Rebirth

 

My copies arrived on Monday.  Kindred Issue Six is a beautiful issue!  

I am thrilled and honored to have my essay, The Porch Light Is On, and an accompanying photograph, included in this issue's theme of rebirth.

I can't wait to find the perfect spot to sit down with a cup of tea and be inspired by all the other writing and photos.  I hope that you will join me!

So Many Ways To Tell A Story

I have been thinking a lot recently about telling stories. Specifically, how many methods there are to tell them.

I tell mine through essays and blog posts.  Sometimes I try to let the photographs do the telling, with a few sentences for support.

 

I am hoping at the end of the summer to have a year's worth of photos capturing the seasons to make a photo book for myself.  Having discovered the self-caring qualities of self-portraiture, I would love to capture this evolution in a different book.

But since the fall, scrapbooking keeps whispering to me. I'm realizing that I want a method that combines text and images in a way that goes beyond the vertical and scrolling of a blog page.  Beyond the limited text that can be incorporated into a photo book. 

I want to use this sophisticated form of scrapbooking as way to journal. 

A different voice emerges from each medium, so why can't the story of a trip, for example, be told in a blog post, a photo book, and then again on a scrapbook page? 

The only real problem is how many hours there are in any given day to thoughtfully express ourselves in words, images, and scraps of handmade paper.  Far too few, in my opinion.

A Peephole

 

I need to cut a peephole to look out from this close space I have wiggled myself into that has no windows or doors.  

A small hole through which I can squint and say, I think I see a way I can make that connection back to that place and those people.  If I place the phone number in front of me today, I can make the call tomorrow.  If I give myself stationary and a time limit, I can sit down and write that letter start to finish.  

If I say, just thirty minutes a day and press the timer, I can make my way slowly through the revisions on that essay.

Defined as such, a peephole isn't so scary.  It's just enough of a view to begin to make my way towards what I want to do, but don't yet know how to, or if I am courageous enough to go the distance.

Candlelight On A Winter Morning

I needed a little extra light to write by on this grey morning.  It helps me focus and lifts my spirits.

When I Have No Words

 

I think it is time to admit that I've been experiencing some sort of writer's block here.  It's as if I open my mouth to speak and no sound comes out.  

I don't know if it has something to do with an essay I have been struggling to write for a few months.  Sometimes when I am writing elsewhere, I can't write here, too.  

 

Momentarily this morning, I considered letting this space go, and it hasn't been the first time.  But even in the quiet times, even when I'm stuck, it's comforting to come here and kick around.

The fog excites me; maybe it provided inspiration for a few words and pics today.  Be back soon, I hope.

My Six Words

It is all there.  Just listen.

Girl Of Eleven

After talking it over with Mr. Savory on Sunday, I decided to put aside an essay I began earlier this fall as a response to a writing exercise.

I felt relieved to let it go because that piece of writing, and I really can't call it anything more than a "piece", became an obligation to be the dutiful student, to not give up. Yet, I have no burning desire at present to tell this particular story from my childhood.

At first I was excited by this exercise and relieved to leave the not-too-distant past, as I worried that soon I will run out of material.  I quickly saw that the past holds plenty of material, but my voice is centered in who I am now, not in the girl I was at eleven.

I believe I will return to her when I understand what her story is about, but for the moment, I am enjoying the photo albums I unpacked from storage boxes.  I am remembering her clothes, her bedroom, what her family looked like.

This girl needs time to come to life again. But for now, ttyl girl in braids.

Writing Exercises

 

Last night Mr. Savory woke me talking in his sleep.  I was up for a while once I listened to his non-discernible chatter, thinking about everything from what shoes I need for my fall wardrobe, to what to make for dinner tonight, to eventually wondering what I was going to write about today.

I decided I would start some of the writing exercises from a memoir writing book Mr. Savory gave me for my birthday.  I thought I would share the first ones with you.

One:  A designated space.  I am lucky; I already have such a place.  As I have mentioned before, it's the kitchen table.  The pumpkin and flowers above are my view this morning. 

Two:  A designated time to read.  The authors provide a great list, some of the selections I already have and read years ago.  They suggest setting aside enough time to get through one book a week.  I decided to make it easy and economical for myself, so I went upstairs and grabbed the first memoir I found from the list.  Tender At The Bone was facing out, waiting for me.  Easy.

