I'm seriously concerned that there may not be enough space on my blog: let alone in my LIFE for all the awesomeness I have been experiencing. Well, the best way to alleviate any burden, or blessing, is by sharing. So "here I go again."
Yesterday: Woke up at around 7:30. Jumped in the shower, dressed and fed myself, my Muad'Dib and my children. Headed to the new Lowe's in an attempt to circumvent the stupidity that has become The Home Depot and their "customer service" in the plumbing department. I wheeled the kids all about the place in a brand new blue Lowe's car cart while the faucet plumbing mystery was solved. Also while there, i discovered that Muad'Dib is partial to big red roses. Go figure.
Next stop: Mountain Road Ranch, where Dreampacker took us on a walkabout and pointed out the many different kinds of plants we could transplant to our garden. Included: lambs ear, chocolate mint, lemon mint, yarrow, and two others that Muad'Dib specifically picked out due to his childhood attachment to them. Cute sentimental ninny! We also took some dirt in a bucket.
Then we were back at our new place. For the next . . . uh . . . lots of hours, we set to pruning, cleaning, weeding, digging, pulling, sawing and in some cases cussing out our new backyard.
The most surprising events were:
*I didn't kill a single spider. Even the one that ventured into my glove . . . while my hand was still inside.
*Lemur tried to teach Rivulet how to pray over their snack - when he thought I wasn't listening.
*I got an adrenaline rush when I uprooted a stray tree sprout or sawed through a particularly bothersome tangent branch. In fact, once I surprised an elderly neighbor when I pulled up one such offending sapling and yelled, "Ah HA! I have TRIUMPHED!!!"
*We apparently have an evil vine in the back corner. Like Stephen King's worst imaginings evil. Fruit of the devil vine, I think it's called. I would pull up one end, just to find it attached somewhere else, and if I did finally get a "root", another would whiplash up and smack me in the face. It became downright eerie.
*After many hours of work, the yard was not done. I didn't even get to the front flower boxes.
*Muad'dib was able to repair the leak in the swamp cooler on the first try!
Oh: Muad'Dib was my hero like FIVE TIMES yesterday! Sweet man.
He even sent out for Chinese food (after giving our dirty and muddy kids a bath), so I didn't have to cook. Tropical chicken is delicious after a hard day's work!
After wards, we played Rock Band until bed time. Holy Fun Day!
That night I had very disturbing dreams. Of people intruding. I thought I heard Lemur calling to me when he wasn't. I thought he was walking to my room, but he wasn't. I thought I heard Rivulet walk up to my bed, but she wasn't there. I dreamt of people having keys to my house and giving me responsibilities that weren't mine and I didn't want. What was interesting was that I didn't keep these things. I told people where to go and how to get there. And not in a good way. It was a very unrestful night's sleep.
BUT! I woke this morning knowing that our trash was on the curb and all would be well with the world.
I got right up and went out to find me some rose bushes, purple petunias, creeping thyme and a lilac bush. I came home with all but the thyme . . . though I had to make four stops.
I made lunch for the love of my life, breakfast for my babies and sent my man off to work. I set to work almost instantly. In the windy morning that heralds a coming storm, I planted the two rose bushes and began cleaning out the front garden areas in preparation for planting. A few things I found:
*glass
*Beer bottle lids.
*plastic
*cigarette butts
*a hippo
*a beetle
*a LIVING huge furry spider with blue eyes, a yellow triangle on it's massive back end and a maternal feeling to her.
*Wood chips.
*Violets
*Some of the fattest earthworms I've ever seen.
*Plastic bags
*A die cast car.
and much much more!
Two bags of dirt garbage later, it rained and I put Rivulet down for a nap while watching the Bee Movie with my children. Lemur was a puppy. It was an adorable moment. Then I got back up and planted the petunias, my lavender and the other purple daisy like thing I bought. I came inside and Lemur and I planted a little forget-me-not seed in a tiny little pot. He was very excited.
I came downstairs intending to rest, but then saw a trailer on MySpace for TWILIGHT the MOVIE!!! Guess who plays Edward?! The guy who played Cedric Diggory on HP4! I'm so excited.
