Art And War

February 17, 2012 By

I just finished reading a small but hugely important book.  If you are an artist, writer, or anyone who has a project of any kind in mind, but can’t seem to get started, this book is for you.

I’m writing a memoir. It took me a year to say that out loud or to write it down. It’s hard. I love the process.  I hate the process.  It comes in fits and starts.  Some days you’ll find me flying high above the treetops loving the world and everything in it. Other days, I might be floating underground on my way to the city’s sewage treatment plant. That’s how these things go and I know I’m not alone.

After reading Steven Pressfield’s, The War of Art, Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles, I’m feeling oh, so much better. I’m confident I will finish my memoir.  It’s a kick in the butt for scared, lazy people like myself who can find a gazillion reasons why they shouldn’t begin what their heart is calling them to do.

It’s three books in one.  Book One is about Resistance in all of its manifestations: procrastination, self-dramatization, victimhood, fear and every other possible reason I can come up with to not sit down at the computer and start to write. It’s about those little voices in my head I call stink bugs, who tell me I’m not good enough. What this man has to say about them squashes them in their tracks and sweeps them away before the stink has a chance to rise into the air and get on your fingers.

Book Two, Combating Resistance, is about being a warrior set on wiping Resistance off the face of the earth. It’s about becoming a pro and keeping yourself from wandering off course. It’s the hard part. If you’re like me, tending toward being a peace-maker and conscientious objector, the militancy will make you wince.  But in that you might also recognized one more mask of that sly fox, Resistance.

Book Three, Beyond Resistance, is my favorite part. It brought me back from the realm of the warrior to my own inner knowing about what I need to do.  It’s about the magic of putting words down on paper and how that, in and of itself, can become very habit-forming.  It’s about growth and waking up.  It’s about healing. It’s about communicating with the Muse. It’s about being a visionary.

Do yourself a big favor.  Read this little book. 

Filed Under: Books, Memoir, Wise Words, Writing

Writing Mishap Turns To Blessing

February 12, 2012 By

Today my brother Reid would have turned sixty.  A few weeks ago I found a letter I had written to him, but never sent. It was a rant about stuff that I was angry with him about eleven long years ago.  I thought, “Hmm … maybe I can use this in my memoir.”

As a first step I rewrote it to make it clearer and more understandable. Maybe I could include it as it was. But reading it to Sharon, who is one of my best “reader/listeners,” we found it didn’t work.  And it didn’t work the second time I rewrote it either.

After returning from Florida and getting caught up on the “to dos” that pile up when I’m away, I pulled it out again. Rereading it for the hundredth time I started fiddling with it in a new writing program (Scrivener) I was trying out. It suddenly disappeared. I tried everything I could think of to find it.  I checked the trash.  I checked my documents to see if I had tucked away another copy for just such an occasion, but never found it.

I spent five minutes muttering nasty words and feeling victimized by my *&?##!% computer and then it slowly began dawning on me that it was okay … it wasn’t working anyway… what’s the big deal?

I opened up a new file and began thinking about the letter and what I had been trying to say. My fingers started moving across the keyboard and the words began to flow.  I began listening to my frustrated self of eleven years ago. She expressed what was happening in her life that made her feel so bad and the things she was afraid of.  It started a whole stream of thought that had been missing when I’d written that letter trying to blame Reid for all that was wrong with the world.  Sure, he’d played a role in it, but he wasn’t the devil-incarnate I’d been making him out to be.

I’m glad I never sent that letter to him.  Right now I can see him sitting on the edge of a cloud, laughing at me.  Oh well, better late than never.

The story I was writing that started out as a vicious letter, is now unfolding in a much more truthful way. Things that I was having difficulty connecting are suddenly falling into place.

That doesn’t mean that I won’t stop accidentally deleting things or making other foolish mistakes.  What it does mean is that if I do, it isn’t the end of the world.  Sometimes the Muse has to step in when I’m being stubborn and not listening to her.  It is my story I’m involved in telling, but I’m not really the one doing the writing. I’m just taking dictation and occasionally trying to have my way with it.

Happy Birthday, Bro’!

Filed Under: family, Memoir, stories, Writing

My Week On Retreat

January 21, 2012 By

Iphone camera with wide-angle lens.

What was it that I said last Monday?  Something about a retreat?  Well, in some ways it has been like that and in other ways it hasn’t.

It’s been a busy few days, that’s for sure.  There hasn’t been any lolling around.  I’ve been busy every minute.  At the moment I’m sick.  When Bill went off to New York he took his blasted cold with him.  I thought I was safe.  Hah!!  I took care of myself, took Chinese herbs, got plenty of sleep and ate healthy foods.  I was feeling great until yesterday morning when I woke up with a head that felt like it was filled with concrete.  My nose dripped like a faucet that hasn’t been properly shut off and I have not one scrap of energy.

