity. There’s the whole cycle-of-life that mirrors our physical selves as well as our emotional selves. I naturally tend to look outward at spring and revel in the warmth and wide open days of summer, then I naturally yearn to start retreating in the fall, stoking the home fires of my creativity, of my soul as we head into winter where the cycle begins all over again.

I’ve already seen a few leaves tinged red at the edges. The sun is setting earlier. And I am ready for the change of seasons. The change of energy and focus. How about you?

 

The More I Befriend my Writing…

IMG_1978

Today is the 130th day of 2016.

I have written every one of those days.

Some days I have half-assed it, just barely showing up enough to call it writing.

But most days I. Show. Up.

I write. I edit. I revise. I re-imagine scenes to make them deeper, more real. I haul out the words and stories buried in my body, in my psyche, ones that are weighing me down, holding me back.

Today, as I rolled out of a 30-minute meditation, trying to stay in that soft space, I picked up my notebook and pen, watching the pink ink spill across the page and I realized that writing is no longer just something I show up for. It’s not longer just a red “x” I make on my board.

Writing has become my soft place to land everyday—even when what I am writing is hard and jagged.

Writing is no longer (well, more often) this “other” that I battle, compare, belittle and judge.

I have finally befriended my writing and it has befriended me.

It reminds of this:

befriending

And here is the fascinating thing:

The more I befriend my writing, the more I am befriending my body—the more I befriend my whole self.

The more real I am on the page, the more I let it all out, the more compassion I seem to generate for myself and all the parts I used to deem as broken or unacceptable or unlovable.

My youngest daughter (19 years old) recently attended my Poses, Pens + Inner Peace class which combines some writing with yoga. The topic of that “inner mean girl” voice came up. Later at dinner, I asked E.if she experienced that voice.

She shrugged and said, “Nah…my voice petty much says ‘You do you, Girl!'”

As her mom, I loved hearing that.

,As a woman I loved hearing that.

As a writer, I realize that is exactly what my writing says to me:

“You do you, Girl. I got your back.”

 

 

 

Wednesday Writing Prompt.

woman with mask

Image found via Pinterest.

She had been wearing it for so long that the mask had molded to the contours of her face. A thick veil between her and the world. Between who she pretended to be and who she really was. Between who she was and who she wanted to be. The mask felt safe. Everyone knew the mask. She knew the mask. It was familiar. It had been with her for so long that she forgot it wasn’t naturally a part of her. Then she remembered. And it began to feel completely unnatural. Foreign. So other. Her eyelids were closed on the mask. Her vision obstructed. Gutted. The day came when she was tired of the darkness. Tired of the feeling trapped behind the stale breath of the mask. But could it be removed? She was tentative at first, not wanted it to hurt. But she knew that at some point it would. It was inevitable. And she was okay with that. She had to be. And so she lifted it off and it pulled away from her in one complete piece. No longer a part of her. Only a reminder. A reminder to not hide. Ever again.

 

The Necessity of Structure.

dress forms

Image found via Pinterest.

I just played with my first haiku since high school.

As part of the Write Yourself Alive challenge, I am trying to do the prompts that, well, challenge me.

Poetry challenges me.

Structured poetry challenges me even more.

But here’s what I learned. Or, maybe, it’s something I remembered.

Structure is essential to creativity.

It seems counterintuitive, I know. Creativity is free flowing,exactly the opposite of structured.

But nothing gets done without a structure.

All those pages I have filled over the years would have just stayed pages of free-writing, or practice unless I came up with a structure to contain them whether it was a story, novel, essay, blog post or even just a Facebook post.

We need to structure our time or nothing gets written or created. Nothing gets finished. Nothing gets submitted or shared with the world.

My yoga mat is a type of structure. My practice is a container for my attention. I have this one hour on my mat to connect with my body, my mind, with this moment. Without the structure of a practice I would completely lose that connection.

A recipe is a structure for a meal.

The tools you choose to create are the structure for the next piece or art whether its paper, scissors and glue or paint and canvas.

A pattern gives structure to a dress, otherwise it stays a lump of material.

Goals give structure to our dreams otherwise they stay dreams.

Where do you need more structure in your life? Feel free to share in the comments!

Oh, and here’s the Haiku Series I wrote:

Just Us

The days of just us
in our own little cocoon
of freedom and love.

Then fertility
crept in with charts and hormones
leaving us afloat.

Let go of that dream.
Immersed myself in college
then the line appears.

And two became three.
Three easily became four
Perfect square of love.

Small and big moments
Wove us together as one
Fights, fun, tears and joys.

