Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The Sporting Life
Here it is, the long promised surf video, shot and edited by the talented Carl. I have improved further since we shot this footage, but I love how this video captures me just on the cusp of standing up. My first shaky steps. I also like how it shows me wiping out, getting tossed off the board, and almost colliding with both cool, experienced surfers and young children. That's what surfing was like for me right up until August of this year, when finally I figured out how to stand up and stay up on the board.
"Whatever you think you can do or believe you can do, begin it. Action has magic, grace, and power in it." Goethe
This is one of my favorite quotes. Not just because I think it's true, but because it's so optimistic, so encouraging. I had always wanted to surf, and in spite of being out of shape, and not a great swimmer, and quasi-afraid of the ocean, I dared to try. And I succeeded! This ranks up there with some of my proudest accomplishments, along with learning how to speak Spanish, passing the bar exam, and writing a novel.
Rediscovering and reclaiming my inner athlete has been one of the best gifts of the past year. I unearthed her, first for surfing, because it was an itch I had to scratch, and then for swimming to help the surfing, and then for tennis, to help research the novel. Along the way I remembered that sports were a huge part of my life until I was fifteen, when I decided I was an intellectual and not an athlete. I'm glad that I've finally realized I can be both. Why choose?
Finally, I can't let the week pass without shouting out my Fighting Phils! October baseball two years running in Philadelphia--I'm not sure this is my city anymore. My awesome parents took me to game two of the playoffs last night, where we handed Milwaukee a second defeat with an incredible grand slam from Shane Victorino. I've never been part of an event where such passion was displayed--by the crowd. The cumulation of 28 years of hope for the Phils was fully present last night as we screamed, shouted, taunted, cheered, and yes, booed. One thing I love about sports is watching people dig deep into their talent and determination to perform under great pressure. I love watching people rise to an occasion. Our Phillies did that last night, and I got to share in the love with my parents and 46,000 other rabid fans. What a joy, what a blessing.
Go Phils!
Friday, September 26, 2008
The Next Small Step
12 Step circles have a million helpful phrases, but the one I've been using for the past week is "Just do the next right thing." This is a simple concept, but for me, who often makes things harder for myself than they have to be, I find it hard to believe that something so simple could work.
But this week, faced with an overwhelming amount of work to do on the book, and not knowing where to start, I gave it a try. After calming down, working through my consuming panic about NEVER finishing through long walks and reassuring words from Carl, writer friends and others, I came back once again to just doing the next right thing.
I chose one of the many problems I identified while reading the manuscript, just one, and then tried to think of the smallest possible thing I could do to address it. The smallest step forward. The problem was the role of a particular character in the book--if he is necessary, and if so, why, and how my protagonist feels about him. It's a big issue that needs to be decided for the book to move forward. My smallest step was to look at one scene where he appears and see if it rang true, if it made sense. Once I decided it did, my next small step was to brainstorm how that scene would affect his relationship with the protagonist. And that small step led me to realize what their relationship was like in the first half of the book and how I could portray that. And that small step helped solve a problem that I thought was completely unrelated.
All of which gave me a lot of hope that by just progressing one small step at at time, any remaining issues with the book will be resolved. And isn't that the only way to proceed anyway?
I have also rediscovered/remembered that it greatly helps if I come up with a few possible small steps for my next work session, and write them down before I stop working for the day. That somehow eases my mind, and allows me to jump in more easily the next day.
I have applied this idea in other areas of my life, from my job search, to structuring my day, to selling my car, and it really seems to work. So if you're like me, and occasionally feel overwhelmed and don't know where to start, try taking the next small step, or doing the next right thing. Let me know how it works out.
But this week, faced with an overwhelming amount of work to do on the book, and not knowing where to start, I gave it a try. After calming down, working through my consuming panic about NEVER finishing through long walks and reassuring words from Carl, writer friends and others, I came back once again to just doing the next right thing.
