Begin It

Just begin. Let your fingers hover over the keys, let the tips of them settle into the gentle concavity of each black square, let them select one letter after another and, with a gentle pressure, place that letter on the screen. Do that again and again while those letters become words, sending sparks to the engine that is your brain until it begins to fire and then to rumble insistently. Let the words multiply, let them trail across the screen like so many miles across the desert, wheels turning ever faster across thoughts and emotions and opinions and ideas, automatically making those thousands of decisions necessary to propel this thing, this writing, further and further along its journey.

Just begin.

****

Beginning has become difficult for me. It’s hard to find a way in to the things I want to write about. I’m reminded of those jump-rope days from long ago, two friends on each end swinging it tautly so it arced above my head, hearing the rhythmic swish as it swiped the pavement on its way around. “Jump in, Beck!” they’d call. “Jump in! Do it now!”

Oh it was so hard, so scary. If I missed, the rope would puddle over my head, all that momentum come to a dead stop, all that energy wasted, leaving me stranded in all my uncoordinated gracelessness.

But when I made it in how effortlessly simple it seemed to follow that pattern, to get into the groove and stay there. It was like riding a bicycle - you mustn’t think about the mechanics of it, about how to keep your balance on those teetering two wheels, you must focus first until you get the rhythm, but then let go.

Let go of that tight-fisted control.

Let go of the nagging “you’ll never make it” fear.

***

I pick up Still Writing, a book that stays on the desk in front of me, a book I use as talisman and devotional. It opens first to these words: "Writing is hard. We resist, we procrastinate, we veer off course. But we have this ability to begin again. Word after word, sentence after sentence, we build our writing lives. Today, we need to relearn what it is that we do. We have to remind ourselves to be patient, gentle with our foibles, ruthless with our time, withstanding of our frustrations. We remember what it is that we need. The solitude of an empty home, a walk through the woods, a bath, or half an hour with a good book - the echo of well-formed sentences in our ears. Whatever it takes to begin again."

So today I begin again, with my fingers now falling more surely and confidently on the keys - at least as surely and confidently as they ever do. The road unwinds strong and clear before me, the rope sails above my head and I lift my feet at exactly the right moment.

I jump in.

I just begin.

Joining the Writing Process Blog Tour

During the years I’ve been writing on the internet, I’ve met some inspiring and engaging women at various stages of their lives. One of those is Bella, who tells her story through words and amazing photography. It’s been a privilege to watch her creative and personal life grow and develop, and also to see the great love and care she has for her family and home. So, this Writing Process Blog Tour: Last week Bella invited me to participate. Yes, I thought. We writers, don’t we love to talk about our “process,” as if it were a tangible thing we could get hold of and manipulate. Don’t we love to spend time thinking about writing, planning for it, saying “if only” about all the things we want to do with it.

Yes.

But it was harder than I imagined. Apparently, I take my writing process for granted. I just do it. These questions being asked - why do I write what I do, how does my writing differ from others of my genre - they nudge me to consider this thing I do in another light, turn it around like a globe to expose a normally dark side.

Here is what I uncovered...

♥ What am I currently working on?  Ongoing writing entails updating my blog twice weekly, and writing several regular columns for All Things Girl magazine. After seven years of writing a blog, I decided to compile a small book of  posts representative of my Life In General during that time. I’ve been sifting through over 400 posts, categorizing and culling. Doing a lot of remembering, smiling at my silly self, crying about losses recalled afresh. I will be self-publishing the book and my goal is to have it ready by Christmas. Next week I'm starting Christine Mason Miller's  e-course called The Conscious Booksmith, which is designed to facilitate creating a book while in the midst of daily living. Oh, do I need that help.

♥ Why do I write what I do?  For many years the subtitle of  my blog was “reflections on life in general and my own in particular.” My life is not “exciting," I don’t make public policy or create great works of art. I simply live every moment to the best of my ability, hoping to connect with other people through my words as well as my actions. The stories I tell about my life are probably very much like the stories you live in yours. In my telling, and your reading,  I hope we’ll share a connection that enlightens and enriches our journey. 