This day has been so great. And it's not even over yet. I haven't even included everything! I'm so tired my brain and my aching fingertips are skipping over things . . . I hope nothing important. Oh yes. Something important:
So I'm inside, we've planted the plants in the little planter and I am about to go rest. Then I walk into my room, the natural light dimmed by the darkening clouds overhead as another storm nears. A lamp sends a muted golden glow over the deep blues that make up my bed and I see the raindrops begin to fall. Like a dancer, like a ghost, I float to the sliding glass door, unlock it and slide it open just enough for me to step out onto my porch. Then I listen.
I listen to the sound of rain falling on the aspen leaves. I listen to the soft murmur of cars distant enough to refrain from being bothersome while close enough to make that rumbling chorus that can remind one of the sea if they are that sort of person.
There is no longing. I begin to cry a little. So relieved at having beauty right there. I don't have to seek it out, I don't have to fight for it. It has come to me. Releasing a deep sigh, I turn to see my son staring at me quizzically.
"Uh, mom? What'r you doing?"
"Listening to the rain."
His face lights up, "Ooo! I want to listen too!"
He brings his shirtless self over to stand next to me, and I slide the door open a little bit more to accommodate his little frame.
We are silent for a moment before he wisely says, "It sounds like a storm!"
Oh, another important! Lemur is on the phone with my mom, then hangs up without notice, while she is still talking. He has a smile like the very devil and starts to laugh a little. I tell him that it was very rude to hang up on Nanny.
The next twenty minutes are him trying to regain control of the situation through anger( I wonder who taught him that . . .;)
Then, as i sit down to the computer he comes to the office door and says, "I'm just so angry at you!"
My "Why?" is met with his attempt to slam the door while he huffs and puffs his little cheeks at me (he is embarrassed and searching for words.)
I remind him that he needs to Stop, Breathe and Think (once again, preschool was worth every penny!)
He does then says, "I'm so frustrated when you tell me I'm rude!"
My reply was this: "Lemur, do you know what my job is? It is my job to teach you how to grow up to be a great man like Daddy." his eyes get wide with surprise. "You like Daddy, don't you." he nods. "Grandma DreamPacker had this job when Daddy was just a little boy, and she told him when he was being rude or when he wasn't nice or when he did something not safe. Now he's a good man. And now it's my job to help you be a good man."
"You mean, like Daddy?"
"Like Daddy, and Papa and all your uncles and like Grandpa. They are nice, aren't they."
"Yeah."
"And they are smart, aren't they?"
He nods again.
"Do you want to grow up to be like them?"
He nods again.
"Okay. You need to remember that Daddy has his job and I have mine. My job is to tell you when you are being rude. To teach you to be polite and kind. To teach you modesty and truth so you can be a great man like Daddy. I'm sorry if that bothers you sometimes. But it's my job and I'm going to keep doing it."
He was remarkably calm and seemed to digest all of this very well. "But mom?"
"What honey?"
"You don't have to be mean when you tell me."
The student so often teaches the teacher.
How can my days be so full?! How can I survive when I am brimming over with all my life is and strives to be?! I don't know. And I'm not complaining either!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Monday, May 5, 2008
Yeah, baby!
What's Your True Color?
My Result: Red
And they just keep coming!
My Sunday experience yesterday was fraught with learning, emotional and spiritual growth.
We are in a new ward. They actually have a choir! That people come to and sing in and they like it! So, Muad'Dib and I packed up our children and went to join the choir at 11am.
It was a great little choir. There were people who could and DID sing EVERY part. Even the men. They were great!
I listened to the choir director, and just sat there thinking, "I like her. I like her a lot." Then thought to myself that I shouldn't group people before I know them. So I tried to wait to like her, instead of liking her instantly.
She announced to us that we had a song where a real soprano was needed. The director (whose name I still don't know) automatically asked me to sing it, before we even began singing. I said I could, so on we went. Then we got to that part and I hit the note. Softly and without much power, but it was early and we had no warm up and I was sitting. But I still hit it. We finished and without even a "good job" or anything, she asked if anyone else wanted to sing that note. Someone raised their hand and said they could do it if she wasn't sick.
