Celebrating A New Life

ScatteringASHES_VERSA.inddWOOHOO!

I never dreamt in a million years that this day would come.  I’ve been in labor for six long years and today, SCATTERING ASHES, A Memoir of Letting Go, has officially been born.  Someone asked me yesterday, how it feels to have accomplished this magical feat, and all could say was, “It’s unreal.”

I’ve written a book of two-hundred and thirty-six pages, and I can’t find words to describe how I’m feeling? Humpf! But I know I’m not alone. Every author who pens a book and sees it through to publication is filled with pride and are sometimes wordless when it comes to describing the feeling of having done it.

I can tell you this: I am excited. I am proud of myself. I’ve done something I never thought I would or could do. And I did it!  If I can write a book and get it published, I can do just about anything!

Shall I go for another?  We’ll see.  I have some ideas, but first I must raise the book I’ve just given birth to and send her off into the world.

Please check out my guest blog post over at Create Write Now.

If you’ve read my book or intend to, I’d appreciate it you could write an honest review over on Amazon and Goodreads.  It helps us authors when the word gets out.  Thank you!

The Silence Of Snow

DSC01864I just returned from a writing retreat with four wonderful women. It was a week of hard writing, sharing, nurturing, and laughter. I’ll write more about it next week. But for now, with a good portion of our country sleeping beneath a heavy blanket of snow, I leave you with the following poem.

The Silence of Snow

I shift beneath blankets
warm from nightly wandering
the only sound my thoughts
percolating through misty dreams
unspoken words muffled by snow
pillowed on pines  plump sculptures
thick as feather beds conceal
the garden that yesterday lay
barren and scarred

No birds call  leaden geese in silhouette
glide the river thickening with winter chill
I slip back into dreams  a mummy wrapped
in sheets of white  the slow dance
of cranes in a sea of frozen fog
drift in and out numbing my bones
awake once more I wonder if death
is as still and pure as
the silent snow

JZR
12/2005

What questions do snow and silence raise for you?

How Do You Know When You Need Some Downtime?

DSC01745.JPG“Downtime is where we become ourselves, looking into the middle distance, kicking at the curb, lying on the grass or sitting on the stoop and staring at the tedious blue of the summer sky. I don’t believe you can write poetry, or compose music, or become an actor without downtime, and plenty of it, a hiatus that passes for boredom but is really the quiet moving of the wheels inside that fuel creativity.”
Margaret Roach

I finished the third rewrite of my manuscript on Wednesday afternoon. I was cross-eyed, had a headache, and felt like crap. I emailed it to my writing coach, Kevin. Then sent a note to my developmental editor, Dave, telling him I’d have one more look-see in the morning before sending it off to him the following day.

I woke up the next morning, still feeling awful. My eyes were crusted over, glued shut, and when I thought about taking another look at my manuscript, I got nauseous. I’d had a weird dream in which I didn’t know where I was. Though the place I was in wasn’t a prison, I felt imprisoned. I sat around a dining table with a bunch of other women. They were all smiling. Conversation was nonexistent. And there was no food on the table. The dream made me feel scared and very vulnerable.

I ate breakfast, took a quick walk, and sat down at my computer, intending to just glance through my “finished” draft. When it popped up on the screen, I knew I couldn’t do it. I was sick of it. Tired of rewriting, rereading the same-old, same-old, I’d been working on all summer long. Even the two brief “vacations” I ventured on hadn’t been enough to keep this excruciating burn out from happening.

Overcooked, like a stingy pot roast, I simply attached the draft to an email and sent it off to Dave, too exhausted to give a %#$@ about it. I had to get rid of it. I desperately needed time to simply be, without trying to be the perfect writer. A chronic overachiever, I had done myself in again. I cried some, argued with Bill a lot, and was a general pain in the butt, even to myself.

When Bill took off Saturday on one of his long planned theatre trips to New York, I went out into my garden and started deadheading faded blooms. I pulled weeds, tore out a whole section of dead, sun loving perennials that had been overtaken by dense shade, and thought about what to plant in their place next spring …  more ferns, lenten roses, and shade loving hostas.

After lunch, I took time to read a novel I’d been enjoying, then had a nap. When I went back into my studio, my head was much clearer. I started going through the long list of old emails on my computer that I’d been meaning to reread, but now found uninteresting. I deleted many of them. After a dinner of yummy left overs … locally made kielbasa and my fabulous potato salad, I finished the novel and tucked myself into bed at nine-thirty.

I’m on my way back to being my old self, again, but I need more rest and a lengthy break from the mind boggling material I’ve been writing about.  I hadn’t noticed how exhausted I’d become. Or how obsessed I’d been with my story and getting it right. I had just kept on rewriting, forgetting to take breaks when I couldn’t see the computer screen in front of me any longer.

I still need a real vacation. I’ll finish out this week without Bill, by doing as little as possible. Maybe I’ll go to a movie. I’ll start  reading a new book from the huge pile next to my bed, and perhaps sit in the garden in the evening, watching the night come on, listening as bird song is overtaken by the rattle of cicadas, crickets, and tree frogs. I’ll make myself some lucious rice pudding, and take long, lingering naps every afternoon.