♥ How does my work differ from others of its genre? I don’t know that it does differ so much from other “lifestyle” writing, and maybe I don’t want it to. I feel as if I’m part of a large collective of writers I greatly admire who are sharing their personal perspectives, using words to make sense of their journey through life.  The internet gives us a marvelous platform for doing that. Although we each have our unique viewpoints and writing styles, our mission is similar- to connect and inform other through sharing life stories and experiences.  

♥ How does my writing process work? I’d love to tell you that I have a set writing schedule to which I adhere religiously, that I get up at 5 am every day and write prolifically for several hours. But I’d be lying. I do write something every day, even if it’s three pages of stream-of-consciousness journal writing first thing in the morning. These “morning pages” are critical in helping me think through life situations as well as inspire ideas for later writing projects. I write best in the morning, so whenever I can set aside an hour or two between 9-11 am, I use that time for new writing projects. Ideas come to me willy nilly, mostly when I’m reading, walking, and (unfortunately!) driving. I’m experimenting with an index card system for writing down quotes and ideas that inspire me and might be useful in writing later on. 

To continue this Writing Process discussion, participants are asked to invite three others whose writing they admire, so I’m issuing the invitation to  Joan Z. Rough, Melissa Sarno, and Rachel Kain - and to any of the other awesome writer friends out there who would like to add their voice to the conversation!

Beginning

Sitting next to me on the corner of my desk is a mountain of paper. Six hundred and fifty six pages to be exact. When I’m sitting in my chair, the stack is almost level with my shoulder. From the corner of my eye it feels like a large benevolent companion,  patiently waiting for me to acknowledge it’s presence, offer it some hospitality, make it feel at home. Because it’s going to be with me for a while, this behemoth of paper. It has moved in to stay. It has come to be transformed from six hundred and fifty six sheets of paper into something wonderful and marvelous and all mine.

In the past few months I’ve sifted through archived writing that represents the past eight years of my life, events, experiences, thoughts, all chronicled on the digital pages of the three blogs I maintained during that time. These pages are the result of much searching and re-reading - they are what I plan to cull and craft into a small printed book of essays that are representative of this Life in General.

 Many similar themes emerged and reappeared as I revisited the pages chronicling the past eight years - my love of home, my need for solitude, my tendency to overload my life and time until I become frustrated and angry.  I recalled joyful moments when I announced my Grandson’s impending arrival and then his birth. Peaceful descriptions of summer days on the back porch, making my winter weary heart ache for such days to come again and soon. Painful stories of loss - so much loss in these eight years. And then two years ago the promise of our new house, of starting fresh.

Sometimes writing on the internet feels so disposable - we pour our hearts into blog postings and online magazine essays or stories, then push a button that disseminates them instantly across the universe where they become part of someone’s social network feed or blog reader for a few seconds before disappearing into the ether.  Creating this book feels a little bit like making a quilt, gathering the pieces, stitching the pieces together, and putting a binding around it to hold all the edges in place. It will contain the way I’ve experienced life over the past eight years and preserve it for me - and maybe for you - to learn from in the years to come. 

Writing on the internet has been good to me and good for me. I’ve met some amazing people who inspire me to keep at this writing thing. I’ve listened to and learned from their stories.  I’ve learned to use writing to help make sense of life in general and my own in particular. But at heart I’m a tangible person, I want and need to hold something in my hand to prove I was here. Artifacts of daily living are important to me. It’s why I cherish my grandmother’s sugar spoon and stuffing bowl. It’s why I keep photographs and greeting cards.

Life in General will be such an artifact.

I’m excited to begin.