I chose one of the many problems I identified while reading the manuscript, just one, and then tried to think of the smallest possible thing I could do to address it. The smallest step forward. The problem was the role of a particular character in the book--if he is necessary, and if so, why, and how my protagonist feels about him. It's a big issue that needs to be decided for the book to move forward. My smallest step was to look at one scene where he appears and see if it rang true, if it made sense. Once I decided it did, my next small step was to brainstorm how that scene would affect his relationship with the protagonist. And that small step led me to realize what their relationship was like in the first half of the book and how I could portray that. And that small step helped solve a problem that I thought was completely unrelated.
All of which gave me a lot of hope that by just progressing one small step at at time, any remaining issues with the book will be resolved. And isn't that the only way to proceed anyway?
I have also rediscovered/remembered that it greatly helps if I come up with a few possible small steps for my next work session, and write them down before I stop working for the day. That somehow eases my mind, and allows me to jump in more easily the next day.
I have applied this idea in other areas of my life, from my job search, to structuring my day, to selling my car, and it really seems to work. So if you're like me, and occasionally feel overwhelmed and don't know where to start, try taking the next small step, or doing the next right thing. Let me know how it works out.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Overwhelming Myself
I hate to brag, but overwhelming myself may be the thing I do better than anyone. I can overload on reading, on tv, on food, coffee, email--you get the idea. Even in this I am an overachiever.
This week I overwhelmed myself with my own book. I was trying to read it is smallish chunks, so I could absorb and digest what I was reading. But on Wednesday, with the pile of papers growing smaller, I couldn't resist plowing through to the end. And then I just felt paralyzed. Like what the fuck do I do now?
I wandered around like a zombie that afternoon. A saleswoman in Ten Thousand Villages said five cheerful things to me and received only grunts in response. I went to Penzey's Spices and sniffed my way through the store--tried to tell the difference between Turkish and Mexican oregano, tested to see if hot pepper flakes would burn my nose (answer no) and spent a good five minutes inhaling the comforting scent of vanilla extract. I don't think anything else smells as good. My fog started to lift when I went to see my Artist Way group, where I talked about my creative struggles to sympathetic ears, and got the excellent suggestion of taking the next day off to let what I had read wash over me and sink in a bit.
On that advice, I was extra nice to myself yesterday. I bought an almond croissant from the patisserie, and decided that it's impossible to be anything but happy while eating such a thing. I had lunch with my grandmom, and then ventured over to the Tyler Arboretum to see their tree house exhibit, comprised of seventeen or so tree houses. My favorite one consisted of hammocks strung all over with an invitation to lie in different ones to see various perspectives of the same group of trees. Rocking gently side to side I understood why Mexicans use hammocks to lull their children to sleep.
And then today, with great trepidation, I ventured back into the book, with what I thought was a small and gentle goal of simply reading the notes I took as I went through the novel. After reading the first half of notes, and making more notes on them, I knew I should stop. I had enough to chew on, to think over. But I kept going and am once again overloaded.
Why is it so hard to stop? To not only know when we've had enough, but actually walk away? I'm not sure. I think it feels like if I know what's there, I'll be able to control it somehow. The everlasting struggle for control. Or maybe it's the impulse to finish. If I read more, do more, then I'll finish faster. Which probably is the opposite of the truth. If I go slowly, at a sustainable pace, I work more quickly. If I overwhelm myself, it takes time to recover, regain some perspective and then get back to work. So for today, I'm done with the book. Writing about it helped, and my next step is a long walk. If you see me wandering with a glazed-over look, now you know why.
This week I overwhelmed myself with my own book. I was trying to read it is smallish chunks, so I could absorb and digest what I was reading. But on Wednesday, with the pile of papers growing smaller, I couldn't resist plowing through to the end. And then I just felt paralyzed. Like what the fuck do I do now?
I wandered around like a zombie that afternoon. A saleswoman in Ten Thousand Villages said five cheerful things to me and received only grunts in response. I went to Penzey's Spices and sniffed my way through the store--tried to tell the difference between Turkish and Mexican oregano, tested to see if hot pepper flakes would burn my nose (answer no) and spent a good five minutes inhaling the comforting scent of vanilla extract. I don't think anything else smells as good. My fog started to lift when I went to see my Artist Way group, where I talked about my creative struggles to sympathetic ears, and got the excellent suggestion of taking the next day off to let what I had read wash over me and sink in a bit.