Now, here's what I believed to have happened:
I sang the note. The director cringed inside at either my pitch or my lack of vocal power. She realized that the choir would suck if she allowed me to sing it. So she asked if anyone - ANYONE - else could do it better than me. And someone else, also who had cringed inside, raised their hand and decided to take one for the team. She may not be the best, but she was at least better than this new girl.
Throughout the rest of choir practice, I tried to fight the feeling. The feeling of failure and unappreciated-ness. I was reminded of high school choir where my voice was all ways too much and at the same time never enough. My dear daughter, picking up on this feeling, began to act up. I began to mask my true feelings with that emotion which comes most naturally to me: anger. It was hard to combat the true feeling and the mask of the feeling at the same time.
We went home and let Rivulet sleep for an hour between choir and church. Then we woke her up and went back. She was too grumpy to go to nursery, so she came to RS with me. And who seemed so excited to see me (late as I was) and even pointed me over to the seat next to her? The choir director. She and I made comments all through RS, up until River could take it no more. No doubt she again was picking up on my hurt and confusion. This woman was so kind and obviously liked me. So did she feel guilty, or what?
Then I remembered last week's lesson in this new ward: Take No Offense. I had even contributed and made comments. While walking with Rivulet through the halls between RS and Sunday school, I reflected on the lesson and what - if anything - I had learned.
*"Assume everyone loves you. That way, it is easy to realize that they MEANT you no harm." *"If you believe someone hurt your feelings, go talk to them. I would always want someone to ask me to clarify."
*"Being over sensitive causes some to take offense."
*"Hearing what we THINK they meant, rather than what they actually SAID."
The lesson was riddled with fantastic insight from all manner of women in this little room. The first one was mine, by the way. And the oversensitive: that was the choir directors. It's impossible to believe that these comments were made simply to be forgotten. So now enter Sayyadina exercising WISDOM:
RS let out, and I went to the choir director. I told her how I had taken lessons for years, but had not seriously worked on my voice for over five. She commiserated for a moment and I realized this conversation was not going to go where I needed it to without just sucking it up and talking about it. So I asked her if she remembered the lesson last week. She said yes. I said, "Well, I know that you gave no offense, but I took some. And rather than assume it's what you meant to do, I just want to ask if I am good enough."
I know. It's a loaded question and it was probably not the best way to say it, but that's what came out.
She started laughing at me.
I was startled. It was a good natured laugh. It was kind. It was like two friends sharing a joke. "You're kidding, right?"
"To tell you the truth, I'm a little insecure. Right after I hit that note, you asked if anyone else could do it. What I heard was that you thought I couldn't."
Her face tried to be serious, but she couldn't muster it. "Do you know the look that all sopranos get when one soprano hits a high note?" I remembered the look - having made it myself a few times in High School. "Every soprano, after hearing you sing was giving me that look. I had done it wrong in the first place. We had never sung that song before and without even singing it through once, I gave it to the new girl. The other women looked hurt. I had no intention of letting you think you weren't good. The first thing I thought was, "Yay! There's someone who can sing the same range I can!"."
Notice that she never came right out and said, "Oh no, you are the best, you rock the vocal world" or all that sort of thing that people THINK make an insecure soprano feel better. She just told me the truth of the situation, and it spoke for itself. Honestly, I knew it was not the best I could sing, it certainly wasn't the best I could sing that note. I think she knew that. It turned out to be an awesome conversation. Not because I had fished for compliments and then lined my catch up on the deck (in fact, most of her compliments were for Muad'Dib) but her telling me the truth made a big difference in my day. I realized that I was right to like her instantly. She did compliment me for talking to her about it. She said, "Wow, if that's what you really thought, I'm surprised you came back today." We all know I'm not one to shy away from confrontation when I believe good will come of it.
Then we had a lesson in Sunday School coming from Mosiah4: 5-12. The concept that we all got hung up on for the majority of the discussion was the idea of mans "own nothingness." The teacher seemed to be trying to get us all to believe we were "worthless." Many others in the room were going along with that. I simply couldn't. Not at face value. Reading those scriptures, it seemed that Mosiah was not asking us to hate ourselves into humility, but to recognize the greatness of the Hand of God in our salvation and rather than thinking we are "nothing" to know that we are nothing without HIM. And to then reach toward Him. It turned out to be a great little discussion about the worth of a soul, the worth of man and understanding that we can't take a single line out of context and expect it to carry the same message with it. To become "awakened to a sense of your own nothing ness, of your worthless and fallen state" is entirely different when read with the entire quote.
