Winter is an excellent time to retreat, to nourish our inner lives, to withdraw and make plans, whether it be for a new project, a new garden in spring, a new writing schedule, or a new self-care program you want to begin. Our energy is naturally centered near the hearth, near the warmth of indoors, at least for the solitary non-skiers amongst us. My favourite activity is curling up with a good book beside the fireplace or a sunny window when it's minus 20 outdoors. The dogs and cats have it right - find a spot in sun, on top of a comforter or quilt, and nap.
But sometimes the lack of sun in winter can create a lethargy or winter blues in us northern climate dwellers. A lack of energy that translates into resistance to doing the creative work you usually love. Or from starting that creative project you've been dreaming about. Or maybe it's not that the lack of sunlight, you just feel blah and uninspired and blocked and you don't know why.
As I was surfing my favourite inspirational websites this week, I came across a post on resistance that really spoke to me. I have several writing projects on the back burner, and not sure why I'm blocked about getting started on the next stages, so I've been journalling about it, asking my guides for clarity. Here's the post on resistance, by Marjory Mejia.
Resistance:
"Are you feeling the pull towards expression but are encountering some resistance in your life? Do you wish you could do something you have always wanted to do but somehow you can’t get started? Are you afraid to fail? Scared of criticism? Do you doubt yourself? This is resistance, which can happen around anything and everything.
We may be tempted to see resistance as our enemy. As the Dalai Lama states, “The enemy is a very good teacher.” We can envision this resistance as a demon and start feeding it to satisfaction until it finally releases its grip on us and we reclaim this energy to do our work.
We can look at resistance in terms of forces of nature. Just like there is a force that is expansive and propels our blooming there is another that is shrinking and contracts our spirit. For all of you facing some blockages around creative expression, it might help to realize that all those fears are a measure of how important it actually is to do the work you came here to do.
What is waiting to be born within you? Can you nourish it this winter? Author Steven Pressfield in his book The War of Art, states that resistance is the block between “the life we live, and the unlived life within us.” Let’s not wait all our lives to start living."
posted by Marjory Mejia on Owning Pink.
What this may translate into practically is sitting down and doing some journalling around the question, why am I feeling stuck? or what is blocking me? how and where does resistance manifest itself?
List the ways you feel stuck, starting with how it feels in the present moment to be stuck.
Then add another column of What I want to feel - instead of feeling stuck.
and a third column of What fulfilling that want will look and feel like, practically.
(excercise borrowed from Writing down the Soul)
Ask yourself also, do I deserve to have a creative, fulfilled relationship with my work? Are you feeling a tiny bit unworthy or undeserving of help from the universe? Explore that feeling in your journal.
Do you value your work? What came up for me this morning was how little I value the time and effort I put into my writing and teaching work. I say I value it, but deep inside, I allow it to be belittled by my inner critic or pushed aside by other priorities. I don't stand up for it. I don't always make time for it, put it at the top of my list.
So, in facing the demon, accepting the lessons of what being stuck means and feels like for you, you may be able to turn it around into a self-nurturing moment of understanding. With a little quiet nurturing of your soul/spirit, a little rocking of the injured self that feels not capable of advancing instead of beating yourself up about being lazy, you might just feel more open to getting started on something.
have a creative weekend, even if it's curled up the fire reading a good book,
enjoy
jenn/musemother
Showing posts with label writers block. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writers block. Show all posts
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, November 20, 2009
Mothering the Muse
-musings on finding creative space for mothers (first published in Q-Write, Quebec Writers' Federation newsletter).
"All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy." Orsen Wells
All mothers are selfless, hardworking and compassionate would be my corollary statement. Although far from selfless, I admit the mother side has taken precedence over the writer these past few months. I wish I could leave the dishes unwashed, let moldy t-shirts lie on the floor, leave the teens to fend for supper by themselves when a deadline is approaching. In fact, the central conflict in my life right now is how to leave the mother side behind and nurture the writer. How to mother the muse?
Shehazerade told her stories at nightfall to avoid having her head chopped off. Mothers know a lot about sleepless nights and endless stories, and little tyrants demanding, “just one more” or off with your head. Maybe night feedings are conducive to listening to the Muse. I wrote some of best poems at 4 a.m. Once the young fledglings get more mobile, the invocation of the muse can be done while trimming the hedges or preferably behind a locked bathroom door.
Inherent in mothering and writing is this conflict of schedules, this conflict of roles that resist merging with each other. In my mind, I can be either a good mother, or a good poet. The poet in me hates schedules, discipline and regular habits. She is moody and rebellious and gets grumpty when she is disturbed. She equates creativity with messiness. Sometimes the Muse is hard to grab onto, so I spend days writing myself reminders to write in my notebook, and sometimes I actually do.
