Write On Wednesday: Putting It Off

Just as soon as I've finished my morning coffee (two cups, black) and set aside my book, Magic jumps up from his perch beside me in the big green chair and settles expectantly on the floor in front of me. His gracefully plumed tail starts to wag, and, head lowered slightly, he looks out from under slightly overgrown eyebrows with those huge brown eyes of his. A low rumble emerges from his throat, an "nnrrr"-ing sound that is his way of urging me out of my chair and out the door.

It's walk time.

Some mornings (mostly winter mornings) I think about invesing in some indoor Pet Waste Stations or dog exercise equipment. But since I've not done that, I put on my coat, hat, earmuffs, gloves and boots.

And we walk.

When we come in, I'm cold. I need more coffee, so I rinse out the pot from this morning, dump the used filter into the garbage, measure out another four cups of cold water and two scoops of fresh Gevalia coffee. While I'm waiting - and waiting - and waiting - for it to make it's way through the pot, past the grounds, and into the carafe (final destination my china mug), I flip open my iPad and check in with social media. Any new video's of Connor this morning? Yes? I watch it once, then twice, then maybe a third time, lapping up ever little coo, squawk, kick, and squiggle.

By this time, the coffee's done. But wait - before pouring a new cup, I'd better feed the dogs. I open the refrigerator and find the small Pyrex dish containing boiled chicken breast strips. I spoon two out, shred them into tiny bites, pour some broth over them, and pop them into the microwave for 20 seconds. Then I add a scoop of kibble on top.

Dog breakfast.

Now it's time for coffee.

And time to hit my desk. Writing projects await. Blog posts are due, publicity articles and e-mails for Paul's Players, the community theater group I'm helping my friend get off the ground. There's an idea for an essay I keep meaning to explore - (The Blessed Bean-My Love Affair With Coffee).

I pour a fresh cup of said Blessed Bean, and start off toward my writing room. On the way, I notice the pile of laundry I meant to throw in the washer before heading out on the walk. I really need that sweater washed, because I want to wear it tomorrow. It won't take long to do that, so I gather it up and head downstairs to the laundry room.

On my way back up, I spy the canvas bag of books I meant to go through to determine which ones to donate to the library book sale. Those need to be dropped off later today. I settle onto the little couch at the bottom of the basement stairs and paw through the stack. There's a copy of Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections - I didn't know I had that! I don't think I ever read that! I open the cover and read a few pages. Nope, not one bit familiar, but pretty good. I'd better keep this one for a while.

The washing machine beeps. Could that laundry be done already? How long have I been sitting here?

You've got to get back started on that writing, I tell myself.

Quit putting it off and get busy.

 How about you? Do you find lots of ways to put writing off? How do you get yourself into gear? Check out this week's Write On Wednesday to see what did the trick for me.

Sweet Spot

When I recently decided to return to my handbell group for a "limited engagement," I was a little bit anxious about what my bell assignment would be. If you're not familiar with handbells, they're actually set up like a piano keyboard in which each player is assigned a certain number of bells which correspond to notes on the page. I've played in enough positions to feel comfortable with almost any of them (except the big bass bells, which are physically more than I can handle). But there are a few places on the bell table where I'm much more sure of myself than others. So when the director contacted me and said she'd like to assign me to the E and F (6) position, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. That position was where I first learned to play four-in-hand (the technique of holding two handbells in each hand and playing them simultaneously) and where I played for the majority of my years in bell choirs.

That's my sweet spot.

You all have those spots, don't you? Places in your work that you feel so comfortable because you know what you're doing, know how to work around the kinks, know what the pitfalls are, and have so much experience in this one area that you could write a book about it.

When you're in the sweet spot, you have confidence in your ability, you can rise to greater levels of achievement because you've mastered the basics.

You can have a lot more fun.

So for the past couple of weeks, I've been reveling in the sweet spot in more ways than one. Music lifts my spirits like nothing else can. This morning, even though we'd had a long weekend of extra rehearsals, it felt so good to be playing again, to be thinking about music and all the little nuances that elevate a performance from good to great. It took my mind off all the other not-so-sweet things that have been dragging me down lately. And it provided me with a surge of inspiration to tackle a writing project I've been procrastinating, an added and much appreciated side benefit.

I also realized that playing music makes me feel more like ME than anything else I do. I think music itself is my own personal sweet spot in life - the area where I'm most comfortable, where I feel the most confidence in my abilities, where I have the most fun. As much as I love to write, I don't always feel that way when confronted with the blank page.

I suspect we'd all be a lot happier, more productive individuals if we could spend more time in our sweet spots.

I know I would.

