Fresh Start

In a mood of faith and hope my work goes on. A ream of fresh paper lies on my desk waiting for the next book. I am a writer and I take up my pen to write..~Pearl S. Buck

Technically it's still Wednesday, at least for a few more hours, so I can still "legally" post here.   Hey, it's my blog, anyway, right?  So I can do whatever I want <smiles>

I was just visiting Cafe Writing  (and if you don't participate in this marvelous monthly writing adventure, you must!) where the theme for January is "fresh."  Coming back to familiar territory after some time away feels like a fresh start - it's good to step back from the daily routine, from obligations and expectations, good to change the priorities around a bit.

My mind has been whirling around with some fresh writing ideas.  I've made a concerted effort to get back to my morning pages, those three pages of writing done first thing in the morning when the mind is fresh.  Rather than regurgitating a litany of worries and woes, which can all too easily become my habit in journaling, I've been using the pages to reflect on my reading of late.  And in doing so, I'm finding ideas coming fast and furious.   Ideas for a series on Bookstack - The Writer's Life, columns of essay/reviews based on biographies of my favorite authors.  Ideas for my long laid aside novel, Dear Samantha, the epistolary novel I wrote for NaNoWriMo in 2006.  I've even thought about trying to find a way to quit my day job and actually write all the time!

Some pretty wild ideas come spilling out of my head in the morning...after a couple of mugs of Gevalia Dark Roast coffee, the brain synapses are in rapid fire mode. 

Whether any of these ideas pan out or not, it's invigorating to think about fresh new things to do with my writing.  After all, the new year is the perfect time for a fresh start.

How about you?  What fresh new ideas do you have for your writing?

Cafe Writing: Seven Things

In a mood of faith and hope my work goes on. A ream of fresh paper lies on my desk waiting for the next book. I am a writer and I take up my pen to write..~Pearl S. Buck

In improvisation, one of our exercises is a game called “Seven Things,” in which we go around in a circle giving each other the challenge, “Give me seven things that [whatever].” We are not going to go around in a circle here, but if you’re drawn to lists, this prompt is for you.

Give me seven things that inhabit or occupy your writing space. Interpret “writing space” any way you please. You’re not required to explain the items in your list, but it’s more fun for readers if you do.

• My desks - the small oak writer's desk my parents bought me when I went back to college in 1982  ~for the third and final time!  And also the new lap desk my husband ordered for me from Levenger's a few months ago.  Both indispensible...
• My new engraved fountain pen, a Christmas gift from my husband, also from Levenger's;
• My cozy chair and ottoman, where I can now not only read but write comfortably (thanks to the aforementioned lap desk)...
• My writing sweater, a black jersey cardigan my friend Pat had made for me.  The cuffs fold back to reveal stamped phrases ("live your dream," "make a wish"), the pockets are patchwork, one with coffee cups, the other with brightly colored fish (I'm a Pisces), and one more with music staves flowing across.  In the pockets were more treasures...a tiny tablet, reminiscent of something Charlotte Bronte might have used, a cotton lace handerkerchief, and a tiny coin with the word "hope" etched into it;
• Books, piled on the floor, on the desk, on the small bedside table;
• An etching, done by one of my great-great aunts, of a path leading uphill in the moonlight, to a small cottage where smoke curls invitingly from the chimney;
• Two fluffy white dogs, always curled up at my feet, snoring softly as I type.

What are some of the things that adorn your writing space? 

Go to Cafe Writing  for more fresh writing ideas.

By the way, Write On Wednesday  is making a fresh start too.

Following the Star

At our church, we celebrate Epiphany with a gift of stars. Baskets filled to the brim with gold cardboard stars are passed along the pews, every star with a word or phrase written on it's face.   With eager anticipation, each person reaches in, plucks a star, and turns it over to read their word for the year. "Devotion," "Acceptance","Sharing," "Discipline," "Family,"...an excited buzz filters from the front of the church to the back pews as the baskets of stars make their way through the congregation.  Exclamations of wonder or mirth are occasionally heard, for all too often these messages are eerily appropriate to their recipient.

Whatever the word, it represents a new meaning, a new way of looking at the world or your relationships, a reminder to have faith.  It might spark an interest in something new, or rekindle your feelings for someone or something you've lost.  It's a beacon for the new year, a guidepost by which to steer the course of your life.

Each year on Star Sunday, the church is filled to capacity.  This morning, there was nowhere to park, and we were forced to sneak in the parking lot of the Catholic church on the corner.  We crowd into the sanctuary like kids gathering 'round the Christmas tree, as excited to discover the message on our star as if God himself (and not the ladies of the Priscilla Circle) had written it.   Some of us even wait to make our New Year's Resolutions until we see what God  the Star has to say.

When the basket comes to me, I'm always a bit tempted to riffle around among the stars, hoping to get an extra good one.  Even though the stars are face down, and it's impossible to see the word until you've chosen and let the basket go by, I always have this childish idea that the best ones -the one with the most meaning for me - won't be the one on top. 

That if I dig deep enough, I'll get the one with the word that I really want.

But the whole idea depends on letting go and letting God speak to you through the star.  You have to relinquish all expectations, relinquish personal desires, and trust that God will lead you to the word you need.  You must, from the moment your hot little hand reaches into the basket, relinquish control.  Let go of expectations, let go of tight fisted demands about the future, let go of fears.

