Fear, Daring, Working Blind

Being a magazine junkie, I was flipping through an old issue of American Libraries this morning, and a folded poster slid out, large enough to cover all the cartoons and taped items on a professor's door.

It said: "Do I Dare Disturb the Universe?" This quote from T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" was writ large in celebration of last April as National Poetry Month.

Wisdom had actually fallen into my lap. And a dare: to say what I feel I'm here to say, and then "let the chips fall...."

Any writer or artist,innovator of any sort, risks making trouble. While I don't believe in disturbance as a goal in itself, ideas and art run the risk of being upsetting. Of drawing fire.

The Categories of Disturbing Creativity

What provokes is something new that either:
*brings change in tow
*points out a previously unnoticed enticing alternative
*tampers with a revered tradition
*breaks a taboo
*exposes something we don't want to know about ourselves
*insults an icon
*hurts feelings
*diminishes or devalues something that others have greatly invested in.

Most of these can be positive or negative. And it's surprisingly hard to know in advance what the responses will be.

Also, it isn't easy to disturb the universe these days. There are already lots of disturbing things going on, and we are able know them almost instantly. Getting a bit of attention can be like pushing a barge up a hill.

Even so, a lot of us hesitate in our work, worrying about the outcome, or trying to control it.

If I were to revise Eliot here--cheeky, I know, and the universe is no doubt trembling-- I'd likely make the question: do I dare to steadily work, without knowing the outcomes?

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Your Formula for Creativity

The astonishing designer Philippe Starck told Fast Company magazine his formula for creativity: "Every morning, take royal jelly and omega-3 oil, eat oysters, and have a good sexual life. Don't care about anything, and never listen to anybody. Be free."

Do you have a formula for creativity? Mine is show up and write. But I've yet to reach the Starck level of success. Maybe I should rethink.

(Royal jelly is produced by the salivary glands of worker bees and fed to up-and-coming queen bees.)






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About Creative Genius

A delightful discovery, recommended by friend Sabine: the TED site and its speaker series...and the talk on "A different way to think about creative genius" by Elizabeth Gilbert, the wildly successful author of, among others, Eat, Pray, Love, three verbs whose order I regularly forget.

TED is a conference that aims to present "the world's most fascinating thinkers and doers, who are challenged to give the talk of their lives (in 18 minutes)." I never heard of it before today and I now feel I've hit pure cyberchocolate.

Gilbert's talk is about the burden of fear and responsibility that a lot of artists and writers carry because the culture no longer believes in muses and daemons, but puts the whole weight of performance on the poor struggling individual. She considers this situation "odious...and dangerous" and is very funny on the subject.

She compares her situation of writing another book at forty with her greatest success likely behind her to the difficulty of starting out as a writer, when the people you run into all say: aren't you terrified...?

She describes herself as a writer "as a mule," she just keeps on pulling.

The idea is: instead of having to be a genius, just do your job of writing, painting, or whatever; and welcome whatever inexplicable assistance shows up in the form of the genius that can occasionally visit any of us.

Go listen to her on the site. She makes this very relieving idea charmingly hilarious and companionable.




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The War of Art

I just started listening in my car to an audio version of the book The War of Art (a clever spin on Sun Tzu's classic Art of War) So far I've only heard the first disc, and I've listened to it twice!! though I just got it yesterday!!

Such good stuff. This is the second great resource I've come upon in recent weeks, the other being The Courage to Teach.

The War of Art is (so far)about resistance-- resisting sitting down to write, or standing up to paint, and more. The author Steven Pressfield views all reluctance to do the best right thing as resistance, a force like gravity that we simply need to acknowledge and persevere in spite of. The way I'm saying it sounds dreadfully pious and unappealing. But hearing it on this audio really has me excited.

The metaphor of one large thing that mindlessly sits on my efforts to get off of the sofa works startlingly well for me. I always knew something was there, Jello-like, trying to stop me. I didn't connect it with the same force that says: I'll check my email instead of working on my novel.