Three:  A writing circle.  I don't have one yet.  However, I do have a writing partner, or let's just say an editor:  Mr. Savory.  I have yet to reciprocate.

Four:  A writing schedule.  I do have one.  I cheat sometimes, but for the most part it is two hours a day, Monday to Friday.  If I work ahead, I get a morning off to do something else.  If I fall behind, such as a day spent at jury duty, I have to make up the time.  Blogging counts, as does journal writing.  Uploading a photo or two works as a warm-up and is a good way to get a story started.

Five:  First lines.  I love this one, and I once wrote about my all-time favorite.  This is two-part:  compile a list of twenty or thirty first lines that grab you; then, make a list from your own work.  I'll leave you today with the first line from Tender At The Bone, just because it is here in front of me.

"This is a true story."

Ms. Reichl warns us.  And recalling some of the stories she has to tell, I can see why she did.

The Signs Tell You

A short walk from our Cape May rental house is a tiny community garden lushly planted and curated with a mulched pathway.  Those who tend have kindly offered guides to what is planted.  It is a shady retreat from the relentlessly sunny sidewalks along Madison Avenue.

 

 I am rather taken with the signs.  They are charming yet helpful indicators of what one might find along the way.  

Right now, today, I wish for my own little metaphorical garden to have such signage.  Brightly colored ones amidst the greenery that would show me the way, with arrows pointing to which photography or writing class is right for me at present.  Which cookbooks I might learn most from.  What direction to take my dog training.

How bold am I now in regards to wading through my grief?

 

Every day recently, a writer, photographer, blogger, I follow, links to a class or course being offered.  Soon!  Registration is open!  I have spent considerable time checking each one out.  Each teacher offers inspiration or new sets of skills to learn.  Most are e-courses, available through a series of clicks with credit card at the ready.  Some are highly interactive, some are self-paced and more solitary, with support available.  The two that nailed me in between the eyes are in real time and place, on separate weekends, mornings only, six-plus hours away...

Do I want to sign myself up for something that offers to take me way deep, or do I want to stay closer to the surface and learn in comfort?  Do I want to be immersed, consumed, or is it best to make sure I have ample space for a little of everything?

I could and desperately want to ask you your opinion.  What do you think I should choose?  But most likely, you would say it depends, it depends on what you want, what you are looking for.  All the choices look promising, don't they?

So Glad To Be Included

What a thrill to receive my contributor copy in the mail last week!  Kindred Issue 3 is here, and there may be a few copies left. 

I can't wait for a couple quiet hours to sit with an iced tea and be inspired.

It's Here

My copies of Kindred arrived last week.  It's a beautiful publication, full of strong, unique voices and stories.  I am honored to be a contributor.

I sat out in the sunshine yesterday, with the dogs resting under the trees, and read through the whole issue.  Half before lunch with a coffee and the other half late afternoon with an iced tea.

I can link you to the website if you'd like to order a copy, but unlike so much content these days, this is a collection of written and visual stories to hold in your hands, read at your leisure, and settle in a quiet spot and savor.  I hope that you will.

Out To Celebrate

My two special people took me out to dinner to celebrate. 

We ate lasagna, tortelloni, calamari, and each ordered our own dessert.  There was a lemon tart, a vanilla sponge cake with strawberries, and a chocolate pudding. We drank red wine and Limonada. 

The meal was leisurely, and thoughtfully prepared and served by a husband and wife.

I wouldn't have changed a thing about the food, the company or our reason for being there. 

Clearing Out

After my last post, I set to work on creating a writing studio smack dab in the heart of my kitchen.  It's certainly not the most likely place to set up, yet it's where I'm most comfortable for now.

I've cleared off some of the clutter on Olivia's ledge and the shelving underneath.  I spent two days tackling "my desk", which is really half "the family desk" underneath cabinetry housing glassware and ceramics.

I found a basket which can hold my camera and notebooks, and with its handles I can carry it back and forth from the desk to the kitchen table, which I told you before is my writing spot.

The allure of clearing out spaces is that in the end you're supposed to feel better--lighter, freer, able to think more clearly.  All of this feels true in my co-opted space, yet I forgot about the possibility of the process being painful, about the clearing out being a confrontation of loss.