How about you? What's your sweet spot in life? Do you get to spend enough time there?

Let's Start Over, OK?

Remember when I wrote about our New Year's Eve pizza bonanza, and my idea that getting all that unexpected free pizza was a sign that 2012 would bring us "more than we expected" in other ways? Well, it has.

But not necessarily in a good way.

Sure, the weather has been delightful instead of frightful. But that's about all I can say.

Last night at choir rehearsal I learned another friend had been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer, while another had suffered a serious mental collapse, and a third was in the hospital following a possible "brain bleed." My mental worry list has now stretched even farther across my brain, adding these folks to my heightened concerns about my dad, and my sadness over the impending death of my neighbor.

When we came home from rehearsal, I went outside with the dogs. It finally turned cold and blustery, and I was trying to hurry them inside. As I followed them through the back door, I tripped over my own toes and went sprawling on my face, landing my entire weight <crack> on the bridge of my nose.

And in case you ever wondered - yes, you do see stars.

And yes, there is an obvious, tiny broken spot just south of the bridge.

I'd like to start January over, please. I'm declaring this National Do Over week. Let's do the Etch-A-Sketch trick, shake up the past two weeks, and erase them so we can start again with more positive experiences this time around.

Anybody with me?

How about you? Has your year so far been delightful or frightful?

The bright spot in an otherwise troubling month? Seeing this little face pop up almost daily in my in-box:

Putting It Out There

But I still encourage anyone who feels at all compelled to write to do so. I just try to warn people that publication is not all that it is cracked up to me. But writing is. Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises. That thing you had to force yourself to do - the actual act of writing - turns out to be the best part. It's like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony. The act of writing turns out to be its own reward. ~Ann Lamott in Bird by Bird

People write for all different reasons, and lately I've been struggling a little bit to determine my own. I've been reading a lot of blogs about writing, people who've managed to parlay their blog writing into successful businesses, people who have published successful eBooks based on their blogs, people who teach writing. People who spend a lot of time promoting their work on all sorts of social media sites.

Honestly, it's made me feel a bit like a slacker. Like maybe I'm being lazy, just sitting here contentedly writing my little blogs every week.

Like I'm missing the boat.

So when I'm feeling confused about my personal writing experience I turn to some of my favorite "teachers."

Like Ann Lamott. She says that sometime when we think we need the tea ceremony for the caffeine, all we need is the tea ceremony.

Do I need caffeine? Do I need to put myself out there for the big payoff? Or do I just need to write - about life in general and my own in particular, about the books I love and hope you'll love too, about this writing life that I try (on my best days) to live?

I suspect I'm more of a ceremonial person than a caffeine oriented person.

Not that I don't want to work at writing, to get better at it- because I do.

Not that I don't want other people to read my writing - because I do.

But writing is a very personal means of expression for me and being able to set my thoughts and ideas on paper is hugely rewarding. I don't need to worry about blog stats or Facebook "likes." I don't have to "follow" a zillion people on Twitter.

All I have to do is write. That's the payoff.

And it's fine for me.

How about you? Do you go for the caffeine in your writing life, or are you happy with the ceremony?

A Gift From the Weather Gods

Sun warm on my face. Blue, cloudless skies. A gentle breeze. Michigan in January? No way.

Yes, way.

Today, in fact.

Today I wore my new winter jacket when I walked this morning, but started sweating and had to unzip it after 10 minutes. (Frankly, I'd be perfectly happy if I didn't have to wear this extra warm jacket again all winter. At least I was smart enough to look for an online coupon from Eddie Bauer before I bought it.)

Today, I hung curtains on the outside clothesline at 3:00 in the afternoon and they were sun dried, wind-ironed, and ready to hang at 4:00.

Today, I sat on my back porch steps wearing only a hooded sweatshirt and drank hot tea while the dogs chased squirrels around the pine trees.

There is something unnatural about this gentle winter. The ground is dry, the grass is still green(ish). Who can believe this is winter, after the last two years of harsh daily snows and pervasive gray skies.

"Payback's going to be hell," someone said the other day, expecting that winter will kick in with a vengenance. And this morning, the weather forecaster did warn us of impending winter doom by the end of the week- colder temperatures, a rain/snow mix, and a jet stream that brings long-lasting cold in its wake.

You'd never know it by today's weather, though. Just like life in general, the world can be rosy and warm one minute, but turn icy cold and brutal in the wink of an eye.

Still, it's been lovely while it lasted. At least the weather is testament to my New Year's Eve prediction that 2012 would bring us "more than we expected." More warmth, more sunshine, more nice days than I can recall in all 55 of my Michigan winters.