Maybe the trouble I have is with my image of writers and mothers: mothers are supposed to love their offspring unconditionally, drop their own projects to sew elastics on ballet shoes or drive someone to the video store. Mothers don’t say ‘go away’, when their daughters come bugging them for help with French homework. They don’t put up signs on their office that say DO NOT DISTURB. In my mind, a ‘real’ writer is a cranky old man with a pipe and beard who works in his study and never lets any children or noise in. Children tiptoe around him and never dare hug him. A wife is at the door, ready to shoo them away and answer the phone, deal with plumbers and repair men. Ah, the wife, well, that would be me.
It feels like the ‘real’ writers are cooped up like hermits behind closed doors or in mountain retreats communing with the ‘muse’. And the ‘real mothers’ are baking brownies, washing floors and carpooling hockey teams. But I am a hybrid: a writing mother, and I manage to do both, with some compromise.
If I don’t mother the muse, i.e. make time to do some creative loafing so I can write, my inner Hemingway comes alive. Then watch out! Cranky Ogre sets in. Mothering the muse could mean listening to her call (or the itch in my veins that leaves me sleepless) in the middle of the night, or mining the tiny cracks in the day’s schedule where inspiration wafts up, in between breakfast dishes and homework and chauffeur service to after school activities. It may also mean leaving the house to write in a café, waking up 15 minutes earlier to write morning pages, or spending a day at a friend’s cottage to have Quiet Space where the octopus of household tasks does not live. You’ll have to check “mother guilt” at the door, however; it’s only one more creative block.
Self-discipline and the courage to value my work above all other tasks are part of the challenge. Like any writer, the trick for me is the doing of it, not the thinking about it. Maybe I can’t lock myself away in a cabin in absolute stillness and silence. But in the past 10 years I have somehow managed to publish a book, a chapbook, and teach courses in journal writing, as well as raising two kids. My first book, “Little Mother”, explored in prose and poetry my first pregnancy, childbirth, and nursing, as well as the earlier drama of living with an alcoholic mother.
Ideally, with a little help to manage household duties –cleaning ladies are angels – and a little help from the muse, a manuscript will soon be in the mail to publishing houses. On the way, mothering has become my theme, a puzzle I am trying to figure out in my writing. Mothering the muse, musing on mothering, it has all become one. My latest creative project is a play about Eve’s mother. So muse, I am making an appointment with you for 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning – whoops, I forgot, school is out tomorrow. Next week?
Mothering the muse ideas: take yourself on an artist’s date (from The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron). Get outside and walk in the woods, let nature inspire you to make room for sun and snow shadows. Play! Read whatever style of writing you want to be writing, i.e. read poetry! Get together with another writer for coffee and writing in a café. Write morning pages, before the kids wake up, set your alarm 15 minutes early. Don’t be hard on yourself. Even if you only write one sentence a day, that’s 365 sentences at the end of a year. Just imagine if you wrote 3 sentences? I met a writer at the Maritime Writer’s Workshop who worked full-time for the government in Ottawa, and had 3 kids (and a wife) who managed to write for one hour every morning before breakfast! Without waking up his wife! His lecture was called Perseverance.
Snuggle with your kids in the morning, and try to turn off the flow of creativity before they come home; give yourself time to land, back on earth, and greet them happily. It takes flexibility to live in both worlds.
"All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy." Orsen Wells
All mothers are selfless, hardworking and compassionate would be my corollary statement. Although far from selfless, I admit the mother side has taken precedence over the writer these past few months. I wish I could leave the dishes unwashed, let moldy t-shirts lie on the floor, leave the teens to fend for supper by themselves when a deadline is approaching. In fact, the central conflict in my life right now is how to leave the mother side behind and nurture the writer. How to mother the muse?
Shehazerade told her stories at nightfall to avoid having her head chopped off. Mothers know a lot about sleepless nights and endless stories, and little tyrants demanding, “just one more” or off with your head. Maybe night feedings are conducive to listening to the Muse. I wrote some of best poems at 4 a.m. Once the young fledglings get more mobile, the invocation of the muse can be done while trimming the hedges or preferably behind a locked bathroom door.
Inherent in mothering and writing is this conflict of schedules, this conflict of roles that resist merging with each other. In my mind, I can be either a good mother, or a good poet. The poet in me hates schedules, discipline and regular habits. She is moody and rebellious and gets grumpty when she is disturbed. She equates creativity with messiness. Sometimes the Muse is hard to grab onto, so I spend days writing myself reminders to write in my notebook, and sometimes I actually do.
