What Writing Means To Me

Tuesday, July 11th marked TWO milestones.  I turned 46 AND I completed the first draft of my first novel.  I gave myself a deadline of my birthday to finish because I figured it was the only one I would stick to.  And so I did.  The first draft is done, finished.  For now, I will let it rest or cool down, much like you would after baking something or cooking something. 

Creative works are like birthing something, or so I've been told because I don't know much about birthing, never having had a child.  I do know that it has taken me nearly four years to get it done.  But, better finished than never done.  Now I move into the first of more than one revision stage.  I will go through, make sure the story is consistent, delete things that don't make sense to me, add things to areas that need to be fleshed out.  The cool thing is it is my story, so I only answer to myself on this.  Once I read through my novel and make those changes, then I will look at passing it on to first readers or an editor or something like that.  I haven't decided any of those things yet, so I don't know how all that will play out.  What I do know is I can see the book finished in my mind, so it will be done. 

I have written in various forms over the years, songs and poetry, short stories, papers for school, blogs, letters, notes, projects for work.  On and on it goes.  The one thing I never tire of or never have a lack of is things to write about and so I spend about 30 minutes every morning writing three pages.  If there is one non-negotiable in my life, those morning pages are it. If I don't do them, I feel off.  I learned this practice from Julia Cameron, author of "The Artist's Way".  If I had to name one book that changed my life, that would be the single one that comes to mind.  It set me on an artistic path I have not veered from to-date.  I have notebooks and notebooks filled with morning pages and I've been doing them consistently for about 3 and 1/2 years.  Each day represents about 500-600 handwritten words, so I'll let you do the math.

I love writing and I don't see that ever changing.  I completely believe we all have gifts to bring to this world.  For me, one of my strongest gifts is writing.  The seeds have been there all along.  I loved libraries as a child, I took Honors English in high school, loved mythology and fantasy always.  I was reading books like "Clan of the Cave Bear" at 10 and 11 years old.  Things I probably shouldn't have been reading but nevertheless did.  One of my greatest possessions is an autographed copy of "Plains of Passage" by Jean M. Auel that my dad got for me many, many years ago and I still treasure it to this day.  Turns out he is a writer too. 

I have no idea where my writing will take me, but I do know it is the work of my heart.  My brother paints pictures with brushes and I paint pictures with words.  The scenes unfold in my mind and my job is to write them down.  So simple, but so very hard.  If it was easy, everyone would have written that book they keep talking about.  Me, I hope I'm writing novels until I'm 89. 



The Untethered Soul

I've been reading this book, called "The Untethered Soul", by Michael A. Singer.  This book came to me by way of Marie Forleo (www.marieforleo.com).  She is one of my spiritual "teachers" though we have never met.  In a recent email, she recommended this book as one of her top three.  I had no idea who Michael Singer was, or thought I didn't.  But then, of course, as soon as I looked him up, I recognized having watched him on one of Oprah's Super Soul Sessions.  

Today also happens to be Mother's Day.  I lost my mom in December of 2004, the 21st to be exact.  I miss her terribly, of course.  But she was also an incredible gift to me.  After reading, Chapter 13 in this book, entitled "Far, Far Beyond", I understand better what I mean when I say she was a gift.  Not just in her life, but also in her death.  This is not an easy conclusion for me to come to, and it has taken me years of internal work to be able to step back and objectively see her life in this way.  

What my mother's death did for me was send me out in the beyond.  Everything I thought I knew simply fell apart and I knew nothing would or could ever be the same again.  If she had not left, I am not sure I would have become the person I am today because I had no choice.  All the things that used to work didn't anymore, and I had to reconfigure my entire life.  If she were still here, I am truly not sure that would have happened. 

Michael Singer says, "Going beyond means going beyond the borders of the cage.  There should be no cage.  The soul is infinite.  It is free to expand everywhere.  It is free to experience all of life. This can only happen when you are willing to face reality without mental boundaries.  If you still have barriers, and you know what they are because you hit them every day, you must be willing to go beyond them.  Otherwise you remain within your cage.  And remember, decorating your cage with beautiful experiences, fond memories and great dreams is not the same as going beyond.  A cage by any other name is still a cage."  