I didn’t go to yoga. But with an ice storm on its way, I did hurry to the grocery to stock up the pantry.  I bought fruit, deli quinoa salad, greens.  Two small almond cookies went home with me. But I turned my back on the dark chocolate and those almond croissants I adore. I’m suffering now.

Iphone camera with telephoto. Don't like what's happened in the corners. Something to figure out.

Besides doing some writing, I’ve mostly been going through one of the boxes of old journals I’ve kept.  It’s been interesting and is helping me to get life events in order for my memoir writing.  Many of my entries are boring lists of what I was doing from day-to-day.  But there is meaty material as well. I’m so glad I didn’t burn those ratty looking notebooks. I threatened I do just that during the last move.  But Lisa, my daughter, came to their rescue, saying, “Don’t you dare.”  So their lives were spared.

Iphone camera with macro lens.

Just last week I discovered a range of inexpensive lenses made for the Iphone camera. (I think they’ll fit most cell phones.) They came yesterday and this morning I’ve had fun, trying them all out.  There is a macro/wide-angle lens, a fish-eye and a telephoto lens as well.  The instructions say to place the small, magnetic metal ring (provided) around the lens on the phone.  It has an adhesive on one side that is supposed to keep it stuck to the phone. But it didn’t stick to the glass the Iphone is made of and came off with the lens I was using every time I wanted to change it.  So I stuck it on the phone case instead and that did the trick.  You simply place the lens on the ring and it is held in place by the magnet. What fun!!

I have been head-over-heals in love with my Iphone camera.  It is amazingly as good as the fancy Mamiya I used for my work in fine art photography.  The only problem is stability and when you get to be my age and have a bit of a tremor, it’s a problem.  But with practice I’m hoping that will improve.  I’m very excited since I still love to do some photography but am well past wanting to lug around a tripod and a bag filled with heavy, expensive lenses. I can tuck these cute, tiny things in a pocket or my purse and be prepared to capture an interesting moment that I might want to use on this blog.

Iphone camera with fish-eye lens.

All in all this has been a great mini-retreat.  I’ve enjoyed everything but being sick. And a few days after Bill left, I remembered that I had to do his chores as well as my own.  I’d forgotten to clean out the litter pans and with three cats choosing to use the same pan, even when there is one for each one of them, it gets problematic if you forget.

Another problem is that there are only a given number of hours in each day.  I must have dreamed that when you are on retreat you get a few extra hours each day.

More Macro work.

Filed Under: Dreams, Memoir, photography, Retreats, stories, Writing

Making A Mess

January 11, 2012 By

Messing around with my Iphone camera!

Make a mess. Take a step. Fall down. Throw it away and start over. Be wrong and celebrate the dropped balls. What could be more miserable than to be human (the greatest storytelling creature in the history of the planet and maybe the universe) and believe that you are not creative?

David Robinson
The Direction of Intention
August 27th, 2011

Just before Christmas I gave my writing coach, Kevin, a quick draft of an important piece I had just written for my memoir.  Then I read it to a good friend who is hugely supportive and has helped propel me along my way.  It wasn’t exactly good writing. It was a first draft. None-the-less, I was excited and proud of it because it had been a hard one to get down on paper, bringing up lots of “stuff” that was, well, kind of scary.

I sipped my tea slowly and made notes as Kevin commented on it.  I agreed with everything he had to say.  He said things like, “This is your story, not your parent’s.  You need to make your presence known.  I want to know more about how you REALLY feel about your mother.”  I realized fear had been paying me a visit and was getting in my way. So I set about revising, trying to insert myself into the story so that I owned it. Then Christmas happened and time was short. It put it to rest until my return from North Carolina.  I thought a lot about it while I was gone.  I felt it was at a slow simmer on the back burner and while enjoying my visit with my grandkids, I was also looking forward to getting back to work on it.

Two weeks later and two days before I was to meet with Kevin again, I pulled the piece out of its folder and started to reread it.  It was awful.  It was embarrassing. I couldn’t believe that I had actually given it to Kevin and then read it to my friend.  I wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and die.  I dropped everything and rewrote the piece over the next two days. I tore the whole thing apart and started over, changing the order of things, deleting much and adding more. I wanted it be perfect.  Well, nothing is ever perfect, but loony person that I am I keep trying and then spend too many precious moments fearing I’ve failed.

Even final drafts aren’t perfect. I continue to pull out poems that I wrote ten years ago, believing they are done, then find myself revising them. I’m learning though. I’m learning about first drafts being called “vomit drafts” or the “shitty first draft” and letting them marinate in their own juices until they’ve had time to stew.  I know that perfect is a problem for me along with fear. But allowing myself to make big messes I’ll get over it.

The quote above is from my teacher and friend, David Robinson, whose blog, The Direction of Intention, is a wonderful place to visit.

Filed Under: Fear, Memoir, Perfectionism, Writing
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