"the knowledge of the goodness of God at this time has awakened you to a sense of your own nothingness, and your worthless and fallen state."
So, the day was awesome. Again.
We are in a new ward. They actually have a choir! That people come to and sing in and they like it! So, Muad'Dib and I packed up our children and went to join the choir at 11am.
It was a great little choir. There were people who could and DID sing EVERY part. Even the men. They were great!
I listened to the choir director, and just sat there thinking, "I like her. I like her a lot." Then thought to myself that I shouldn't group people before I know them. So I tried to wait to like her, instead of liking her instantly.
She announced to us that we had a song where a real soprano was needed. The director (whose name I still don't know) automatically asked me to sing it, before we even began singing. I said I could, so on we went. Then we got to that part and I hit the note. Softly and without much power, but it was early and we had no warm up and I was sitting. But I still hit it. We finished and without even a "good job" or anything, she asked if anyone else wanted to sing that note. Someone raised their hand and said they could do it if she wasn't sick.
Now, here's what I believed to have happened:
I sang the note. The director cringed inside at either my pitch or my lack of vocal power. She realized that the choir would suck if she allowed me to sing it. So she asked if anyone - ANYONE - else could do it better than me. And someone else, also who had cringed inside, raised their hand and decided to take one for the team. She may not be the best, but she was at least better than this new girl.
Throughout the rest of choir practice, I tried to fight the feeling. The feeling of failure and unappreciated-ness. I was reminded of high school choir where my voice was all ways too much and at the same time never enough. My dear daughter, picking up on this feeling, began to act up. I began to mask my true feelings with that emotion which comes most naturally to me: anger. It was hard to combat the true feeling and the mask of the feeling at the same time.
We went home and let Rivulet sleep for an hour between choir and church. Then we woke her up and went back. She was too grumpy to go to nursery, so she came to RS with me. And who seemed so excited to see me (late as I was) and even pointed me over to the seat next to her? The choir director. She and I made comments all through RS, up until River could take it no more. No doubt she again was picking up on my hurt and confusion. This woman was so kind and obviously liked me. So did she feel guilty, or what?
Then I remembered last week's lesson in this new ward: Take No Offense. I had even contributed and made comments. While walking with Rivulet through the halls between RS and Sunday school, I reflected on the lesson and what - if anything - I had learned.
*"Assume everyone loves you. That way, it is easy to realize that they MEANT you no harm." *"If you believe someone hurt your feelings, go talk to them. I would always want someone to ask me to clarify."
*"Being over sensitive causes some to take offense."
*"Hearing what we THINK they meant, rather than what they actually SAID."
The lesson was riddled with fantastic insight from all manner of women in this little room. The first one was mine, by the way. And the oversensitive: that was the choir directors. It's impossible to believe that these comments were made simply to be forgotten. So now enter Sayyadina exercising WISDOM:
RS let out, and I went to the choir director. I told her how I had taken lessons for years, but had not seriously worked on my voice for over five. She commiserated for a moment and I realized this conversation was not going to go where I needed it to without just sucking it up and talking about it. So I asked her if she remembered the lesson last week. She said yes. I said, "Well, I know that you gave no offense, but I took some. And rather than assume it's what you meant to do, I just want to ask if I am good enough."
I know. It's a loaded question and it was probably not the best way to say it, but that's what came out.
She started laughing at me.
I was startled. It was a good natured laugh. It was kind. It was like two friends sharing a joke. "You're kidding, right?"
"To tell you the truth, I'm a little insecure. Right after I hit that note, you asked if anyone else could do it. What I heard was that you thought I couldn't."
Her face tried to be serious, but she couldn't muster it. "Do you know the look that all sopranos get when one soprano hits a high note?" I remembered the look - having made it myself a few times in High School. "Every soprano, after hearing you sing was giving me that look. I had done it wrong in the first place. We had never sung that song before and without even singing it through once, I gave it to the new girl. The other women looked hurt. I had no intention of letting you think you weren't good. The first thing I thought was, "Yay! There's someone who can sing the same range I can!"."