I had the good fortune to spend a month in Ireland in January of 2015.  One of my destinations was the Cliffs of Moher.  Absolutely breathtaking, hundreds of meters above a sheer drop to the Atlantic ocean.  I am not terribly fond of heights, but my desire to walk the path on the cliff overcame the need to be safe.  At one point, the path looked like it swung dangerously out over the ocean and I knew I would fall to certain death.  So I stopped and had a talk with myself.  I assured myself that we would be okay, that I would take one step at a time, and that if the path became too dangerous I would turn back.  And then I reminded myself that this was what I had come to Ireland for and I refused to let my own fear define my experience.  As I approached the point in the path, it was much wider than I had first believed and I proceeded to walk the entire southern length of the cliffs.  That little tower you see in the distance,  I walked all the way there and all the way back.  On my trek back I welcomed the incredible views of the ocean instead of being afraid of them because I went beyond my edges, in a very literal sense, and came face to face with a beauty I had only imagined and seen in picture.  Now I had actually lived one of my dreams!  To walk the Cliffs of Moher.

I don't know why it takes an event like that for some of us.  It forced me to come directly into contact with a whole lot of things I never expected to deal with.  I also became a person I don't ever think I would have without first the solid foundation of her love, and then her leaving.  The truth is I still feel her with me and still talk to her.  Even now, 13 years later, I still want to tell her things and then remember I have to do it in a different way.  It is a spiritual relationship now, rather than a physical one.  I often have dreams where I am looking for her and cannot find her.  But the truth is, she lives on, just in a different way.  

Michael Singer also says, "Eventually you will realize that it cannot actually hurt you to go beyond your psychological limits.  If you are willing to just stand at the edge and keep walking you will go beyond.  You used to pull back when it got uncomfortable.  Now you relax and go past that point.  That is all it takes to go beyond...you realize that you will always be fine.  Nothing can ever bother you except your edges, and now you know what to do with them.  You end up loving your edges because they point your way to freedom.  All you have to do is constantly relax and lean into them.  Then one day, when you least expect it, you fall through into the infinite.  That is what it means to go beyond."

His words touched something in my soul and it all came tumbling together and I teared up.  I understood, maybe for even the first time, how her death taught me as much as her life.  I was forced to confront my edges, pushed to the very limits and then beyond what I thought I could ever imagine.  And as I sit here, typing, with her pictures on my desk, I miss her and at the same time I am so, so grateful to her.  She gave me everything I would need to navigate this life.  I love you Mom.  




My Drug

When I don't write, I get itchy.  When I don't write, I feel ungrounded.  So, hence, I write.  Sometimes I work on my book.  Sometimes I blog.  I almost always write morning pages, every day. 3 pages of whatever I want and it takes the edge off.  I just don't feel right if I don't.  I've had a novel in progress for a little over 3 years and I am coming close to getting the 1st draft finished.  Writing has taken over my life.  The yin to writings' yang is reading, of course.  I am an avid reader, constantly being surrounded by stacks and stacks of books of my own and almost daily trips to the library.    

When I say it is my drug, I mean it.  I crave it, and after I've taken a hit, I always feel the endorphins flowing.  Sometimes it scares me but most times it soothes me.  I don't need any other high than this.  And I feel incomplete without it.  Lately I have not been blogging much because I deactivated my website for awhile.  It feels good to get back to it.  I'm using this as a warm-up to get me into working on my book.  It's been a few days since I've done that too.  

I listen to instrumental pieces when I'm writing because that gives me something for my mind to focus on and leaves my creativity free to flow.  I can't do music with words because I start singing along and then I lose all track of what I'm supposed to be doing.  Right now I'm listening to "1916: The Irish Rebellion".  A soundtrack composed by Patrick Cassidy.  My favorite instrumentals to listen to are movie or tv show soundtracks.  Outlander and Lord of the Rings are my other favorites.  I suppose I choose music with fantastical elements because my book contains fantastical elements and that is the genre I am currently writing in.  

For me, creativity is a powerful force, and one I dedicate myself to and surrender to daily.  I like to think about God as the "Great Creator", and we work together to bring out the stories inside of me.  I trust the Great Creator with the quality and my job is the quantity.  Thus, I am responsible for co-creating my life with the Divine.  It is a pretty sweet spot, once you find it.  

I think we all have it.  It just takes a little digging to get to.  When people say they are not creative, I don't buy it.  Maybe not a painter, like my brother, or a writer, like me, but the power to create lies in all of us, no matter what that might be.  It feels good to be back in the saddle again, so-to-speak.  If I had to choose an animal to exemplify creativity for me, it would be the horse, without question.  

And this concludes my writing exercise for the day.  Now onto book pages, and I'll leave you with this little gem: