Write on Wednesday-In the Moment

In the past year, I've become addicted to morning pages. There is something so freeing about sitting down to write three pages every morning and knowing it doesn't matter what I write about, whether the words that end up on the page are sensible, beautiful, logical, or even legible. Knowing that spiral notebook and ballpoint pen are sitting on the table where I left them yesterday morning, waiting patiently to hear all my sleepy headed, good morning thoughts, is like knowing a patient and trusted friend has been sitting up all night just to hear what I have to say. Admittedly, sometimes the words don't come so easily. Those are the times when I'm the slightest bit fearful of the page, because the reluctance sometimes means there are disturbing thoughts or issues I don't want to face, and they're liable to come rushing to the forefront if I start writing, opening the floodgates in my mind and my heart. I've worked some things out on the page~feelings about relationships, hopes for the future. I've allowed myself to dream "out loud," and also to release my anger in those words I spill onto paper first thing in the morning.

And, because morning pages are all "in the moment," meaning they're not thought out or planned, sometimes all that appears is drivel - what I made for dinner, what movie I plan to see, the new dress I'm shopping for. Whatever flows from my brain through the pen and onto the page is what goes into the mix for the day.

"Daily writing, writing simply for the sake of writing, is like keeping a pot of soup on the back of the stove," writes Julia Cameron. "It is always there, always ready to be tasted, always ready to be added to, always nourishing, savory, life-sustaining. Like soup, your daily writing doesn't have to be fancy. A few simple ingredients are enough."

Cameron's basic recipe for the "stock" of our writer's soup consists of these three "ingredients":

• Honesty~look at "where you are" in your life, both physically and emotionally;
• Observation~what's going on in your world, immediately, and in the larger sphere;
• Imagination~what can you imagine doing, or being that would bring you the greatest happiness?

As I put my morning thoughts on paper, I try to be mindful of these ingredients. Even when the pages seem to be nothing more than a litany of complaints, or a string of worries knotted together like beads, they are reflective of my honest observations about life at the moment. As I write, I feel the soup begin to stir in my brain, simmering slowly as the flavors mix and mingle together. Where am I and what is going on around me? How can I change things? What shall I do next?

Each morning, my writer's soup nourishes me for the day ahead and forms a record of my life "in this moment." The broth only grows richer with each entry.

How about you? Do you keep a writer's soup simmering on the back burner of you mind? What are your basic ingredients?

And the Rain Came Down

It's been so long since we had a rainy day here, but finally the sky relinquished some of that miracle water it's been holding on to for the past six weeks. It's a niggling amount, really, skinny little streams tracing down in thin lines from those bloated grey clouds, but even this skimpy portion has lent a greenish glow to the parched grass on my front lawn, grass that looked and felt like straw last night as we scuffed across it on our evening walk. There's something calming about a drizzly day like this, especially after many days of endless sunshine. Don't get me wrong, I love sunshine. Sunny days urge you outdoors into movment and activity, but a cool rainy day invites you to slow down, settle in where its warm and dry. There is definitely something to be said for being tucked up cozy inside with tea and a book at the ready, while the outside world performs its ablutions in peace.

I came home early from work today ~the house is eerily empty and quiet with my kids gone back to their own home in the land of eternal sunshine. Molly is curled up on the bed here in the guest room, her head tucked into Nantana's pillow. Molly seems to feel that she and Nantana are "soul sisters," and she cleves to the girl with an obsessive devotion. So she's sad, and pouting a little bit I think, hoping I'll take pity and give her an extra cookie.

My plan was to do some errands on the way home, clean up the house, do some laundry, make something for dinner...yet here I am, curled up in the armchair with dogs at my side, writing, reading, listening to the rain coming down, sort of reveling in this peacefulness. I think I'll give myself this gift of refreshment today, a day to enjoy some simple pleasures. Let the rain come down.

Sunday Scribblings-Hair

My mom and I have always been very close, and so far have managed to escape most of the usual mother-daughter conflicts. However, when I was a pre-teen, my hair became a huge battleground between us. My long, thick, wavy hair was my mother's pride and joy. She delighted in curling and brushing it until it hung like smooth auburn silk, flowing in gentle waves down my back to my waist. Personally, I despised it. I desperately wanted my friend Lisa's stick straight blonde page-boy, that framed her face perfectly and fit nicely underneath a baseball cap.

Then, there were the bangs. Oh, how I longed for those forehead covering bangs all the 60's models wore, the kind that grazed the eyebrows and tickled the eyelashes. But no, my mother insisted on trimming my bangs high up on my forehead. "Why in the world do these girls let their hair hang down into their eyes?" she'd say, coming at me with those dreaded scissors. "Because it's cool!" I wanted to scream. But, I was a good girl and kept my mouth shut, letting her trim away, all the while seething inside.

The last straw came in the form of a comment from one of my friends - the aforementioned Lisa, actually - who was describing a classmate in the mean -spirited way only 12 year old girls can.

