Gone West

Pike Place Market, Seattle, WA

I'm gallivanting around the Pacific Northwest this week. Good friends, good times, spring blossoms, and even some sunshine. It's nice here, mm-hmm.

hello.

Gatwick the Catwick (Diana+)

hello.

just call me e.e. cummings.

which is a total farce, because e.e. was more than the sum of his lowercase letters.

but lowercase is how i feel right now, which, i know, is bad for a writer and bad for my image (if i have an image) and may even be bad for the state of the blogosphere, but i seriously doubt that. i am sitting on the soft blue and white comforter on the guest bed in the guest room of my home. it is 1:28 a.m. my husband and the two grey kits are asleep. the air is very quiet.

hello.

i've been zooming around for days, crashing into my own thoughts and tiredness, working to meet deadlines and to fulfill various obligations. i've been staying up all night and then sleeping until mid-afternoon for the last two days. i am tired and it feels good to sit. hello. in the stillness, in the quiet, in the moment between waking and sleeping. i'm sitting here, catching up with you (and you, and you) and with myself.

the next few days are full of tasks to prepare for an upcoming travel adventure. i'm going to try not to zoom, but rather, to work in a deliberate manner at a steady, determined rate. i'll let you know how that goes.

i've started practicing yoga. gentle poses, lots of breathing, a reminder to be in my body. this practice has been a long time coming. i don't know where it will lead, but, hello.

oh, and here's something else i wanted to tell you: did you read my last post on how to keep creating even when you feel bored/scared/blocked? it received more comments than most of my posts do. and here's the thing: i almost didn't post that little ditty. first of all, i thought the draft was deleted. and then i decided it was just as well, because it was a crappy little post anyway. but then the draft reappeared, and i felt like it was challenging me to publish it, so i decided not to wuss out and i hit publish.

the meaning of this little story? as my friend jen says, we're often not the best judge of ourselves or our work. also, we have no idea of knowing how our work will be in the world. in this case, it's just a semi-inspirational blog post, written in a selfish fit of a pep talk, but it mattered to a huddle of people. and that makes me feel nice. so when you have things to say, say them, okay? put your work out into the world and let it be. let it breathe.

hello.

How To Keep Creating (In The Word Cellar)

Ligonier Country Market, summer 2007

This week's In The Word Cellar column is an interlude of inspiration. I almost titled this post "Things I've Been Telling Myself (which you may or may not find useful, too)." I had intended to write about the rules of writing this week, but apparently I needed an affirmation of my creative powers instead. Writing has been slow going for the past two weeks, even downright painful at times. So here's a little shot in the arm to keep you -- and me -- going. Come back in two weeks for what I hope will become a rousing discussion on the topic of when it's okay to break the rules of grammar, sentence structure, and punctuation. Fun times!

• When you sit down to write and there are no words, listen.
• When you look at the blank page and panic, type the first ten words that come to mind, no matter what they are. Then type ten more. It might hurt, but keep typing until you find the thread of some story, even if it's not a story you knew you needed to tell.
• When you open a jumbled mess of a document to rewrite it and feel physically repulsed by what you are sure is hard core evidence of your shortcomings, breathe.
• When the call to create becomes a burden, shift your energy from a place of duty to a place of privilege. Stop saying "I have to," and start saying "I get to."
• When every single word or brush stroke or click of the shutter feels like a slow and clumsy slog through the mud, take a break. And then go back to slogging until you can find an easier way. If the way doesn't get easier, only you can really know if you're on the wrong path or if this is simply a time of learning and strengthening for you. Be honest and proceed accordingly.
• When you feel certain that your success is behind you and all future attempts will fail, try to chuckle at your own mix of pride and insecurity. And take comfort in the knowledge that other artists have this same mix inside of them, too.
• When you don't know what to create, ask yourself what you love. Then make that.
• When all of this fails, remind yourself to create out of a sense of love, not fear.
• When you feel overwhelmed and sick to your stomach with other people's smarmy inspiration, take these words (and all aphorisms) with the clichéd grain of salt. Then find your own way to keep creating. (And tell us about it in the comments.)

Winter: A Lamentation of Seasons

winery in winter, southwestern pa., december 2009 (diana+; multiple exposure)

The world has been white and grey for weeks now. I don't mind the cold. After all, I like wearing sweaters and scarves. I don't even want a purely cloudless sky, as too much sunlight sets me on edge, makes me jittery in its garish gaze. I love the look of rolling fields covered in snow blankets. Winter is not my enemy. But this winter. Oh Lord, save us from this winter. Inches and feet of snow, more in a month than in a whole normal season. Temperatures never above freezing long enough for grass or shrubbery to peek through. Fifteen-foot high mountains of dirty ice and snow taking up half a row of spots in the grocery store parking lot.

But yesterday, in an impossible moment, a bird called out the beginning of a song in the six a.m. still-dark morning. Just the four opening notes, an overture, an invocation, an invitation to spring. I was rolling over to go back to sleep, but I whistled along in my mind, raising my own silent birdsong in hope and expectation. 

I ache for spring breezes and long for flowers. I scan the colorless sky for some movement in the gauzy heavens, some whisper of blue. I take considerable comfort and joy in the birds, the darting red of cardinals, the swooping blue of jays, the velvet vests-of-orange upon robins. These are the only colors in this anemic landscape. The mourning doves camouflage themselves in the branches, all puffed up and plump in serene tones of tan and grey. They look so cozy in this wonderland, and for that I respect them. 

I crave clementines. I need the sweet tang of citrus. I have forsaken the comfort foods of my youth for spicier climes. I've traded pot pie and mashed potatoes for curries and salsas. In the deep heart of this winter, the white-out hour before spring's dawn, I need zest. I need heat. My appetite has become downright tropical.

Things I Forget to Remember

Lessons I have to learn over and over again, or, things I forget to remember:

• Everyone (even the people I admire) feels scared and inept sometimes.
• If I put an item under the broiler and then walk away to check on something else, said item will probably come out extra crispy.
• Gatwick the Catwick knows when I'm terribly upset and will assert his furry cheeks and whiskers to calm me down.
• I'm more talented and hardworking than I give myself credit for.
• Doing the dishes doesn't take as long as I think it will.
• A clean and orderly house soothes a multitude of anxious thoughts.
• "North, Miss Tessmocker" is a quote from one of the Superman movies.
• My husband knows how to juggle.
• The longer I stay home alone, the lonelier I feel and the more I want to stay home alone. The only antidote is a forced foray out into the world. (Or: It takes a lot of energy and willpower to break the spell of inertia.)
• I need some structure to feel sane.
• Nobody has all of their so-called shit together.
• The magic of writing always comes back, even after long stretches of mulish slogging through muddy words.

What do you forget to remember?