Even the things we love doing, like writing, can become overwhelming if we don’t remember to provide ourselves with downtime.

As for perfection … there is no such thing. No matter how many time I rewrite my story, it will never be perfect. And it might actually begin to lose its sheen as I dab away at its yet unseen glow.

Yes, there will be at least one more rewrite, but before that happens, a little self-care is in order.

How do you know when you need downtime?

Already Naked

“Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose.  You are already naked.  There is no reason not to follow your heart.”  Steve Jobs

DSC00761Just over a week ago we had fifteen inches of snow on the ground.  This past weekend we had two gorgeous days, both near seventy degrees. The warmth and sunshine was heart warming after what has seemed like a long, cold, and dreary winter.  Although it sounds like there may be more snow in our future for next weekend, I know spring is on it’s way.

My cat, Lily, was the first to inform me. She has spent most of winter cozied up inside on the couch, only going out to use her favorite flowerbed as her kitty pan.  Just before the big snow, she started her warm weather routine of going out, coming in, going out, coming in, and going out again. She’s constantly at the door or at the window outside our dining room asking for our attention in manning the doors.  And even the snow didn’t stop her.  She tells me that spring’s arrival is guaranteed. Soon. She is much more optimistic than that groundhog, Phil.

I’ve also noticed the build up of the chorus of bird song when I go out for my morning walks with the dogs.  Almost silent just a few weeks ago, the sunrise is taking on music and  it will crescendo into it’s full blown glory as the days grow longer and warmer.  Yesterday I noticed a lawn up the street abloom with tiny lavender croci. Daffodils are poking their sleepy heads above ground, gaining strength and energy as they inch toward the glow of the sun.

And I’ve taken on a new glow myself.  After my last post about loss and grieving, an internet friend, Debra Marrs, sent me the quote above. I’ve spent the last week contemplating its meaning and feeling myself beginning to recharge and get ready for an audacious spring.  I’m certainly helped by the lengthening of daylight hours. I’m now ready to great the sunrise and be outside at around 6:40 AM and am reveling in the added time in the evening to watch the sun sink beyond earth’s edge.  My energy levels are moving upward and now that the work on our house is about done, (They promise today will be the last day) my interest in finishingmy book is growing.  No one ever told me that these last chapters just might be the hardest to write, but the words are flowing again and I just might find my way out of my thicket of thoughts in a timely way. I’m seriously considering going to a creative non-fiction writing conference in May, the first in many years, as a way to get myself primed for what’s next in getting my memoir onto bookstore shelves.

During the dark time of winter, especially when it’s cold, I find it easy for me to sit back and fall into my old patterns of not feeling good enough … that I’ll never get the book done or published … and if I do get that far, no one will care to read it.  But hey, that quote above sent me a reminder.  I’m already naked.   What do I have to lose?

So tell me, is spring on its way in your neck of the woods?  And what do you have to lose if you ignore your biggest dream?DSCF0989

Yay, I Did It!

DSC01475I thought that by the time I turned seventy years old, I’d have it all pretty much together. But last November when I hit the big seven-oh, I was still fumbling my lines and couldn’t remember where on the stage I’m supposed to stand. Let’s just say I’m still rehearsing my act.

When I was a kid my parents often told me that I took life and myself too seriously. I was supposed to laugh more … have fun … quit being so sensitive. I believed every word they spoke and started building what I thought my worth was … in their eyes.

I grew up, got married, had my own kids, and still hadn’t figured out that what I did was really good  and important. Whenever I thought I was doing something wrong, which was most of the time, I’d say, “I’m sorry.” I still say it, but not as much as I used to. I recognize those words as just a misguided belief and an old habit that may take a long time to find its way into the trash can.

A few days ago, in the midst of making an appointment, I was confounded when I tried to schedule a time that would be convenient for me.  In the past I always found it much easier to schedule things whenever it was best for the other person. Even if I had something else to do, I’d somehow find a way to work around it, never wanting to inconvenience anyone else. I was constantly frustrated and anxious about my own work and how I was supposed to get it done.  And I often blamed the other person for being uncooperative.  No more.

The other day when I told the receptionist what time I could be there, she told me that it wouldn’t work; that they don’t take appointments between noon and two.  But this time, without a second thought, I told her that 1 PM was the only time I could meet.  I told her that I work from 9 AM till noon, and my chosen time was the only one that would work for me, as the rest of the day was filled to the brim.

I felt annoyed; prepared to argue it out. But there was no need.  She smilingly said, “Oh, okay. We can do that,” and quickly wrote my name down in my chosen time slot.

For days I’ve been stunned that I said what I had and that the receptionist was so willing to help me out. I’m flabbergasted and embarrassed that it’s taken me so damned long to take my work and myself seriously enough to just say, “No, I can’t do that.” I’m proud of myself for the commitment I’ve made to the work of writing my book. In the past my thoughts would have been something like, “I’m just writing a book.  What’s the big deal?”

Tonight join me as I toast myself for finally beginning to learn my lines.

How about you?  Do you take your dreams seriously or just dismiss them as unimportant?