One Rich Life
Amaryllis,
© Joan Z. Rough
“This is my living faith, an active faith, a faith of verbs: to question, explore, experiment, experience, walk, run, dance, play, eat, love, learn, dare, taste, touch, smell, listen, speak, write, read, draw, provoke, emote, scream, sin, repent, cry, kneel, pray, bow, rise, stand, look, laugh, cajole, create, confront, confound, walk back, walk forward, circle, hide, and seek.”
Grandlings, Zoe and Noah on the Downtown Mall.
I’ve been running into those words often for a couple of days now as I try to get myself back into my daily routine and at work on my memoir. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks in which the routine, the writing, exercise, and getting enough sleep have taken a backseat to other things.
The loss of Brody took a number of days before the waves of grief that overtook me became fewer. During that time I mostly sat and cried, unable concentrate on the simplest of daily activities.
Five days later the annual Virginia Festival of Book started here in Charlottesville, and with it came a visit from a friend whom I’d never before met in person, but with who I knew I had much in common. We’d emailed and made comments back and forth on each other’s blogs and even talked on the phone once. Shirley Showalter of 100 Memoirs was someone I’d stumbled upon on the Internet and it turns out she lives only about two hours away. Her book, Blush, will be in print and on bookstore shelves sometime in the fall. She’d been planning to visit the Festival of the Book and I invited her to stay with me here in my home.
What a wonderful time it was. We went to a few of the festival sessions together and spent hours talking and reading to each other from our memoirs. Way ahead of me on the writing and the publishing angles, she is an inspiration and I know that if she lived any closer I’d often be on her doorstep asking unending questions. When Shirley returned home l was filled with excitement, new ideas and directions for my writing as well as pinpointing publishing options.
For a few days I struggled with catching up on all that I had let slide for a week. The daily rounds of laundry, preparing food for the upcoming Easter weekend and visit from my daughter’s family took up most of my time. Not to be forgotten was taking time to play with our new adoptee, Max, who snuggled his way into our bed and hearts, easing the sadness of Brody’s untimely death. There was little time for writing, except for capturing notes as I remembered things I would change in my memoir, made lists of new books to read, and emailed a few new contacts. I also just needed to sit with myself to bring the roar of excitement to a lower level in which I could think more clearly, keeping myself from being overwhelmed by all that I wasn’t getting done.
Easter weekend was a blast with my Grandlings (read grandchildren) staying with us, sleeping in our basement, “Harry Potter” room, which looks somewhat like a set from the movie. We gifted Lisa and Deena with a stay in a nearby hotel so that they could have a few evenings without the kids. We spent lots of time walking and laughing and on Saturday helped to surprise Mark’s stepdaughter Casey on her 25th birthday with a lovely party. It was the first time in a number of years in which my kids were all here together. We joyfully spent our time celebrating each other. As I grow older occasions like this past weekend become more and more important to me.
Casey blowing out her candles.
We’re all back in the daily grind now, and I can’t help but feel a bit let down. I’ve not felt like writing and last night caught myself thinking that maybe this memoir I’m working on is a waste of time.
I’ve so enjoyed the distractions of friends, parties, great food, laughter and being with my kids, that returning to the serious work of reliving the past and moving through it to healing, seems more painful than usual. The sunshine and the bursting forth of new life is stealing my attention and my need to get my hands into the earth is growing. Words flow onto the page with difficulty and I struggle to make myself sit down and dive back into what was. Time marches on and there are so many things I still want to do.
But I am returning to my work, knowing that it is something I must do, even when it doesn’t feel good. I’ve moved my September 1st deadline for a finished first draft to November 1st, and plan on giving myself a few breaks along the way. We’ re making plans to kidnap Zoe and Noah for a week this summer when we’ll ride the train up to Washington and take in the museums. We’ll also go swimming, read books together, see a silly movie or two and just be with each other.
In the meantime, I’ll not give up working on my story. I love the writing, even when I hate it. I’m growing way beyond the trauma that once made me hide from life. The secret is to integrate the past and the present, stay out in the sunlight, breathe deeply, and enjoy every single moment that comes my way. Time will do as it will.
“Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway.” Earl Nightingale
“Why is it we understand that playing the cello will require work but we relegate writing to the magic of inspiration? Chances are, any child who stays with an instrument for more than two weeks has some adult who is making her practice, and any child who sticks with it longer than that does so because she understands that practice makes her play better and there is a deep, soul-satisfying pleasure in improvement. If a person of any age picked up the cello for the first time and said, “I’ll be playing in Carnegie hall next month!” you would pity her delusion, but beginning writers all over the country polish up their best efforts and send them off to The New Yorker. Perhaps you’re thinking here that playing an instrument is not an art in itself but an interpretation of the composer’s art, but I stand by my metaphor. The art of writing comes way down the line, as does the art of interpreting Bach. Art stands on the shoulders of craft, which means to get to the art, you must master the craft.
“If you want to write, practice writing. Practice it for hours a day, not to come up with a story you can publish but because you long to write well, because there is something you alone can say. Write the story, learn from it, put it away, write another story. Think of a sink pipe filled with sticky sediment: The only way to get the clean water is to force a small ocean through the tap. Most of us are full up with bad stories, boring stories, self-indulgent stories, searing works of unendurable melodrama. We must get all of them out of our system in order to find the good stories that may or may not exist in the fresh water underneath.
“Does this sound like a lot of work without any guarantee of success? Well yes, but it also calls into question our definition of success. Playing the cello, we’re more likely to realize that the pleasure is the practice, the ability to create this beautiful sound — not to do it as well as Yo-Yo Ma, but still, to touch the hem of the gown that is art itself.”
Ann Patchett, The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir About Writing and Life.
Yikes! Yesterday was the first day of February. I set a deadline to finish a draft of my memoir by September first. I don’t know where last month’s thirty-one days went. I swear it was just yesterday that I welcomed in the New Year with excitement. My head was filled with ideas. I jotted down notes every time a new one came along and began getting out of bed at six-fifteen every morning so that I could walk the dog, get some exercise in, and have breakfast before plunging into a two-hour write.
I set of goal of writing for at least twelve hours a week. It doesn’t sound like much for a serious writer, but that time allotment does not include reading other blogs about writing, checking email, wasting time on Facebook, meeting every two weeks with my writing coach, or keeping this blog up to date.
I also decided I would no longer allow myself to get fixed like glue to the television screen every night after the evening news, even if there is something “good” on. Bill and I have gotten into the habit of watching House Hunters International on HGTV, every evening at seven. It’s the cheapest way to see the world and somehow very addictive for two old farts like us.
Instead, most nights, I’ve been taking that hour to try to make a dent in the piles of books I have sitting by my bedside and in the living room. I figure a writer needs to read in order to write. But if I wait, like I usually do until I get into bed, I’ll be reading the same damned paragraph every night for the next three months. Don’t laugh. It really happens.
So how’s it going? I’m sorry you asked. I’m completely frustrated, overwhelmed, and every day ask myself, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I LOVE my actual writing time, when there are two hours in a row to go at it without interruption. The morning is best, but in order to keep my aging body from pooping out, there are several sessions of Pilates and yoga to go to several times a week. They meet only in the morning.
And then two weeks ago I signed up for a six-week class with Dan Blank, on building my writers platform. Oh my goodness. If I wasn’t already overwhelmed before, I certainly am now.
What was I thinking? Though writing this book is not about making millions of dollars or being on the New York Times bestseller list, I certainly do want at least more than twenty or so people to read my book. And since I will in all likelihood self-publish this very well written gem, I’d best find out how one goes about doing what I think I’m doing. I’ve finished Dan’s first lesson with its homework and am now settling into the second lesson. I put a few drops of Dr. Bach’s Rescue Remedy, on my tongue when the anxiety of, “I have to do what?” kicks in.
Seriously, it’s scary. I’m a seventy-year-old introvert, who loves to spend her time creating, not selling. Technology gets the best of me, and frankly, I don’t give a fig about social media and all that other stuff I don’t understand.
But rather than begin to sound like my mother, who a lot of my book is about, I’d best not say too much more.