Notice that she never came right out and said, "Oh no, you are the best, you rock the vocal world" or all that sort of thing that people THINK make an insecure soprano feel better. She just told me the truth of the situation, and it spoke for itself. Honestly, I knew it was not the best I could sing, it certainly wasn't the best I could sing that note. I think she knew that. It turned out to be an awesome conversation. Not because I had fished for compliments and then lined my catch up on the deck (in fact, most of her compliments were for Muad'Dib) but her telling me the truth made a big difference in my day. I realized that I was right to like her instantly. She did compliment me for talking to her about it. She said, "Wow, if that's what you really thought, I'm surprised you came back today." We all know I'm not one to shy away from confrontation when I believe good will come of it.
Then we had a lesson in Sunday School coming from Mosiah4: 5-12. The concept that we all got hung up on for the majority of the discussion was the idea of mans "own nothingness." The teacher seemed to be trying to get us all to believe we were "worthless." Many others in the room were going along with that. I simply couldn't. Not at face value. Reading those scriptures, it seemed that Mosiah was not asking us to hate ourselves into humility, but to recognize the greatness of the Hand of God in our salvation and rather than thinking we are "nothing" to know that we are nothing without HIM. And to then reach toward Him. It turned out to be a great little discussion about the worth of a soul, the worth of man and understanding that we can't take a single line out of context and expect it to carry the same message with it. To become "awakened to a sense of your own nothing ness, of your worthless and fallen state" is entirely different when read with the entire quote.
"the knowledge of the goodness of God at this time has awakened you to a sense of your own nothingness, and your worthless and fallen state."
So, the day was awesome. Again.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
I've had a few awesome days recently.
And although I have not been blogging them, I have made a record in my journal. And these days were so great and so much fun, that I am now going to type them in for you. Hope you enjoy the recap as much as I enjoyed living it!
April 28, 2008
"Tonight I smell of sap, steak, fire and sunshine. And dirt. Lots of dirt.
"Here's how today went:
-Woke up and made lunch for the love of my life.
-Discovered Rivulet had a nasty looking rash
-Almost took her to the Doc, but opted for the expertise of Dreampacker and Wildbound (who happened to be down) instead.
-talked with DP and WB while WB zoned DP's feet (and I turned a lovely shade of green with envy), after muscle testing to see about Rivulet's rash. (fresh fruits and veggies, less stress, pro-biotics - mom time . . .)
-Helped the kids make "waterfalls" down the driveway.
-Watched WB work Shrek
-Helped the kids make mud in the garden
-Looked away for two seconds and look back to see Rivulet up to the elbows and up to the knees covered in mud!!
-Left Lemur at MRR to play with his cousin and - after hosing off my muddy Rivulet - came home so she could nap.
-Watched Dancing with the Stars and Alvin and the Chipmunks with Lemur after DP brought him back.
-Looked through my scrapbooking stuff (I have a lot of stuff!!!)
- Tried to garden while my kids drew on the driveway with chalk.
-Became disheartened
-Talked with two ladies from my new ward as they came strolling by.
-Packed up the kids and bought new sandals.
-Went to Nanny's house.
-Worked in the yard for 1.5 hours.
-made steak for dinner
-roasted marshmallows over the bonfire
-came home, put my kids to bed.
-Scratched Muad'Dib's feet as I told him all about my awesome day. The end."
About a day later, I rode the FrontRunner with my mom and my kids and my brother. We went to Salt Lake and back, stopping in Layton on the return to eat at Doug and Emmy's (a super warm cafe where the portions frighten lesser men and ogres). The whole trip (with delays and great conversation) took about four hours. Even with Uno on the train, it was a long trip. We arrived in Ogden just in time for a dust storm, and then went back to Nanny's to wait for Muad'Dib to get off work.
The next day - I think - My father went out of town, but all the extra wood in his backyard needed to be burned before the end of April. So even though there was a forecast of snow, I finished hanging all the pictures in my new place and went to my parents house. There, in the hail and snow, I (with the help of Biscuit) burned the remainder of the wood. While attending the bonfire, I continued to read "Captivating" and explore the inner recesses of my soul. It was both enlightening and a little frightening. Discovering one's own worth - whether it be for the first time or the hundredth time - tends to take one's breath away.