I left much of what I found of Aaron's in it's place.  I'm just not ready to move it.  But it's that tug of the not being able to that feels uncomfortable.  That shutting of the closet door you really don't want to look into today.

Despite this, I did feel like I could appreciate the beauty of my kitchen/studio this morning, and could move more mindfully about, picking up my camera, writing thoughts down. The goal to simply take a solid step towards treating my creative self, my writing self with more respect, was indeed accomplished.

I thought I'd share what else is being crafted right now in addition to words in my studio!  We'll have this Norwich Sourdough, made with my starter, and homemade goat cheese, plain and garden herb (rosemary, lemon thyme and lavender) tonight with a lentil soup.

*Creating a pin board gave me some ideas for now and some to dream on.  Take a look, if you'd like a little inspiration.

A Studio For Me

I have a spot at my kitchen table.  It's where I sit to eat meals, right in between Olivia and Michael.  It's also where I write. 

Many mornings it's where I photograph the sunlight falling on my breakfast.  It was still my spot when Aaron sat within hand-holding distance of me in his feeding chair.  It was how we had breakfast together before I took him to school.

Sometimes I feel like I live in that spot.  Hours a day are spent right there creating, eating, drinking, thinking, dreaming.

 There are other spaces in this house I could go, where I might even find a desk, but I gravitate towards this one.  The worn, finish-stripped wooden table and the corner with three windows and glass doors allowing the sunlight to stream in.  The coffee pot is almost within arms reach and without too much effort I can get up repeatedly to let the dogs in and out and in again.

At dinnertime, I clear away my notebooks, laptop and camera and put down place mats.  I could live in a house half the size.

In our old house, I had two desks, one for writing and one for my computer.  I still squirreled myself away at this same table in the kitchen, where I could look out a large bay window onto the street.  Sunlight was generous there, too.

In this new mode of mine, taking my creative self more seriously, I am feeling that it would be helpful to create a writing studio.  I'm being open minded about this idea, since clearly I am not drawn to office spaces.  However, the way I function now is that I create amongst mess, and mess is not supportive of creativity, especially photographing. 

In a bold, open moment, I decided I would share with you what my writing space looks like this morning.  One week past Halloween, a cold, snow-expectant, overcast November morning. 

Along the windows is "Olivia's ledge".  It is a dumping ground for anything on the kitchen table that we don't know where to put.  Her two bowls of "like" and "dislike" Halloween candy and our leftover bags.  Harry's food bowl, out of Charlie's reach.  Geraniums hastily brought inside before Hurricane Sandy to overwinter, all manner of Olivia's art projects and supplies, little toys of Aaron's.  In the corner is our "device charging center." 

I had some fun on Pinterest and started a "writing studio" board. While I can imagine myself writing in a variety of spaces, almost all the images I collected are color-filled.  A few have actual desks, some are tables and cozy nooks.  Light and color, the qualities I love to photograph most, are essential to my creativity space.

I am not sure how I will create this studio in the middle of my kitchen, the heart of our family space.  It may be portable, it may simply mean cleaning up the ledge.  It's fun to think about, though, and a positive step towards boosting my confidence.

Creativity Calls

Every six months or so, I seem to have a need to put myself on a schedule.  Mostly, I think, it is an attempt to control my creative pursuits, marginalize them, in order to make time for the to-do list tasks and caring for my family.

I seem to never be fully on top of those, some I think of only at the wrong times, and then there are the tasks that I simply dread--phone calls to people I would rather not deal with, situations I cannot resolve, plans I am conflicted about.  I don't forget about these, I just avoid them until they become heavy, enormous and weigh me down with anxiety.

The hours while Olivia is at school pass quickly, and there is also the grief, the elephant in the room, that takes up considerable space and energy.  It's not yet been a year and a half.  What am I thinking, even worrying about schedules?   In my mind and heart I still have two to take care of.

The schedules I try out for a few weeks now and then don't stick.  They are too restrictive and I can't help but keep writing, or photographing the light as it falls just so on my kitchen table. Then I look up at the clock, gasp, grab my tote bags and run off to the Co-Op.

This week it began to dawn on me that I am chafing against imposed limitations, that I am bursting beyond my schedule.  I want to write, photograph, bake, play in the garden, arrange color all day long. This part of me is screaming to be taken seriously. 