Pressfield says the resistance tends to strike when we approach getting down to work on art, a spiritual practice, any health improvement, or strengthening abdominal muscles.

He says --and, oh, I agree -- that the big R can take a wickedly beguiling variety of forms including lawyerly logic. And whatever form it is: "resistance always lies...is always full of shit."

(Thanks to Thomas Griggs for letting me know about this book/CD.)

BTW, Pressfield writes bestsellers, frequently about warfare (also The Legend of Bagger Vance) I'd say, in his case, resistance doesn't stand a chance.


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Just Breathe Here

Oh, you must try this. I just happened across it. It's a breathing room online. A site where you can breathe in concert with everyone else who goes there, so there's a companionable feeling. And it slows the breath, relaxes the body (a bit), and helps to clear the mind. Wow! All this and I can still stay online.

I have the synchronized world breath in my ears now. My shoulders just relaxed--even though I'm typing!!!

(It's hard to be bold in an effective way, if you're not fundamentally calm and operating from your solar plexus. My shrink husband Bob is ever saying to me: Breathe! Breathe!)




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Getting Me to Do Right

Boldness is everything, at least on this blog. For me, all other virtues fall under this label.

I realized that when I decided what I wanted to write today: this weekend's big "bold" move. It was not going kayaking when thunder started rolling.

That might seem to be simply a reasonable decision (not to mention a reflexive one) rather than bold.

But I had my boat pumped up (as you see) and ready to go. I was pretty pumped up about getting out there myself. I was so tempted to go out for a few minutes anyway.




I'd heard one little rumble a while earlier, but decided it was an anomaly. Then I saw boats start coming off the lake just when I was starting to push in. One guy was wading ashore to get his car and trailer. "Did you hear thunder out there?" I asked him.

"I sure did," he said. "Some real slappers. My daughter said, 'Get me out of here.'"

So I pulled the plugs, deflating both kayak and would-be paddler.

This might seem like elementary wisdom, rather than boldness. But if I thought of it as wise or reasonable, I might not be persuaded, since wisdom can seem rather tedious to a late-middle-aged adolescent like me. If instead I think of the necessary, wise, and reasonable choice as bold, then it's easier.

Does that make sense? I'm simply making the right choice and coding it as "bold." This could work for a lot of things, I now realize. The technique definitely has possibilities: i.e., only the truly bold individual finishes returning all her phone calls today.

Parents use this sort of thinking with children: "only big girls get to...make up their own beds..."

Well, I'm starting to see the potential for using it on myself. For an artist, or anyone self-employed or working at home, skills of self-management, however seemingly silly, are crucial.





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Lift Depression (Literally)

"The next time you are feeling a little depressed, try looking up. That's right, look up. Reach your arms overhead and let your eyes follow. You may be surprised to find that it is impossible to stay depressed while looking up into the air. You see, looking upward engages our visual sensory files, that part of our mind that sees pictures. Depression is usually a result of something we are hearing us tell ourselves." from blogger Ajay Kumar K.S. at Life Is a Quest to Find Something (Someone)

I love the simplicity of this technique. I don't know that it's the answer to major clinical episodes. But I will try it the next time I'm feeling low, should that ever happen again. Because it's been my experience that a depressed person is never as bold as she could be.




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Anxiety is So Damn Tiring

In an average month, roughly 4 million people Google the word "anxiety." Last month, that number was up to about 5 million. That's a lot of us. And some of us who tend to be tense have never even done a search on the word.

I bring this up because I'm prone to freefloating anxiety myself, which expresses itself, for example, in the fear I made some ghastly error which I'll soon find out about or left a door unlocked or a burner on. Weird intangible stuff like that.

When I have real things to worry about or to be upset about, my perverse reflexive strategy is to feel anxious about something unrelated.