May 2, 2008
"I'm just wandering around the new place today, listless like a great balloon floating in the wind. I'm not sad, instead I am in the introspective state that yields itself so completely to writing.
"The children are playing quietly downstairs while I putter. There are things to do and I simply don't want to do any of them. Normally I love being at home with no car, no contact and no responsibility to time.
"I suppose I am still contented that way . . . so why am I bouncing all around, looking for something to do while also avoiding or ignoring all that I have to do?
"My chin hurts. Perhaps I rested it for too long on my fist.
"Grandma gave me this table so that I could and would write.
"'Here Grandma! Watch me!! With both hands I am plunging into my mood and fishing out my thoughts! Watch them flop crazily on the ground!!'
"Except that my thoughts are more at home on paper than even in my head. Why is that?
"I want to call DreamPacker - but don't know what to say.
"'Please come over so we can talk and perhaps by talking I'll feel more desire to live today with vim and vigor.'?
"I should not even mentally place such responsibility anywhere outside of myself.
Yet I still desire her company.
"I also want to know why WB thinks I'm difficult to muscle test.
"Anyway: long story short:
I feel . . . longing. Longing for a nameless something. I can name it's parts or components but not it. I desire. I long. I wish . . .
It's no wonder so many people assume or accept that they have "depression." Even in a life as marvelous as mine . . . I have days where I long, desire and wish for something that because it is unnameable, logically it must be unreachable." I suppose some then choose to despair because they mistake the longing for lacking. I will no longer make that mistake.
"So I - as always - sign off with no answer. Having simply felt better for writing."
-Sayyadina.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Learning is fun. Still.
Today I was awakened by the sound of the garbage truck rumbling by our new place, and the realization that we didn't put out our can for pickup.
This realization got me all wound up and I could no longer sleep. So I got up - angrily - and showered - angrily - and decided to sit down and write out a better perspective.
My husband, children and I have moved to a new place. At least it's new to us, so it fits the bill that way. We have double the space and about 1/12 the responsibility as before. I won't lie: the new place has problems. But I can't lie: I LOVE IT.
I love the rooms, I love the yard. I enjoy the kitchen, I like my windows. I like the balcony off my bedroom. I love having places to walk, even when my kids have made little messes. I love having my children in separate bedrooms (though it hasn't managed to cut down on the quarrelling). I enjoy the neighborhood. I love having two bathrooms. I love having a washroom. I love all the brushed metal doorknobs. I love having the "Mammoth table" in my own home! I love entertaining people here - and will be doing it more often after this last Sunday's trial run - especially being able to cook upstairs and play games downstairs!! I love being the only one to park in our driveway. I love having tulips. I love the quiet. I can sit in my living room for two hours writing thank you notes and not hear a single noise from outside. Maybe the echo of someone's sprinklers, but that's it!
But I'll tell you the best part: I now only worry about me, my husband, my children and our four bedroom stewardship. When the garbage man came, I wasn't all bent out of shape because some people had left twelve bags of garbage outside the dumpster, and I had to clean up their filth as part of my job; no! I was upset because my very own one garbage can will now attempt to overflow in the coming week. It's an oddly beautiful feeling.
We moved in nearly two weeks ago. And I have had some very good days. Like the day that we moved and we had a miraculous amount of help: and certain people set up living space just as i was about to crack. Or the next day, when my neices came to entertain my children and help me unpack the mountain of boxes in my basement. Or like yesterday when we took a free ride on the FrontRunner train to Salt Lake and back. Or this past sunday when I met my new ward, and my new ward choir! And there was two days ago when we were up at Mountain Road Ranch and my children began with driveway waterfalls, and Rivulet finished the morning knee-deep and up to the elbows in Dreampacker's garden mud. She then took a nap while my son continued to play WELL with his cousin. Then we went to my parents house and I was incredibly helpful in cleaning up the yard and burning the extra wood in a bonfire whose hotness rivals the innards of Mount Doom!