On one level, this is about time management both creative and personal.  However, it is also about  the guilt I feel for the hours I spend writing or reading for an e-course.  The photo outing I took I consider a luxury, as I think of Mr. Savory at work.

I'm at a bit of an impasse currently, wrestling, even as I write this.  A few solutions have come to mind in the past days as I've read about time management and gained a few tips from interviews with "successful people".

I've read about Eat That Frog, and gave it a try this week.  What a relief!  I contacted a few people that I've been meaning to reach out to for a long time, and confronted some tasks that I was worrying about.

The premise of "Eat That Frog", originating from Mark Twain, is that you start your work day with the hardest, most dreaded, the likeliest item on your list to be procrastinated on, and do it first.  The rest of the day will seem easier and there will be a sense of accomplishment no matter what direction the remainder of the day takes. You can even set up what you need for your frog the night before so you are ready in the morning. 

I write after eating breakfast, but having picked out my frog to confront afterwards, is a good strategy for me that feels satisfying but not overwhelming.

When I put some questions out to my blogging mates about how they address their creativity time, one responded that for personal health reasons, she lets the creativity flow and doesn't hold back.  The word, flow, has run through me since.

For now, taking myself seriously means to keep writing and growing creatively. It means taking care of my family, enjoying each other, and gulping down a daily frog. 

Let it flow. 

Everything is Changing

Everything is changing, and I don't just mean the season. 

I refer to something subtle that begins internally until it can no longer be held inside.  A certain power, the acquiring of tools.

It started last Winter when encouraged by an online photography course, I left the safety of my kitchen and walked around my neighborhood, photographing.  I was incredibly self-conscious for months to come, but I kept doing it more and more often.

I felt liberated, and I fell in love with the exploration.  I suddenly had another way to tell a story; I had a new tool.

This doesn't mean I'm good at taking pictures, nor does it make me a photographer.  But a new tool to use opens up the world a bit.

I began walking down a new trail, one that did not loop back to my kitchen table.  Like having an affair (I imagine), I was swept away and didn't care about what I was leaving behind.

I was cooking, reading, baking, gardening just as much as ever, however, I had no interest in photographing any of it.  Most of the time I simply forgot.

I stopped reading food blogs as often, and pored over photography and creative personal blogs.  Yet, I kept on reading cookbooks and personal memoirs about food and gardening.

I'm now in the final week of an online blogging course, and I know for certain that I am not the same person I was since the day I first walked around the neighborhood with my camera.

Recently, I gained another tool, or at least a sharpened, pre-existing one.  I now touch a finger to my heart before I start writing a post.  During these weeks, on more than one occasion, I have sat up straighter, asked myself if I am tapping in to what I feel, deleted, and started over with a slightly different tone.

This doesn't mean I write well or even that I am a writer. Expertise takes a lifetime to develop.

I acknowledge, though, that I possess these tools.  I accept that at their most basic level, I know how to use them.  This is confidence I have never admitted to previously.  I have an internal power now, and for the moment, it is keeping me up at night!

I hope to come back with camera in hand to my kitchen table from time to time, but with different intent.

For once one has developed a mission statement, the whole perspective shifts.

Through photographs and stories, I want to share what I see and what I feel.  My aim is for my personal stories to be universal.

The Finish Line

Mr. Savory did it!  He completed writing 50,000 words of his novel during the month of August (and while on a short vacation, no less). Four of his six cabin mates finished as well, so cheers to them, too. 

He told me and others on a writer's forum, "I finished the month with about 40% of a first draft written, writing at least two hours a day.  No planning, no researching, no outlining, just cranking out chapters.  And the characters took off on their own, refusing to listen to my outline (which I think is a good thing."

He feels camp proved to be a great thing for him, "even if, on some days I hated it."  He still feels invigorated about his book and is excited about pushing on.

"So much work lies ahead.  I am now going to step back and work on things that became apparent during August: more fleshed-out character backgrounds, more detailed backstory of the world, and a revised outline for the characters to further ignore."

Camp Time

Mr. Savory has gone to camp for the month of August.  Camp NaNoWriMo, an online novel-writing support complete with cabins and mates.

Camp NaNoWriMo is the camp version of National Novel Writing Month, which takes place in November.  August works well for Mr. Savory because his days at the office tend to be quieter, so he can sneak in a little time at camp during the day, and his chances of needing to stay late verge on unlikely.