For example, I'm currently feeling the effects of a distant relative dying Saturday (a blow for a bunch of people who are close to me), another family member having tests for worrisome symptoms (a long drawn-out process), and yet another one who is sick and refusing treatment that could solve the problem.

My response: to worry about my work, to fear (quite irrationally) that I won't get projects finished fast enough, to be a bit twitchy, and feel my immune system going on vacation. This is all just as crazy as driving back to the office at night to be sure I locked the door. To deal with this, I'm advised to:

1. meditate
2. exercise
3. be sad
4. and then just go about my business.
But these are the times that it's difficult to get myself to meditate and get exercise, to stick to the usual disciplines.

Instead, I would like to simply stop being anxious, without having to do all that. Conversely, I could simply decide that anxious is how I am just now and ignore it.

The main thing is: it's tiring. It takes energy I could use in better ways.

And based on Google figures, I'm not the only person like this. So what shall we do about this? Meditate and exercise? Surely there's an easier way.

Let's invent one. (Note: when it gets pathological, drugs help a lot, but aren't the whole answer.) (Additional note: overeating while feeling nothing is not a good strategy at all.)

Imagine how the world might improve if four million people a month were doing something more interesting than Googling "anxiety."



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Why Create This Blog?

I've asked myself this question a number of times: why blog? For a writer, it does provide exposure and interaction with readers. It's promotional.

That's the supposed explanation.

But the fact is, I don't think that a huge percentage of people who visit here immediately rush to find one of my books. (Could be wrong, I hope so.)

I think I do this because I feel like it. It's a pulpit, a place to vent a bit, an easy outlet: no editors, no delays. I like the feeling of it.

So I tell myself, as I spend a significant amount of my work time doing this, that

1. I'm writing, and that's always a good thing
2. I may well publish some of this sometime in a collection that people will pay for, which is important since writing and consulting to writers are my "day job"
3. this fast and casual writing gives me ideas (is that true? does it really? not sure)
4. it primes the pump for work on my book (that's true for sure)
5. it does create at least some interest in my other work

But back to the main truth: I like doing it. It reminds me of what's fun about writing, which can get lost in revising for publication and all the attendant struggles. Writing itself is what inspires me to keep writing.



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Throw Off Minor Depression

I was in a truly shitty mood this morning: bitter, sad, angry, depressed simultaneously. (In short, visit with adult stepson did not go well.) The mood threatened to last for the rest of my life.

It lifted when I did one useful small thing that made me feel effective. All I did was drive to a Verizon store and say that two phone accessories weren't working right. One they replaced for free; the other for $16 (it hadn't come from Verizon.)

I left with working equipment and rising spirits. Not simply because I had a headset and a recharger that worked. Instead, because I'd demonstrated to myself that I could be effective, even at running a small errand that had no connection with the original problem.

That kind of remedy is always available. Maybe I'll remember it quicker, should I ever fall into such a state again.

Oh, it's good to have a blog to be able to share such wisdom!





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Do Something Extra

Last night, for the sheer fun of it, I wrote the most bizarre little item I've ever written (and there's considerable competition in my oeuvre for that honor.) It was a one-pager, a humor piece (my intent, anyway), aimed at the slot that The New Yorker fills with satire and wordplay.

I won't burden you just now with the details of that story. What I want to say is that it was a delight to do. It wasn't like work at all. Not like revising my long-time novel-in-progress, which has its pleasures but is work.

The light free feeling came because this writing was extra, and I had no thoughts weighing on me about whether the piece was going to turn out to be good, or saleable, or both, or neither. Writing it was a loose unweighted walk, after a day of backpacking. Though it took four and a half hours, a substantial amount of time.

The same principle--do a little something extra--works in other arenas than writing. The book I co-authored with Allan Luks, The Healing Power of Doing Good, notes that people dealing with overwhelming job pressures and looming burnout can ease their feelings sometimes by doing some little useful extra that nobody expects or requires of them.