On that advice, I was extra nice to myself yesterday. I bought an almond croissant from the patisserie, and decided that it's impossible to be anything but happy while eating such a thing. I had lunch with my grandmom, and then ventured over to the Tyler Arboretum to see their tree house exhibit, comprised of seventeen or so tree houses. My favorite one consisted of hammocks strung all over with an invitation to lie in different ones to see various perspectives of the same group of trees. Rocking gently side to side I understood why Mexicans use hammocks to lull their children to sleep.
And then today, with great trepidation, I ventured back into the book, with what I thought was a small and gentle goal of simply reading the notes I took as I went through the novel. After reading the first half of notes, and making more notes on them, I knew I should stop. I had enough to chew on, to think over. But I kept going and am once again overloaded.
Why is it so hard to stop? To not only know when we've had enough, but actually walk away? I'm not sure. I think it feels like if I know what's there, I'll be able to control it somehow. The everlasting struggle for control. Or maybe it's the impulse to finish. If I read more, do more, then I'll finish faster. Which probably is the opposite of the truth. If I go slowly, at a sustainable pace, I work more quickly. If I overwhelm myself, it takes time to recover, regain some perspective and then get back to work. So for today, I'm done with the book. Writing about it helped, and my next step is a long walk. If you see me wandering with a glazed-over look, now you know why.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Return of the Blog
Ah, readers, a whole month has passed--longer--since I've posted. A few people (not even my parents) told me that they have missed my blog, which made me happy, not that I've been delinquent, but that people noticed.
What to say about August? Once I get my act together I will post a video that will explain August better than my words could. So you'll have to wait on that.
What I will say is that I took two whole weeks away from the novel, which I had not done since I began working on it in earnest last April. At first it felt good. I needed a break from it. But after a week I began to really miss it. And to feel somewhat at sea. Like the one constant for the past year has been the novel, and without it I didn't quite know what to do with myself.
I cleaned out closets, I busied myself trying to sell my car (which is a great little Corolla if anyone is interested), I started looking for a day job in earnest, I caught up on food shopping, cooking, correspondence, and generally just tried to get my life in order. So now that that's accomplished, I'm trying to get back into good habits. Like working on the novel in the morning, and writing a blog posting once a week.
My writing project this week has been to print out and read the entire novel start to finish. I have of course read all of it in sections, but never all the way through. And although I've found some alarming errors, holes in plot and problems yet to be resolved, it feels like a miracle to read a book that I wrote. Little old me.
Here's hoping that someday, in the not too distant future, you, and many other people, will be reading that book too.
Look for weekly posts again, now that I'm getting back on schedule (usually Friday afternoons.)
It feels good to be back!
What to say about August? Once I get my act together I will post a video that will explain August better than my words could. So you'll have to wait on that.
What I will say is that I took two whole weeks away from the novel, which I had not done since I began working on it in earnest last April. At first it felt good. I needed a break from it. But after a week I began to really miss it. And to feel somewhat at sea. Like the one constant for the past year has been the novel, and without it I didn't quite know what to do with myself.
I cleaned out closets, I busied myself trying to sell my car (which is a great little Corolla if anyone is interested), I started looking for a day job in earnest, I caught up on food shopping, cooking, correspondence, and generally just tried to get my life in order. So now that that's accomplished, I'm trying to get back into good habits. Like working on the novel in the morning, and writing a blog posting once a week.
My writing project this week has been to print out and read the entire novel start to finish. I have of course read all of it in sections, but never all the way through. And although I've found some alarming errors, holes in plot and problems yet to be resolved, it feels like a miracle to read a book that I wrote. Little old me.
Here's hoping that someday, in the not too distant future, you, and many other people, will be reading that book too.
Look for weekly posts again, now that I'm getting back on schedule (usually Friday afternoons.)
It feels good to be back!
Friday, August 1, 2008
Yoga for the Mind
Although months can pass without me writing a poem, inevitably an image or feeling will be too much in some way, forcing me out of logical prose and into poetry.
Last week, haunted by a situation I badly mishandled, I worked on a poem I had begun about it years ago. I used to think that poems sprang to life fully formed, but now I know that a first draft is just a seed that must be tended, nourished, pruned. So I spent time editing the poem, finding solace playing with the sounds, textures, and rhythms of the words. Not only was I able to comfort myself by creating something beautiful, but also I found the poetry work primed my writing mind, allowed me to open up, relax, get warm and receptive.
I often say that writing has saved my life, and I believe that. Writing gives me a place to put stuff I can’t put anywhere else. Today, when I feel overwhelmed by sadness, anger, or grief, I use it in my writing. This might not take the feelings away, but the act of creating works some kind of transforming magic. Maybe it’s like how trash becomes compost that nourishes crops that feed us. Bad feelings, mixed with creativity become food for the soul. I don’t know how it works, I just know it does. But don’t take my word for it--find your creative outlets and use them!
Anchored
Trudging
up the hill
I saw you
ahead—
hopping
step to step
light-footed, loose.
I stopped,
trapped between
dread of your stone wall,
and my far-fetched
hope for a breach.
Upward
you skipped,
never
looking back.
The morning mist
swallowed you whole—
your name
lodged in my throat,
regret
an iron veil.
Last week, haunted by a situation I badly mishandled, I worked on a poem I had begun about it years ago. I used to think that poems sprang to life fully formed, but now I know that a first draft is just a seed that must be tended, nourished, pruned. So I spent time editing the poem, finding solace playing with the sounds, textures, and rhythms of the words. Not only was I able to comfort myself by creating something beautiful, but also I found the poetry work primed my writing mind, allowed me to open up, relax, get warm and receptive.
I often say that writing has saved my life, and I believe that. Writing gives me a place to put stuff I can’t put anywhere else. Today, when I feel overwhelmed by sadness, anger, or grief, I use it in my writing. This might not take the feelings away, but the act of creating works some kind of transforming magic. Maybe it’s like how trash becomes compost that nourishes crops that feed us. Bad feelings, mixed with creativity become food for the soul. I don’t know how it works, I just know it does. But don’t take my word for it--find your creative outlets and use them!
Anchored
Trudging
up the hill
I saw you
ahead—
hopping
step to step
light-footed, loose.
I stopped,
trapped between
dread of your stone wall,
and my far-fetched
hope for a breach.
Upward
you skipped,
never
looking back.
The morning mist
swallowed you whole—
your name
lodged in my throat,
regret
an iron veil.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Routine and Change
It's good to be home. I've been away for most of the past month, and am actually leaving again tonight for a few days. I think this is how the summer will be. And though I am grateful to spend so much time at the shore, the disruption of my routine has made it hard to work over the past month. I've been working on the book, but not as hard and not as productively as I do when I'm at home, in my routine.
But this week at home has been the most productive week I've had in a very long time. When I mentioned this to a friend of mine she said that maybe I needed to shake up my routine for it to regain its power. It hadn't occurred to me that my super-productive week could be a result of the disruption of my routine, but maybe she's right. Maybe like moving 81 things in my house, physically taking myself to different places, seeing different faces, and creating new structures brought fresh energy to my old routine, reinvigorating it. I like the idea that surfing, playing tennis, hanging out with my husband, with old friends and family actually helped my work.
I certainly have renewed enthusiasm this week. Maybe routine and change are yin and yang of each other. I need routine and structure, but after a few months of the same thing, I had lost some enthusiasm for the book. Now, having moved around so much, struggled to get into a routine and get to work, the passion is back. I couldn't wait to get back to my humdrum routine, to my comfortable and inspiring office, to my house and my friends and my kitchen.
One of the best changes of the past month has been my progress in surfing. I'm actually standing on the board and staying up there! Amazing. My ability to learn how to surf after the age of 30 makes me think I can do anything. Like, I don't know, finish a novel?
