Resurrection

You have to keep your writing on life support, and give it oxygen.   Janet Fitch, author of White Oleander and Paint it Black

Write On Wednesday has certainly flat-lined over the past few weeks, hasn't it?  The rest of my life, however, has gone rushing past, reminding me of those scenes from ER when the paramedics come crashing through the doors shouting "GSW to the chest!  He's tachycardic and bleeding out! Get me an amp of epi! STAT!"

Happily, nothing that serious has occurred for me, but in the midst of general life busyness - training a new employee at work, rehearsals for three new musical events, a week's vacation with a friend - the last few Wednesday's seemed to come and go in a flash, and writing on that day was truthfully the farthest thing from my mind.

Just as life sometimes mirrors the chaos of a hospital trauma ward, so does ones artistic practice occasionally wither and languish from neglect.  When that happens to me, I panic a bit, and tend to rush in with haphazard attempts at revival.  These include everything from searching through my "How to Write" library to rummaging around the web looking for new writing prompts.  I go out and buy myself new notebooks and pens.  I download lots of  podcast interviews with writers. I re-read some of my favorite authors.  Basically, I transfuse myself with inspiration from other writers - the famous and the not-so famous.

When I get the pulse going again, it's time to look at prevention.  How to protect myself from suffering this same disease in the future?

Most often, neglecting my writing occurs when I allow daily life to overwhelm me.  For example, Sunday morning while I was unloading the dishwasher, I thought of a novel to write.  Research would be required - lots of it, but that's all right, I love research.  I began thinking about the biographies I would need to read, the historical period I would need to study.  Some of the very books I needed were on my bookshelves, I could get started right away.

But first, there was church, and I had to be there to play duets in the service.  And then I had promised my aunt I would take her grocery shopping that day.  Of course, I really had to work at the score for Sweet Charity, since rehearsals at the community theater were beginning Monday evening.   Sunday drifted by, and Monday too, with an extra day at the office thrown into the mix this week.  Now it's Wednesday, and there's work today, and (not one, but two!) rehearsals this evening. 

Daily life has a way of infecting my writing life with a deadly virus.

"I have spent so long erecting partitions around the part of me that writes - learning how to close the door on ordinary life when it's time to start writing again - that I'm not sure I could fit the two parts of me back together now,"  wrote novelist Anne Tyler, in an essay entitled Still Just Writing.   Perhaps I should put the writer part of me into quarantine occasionally, construct my own version of an isolation unit and admit myself when it's time to start writing.

Perhaps that's what I'm doing "write now," sitting in my study at 6:30 a.m. while the rest of the house still sleeps.

How about you?  Is your writing life healthy these days?  How do you keep your writing life alive?  What are some of the remedies you use to revive it?

How Was Your Weekend?

Usually I don't work on Mondays - at least not in the office.  But today I went in to prepare for the arrival of a new employee tomorrow.  Actually, it's the return of a former employee,  my friend K., who was my alter-ego at work, and will provide a welcome respite for me.  She's been working elsewhere for the past two years, and in that time I've become a little bit more indispensable than I'd like to be. But I digress.

When I'm in the office on Monday's my boss always comes by and asks, "So, how was the weekend?"   I find myself a bit nonplussed by this question...my weekends are either crowded with concerts or sedately empty of activity.  I'm fine with either one, really, but the pleasure I take from such  activities isn't always readily understood.   If I reply that I performed in a concert and then played in church on Sunday morning, and that I thoroughly enjoyed myself, I might get a skeptical raised eyebrow in return.  "Really?  You like doing that sort of thing, then?"

Yes, actually, I do.

Conversely, if I reply that I sat around in my pajamas, read books, did some writing, watched videos while eating pizza and drinking wine, and it was marvelous, I'm sure to get an even more highly raised eyebrow.  "So, you like the quiet life, huh?" 

Yes, actually, I do.

Much as I enjoy spending time with my husband,  my son, or my friends, I'm equally happy with my own self for company.  Perhaps it's the legacy of an only child, this ability to play well alone, recalling the hours when parents were pre-occupied and the only available playmates were imaginary or four-legged (both of which I had in abundance!)  I can happily potter around for hours on my own, and sometimes feel guilty for craving the opportunity to do just that.

As for my original question, I wonder why my boss' inquiry leaves me slightly uncomfortable.  Perhaps my boss is the type of person who loves being on the go, attending parties and social functions, entertaining friends.  Perhaps she'll think less of me if I reveal my tendency to introversion, my rather low-metabolic rate in regard to a social life.   A huge fan of the TV show Sex and the City, perhaps she'd prefer her employees to have a bit more of Carrie's panache and joie de vivre.

Well, I'm afraid that's really  not my style. 

So back to my original question - how was my  weekend? 

 Simply lovely.

How about you?   How was your weekend?

Cafe Writing: Dearest Love...

Do not imagine, because you find these lines in your journal that I have been trespassing. You know I have not - and where else shall I leave a love letter? For I long to write you a love-letter tonight. You are all about me - I seem to breathe you, hear you, feel you in me and of me. What am I doing here? You are away. I have seen you in the train, at the station, driving up, sitting in the lamplight, talking, greeting people, washing your hands… And I am here - in your tent - sitting at your table.  ~Katherine Mansfield (in a letter to John Middleton Murray)

Pick at least three of the following words, and build a piece of writing around them. The form is up to you: poem, scene, flash-fic, essay, or general blog entry. If you want to be really daring, write a love letter, instead.

greeting, hands, imagine, leave, letter, people, train, trespassing, washing

My Dearest Love,

By the time your eyes read these words, I will be on the train, surrounded  by people who mean less than nothing to me -strangers trespassing upon my solitary grief.   

My attempts to imagine life without you are futile, even as this powerful engine speeds me ever closer to that reality.   A new life opens before you, one which can not include me.  Though I accept the inevitability of my sentence, I fear it's reality will be more painful than I can bear.  But better for me to endure this pain than for you to suffer the sorrow that our life together would entail.   For it was I who trespassed upon your life, who crossed the boundary of your home and threatened the peace of your family. 

Do you recall the day we met?  Of course you do - it is etched in your memory as it is in mine.  Your greeting was perfectly polite, yet when you took my hands in yours, you set my soul afire.  From that moment there was no retreat for either of us.

At least there wasn't until today.  This morning I watched you hold your new baby daughter, tiny Emma Grace with her auburn ringlets, her ten perfect fingers and toes.  As the four of us stood before the altar, sun burst through the Rose Window, illuminating the two of you in a perfect mist of light.  Did you notice my fingers quiver as they dipped into the font?  Did you hear those holy words catch in my throat as I uttered them?

"I baptize you..." I started out saying, wanting to continue with "my one true, and holy love, from now until death do us part."  Instead, I gave your daughter her name and consigned her future to God, through the auspices of you and your husband.  

I pray my departure does not sadden your heart overmuch, does not detract one iota of the joy you should now be feeling.  And I pray that our love remains a vibrant and joyful memory in your mind and heart.  Perhaps one day we can meet again, when we are not encumbered by our separate vows.  Whether that day be on earth or in heaven, I look forward to it with great anticipation, and I remain...

~Your Dearest Love

for Cafe Writing, February Prompt Number Three

Happy Valentine's Day

A Map of the World ~Ted Kooser

One of the ancient maps of the world is heart-shaped, carefully drawn and once washed with bright colors, though the colors have faded as you might expect feelings to fade from a fragile old heart, the brown map of a life. But feeling is indelible, and longing infinite, a starburst compass pointing in all the directions two lovers might go, a fresh breeze swelling their sails, the future uncharted, still far from the edge where the sea pours into the stars.

I found this poem quite by accident this morning, in one of those circuitous blog explorations which I couldn't retrace if my life depended upon it.   And I copied it inside my husband's Valentine's Day card,  because I loved so much this last bit...

But feeling is indelible, and longing infinite, a starburst compass pointing in all the directions two lovers might go, a fresh breeze swelling their sails, the future uncharted, still far from the edge where the sea pours into the stars.

We've had 35 Valentine's Days, my husband and I, and in recent years have barely taken notice of  its passing.   Kooser's words here remind me that feelings needn't fade from our "fragile old hearts," that  we still can follow the "starburst compass pointing in all directions," can sail off on a fresh breeze with our future uncharted. 

Here's to opening the map, smoothing out the creases, and setting our faces to the wind.

Happy Valentine's Day :)

Outrage

Last October, my friend H., a  Compuware employee for 16 years, was called into a conference room along with about 50 co-workers where they were all informed their positions were being eliminated.  They had 30 minutes to vacate the premises.   H., who at age 62 was looking forward to retirement in about three years, was denied the opportunity to say goodbye to friends or co-workers, or to make any preparations for his future. "Feel free to re-apply for another position within the company," the newly unemployed folks were told.  Right.

Yesterday,  along with announcing another round of approximately 300 lay-offs, Compuware announced one notable new hire.  It's  former Detroit Mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick, who was forced to resign from office in the wake of a major scandal involving cheating and lying of every possible sort, a scandal that dragged on for months and left this already beleagured city  9 million dollars poorer.  Kilpatrick,  recently released from jail after serving a (laughable) 99 day sentence as punishment for his crimes, will transfer to the company's Dallas office, where his job will entail getting governmental health care programs in the south and southeastern United States online.

"Regardless of what you think, regardless of all the stuff that has happened, people should understand this is a very, very talented human being, and frankly, I want to take advantage of that," Peter Karmanos, Compuware CEO, said in this morning's Detroit Free Press.

Talented? At what?  Cheating people? Being morally reprehensible?  Lying?  Mismanagement of city funds?   Could one of his "talents" lie in the fact that his mother, Congresswoman Carloyn Kilpatrick, sits on the House Ways and Means Committee?

Frankly, I wouldn't trust this man to take out my garbage.

This is just the sort of disheartening news which lands a sucker punch to this soul-weary state.  At a time when thousands of hardworking, honest people in the state of Michigan have lost their jobs, it is nothing short of  an outrage to hand over a plum position to a man who abused his power and defrauded an entire city.  How about a break for some of us ordinary folks, whose needs are simply taking care of our families, paying our bills on time, and trying to live the best life we possibly can?  

Sure, I know we can't all be as "extremely talented" as our vaunted ex-Mayor, but I'm willing to bet there's a few good minds wandering around out here somewhere.