Then college takes one
Creating a triangle
Leaving a true gap.

Then the other leaves.
Two there and two here alone.
Learning to embrace

The silence and space.
Standing face to face once more
Just the two of us.

Without Apology.

Okay…so this is a little anxiety-producing.

As part of the Write Yourself Alive Challenge, I wrote a rambling meditation, then recorded it and now…gulp…am sharing it here. But, hey, this was part of the reason I joined this challenge—to break the hell out of my comfort zone.

Without Apology

This is a rambling meditation through the silky seaweed of thoughts

undulating through the dark shadowy spaces of my mind.

Mining the mind for what is truly there,

not merely what I think is there.

Diving below that still surface of

polite thoughts of please and thank you and,

most insidious of all, I’m sorry.

Those apologies of the soul, for the soul.

Apologizing for taking up too much space,

for saying the wrong thing on the outside though it felt so right on the inside.

Slipping into the crevice between apologizing and owning.

Owning the space inside my head,

inside my heart.

Daring to disturb the mirror-like surface with

one pebble of truth

and allowing those ripples to flow wherever they may go.

Watching them extend far beyond the safety of polite

without apology.

 

WYA Challenge Day 17

Sharon Stone as Muse

Image credit.

My dear sweet Muse,
I implore you to wave your wand, sprinkle your creative dust (or tool of choice) and wrap me in a distraction-free bubble each time I sit down to write.
Shield me from the habitual grooves of my brain (wait, my computer just pinged. Did someone like my post? Which one? Who is it?) that yearn to hop on-line when I’ve barely written three sentences. Keep me encased in a beautifully translucent (yet strong impenetrable)  bubble where I have zero desire to check my Facebook or Twitter feeds or Pinterest boards or play a game of 2048 or do laundry or dishes or watch TV or…or…or.
Please, keep my focus on the page or the screen in front of me. Allow my focus to grow, diving deep beneath the surface of my story, deep into the lives of my characters.
I so envy (Okay, okay… sometimes “hate” is the word. As is “doubt.”) people who claim they lose all track of time when they write. That they forget to eat. Forget to eat? Really? They claim they look up and four, eight even ten hours have passed. Again, really? They didn’t have to pee once during that time? Then they are obviously not drinking enough water.
Me? I am distracted by every itch and twitch, every internal gurgle and grumble. Just once, I would love to be so completely absorbed by the world of my story that I forget about the world I am actually in.
Do you think you can help me with that? Cuz that’d be great.
Sincerely,
Your focus-challenged, distraction-attracting creative charge

WYA Challenge: Day 8

WYA

Before I write, I feel edgy. Restless.

Still , I often resist the page.

I resist the words that long to spill out of me. Words that have gotten lodged in my body, leaving me feeling on edge, fidgety, like I want to crawl out of my skin.

I ignore the page and instead clean or do laundry or scroll through Facebook or call a friend, trying to dislodge the words indirectly. But they are too deep. Only the precise motion of the pen across the page can excise them.

There. A word is shaved off a rib. Another coaxed out from the tender space behind a knee. More peeled away from the wet meaty flesh of my heart. Still more sifted out of the blood flowing through my body behind my shin.

Each word that is freed from the body and captured on the page leaves me feeling both lighter and more grounded.

It’s not the words that create the heaviness but the battle with resistance. All the restlessness that I try to channel into cleaning or organizing doesn’t touch the depth of the resistance. Those tasks merely mask that trapped energy, mask those words that have gotten stuck and no amount of busy work will lure them out.

Only the gentle movement of breath and the steady motion of my pen across the page will release the pent up energy that bubbles just below the surface of my soul.

The effort of writing is always worth the ease of being that follows.

The transformation is almost instant. With each word that escapes from the end of my pen, the easier I breathe, the more content I feel in my skin.

After I write, I am more present.

After I write, I am more me.

•   •   •   •   •   •

Creativity Check-in

How much did I write today?

2 hours

 

What did I work on?

Morning Pages

Healthy Living Journal

WYA Dig Deeper and Writing Prompt

WIP

 

Times of day:

 

M

morning, late afternoon, and night

Mood: 

Eager to show up to the work.

 

Greatest Obstacle:

MY WIP feels like a giant jumble of puzzle pieces that have no edges and are all the same color.

 

Greatest Strength:

Carefully reading through what I have, chapter by chapter, noting the balance of current story versus back story, making notes of questions alone the way.

 

Creative affirmation:

I tend to my writing daily and it flourishes even when it feels dormant.

 

Write Yourself Alive: A 30 Day Challenge