"Her hair is so stupid!" she declared. "And her bangs are the worst! They're so..." here she stopped and looked at me thoughtfully. "Well, I was going to say they're so short, when I realized that yours are like that too. Why don't you grow them out?"

The jig was up. Now my friends realized how totally un-cool my hair was.

"I want my hair cut!" I announced when I got home from school that day. "I want short hair, and I'm letting my bangs grow long."

"You're not cutting off that beautiful hair," my mother answered. "Someday, you'll be glad you have all that thick, wavy hair. You're not cutting it."

For once I was persistent. For days, weeks, months, I complained rudely every time we completed the hair washing/drying/curling ritual. Finally, she relented.

"Alright, you can cut it," she said. "On one condition. Have your portrait done with long hair."

GOD, if there was anything I hated worse than short bangs, it was having my picture taken. And a portrait would entail posing endlessly for a stranger. It was a mark of my determination that I agreed.

The portrait wasn't too bad. It turned out so well, in fact, that the studio asked if they could hang it in their display window for the summer. It still hangs in my mother's living room, a young girl dressed in the pale peach colored dress chosen by her mother, her long, dark tresses artfully arranged to lay smoothly down her back, grazing the bow tied at her waist. In her eyes is the slightest sly smile, knowing that with this portrait, she's stepping into a world of her own choosing, independent from the wishes and tastes of her parents.

I got my haircut, and began a battle of my own with my hair, struggling to tame those pesky waves into the smooth, sleek looks so popular in the 60's and 70's. I've never had long hair again, much to my husband's dismay. (Do all men love long hair, and if so, why?) Much as I love him, I'll never let anyone dictate my hair style again. I fought that battle already - and won!

here are more hairy tales

Write on Wednesday-Character Study

Once upon a time, I wanted to be a psychologist ~ believe it or not, my first major at the University of Michigan was psychology. Seems strange for a girl who grew up playing the piano and writing stories, doesn't it? I think this compulsion sprang from my fascination with people - why they act (and react) the way they do, how their emotions effect their behavior. This same fascination is why I love literature so much - where else can you meet so many fascinating and complex characters? I recently read an article by Gail Godwin (an author whose characters I greatly admire), who has this to say about "Creating Characters With Depth" (The Writer, June 2007):

"Use yourself. Go deeply into your own feelings and look for the hidden truths, motives, and perspectives. For we all have more in common than you think."

Godwin relates that she was once working on a story with a character who had recently become widowed. Trying to convey a sense of what this woman was feeling, without being trite, Godwin reflected on the way she herself felt when she was alone. She realized that she always felt a need to leave a light burning at night. So by having her character compelled to leave a light on, she was able to convey a sense of vulnerability without being maudlin.

"Observe others, observe yourself," Godwin advises. "Practice putting gestures, habits, facial expressions into words." My son was once quite interested in animation, and took some classes at the Disney animation studios. The artists talked about the way they imitated their characters antics in the mirror, and then drew what they saw. As writers, we can do the same thing with our characters - observe ourselves not only physically, but emotionally, to gain insight into the way people might react in a given situation. Godwin assures us that "you have enough self knowledge to take an imaginative leap from what you don't understand about a character you're trying to create to what you do understand about yourself."

Creating characters gives the writer a chance to play God - to take bits and pieces from ourselves, from people we know, and put them together to create a unique individual. It takes lots of practice to be precise and compelling enough with words to get a person "down on paper" well enough so that he can "walk off the page" and into the reader's imagination. As writers we have to be able to "reproduce with clarity" the looks, gestures, objects, and environments of people, because these are the things that make them who they are. "You have the power of observation and compassion necessary to penetrate to the depths of people and realize they are just as complicated as you are," Godwin assures us. "The really great writer is on everybody's side," having empathy and understanding of their emotional needs and motivations.

Since my career in psychology didn't quite pan out, I'll have to be content with studying human nature with an eye to creating complex and entertaining characters. And isn't that what makes reading, writing - and life itself!- so fascinating?

So how about you? Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? If you write fiction, how do you create believable and interesting characters? More of what I'm learning about character development can be found at Moving Write Along - A Matter of Character, Part, I, II, and III By the way - I could have written a really good description of myself having a complete meltdown about 30 minutes ago after I finished the first draft of this post (complete with links) and Blogger somehow mysteriously ate it! So much for the "automatically saves your draft" feature.

One Deep Breath-Feathered Friends

wings splash cooling dusty feathers in the birdbath

It's been so incredibly dry here in Michigan this summer ...our grass is brown, the flowers growth has been stunted, and the wildlife are searching for moisture. Each morning, I find my birdbath tipped over, as if some creature has toppled it on himself for a cold shower in the night! As soon as I fill it up, birds gather eagerly, waiting their turn to splish, splash around.

~for more haiku about our feathered friends, fly over here

photo credit