Waking Up

After waking up at 3:30 a.m., tossing and turning for about 30 minutes whilst cursing myself for not taking the melatonin my daughter in law gave me, I surrendered and crawled out of bed. Taking my book from the bedside table I made my customary buttered toast and wide-awake-at-four a.m. cup of hot cocoa. I read the book for a while, then succumbed to the internet’s siren call.

While making the rounds of some favorite bloggers, I came across this post by Melissa Sarno, a young woman of uncommonly delicate perceptions and thoughtfulness. She writes about her upcoming 10 year college reunion and reflects upon the sense of time passages, the way traveling though life sometimes seems- at least in retrospect- to be as effortless and mindless as climbing a flight of stairs.

In the comments, readers were talking about where they had been in life 10 years ago. Mostly younger people than I, their past 10 years included major life changes - relationship changes, children, career building. This was my comment:

Ten years ago, my life was pretty much the same as it is right now.

Hmm.

Funny thing is, I’m not sure exactly how to feel about that. As a person who really rather abhors change, the sameness of the past decade could definitely be viewed as a positive thing.

But as a person who also fears entrophy, the thought of being so stagnant is almost equally distressing.

Perhaps that’s why I’m feeling some sense of urgency about our potential move to a new home. As difficult as that will be, it feels like time to stop standing at the foot of the staircase and start climbing.

Thanks, Melissa, for the early morning wake up call.

How about you? What was your life like 10 years ago? Has it changed significantly? 

Day 6: Steal

Good artists copy. Great artists steal. ~Picasso

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m not happy with that word.

Steal.

Probably it’s my years of parochial school training (Keep your eyes on your own papers, boys and girls!) but the thought of stealing from other writers or artists sets my teeth on edge.

I understand the concept, and I participate in it all the time. Whenever I read one of my favorite authors, my fingers start itching to pick up a pen and write. When I hear beautiful music, I want to run to the piano and play. Cruising the internet sets my brain aflutter with ideas for blog posts and essays and who knows what all.

I call that inspiration, not stealing.

Semantics.

But we writers are all about the words, aren’t we?

And I just don’t like that one.

Day 5: Prepare

Although I'm not a gourmet cook, I enjoy trying new recipes. And I've learned that preparation is the key ingredient to successful culinary ventures. Taking time to line up the necessary ingredients, measure them out properly and have them ready to add at the appropriate time increases the odds of a good outcome. It also means the cook is far less frazzled and more likely to enjoy the meal. Just as a cook prepares for delectable creations, so must a writer prepare for greatness. Lining up the ingredients for a writer means doing the research, thinking the project though, getting feedback before and after the writing is done, and finally sending it out into the world.

I'm better at some of those steps than others.

I'm good at doing research. I like delving into the nuts and bolts of an idea, looking up pertinent quotations and information, seeking out sources. I'm great at the "shitty first drafts" that Anne Lamott talks about in Bird by Bird (my writing Bible).

But sometimes I don't think things through carefully enough, and because of that my writing is less authentic than it should be. It doesn't tunnel as deeply as it should into layers of ideas and expression.

And I'm terrible about getting feedback on my work. My natural reticence causes me to hide away, makes it difficult for me to ask any of my writer friends to read and comment on my projects.

One way to get the feedback we need, Jeff Goinstells us today, one essential way to prepare for greatness, is to ship even if it's not as good as you want it to be. Put something out there and see what happens.

That's hard.

Because there is a huge risk involved in that action. Risk of criticism. Risk of rejection. Risk of failure.

Honestly, I'm not prepared for any of that.

When I'm cooking, there's always a moment of fear before when I turn on the stove and start putting all those well prepared ingredients to the fire. Will it turn out the way I hoped? Will it look like the glossy magazine picture accompanying the recipe? Most importantly, will my family smile with satisfaction at the first tasty bite?

All the preparation in the world is meaningless until you finish the product.

The proof is in the pudding.

Prepare for it.

weekending

two days of savoring milky babies breath and drool moistened kissesenjoying squeals of delight wrapping my arms around the solid weight of promise and perfection babies are so lovely they have a way of making everything else seem trivial just by the virtue of their existence for what could be more important than reading, playing, feeding, napping, cuddling, rocking with this baby?

Checking In

We flew into Dallas on Wednesday for a five day visit with our son, daughter-in-law, and the Fabulous Mr. Connor. We call him that because he is the most fabulous of babies (although as I write this, it's 6 p.m. and he's crying up quite a storm -I do remember there was something about 6 p.m. that's made it an evil hour for babies). But 99% of the time, he's cool as a cucumber. Patient, cheerful, cooperative - a good eater and a good sleeper. What more can anyone ask?

I did not bring a computer with me, other than my iPad, but I've been participating in the 25 Habits of Great Writers that Jeff Goins is hosting, and my daily posts are over at Write on Wednesday. For writer friends, it's an interesting and inspiring exercise. Give it a look.

Otherwise, you probably won't see much of me until next week.

I'm just soaking up baby right now.

When I get home, I've decided my summer wardrobe really needs updating. Even though I'm working mostly from home, I'm tired of feeling dowdy. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, photos from the weekend indicate my appearance is leaning much more toward the the look of middle-aged matron than I'd like. Grandmother I may be, but I don't have to look like one. Perhaps I'll even look into some seamless shape wear, although it would take the best bra around to make anything much of my figure these days.

Oh well. Hopefully, Connor will love me no matter what.

Happy weekending.