Still Standing

Is it really only Wednesday? Wow, I feel like each of the days of this week has lasted about 36 hours, and I've been crazy busy for every one them. My life is like a whirlwind right now - there's my day job, which is nuts since I lost my "alter ego," a very good partner and friend, who made the difficult decision to take a leave of absence for family reasons. Then, of course, there's school, with the holiday concert season looming ahead. And of course, NaNoWriMo, and the drain on my creative energy trying to keep up pace. I have literally not had one extra minute this week...and I really don't have one now, either. It's 11:37 pm - I've been up since 5:30 am, been to work, to school, back to work, home, to a church rehearsal, back home, on a long heart to heart phone call with my son, and then an emotional semi- finale of Dancing With the Stars ( it's one of my guilty pleasures). But I felt the need to touch base with all my guiding stars out there in the blogsphere - let you know I'm thinking of you, and that I value the wisdom and guidance you all offer me each day with your insightful, wise, and wonderful words. Tonight I find myself thinking a lot about life, and what it offers us, and how we use it. Sometimes, the things that life puts in front of us are difficult, and painful, and we make choices that have the potential to do great harm. Then again, sometimes we are offered the opportunity to make something great out of something that seems very miniscule and unimportant. I have always believed that God, or the universe, or whatever higher power you might believe in, has a way of aligning events and circumstances for our greater good. The trick is to be aware of all the possibilities, and be open to them. So, sometimes, when things seem their darkest, there is a greater good hiding behind the seemingly endless quagmire of disaster. It might take some slogging through the muck to get there, but ultimately, you'll find something shiny and clean waiting for you at the end.

I'm slogging through the muck of life right now, and so are some of the people I most love and care about...but I've been around long enough to know that there are lovely green fields on the other side of this muddy pasture. We'll just keep plowing through until we find them.

Sunday Scribblings-Morning

Bright star of morning,
your gentle prodding
urges me to rise~
make haste
for the day slips by so quickly
~
Silence in every room
waiting to be broken
invites me to listen~
quiet now
for many voices are speaking
~
Birds all atwitter
the coffee pot is bubbling
clock ticking the minutes
just wait
for this time is so rare
~
Bright star of morning
commands my attention
I must pay homage
stand still
for the sun has yet to rise

A Novel Experience

Along with several of my fellow blogging buddies, I've embarked upon the NaNoWriMo project. We're all attempting to complete a 50,000 word novel between November 1 and November 30. If you're a regular reader here, you'll know that I often post about my lack of time. It's a subject that's usually very near (if not dear!) to my heart. So I'm sure you're thinking I've completely lost every ounce of common sense I ever had. Why would someone who already feels time deprived, add one more activity, and a huge one at that, to her list of projects and responsibilities?

I guess I'm just a masochist.

Actually, it's because I really like doing stuff. I love trying things, even if I'm sometimes disappointed in the experience. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, is one of my mottoes.

Although I must say, at first the whole NaNoWriMo concept seemed like a complete joke. The main objective seems to be getting the words on paper. They don't have to be pretty - as a matter of fact, they'll probably be pretty ugly. It's like a marathon - just get to the end, even if you're limping and dragging your pathetic tail behind you.

Three days into the project, I've discovered what a powerful concept that is. After all, my name is Becca and I'm a perfectionist! But right now, in this particular instance, being perfect doesn't count - it doesn't even matter. So, when I'm typing away lickety split and a little nagging voice in my mind says, wait a minute, there's a better word for that, or oops, I think that's the wrong syntax, or yech! that's a really stupid thing for that character to say - well, I just shrug it off and keep on typing. I can fix it later, I tell the little voice, that's now sputtering uselessly where I've slammed it into the farthest corner of my mind.

Several months ago I read Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott's fabulous and fun book about writing. Very early in the book, she discusses the absolute necessity for "shitty first drafts. " "Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts," she states. "You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something - anything - down on paper." She goes on to describe this first draft as "the child's draft," where you "let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is ever going to see it."

Julia Cameron, author of The Artist's Way, is in total agreement with this concept. "In order to do something well we must first be willing to do it badly," she writes.

And where do all these words (shitty and otherwise) come from? It's amazing, really. Cameron says that our creative spirit is a natural instinct, and will "flow through us like an underground river, a stream of ideas we can tap into." Lamott counsels letting the "childlike part of you channel whatever voices and visions come through and onto the page." Natalie Goldberg, in Writing Down the Bones, warns, "don't think too much. Just enter the heat of word and sounds and colored sensations, and keep your pen moving across the page."

So far, it's been a rather fascinating experience. The first two days, words came pouring onto the page, so fast my fingers could barely keep up. Well, this will be a cinch, I thought, cockily noting a word count of over 4500 words in two days. Day three has not been such a walk in the park. My mind was a little slower cranking it out today, reminding me of a car engine on a cold winter morning.

I have no idea where I'll end up, or whether I'll "win" the NaNoWriMo challenge (winning simply means completing the 50,000 word requirement by November 30.) But I'm enjoying this process of letting my imagination have free rein on the page, without worrying overmuch about getting everything exactly right. So, I'll close with another quote, one I'm sure most of you have heard before, but it seems quite appropriate to this situation ~ "Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss it, you will land among the stars."

Happy writing!

Poetry Thursday-Favorite Lines

Wild nights-Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
~emily dickinson
Dying
is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do itso it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say, I've a call.
~sylvia plath
I first started reading poetry when I was a teenager -well, who didn't? These lines were among my favorites, and pretty well exemplify the roller-coaster ride that was my emotional life in those days. No, I really wasn't bi-polar, although if there had been a barometer on my feelings, it might have appeared as if I were.
For years, I didn't read poetry at all.
And then, thanks to Poetry Thursday (thank you, thank you, thank you!)
I found these lines:
Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for -
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
from "Mindful", by Mary Oliver
Not coincidentally did I place these words in the center of the page. These are the words that restore balance to my life, overfilled as it sometimes is with minituae and busyness.
These are the words and set me on the right course, when I seem to be veering off into some dark distance. These are the words that remind me "what I was born for."
I'm now long years away from being a teenager, and, no, my nights are not "wild" by any stretch of the imagination. But, neither do I dwell in thoughts of the "art of dying." I'm happiest when I can "lose myself in this soft world," and "instruct myself in joy and acclamation."