I Can Do This!

French Beaded Sunflower

French Beaded Sunflower

Have you ever taken on a project that you’ve never finished? I’ve done it many times, especially when it comes to art and writing projects.  I spent several years making French Beaded Flowers using a symphony of tiny glass beads in a rainbow of colors.  Then the day came when other things captured my interest and I stopped working on more than a dozen beading projects that I had started. They’re all waiting for a day when I get the urge to pull one of them out and begin again.

I’m like that.  Always finding things I want to learn about. I wade in and out of the water, starting and stopping every time I find a new passion.  It started years ago when I went to a summer weaving workshop to learn how to make my own cloth which I turned into various items of clothing, throw pillows, and whatever else struck my fancy.

That led  me to learn how to spin wool from a neighbor’s sheep into yarn. Hooked,  I bought my own small flock of Romney Sheep and Angora goats to supply me with the raw materials I needed.  What followed that? Why, natural dying of course, using plants to bring color to the yarns I was spinning.

I’ve spent other lengthy periods of time writing poetry, working in photography, and painting. And I never forget that my garden is a work of art, always in progress.  All of my passions are part of my life in one way or another and have combined to make me who I am today, a person of many interests who is rarely bored.

I’ve always been interested in healthy living, cooking, and food.  As a small child, my daughter Lisa, asked Santa to bring her Wonder Bread one Christmas. I baked my own bread at the time in an old wood burning cookstove. She said it  wasn’t as good as the bread she ate when visiting her friends.  She was anemic for a while and my son Mark, had digestive issues. I was always attuned to health problems and  when Bill was diagnosed with ulcers, we became a three menu family, with me eating whatever I had to make for the others.

French Beaded Poppy

French Beaded Poppy

Over the years I’ve continued to keep abreast of the news as it pertained to living a healthy lifestyle.  My diet has always been fairly healthy, depending on what the latest medical wisdom of the day was. I was always confused by what the powers that be were touting as the best way to lose weight. I just kept on gaining.  When I was married I wore a size 4 wedding gown, but over the years graduated to large sizes.

I tried being a vegetarian, but I had a major drop in energy and began having some digestive issues along with major cravings for meat.  I tried a low to no-fat diet. My weight  only crept higher and I was always hungry.  I gave up eggs when the heart people said that they were bad for you and continued to bake bread using the best whole grain flours when whole grains were said to be the only way to go. I still felt low on energy. I couldn’t get rid of my brain fog or my aching joints and sore muscles.

I went gluten free two years ago and started feeling better immediately.  I lost a little bit of weight but that stopped as I tried to take care of my carb cravings with dark chocolate and gluten free cookies made with a variety of other grains.  I began reading about the paleo diet and began experimenting, leaving out most grains. I filled up on veggies, meat, eggs, fish and fruit and again started feeling better.

A month ago, after watching my daughter successfully finish a 21 day sugar detox, I decided to follow in her footsteps.  What a difference it’s made.  I knew I was a sugar addict, but I wasn’t eager to give it up. Now I’ve lost 10 pounds.  But even better than the weight loss is how good I feel.  I have more energy now than I’ve had in years.  My thinking is much clearer and I’m not as forgetful as I was.  And food tastes even better than it did before.

It was initially daunting. My addiction to sugar and carbs brought on craving that I had to try to take control of.  But within days I felt a difference.  Yes, there were still cravings.  My favorite food of all is fruit … berries, peaches, pears, apples, bananas, grapes, cherries.  For 3 weeks I could only have 1 green tipped banana, a green apple, or a grapefruit per day.  I didn’t miss the lack of grains as I’d already stopped eating those.  I didn’t miss beans as I’m not that crazy about them anyway. I loved all of the veggies with a small portion of meat, eggs, or fish for protein. I learned how to make “banola,” a granola made from nuts, seeds, an egg, and green bananas. I made my own ketchup and Bill prepared homemade mayonnaise,  something we used to do but gave up on when life got overbearing and too busy.

French Beaded Wild Flowers

French Beaded Wild Flowers

There were days when it was hard.  I had headaches, felt a bit light headed, and wanted some berries or figs.  But I made it through and surprisingly, I haven’t strayed off course much.  Yes, I’m eating a bit more fruit, but not in the quantity I was before.  I’ve had a few sips of wine and wondered what I needed it for.  So far chocolate or pastries haven’t tugged at me and hopefully won’t anytime soon.  I have given thought to ice-cream, but so far haven’t fallen for it.  I’ve found a few recipes that use no sugar, so I’ll be giving those a try.

This change in eating habits isn’t something I want to drop along the wayside like some of my art projects. I love the way I feel.  I like that so far I’ve conquered my need for large doses of sugar.  When an occasional craving pops up, I just keep repeating:  “I Can Do This!”  Sometimes it takes saying it only once.  Other times it takes ten or twelve times before I believe it.  But in the end the cravings stop and I go on with my day, knowing I CAN it.

What Have I Done With My Former Self?

DSCF0597This past weekend I spent time at The Virginia Festival of the Book.  It’s a yearly event that pops up every March, bringing readers and writers together to share their love for words, books, and the pleasures of writing.  Once I was a participant when I did a poetry reading with the members of my poetry group.  But that was centuries ago and being in a group of other poets, I didn’t feel terribly vulnerable.  In the past few years I’ve been an attendee taking note of what is happening in the world of writing and publishing.

As I considered and then started writing my memoir over the last few years, I wanted to know what the climate was like out there. Being shy, anxious and intimidated by experts, I’d spent years working extremely hard selling my visual art. I also self-published an instruction book about an obscure rug hooking technique long before self-publishing became a hip thing to do.  Within the art community, I found other artists, agents, and galleries to be a very mixed bag of friendly and unfriendly beings often with noses stuck up high in the air.  I hated making cold calls to galleries, museums, and trying to get myself noticed.  It went fairly well and I was showing my work across the country. But feeling overwhelmed by having to be a sales person, which I wasn’t, I signed up with an agent who claimed she’d get my career of to a great start.  A couple of years later, having paid her up front for work that wasn’t helping me much, I fired her because she was all about making money for herself and not considering me, her client.

On the other hand my book, Australian Locker Hooking: A New Approach to a Traditional Craft, which I originally published back in the ’80s, was very successful because I knew who to market it to.  At the time I had a small flock of sheep and angora goats.  I spun their fleeces into yarn, dyed the wool with natural dyes, and wove or knitted the yarn into sweaters and a variety of other goods.  I knew other weavers and spinners all over the map and belonged to all of the organizations weavers and spinners belong to. It was the hippy, back-to-the-land era and I bet on the fact that this particular technique would turn out to have a hot market. I went to conferences, wrote articles for magazines, advertised to the niche I belonged to and ended up reprinting that book a number of times. I sold a total of eight thousand copies to shops and individuals all over the world before being a book seller got old. I wanted more out of life. I tried getting a publisher interested in taking it over but found no one game to take on this “small” project.

A few years ago, when I was told that writers had to build their own platforms and do their own marketing, I was not a happy camper. I wanted to write, not put myself out there even before I finished writing my intended book in order to sell it. I had been there, done that. Entering my 70th year I wanted to have time to do a bit of traveling and simply enjoy life. I had mistakenly believed that once a book is under contract with a publisher, that entity takes over all the dirty work like marketing.

But being passionate about getting my story down on paper and believing it has the potential to help readers who find themselves traveling down the same road I had, I decided I’d move forward with the project.  Even through the darkest of days, I made myself believe that my book would happen and that someway, someday, it would sit on bookstore shelves and sell.

As I pull the pages of my first draft together, I need to think ahead and begin exploring whether or not I will self-publish it, as I originally intended, or send it out to a few small publishers which several people have encouraged me to do. Either way I’ll need to do most of my own marketing. Both options have pros and cons.

That is what made the Festival of the Book, so valuable to me, this past week.  I talked to a small, nearby publisher, I talked to agents, and independent publicists to see what was what.  I talked to other writers, some of them at the same stage I’m at. They were all friendly, helpful, and encouraging. But what amazed me the most was my own behavior and reactions to them. I was not shy. I was not anxious. And I was not intimidated as I had been just a few years ago, when my inner critic told me I was stupid if I thought I could write a memoir. I suddenly realized those experts were in the same ballgame I’m in. They want to sell books and I want to sell my book.  I’m looking at them the same way they’re looking at me,  trying to judge whether working with any of them would be a fit.

Part of me had been dreading opening the publishing can of worms, but this past weekend I found it exciting to be doing the work.  On Sunday, when it was all over, I found myself, feeling low and let down.  I wanted more. As intimidated as I felt signing up to attend a nonfiction writing conference a few weeks ago, I’m now excited and can’t wait to get there and see what happens.

In the meantime, I’m happy but wondering what the %$#? happened to my former self and who is this new person living in my body now?  Isn’t change great?