But this week at home has been the most productive week I've had in a very long time. When I mentioned this to a friend of mine she said that maybe I needed to shake up my routine for it to regain its power. It hadn't occurred to me that my super-productive week could be a result of the disruption of my routine, but maybe she's right. Maybe like moving 81 things in my house, physically taking myself to different places, seeing different faces, and creating new structures brought fresh energy to my old routine, reinvigorating it. I like the idea that surfing, playing tennis, hanging out with my husband, with old friends and family actually helped my work.
I certainly have renewed enthusiasm this week. Maybe routine and change are yin and yang of each other. I need routine and structure, but after a few months of the same thing, I had lost some enthusiasm for the book. Now, having moved around so much, struggled to get into a routine and get to work, the passion is back. I couldn't wait to get back to my humdrum routine, to my comfortable and inspiring office, to my house and my friends and my kitchen.
One of the best changes of the past month has been my progress in surfing. I'm actually standing on the board and staying up there! Amazing. My ability to learn how to surf after the age of 30 makes me think I can do anything. Like, I don't know, finish a novel?
Friday, July 4, 2008
Showing Up
I feel proud of myself this week for showing up for my life. To me, showing up means living in the moment, seizing opportunities as they arise, using my talents, remembering my values and priorities and making choices based on them. How to show up differs day to day and moment to moment.
This week, showing up meant capitalizing on a few precious days to work at home before we leave town for another two weeks. It meant pulling out and piecing together the thoughts my subconscious had worked out about the book while I was taking a break last week. It meant looking at the overall structure of the novel, and using my new understanding of my protagonist to make sure her behavior is consistent with her personality. It meant using my enthusiasm for editing while it lasts.
It also meant physically showing up in Ocean City to see my grandmom. It meant ignoring my internal critic screaming that I’d never finish the book (he’s such a drama queen), having pizza with my clan, riding the ferris wheel, stealing a few minutes alone with Grandmom, passing an hour sitting on the porch.
On Wednesday, showing up meant ditching my work for a few hours to surf while the surfing was good. It meant staying in the ocean, in spite of getting smacked in the face with a wall of seawater by the first wave I tried to catch. It meant paddling out again and again in spite of my bruised pride (and body) that wanted to give up. It meant staying aware and open so I could learn the lessons that came, see my growing comfort on the board, feel my growing understanding of the ocean.
The amazing thing about showing up is how much more joy I feel, and how much less worry. Concentrating on whatever I’m doing or feeling in the moment blocks out obsessing about past or future. None of us knows how many more days we have but we do know that we will never have this day, today, again. So shouldn’t we all try to show up for whatever days we have?
Thank you to everyone who read the review of my blog on Philadelphia Stories and posted comments, and the many kind emails and postings you’ve been sending me recently. Your support is a huge reason why I’m able to show up!
This week, showing up meant capitalizing on a few precious days to work at home before we leave town for another two weeks. It meant pulling out and piecing together the thoughts my subconscious had worked out about the book while I was taking a break last week. It meant looking at the overall structure of the novel, and using my new understanding of my protagonist to make sure her behavior is consistent with her personality. It meant using my enthusiasm for editing while it lasts.
It also meant physically showing up in Ocean City to see my grandmom. It meant ignoring my internal critic screaming that I’d never finish the book (he’s such a drama queen), having pizza with my clan, riding the ferris wheel, stealing a few minutes alone with Grandmom, passing an hour sitting on the porch.
On Wednesday, showing up meant ditching my work for a few hours to surf while the surfing was good. It meant staying in the ocean, in spite of getting smacked in the face with a wall of seawater by the first wave I tried to catch. It meant paddling out again and again in spite of my bruised pride (and body) that wanted to give up. It meant staying aware and open so I could learn the lessons that came, see my growing comfort on the board, feel my growing understanding of the ocean.
The amazing thing about showing up is how much more joy I feel, and how much less worry. Concentrating on whatever I’m doing or feeling in the moment blocks out obsessing about past or future. None of us knows how many more days we have but we do know that we will never have this day, today, again. So shouldn’t we all try to show up for whatever days we have?
Thank you to everyone who read the review of my blog on Philadelphia Stories and posted comments, and the many kind emails and postings you’ve been sending me recently. Your support is a huge reason why I’m able to show up!
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