The goal for these novel writers is 50,000 words by the end of the month, roughly 1,600 words daily.  So far, he has been a model camper.  He's written at the pool, in the evening while watching the Olympics, with dogs at his feet, and sitting along side fellow train commuters.

Mr. Savory views this opportunity as a jump start to completing a large portion of his first draft.  Prior to this he said he did a lot of revising and tinkering on his outline and risked not meeting his own goal of completing a novel in one year.

Being part of a large group working towards the same individual goal is really motivating and helps alleviate that feeling of isolation. 

Novelists can ask to be placed in a cabin with other campers around your age and writing in a similar genre.  This didn't exactly work out for Mr. Savory considering that his five remaining cabin mates are all female (the one other guy seems to have packed his trunk to be no longer heard from) and rather young.  The most prolific being a fifteen year old British girl who loves her novel.  Their cabin, however, is apparently the envy of Camp NaNoWriMo and viewed as one of the most active and chatty (campers are allowed to post to their cabin mates once a day and are limited to 250 characters).

At the end of the month, if (and I know he will) Mr. Savory makes it to 50,000 words, he will win a badge to put over his avatar, and more importantly, the satisfaction of a goal achieved.

Show and Tell Days

 I love to read rules and tips about writing because it makes me feel hopeful that improvement lies just around the corner. So, I thoroughly enjoyed opening up yesterday's The New York Times Book Review to the essay, How to Write.

The author, Colson Whitehead includes 11 rules, really 10, since Rule No. 8: "Is secret."  A few of them I have heard before from fiction-writing workshops way back when, such as Rule No. 3: "Write what you know"; Rule No. 4: "Never use three words when one will do; Rule No. 10: "Revise, revise, revise".  Rule No. 1 twists the most familiar "show don't tell," to "Show and Tell".

I particularly like this one because as a blogger I feel just like that shy, eager little kid having brought my favorite stuffy or in the case of first grade, my beloved Bambi record to class, half-worried other kids would make fun of it (yes, the boys did) to half-hoping my classmates would love it as much as I did (really I only recall the boys snickering).

Posting an entry often feels like "Look What I've Brought Into Class Today, My Favorite New Bread Recipe!"  And then I hope I don't hear any whispering to the effect of "Oh, how boring, what a terrible photo, what could she have been thinking?, 60,000 food bloggers have already been all over that recipe!"

New to me and sparking my interest, the author lists Rules No. 2 and 9: "Don't go searching for a subject, let your subject find you" and  "Have adventures"--for the purpose of writing material, I expect.  I find No. 2 works well by giving myself a broad prompt of some sort (what's inspiring me) and then being open to an idea that presents itself.  No. 9, I need to work on.  I could seriously use some more adventure, regardless of it's future story potential.

The last rule, Rule No. 11: "There are no rules", brings me back to Rule No. 1: Show and Tell. "...There are no rules except the ones you learned during your Show and Tell days.  Have fun.  If they don't want to be friends with you, they're not worth being friends with.  Most of all, just be yourself."

When You Write, Just Write

You can't create and react at the same time.  You can do one or the other.  This bit of writing advice comes from the author, Jeff Goins, who I have been reading for the past few weeks, and today I keep turning this observation over and over.

The point being that when you write or do any sort of creating, you need to be focused and to bring your whole self to the task.  This means no checking email, blog stats, Twitter, or any other distraction that may easily lure you away from your writing time.  In short, no multitasking during your writing session, just write.

I think about how going out to photograph by myself yields very different results than when I bring my camera along on a family outing.  In company, I worry my hanging back delays everyone.  Recently, I have been attempting to capture a Summer dinner as I place it on the table, wanting so badly to seize the colors, and what I end up with is a poorly composed snapshot, while Olivia and Michael wait pensively to eat our meal.
I think I may go back to photographing baked goods in the mornings when my time and space belong to myself!

Multitasking while involved in any creative endeavor makes me feel tired and fragmented.  When I have put in my writing time, shut off my laptop or close my notebook, and turn my attention to the next task, I feel more accomplished and satisfied.

You Are A Writer by Jeff Goins offers insightful suggestions on developing productive writing habits, establishing a blog, and using technology and social media to your advantage to create community and long-term relationships that foster your creative life.