Maybe the trouble I have is with my image of writers and mothers: mothers are supposed to love their offspring unconditionally, drop their own projects to sew elastics on ballet shoes or drive someone to the video store. Mothers don’t say ‘go away’, when their daughters come bugging them for help with French homework. They don’t put up signs on their office that say DO NOT DISTURB. In my mind, a ‘real’ writer is a cranky old man with a pipe and beard who works in his study and never lets any children or noise in. Children tiptoe around him and never dare hug him. A wife is at the door, ready to shoo them away and answer the phone, deal with plumbers and repair men. Ah, the wife, well, that would be me.
It feels like the ‘real’ writers are cooped up like hermits behind closed doors or in mountain retreats communing with the ‘muse’. And the ‘real mothers’ are baking brownies, washing floors and carpooling hockey teams. But I am a hybrid: a writing mother, and I manage to do both, with some compromise.
If I don’t mother the muse, i.e. make time to do some creative loafing so I can write, my inner Hemingway comes alive. Then watch out! Cranky Ogre sets in. Mothering the muse could mean listening to her call (or the itch in my veins that leaves me sleepless) in the middle of the night, or mining the tiny cracks in the day’s schedule where inspiration wafts up, in between breakfast dishes and homework and chauffeur service to after school activities. It may also mean leaving the house to write in a café, waking up 15 minutes earlier to write morning pages, or spending a day at a friend’s cottage to have Quiet Space where the octopus of household tasks does not live. You’ll have to check “mother guilt” at the door, however; it’s only one more creative block.
Self-discipline and the courage to value my work above all other tasks are part of the challenge. Like any writer, the trick for me is the doing of it, not the thinking about it. Maybe I can’t lock myself away in a cabin in absolute stillness and silence. But in the past 10 years I have somehow managed to publish a book, a chapbook, and teach courses in journal writing, as well as raising two kids. My first book, “Little Mother”, explored in prose and poetry my first pregnancy, childbirth, and nursing, as well as the earlier drama of living with an alcoholic mother.
Ideally, with a little help to manage household duties –cleaning ladies are angels – and a little help from the muse, a manuscript will soon be in the mail to publishing houses. On the way, mothering has become my theme, a puzzle I am trying to figure out in my writing. Mothering the muse, musing on mothering, it has all become one. My latest creative project is a play about Eve’s mother. So muse, I am making an appointment with you for 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning – whoops, I forgot, school is out tomorrow. Next week?
Mothering the muse ideas: take yourself on an artist’s date (from The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron). Get outside and walk in the woods, let nature inspire you to make room for sun and snow shadows. Play! Read whatever style of writing you want to be writing, i.e. read poetry! Get together with another writer for coffee and writing in a café. Write morning pages, before the kids wake up, set your alarm 15 minutes early. Don’t be hard on yourself. Even if you only write one sentence a day, that’s 365 sentences at the end of a year. Just imagine if you wrote 3 sentences? I met a writer at the Maritime Writer’s Workshop who worked full-time for the government in Ottawa, and had 3 kids (and a wife) who managed to write for one hour every morning before breakfast! Without waking up his wife! His lecture was called Perseverance.
Snuggle with your kids in the morning, and try to turn off the flow of creativity before they come home; give yourself time to land, back on earth, and greet them happily. It takes flexibility to live in both worlds.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
The battle within
For anyone interested in the creative arts, whether writing, drawing, music, dance, theatre, there is always the dilemna between doing what's easy and makes money, and doing what one loves, even if it doesn't come without a struggle,or demands too much of our time.
For me, I decided to not write poetry for a while, and stopped even opening my journal for a long time. People ask me what I do, and I tell them I lead retreats. But recently, I realized my heart is entwined around a love affair with poems, not really a love affair, but a passionate embrace that won't let go. And it surprised me becuase I thought I had let go of it, of feeding that passion, that it had died.
I read this on a blog post from Meredith Winn, that my friend and photographer Suzy sent me a link for, and it absolutely brought tears to my eyes to see this struggle defined. She begins with talking about Elizabeth Gilbert (of EAT PRAY LOVE fame http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/) and hearing her talk about writer's block, and how doing something else for a while can be the answer, not forcing oneself to write, but gardening for example, until the Muse graces your path again. For Meredith, the other thing is photography.