Instead, I will pass on a quote from my daughter, Lisa, who in her latest, Sacred Circle Newsletter, wrote:
“What if there was no such thing as failure? What if everything was akin to a great big fancy science experiment where the results simply gave you new information and didn’t define who you are? What if the results of your “experiments” changed with the seasons, shifted with your moods, and weren’t necessarily static and permanent? What if at any time you can choose to change your mind about the direction your “experiments” are going?”
Reading that yesterday helped me to adjust my attitude a bit. I know I can do just about anything for a little while and since the class is only six weeks long, I’ll experiment and see if this platform building stuff takes hold. By then my anxiety about creating a brand and building relationships with people I don’t even know, will hopefully find a new home.
I must say I am enjoying working with a group of writers who experience the same fears that I do and Dan is fabulous. He has a lot of patience with us and everything he says makes a whole lot of sense. So I’m sticking with it. I’ll keep on writing as well and work at trying not to be so OCD about getting a draft done by 11:59 PM on September first.
What about you? What’s causing you to be overwhelmed and filled with anxiety? How do you deal with it?
The season is moving on and the end of 2012, is not too far off. Though September is really the month I consider to be my New Year, January is still a landmark time, in that the calendar begins its yearly cycle, bringing us back to the beginning again every year.
On January 1st, I set an intention for the 365 days that are before me, just as I will set my intentions for tomorrow, this evening, and on Sunday night, I’ll set them for the week ahead. Using this idea, taught to me by Debra Marrs, I wake up each morning, knowing what I plan to do for the day ahead. And though I may stray off course from time to time, it’s a structure that I can carry with me into the next day if necessary. Unless I am faithful to these lists, I would most likely arise confused and overwhelmed, trying to figure out where to begin my day, and why.
I do change things around as opportunities for a last-minute visit with a friend arises or if the cat gets sick and I need to take her to the vet. I simply put what I didn’t do today onto the list for tomorrow. The deal is to only write down three or four items to accomplish each day, leaving extra time to keep working if I choose, or to have a cup of tea with my neighbor, weed the garden, or have a cat nap. Those things, which I don’t consider work and often feel guilty about doing, are just as important as taking time to work on my memoir every day, paying the bills, and doing the laundry. They are the self-care items that keep me sane. I’ve learned over the years that without time to relax, I don’t do well. After having used this system of time management for a while, I now know just how much I can accomplish in a given day. I’ve stopped overloading my plate, and don’t feel rotten anymore, when I don’t finish everything I planned to do.
My yearly intentions are a bit different. They are just one or two words that I choose each January to accompany me as I move through the next calendar year. In the past I’ve chosen words such as trust, slowly, and open. When I’m feeling particularly pushed, I’m reminded to slow down and to trust that all will be well. The word open, really helped me during a difficult time after my mother died, when all I wanted to do was to hide away and lick my wounds. Instead of sitting behind a closed-door, I left it slightly ajar. When I felt it was safe to leave the door wide open, I did, letting in the sunshine, a fresh breeze, new friends and interests. The lineup of these words grows every year as I add a new one. And they often come together like old friends, when I’m feeling in need of a course correction.
This year, I’m starting a few weeks early as a way of practicing before the ball drops on New Year’s Eve. I’ve chosen simplicity, as my word for 2013, hoping it will help me to keep my worst enemy, Perfection, from trying to take over. It should help me to sort out the idea of enough, as in how I perceive myself, and how much time I need to put in working on my memoir everyday.
I want my days to be less complicated and more productive. I want to keep my goal of finishing a draft of my memoir by September 1st in mind, while finding a way to get it done without making life so complicated and difficult, that I’ll give up and walk away. It will help me to use the word NO, when the temptation to let it go arises, and remind me that what I want most in the world right now, is to write my story.
In the spirit of practicing simplicity, I plan on taking the next three weeks off from writing this blog. I’ll have extra time to enjoy my family and get lots of rest before jumping headfirst into whatever lies ahead.
I wish each and every one of you, a happy and healthy Holiday Season and a New Year filled with fresh dreams!