Yesterday, my hairdresser, a gentle, soft spoken Muslim woman about my age, told me this story about her 21 year old daughter.

"I tried to get pregnant for eight years," she told me.  "I would have done anything in the world to have a baby.  I took all kinds of hormones, which now they say can give you cancer, I gave  myself shots every day for months.  Nothing.   Finally I said to God, okay, for some reason you don't want me to be a mother. I give up."

She smiled. "So guess what? I was pregnant the next month."

Relinquish control.  Let go and let God. 

When the Star basket came by this morning, I decided to simply reach in and take the top-most star...whatever will be, will be, I thought.  No more trying to find the one I think will fit me best.

When I turned it over, the word written on it was MUSIC.

(See what I mean about eerily appropriate?)

So now I'm following a musical star, waiting to see how music manifests itself in my life once again, and what fresh surprises and connections will come of it. 

I'll keep you posted.

Fast Away

Though nominally a "Christmas Carol," there's one verse in Deck the Halls that's appropriate to today...

fast away the old year passes, fa la la la la la la la la

hail the new, ye lads and lasses, fa la la la la la la la la

They pass away faster and faster all the time, those old years, whisking by at warp speed.   We don't go in for big celebrations here on New Years Eve...an evening at home much like any other, perhaps enhanced with a glass of champagne if we happen to have a bottle around (which we did this evening, by the way :)  There were shows queued up on TiVo (Prime Suspect, the final episode, which I'd never managed to watch clear through), and the whistling wind outside lent us a feeling of smugness, curled up as we were with blankets and warm puppies.

Looking back on the long march of days just passed in this year 2008, the memories that stand out are not large ones, but small moments in time that seem quite symbolic of this life in general.  Moments like those we've spent tonight, just being together, moments which go a long ways toward easing some of that fierce discontent I was writing about earlier in the week. 

It's funny, isn't it, how one's perceptions change with age, how a "good time" at 25 can be completely antithetic to ones concept of fun at 50?

As we hail the new year so close upon us, I'm doing my best to sing a cheery "fa la la la la la la la la" in the face of sour thoughts and weary aggravations.  Perhaps I'll make that my mantra for 2009 ~ what d'you think?  My version of Scarlett O'Hara's "fiddle de dee, I'll just think about that tomorrow."

But, oh, those tomorrow's have a way of appearing before we know it, don't they?

joyous now we sing together, fa la la la la la la la la

heedless of the wind and weather, fa la la la la la la la la.

May the winds of the new year be calm, the weather be fair, and may you have much joyous singing.

Fierce Discontent

"Now is the winter of our discontent..." begins Shakespeare's play Richard III,  a drama that depicts this 16th century monarch as a malevolent, deformed schemer.  And while I wouldn't go so far as to describe myself as malevolent, and certainly not deformed, I admit wholeheartedly to a firece discontent with this particular season of my life. It's not the weather, vile as that has been here of late.  Nope, it's a feeling that everything in my life is out of whack, unbalanced, out of control, like the wind that's been wreaking havoc on trees and power lines all over this state.

My work life is a prime example, for while the general economy has downturned, my particular business seems to be booming, with the result that I'm always behind the eight ball in terms of getting work completed.  My boss has come to rely on me for more and more large and complicated projects, and for 98% of the work I do I have no one to back me up.  Combine this with my general control freakishness, my perfectionism, and my unwillingness to disappoint anyone, my work suddenly seems to have taken over my life.  I worked all day on Christmas Eve day, which meant I didn't have time to go to my friend Pat's house for dinner with her family before church, a very gracious invitation on her part. 

"Couldn't you leave some of that work undone?" she asked.

"Would you have liked me to leave my work undone when I was working for you?" I inquired.  "What if I just didn't practice those songs before a concert?  What if I just didn't come to rehearsal because I had somewhere else to be?  You wouldn't like me so much if I was the kind of person who left things undone."

My notoriously right and slightly scatter brained friend chuckled.  "Well, you like me, and I leave stuff undone all the time!" she retorted.

Hmm.  I wondered for about the millionth time how people get away with that.

Largely because of this work situation, I simply couldn't figure out how to make our annual driving trip to Florida with the dogs this year.  All the things that needed to be done in preparation, not to mention figuring out a way to get the work done in my absence, were simply overwhelming.  My husband is none too happy about this ~ for his department at work is on hiatus so he's sitting home all these days twiddling his thumbs and listening to winter winds blow.

So, I add guilt to the discontent.

Of course, there are other factors  which contribute to the fierceness of this discontent.  My family feels really fragile to me, stretched very thin and pulled in lots of different directions, with health issues to be concerned about.  Plus, I have no music in my life  -not that I know where I'd find time for it.  But I've noticed before when I'm not actively engaged in making music, particularly in working with high school kids, there's a certain lack of energy and excitement, a missing piece to the puzzle that's me.

There's no good reason to write about this, other than to flagellate myself in public once again for the inability to balance my life in any reasonable way.  And perhaps hope that some other poor beleaguered soul out there will chime in with their own sad tale, thus making me feel less adrift.  I know by most accounts I live a charmed existence - after all, how dare I complain about having too much work, when so many people in my state have none?  And not enough time to spend in your "vacation home in Florida?"  Cry me a river, right?

Alas, there is a malevolence in my feelings about life in general these days, and especially about my own in particular.

A fierce discontent.