" i thought i had to juggle. to hold both parts of what i am (what i’ve become most surprisingly) and figure out how to make them get along without competition. figure out how to give them both time when they dance awkwardly together (and strangely do not compliment each other as one should think they would). they fight over time. they fight over energy and emotion and brain space and blood sugar and sunlight.
"photography is easy. easy in the sense of instant gratification. easy in the sense of aesthetically pleasing. easy in the sense that it actually pays me money. it is lighthearted and beautiful and easy to be around. photography is everyone’s best friend. i have fallen quite surprisingly into this role of photographer because it comes easily.
"all the while my mind, this other side of me, the wicked darkness whispers ‘traitor’ and ‘fake’! because i know that at my most inner core, i am a writer.
"writing is not easy. it has never paid me, nor have i asked it to. it is painful and exhausting and requires so much of my time that i have been suppressing it, kicking it away with disregard. i love it and yet it itches me, mocks me, drives me forward, and is all my soul wants to do simply for the process of doing it. yet here i am, i’ve been denying it water in hopes that it just shuts the hell up and withers away. (this thing i love! this thing that is deeply a part of me. how could i be so cruel?!) i don’t want it to wither entirely. but just for now, please, because life is too full, too emotional, too much, too much. there are words i want to say, but i deny myself them. because photography is easy. and writing is not, it is something that makes me human. and most often feeling human (for me) is a momentarily painful experience." by Meredith Winn at http://meredithwinn.wordpress.com/
There is much wisdom here for me to digest. Writing is painful for me, in that, there is always a certain amount of rewriting, once the project is done, or you think it's done, then you have to go back and kill your darlings, the most precious things you've said that are just redundant, or don't fit anywhere and bog the thing down. I am working on a final draft of The Tao of Turning Fifty, and dreading cutting anymore. Dreading finding the right voice, the common tone, the unique individual 'way' of saying things that will define the book - cause it is fragmented right now, a bunch of blog posts and meandering thoughts culled together.
But I do believe there are millions of women who will thank me for it, if they can get to read it!
Onwards and upwards, my soul. Courage to retreat, and listen inwards for inspiration. The blocks are moved only inches at a time, one breath at a time, one word, one sentence, one paragraph.....courage to continue.
jenn/musemother
.
For me, I decided to not write poetry for a while, and stopped even opening my journal for a long time. People ask me what I do, and I tell them I lead retreats. But recently, I realized my heart is entwined around a love affair with poems, not really a love affair, but a passionate embrace that won't let go. And it surprised me becuase I thought I had let go of it, of feeding that passion, that it had died.
I read this on a blog post from Meredith Winn, that my friend and photographer Suzy sent me a link for, and it absolutely brought tears to my eyes to see this struggle defined. She begins with talking about Elizabeth Gilbert (of EAT PRAY LOVE fame http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/) and hearing her talk about writer's block, and how doing something else for a while can be the answer, not forcing oneself to write, but gardening for example, until the Muse graces your path again. For Meredith, the other thing is photography.
" i thought i had to juggle. to hold both parts of what i am (what i’ve become most surprisingly) and figure out how to make them get along without competition. figure out how to give them both time when they dance awkwardly together (and strangely do not compliment each other as one should think they would). they fight over time. they fight over energy and emotion and brain space and blood sugar and sunlight.
"photography is easy. easy in the sense of instant gratification. easy in the sense of aesthetically pleasing. easy in the sense that it actually pays me money. it is lighthearted and beautiful and easy to be around. photography is everyone’s best friend. i have fallen quite surprisingly into this role of photographer because it comes easily.
"all the while my mind, this other side of me, the wicked darkness whispers ‘traitor’ and ‘fake’! because i know that at my most inner core, i am a writer.
"writing is not easy. it has never paid me, nor have i asked it to. it is painful and exhausting and requires so much of my time that i have been suppressing it, kicking it away with disregard. i love it and yet it itches me, mocks me, drives me forward, and is all my soul wants to do simply for the process of doing it. yet here i am, i’ve been denying it water in hopes that it just shuts the hell up and withers away. (this thing i love! this thing that is deeply a part of me. how could i be so cruel?!) i don’t want it to wither entirely. but just for now, please, because life is too full, too emotional, too much, too much. there are words i want to say, but i deny myself them. because photography is easy. and writing is not, it is something that makes me human. and most often feeling human (for me) is a momentarily painful experience." by Meredith Winn at http://meredithwinn.wordpress.com/
There is much wisdom here for me to digest. Writing is painful for me, in that, there is always a certain amount of rewriting, once the project is done, or you think it's done, then you have to go back and kill your darlings, the most precious things you've said that are just redundant, or don't fit anywhere and bog the thing down. I am working on a final draft of The Tao of Turning Fifty, and dreading cutting anymore. Dreading finding the right voice, the common tone, the unique individual 'way' of saying things that will define the book - cause it is fragmented right now, a bunch of blog posts and meandering thoughts culled together.