Seriously: I can't think of a single day in the past two weeks that I didn't enjoy.
And now enter the longing spoken of in Captivating. I have a woman's desire for beauty. So I think I'll go take my hair out of it's towel. I'll do the dishes. I'll let natural morning light seep in through my new blinds, vacuum my new carpet and hang my family pictures.
I will accentuate the beauty of my life today with my behavior.
I love it when simply by writing I am able to achieve a brighter perspective. I'm so glad I forgot to put out the garbage can, so that I had a chance to share my overall joy!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
I have creative blockage.
It's not as gross as it sounds, but still. While being Zoned by Wildbound on Sunday, this blockage presented itself in my feet. Or rather, in the right side of my brain, and was echoed in the correlating spot on my feet.
When the little devil was first found (painfully, I might add) and Wildbound announced that it was in my brain, I assumed it was in my less used Left Brain. To hear that the blockage was on the creative side of my brain gave me a moment's pause.
And then the Spirit echoed truth to me. Truth I have been told many times before: "Write."
But . . .
Okay, while not considering myself to be the worlds worst author, I have difficulty deciding what I could possibly write that could be worth the price of a book to anyone. Wow. Just voicing the fear that I have harbored inside: I can see how wrong and self-deprecating it is. Am I not marvelous? Sure, my writing has it's flaws. Consistency of tone, for example, and it's still better than many of the books I find in print nowadays.
I have a feeling that right this very moment is the time that I can recognize the falsity of my thinking. I am spiritually encouraged to lay them all out so that I may identify them, purge them and hopefully move forward instead of chasing my proverbial tale (pun intended). This should be fun.
Q: What do I know well enough to write of it?
A: A better question is to ask what I don't know and stay away from that. Or research it until I have a working knowledge. I suddenly recognize that this particular question is rooted in my old behavior. You know the one: mopey, self-analysing, "there-is-more-to-say-for-being-sad," me. Or - more accurately - the teen that didn't realize she was happy, so didn't feel that she could write happiness or romance. Hm. This question, with age, has also become a weak reason for not writing.
Q: What do I write about? What story should I focus on? Which one will get me published?
A: As Muad'Dib pointed out while we both read through Frank Herbert's first go at "Duneworld," my first book doesn't have to be my best book. Perhaps I should look at this venture more as "Creative Flushing" rather than "my entire life thrives or dives on the success of my first attempt."
I have many stories. Three in particular. Four if you count the one I told Wildbound I wanted to write and then once I had permission became terrified of doing it wrong, so never got past the character introduction. Wow. Not sure I meant to admit to that.
Well: there it is. So. Moving on.
"Talking" this out makes something apparent to me: My Tobie story is my big work. It is the one that is most important to me. It is my literary baby. I can feel the message of her "life" pumping through my body as pure emotion. I'm not even sure yet what that message is, but I instinctively know that it's big. She's the character I could see having more than one book, more than one adventure, teaching myriads of lessons as we watch her go. And it's quite possible that I get caught up in that storm and instead of mastering the waves, allow myself to be tossed about until I'm seasick with the creative intention! That's quite the image, isn't it.
I know that her story isn't going to be perfect for a long time; like I said, it's big. So it seems to me - and I'm seriously discovering this as I go - that I should not be "keeping myself" for this story alone. I should recognize that I have more stories that can also be written. My body is telling me that I need some Creative Flushing. And all in all, it doesn't matter if it's her stuff or not. I can write other things and not feel guilty for "neglecting" that particular story or character. I don't even have to write in chronological order! I can't piece it back together later. Wow.
All this creative freedom is making me light headed.
Given this licence, I also feel that the other characters I have will need their day too. It wouldn't do me good to let them die off. They have become living beings in my very own Mythago Wood, and I will wrestle them onto paper one day.
Until I become this creative Rulon Gardner, the lesson I was taught many times over the past few years, and finally learned today is this:
Even though I cannot yet capture my creative dragons, I can enjoy my creative fireflies: the light may be smaller and less consuming, but it will purify me just the same.
So . . . Wish me luck! There is about to be an outpouring of creative light courtesy of my previously blocked Right Brain! Thanks for the Zoning, Wildbound!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
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