Still Writing

It’s a fine line we writers walk, the line between wanting to be a writer and actually doing the work of it. As Dorothy Parker said, “I hate writing. I love having written.” Sometimes, sitting at my writing desk in the mornings, trying to restrain my itchy fingers from clicking on the Facebook icon one more time, I sigh in frustration. Where is that inspiration they kept promising me would come if I showed up faithfully every day? I want to go downstairs and make myself a cup of coffee. I really should put in a load of laundry. And there is, of course, Facebook and Twitter to check.

Instead, I pick up Still Writing, Dani Shapiro’s new book. I open it up and read:

It’s so easy to forget what matters. When I begin the day centered, with equanimity, I find that I am quite unshakable. But if I start off in that slippery, discomfiting way, I am easily thrown off course - and once off course there, I stay. And so I know that my job is to cultivate a mind that catches itself.  A mind that watches its own desire to scamper off into the bramble, but instead, guides itself gently back to what needs to be done. This kind of equanimity may not be my nature, but I can at least attempt to make it my habit.

If, as I have said to myself, that for this year at least what matters to me is this writing work I have set out to do, then I must be ever vigilant about guiding my mind back to what needs to be done, shepherding it gently away from the list of distractions all too ready to lasso it and wrestle it to the ground.

I must learn to be still. And write.

This book of Shapiro’s, this small square volume,  sits now always on my writing desk, always at hand. It serves as a guide, when the writing road becomes rocky and my mind has wandered into the bramble. It is my devotional, a dose taken daily even before I touch my finger to the keyboard, before the screen blossoms into life. “The Pleasures and Perils of a Creative Life,” the book is subtitled, and Perilous it can seem at times, to have chosen a life of words, of weaving expressions smooth as silk from nothing but rowdy thoughts that flit and flicker across the valleys of my mind.

But oh, the Pleasure to be had when mind and fingers work in tandem, when thoughts form as tangible things in tiny icons of black and white, marching steadfastly across the blank page. When words mirror the images in your head, brush them with the glow of painter’s finest bristle, and set them alight for the world to see. When you finally understand that thing that has eaten away at you for most of your sad, sorry life, when the words have worked it around in your head until at last you say “Aha! Of course! That is why I am the way I am!” When you write, and write some more.

When hours go by and -  still - you are writing.

There it is, then, the reason I sit down at this table every morning, the reason I shush the voices that beg me for coffee, that chide me about laundry, that niggle me for news from the Internet.  

Be still! I tell them. Go away with you.

I’m writing.

Still Writing 

Author: Dani Shapiro

Publisher: Atlantic Monthly Press

Pages: 230

Buy A Copy: Amazon|Barnes & Noble

Write On Wednesday: For the Longest Time

Last night I realized I hadn't written anything on my blog in the longest time, and I stared feeling nostalgic for the olden days of blogging. Many years ago (seven!) when I began writing in this online space, I wrote nearly every day - partly because of the excitement that comes with a new venture, but also because of the connections forming between myself and other writers. We visited each other's writing spaces daily, like children checking their secret hidey-hole in a hollow tree to see if any new messages had arrived. We joined and created groups that provided prompts for our writing, that gave us a little spark to incite ideas to flow.

We wrote and wrote, telling our stories, honing our skills, learning from each other about writing and life. We emboldened one another to try new things - poetry, haiku, flash fiction, even novels. We encouraged and cheered from whatever part of the world we lived.

Over time most of those connections have faded into the ether. People who bared their souls in words on the screen suddenly disappear from orbit. Having no other way to contact them, one is forced to ponder - were they real? did they exist? have they been abducted by aliens?

I miss them. Miss their unique voices, miss their life stories, miss the inspiration and impetus to write they often provided me. Like the cafe society that Fitzgerald and Hemingway enjoyed so much, the online society of writers we formed in those days was a way to connect with others, to share ideas, to support each others efforts, to discuss books and art and life in general. In this decade, it seems  that personal blogging has been usurped by the faster, quicker connections of Facebook and Twitter.

Writing is a solitary occupation. And writers tend to savor the solitary, so much so that we forget how much there is to be gained by sharing ourselves with others.

I'd like to enjoy that again.

How about you?