But I do believe there are millions of women who will thank me for it, if they can get to read it!
Onwards and upwards, my soul. Courage to retreat, and listen inwards for inspiration. The blocks are moved only inches at a time, one breath at a time, one word, one sentence, one paragraph.....courage to continue.
jenn/musemother
.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Embrace Writer's Block
and overcome it....
this is what I plan to do, and here is the quote that inspired me:
Embrace your writer's block. It's nature's way of saving trees and your reputation. Listen to it and try to understand its source. Often, writer's block happens to you because somewhere in your work you've lied to yourself and your subconscious won't let you go any further until you've gone back, erased the lie, stated the truth and started over.
taken from 36 Assumptions About Writing Plays, by Jose Rivera on the internet somewhere
My plan appears simple on the surface. I am going to write in my journal every morning for a minimum of 10 minutes for 100 Days. call it, 100 Days of Solitude (instead of 100 years).
On my computer I have a file called Fiction and Stories, with material in draft form for a whole book length manuscript. I thank my sister Sue for nudging me towards writing the story of my life - but I have already started years ago in classes taken on-line and various Autobiographical writing workshops. The problem is I hate editing them. I get mad at myself for the lousy writing, I lose interest in my own bleeping adventures, no matter how exotic they seemed at the time.
The material is there, and yes, I may have lied to myself many times about the 'me' in some of those stories; to find out where the 'lie' is, I'm going to re-read all of them and write in my journal till I get at the nugget of truth. (It helps that my kids are not here so no-one is even figuratively reading over my shoulder. The censor always kicks in when I get to about age 16....)
This great project idea just occurred to me five minutes ago, as I was considering spending $347 US dollars on a publishing reset course, supposed to give me tools to approach an agent or publisher with a Hook of a Book. (along with 6 CD's and a huge workbook). The thing is, I know a little about publishing, and I know a little about how to find an agent, and how to have a web presence (this blog). What I really need is to sit down and Just Do It (as my scented candle reminds me from my desk top), just bust my shoulders by typing the thing. (oh yeah and buy a wireless keyboard so I don't hurt myself)
So, as part of the adventure, I will blog a little about how the stories are coming along and maybe 'publish' a few extracts, as they come up.
Stay tuned for the life and times of,
musemother
(yes, she was a little mother once, but was she ever little?)
this is what I plan to do, and here is the quote that inspired me:
Embrace your writer's block. It's nature's way of saving trees and your reputation. Listen to it and try to understand its source. Often, writer's block happens to you because somewhere in your work you've lied to yourself and your subconscious won't let you go any further until you've gone back, erased the lie, stated the truth and started over.
taken from 36 Assumptions About Writing Plays, by Jose Rivera on the internet somewhere
My plan appears simple on the surface. I am going to write in my journal every morning for a minimum of 10 minutes for 100 Days. call it, 100 Days of Solitude (instead of 100 years).
On my computer I have a file called Fiction and Stories, with material in draft form for a whole book length manuscript. I thank my sister Sue for nudging me towards writing the story of my life - but I have already started years ago in classes taken on-line and various Autobiographical writing workshops. The problem is I hate editing them. I get mad at myself for the lousy writing, I lose interest in my own bleeping adventures, no matter how exotic they seemed at the time.
The material is there, and yes, I may have lied to myself many times about the 'me' in some of those stories; to find out where the 'lie' is, I'm going to re-read all of them and write in my journal till I get at the nugget of truth. (It helps that my kids are not here so no-one is even figuratively reading over my shoulder. The censor always kicks in when I get to about age 16....)
This great project idea just occurred to me five minutes ago, as I was considering spending $347 US dollars on a publishing reset course, supposed to give me tools to approach an agent or publisher with a Hook of a Book. (along with 6 CD's and a huge workbook). The thing is, I know a little about publishing, and I know a little about how to find an agent, and how to have a web presence (this blog). What I really need is to sit down and Just Do It (as my scented candle reminds me from my desk top), just bust my shoulders by typing the thing. (oh yeah and buy a wireless keyboard so I don't hurt myself)
So, as part of the adventure, I will blog a little about how the stories are coming along and maybe 'publish' a few extracts, as they come up.
Stay tuned for the life and times of,
musemother
(yes, she was a little mother once, but was she ever little?)
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