It works because:
*it puts the power back into the hands of the doer
*it's a reminder of how much fun the work (without external pressures) can be



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Gag Reflex, Lizard Brain

My courage fails me often at the dentist's; I don't like gauze or metal or cement at the back of my mouth. My throat tries heroically to get rid of the stuff: thus an unseemly fit of gagging.

This morning, I was having "impressions" made for a nightguard, to help me stop grinding my teeth. This involved holding what felt like a half-pound of wet cement in my mouth for two full minutes, one minute each for upper and lower. My gag reflex (which I learned I should code as a mere gag response)kicked in with astonishing ferocity.

Even though I could get air, for a long moment I had the sensation of drowning, and of my body struggling to stay alive. I'd never seen death from this angle before, or descended so fully into my primitive self in order to fight back. And I was even breathing nitrous oxide at the time.

Eventually, we did get the job done, the able hygienist and I. But only after I'd had an enlightening experience of what it is to be a panicked animal.

I'm going to be able to use this information, though I'm not sure yet how. I'm hoping I'll figure out how to connect with that lizard-brain part of myself, now that I've met her. Maybe we could work together on some projects; there's too much energy there to waste.




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Teachers as Writers

I do some teaching, but am primarily a writer. Not unusual. Many, if not most, career writers also teach. But perhaps unlike those who are drawn to teaching first, lots of the writers-who-teach are pretty introverted.

This week I'm leading a group made up of people who are career public school educators and are spending this week (at the NC Center for the Advancement of Teaching) doing some writing.

After four days, I find myself fascinated by the good things I see in the way teachers conduct themselves as writers.

Almost all of these people are used to "presenting" all day. They are not shy. Or if they are, they're hiding it well. They're also very practiced communicators, with a lot of experience in giving feedback, getting people's attention, laying down the law, and making sure people understand the assignment.

These strengths show in their writing. As writers, they're clear. Bold. They get their message out. Not once have I had the impulse to say: I'm not getting what you mean here.

Whereas, my biggest struggle as a writer is to be sure I'm not too understated. And that's a fairly common piece of feedback in the writing group I've been in for years.

So it's refreshing and inspiring to sit with writers who, with very little hesitation, get their thoughts on the page and their writing out to others. And, for the teacher-writers, it's a great advantage they have as they begin a new kind of writing, for self-expression.




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The Closet Challenge

A few days ago, Mamie Potter of the Can I Do It? blog posted a photo of her closet and an invitation on this blog for others to do the same.

She was simply considering cleaning hers out. In response, Billie Hinton posted a shot of hers on her blog, Camera Obscura saying, "I don't know why but I love the idea of exposing my junky inner self to the world."

Not having anything to hide is a very freeing thing. I never thought of my closet as being hidden, but "in the closet" is certainly the classic phrase used for keeping a large secret.

So I think Mamie's really onto something with this idea. And here is the unveiling of my own junky inner self. It is so much neater than my mental world--or the inside of my car.



If any of the rest of you decide to take part in this closet experiment, do let us all know.



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All Comparisons Are Odious

I don't know who first said that, but I do think we all suffer from comparisons.

I just visited Debbie Whaley's wonderful blog, Four Angels' Momma . It was such a pleasure and an uplift to be there. After a few minutes, a familiar destructive thought crept in: why am I not writing a warm blog like this, that feels, not sappy, but more like hot chocolate and excellent slippers and a reading chair, even when it's about the beach.

Then I remembered: this is a clear example of why I'm writing this blog as I am. To encourage us each to do our own thing. Me, especially.

I need to write about the sneaking destructive thoughts and how to catch and make friends with them. (This process is for me crucial to the process of writing--grabbing the fleeting creatures and interviewing them.)

So again I say to myself and anyone else interested: the world loses when any of us abandons her/his own dharma and goes to imitating.



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Writing Trance

Too caught up in my novel to switch gears for blogging today. Hope your project is also deeply engrossing.



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Do One Nice Thing

Doing a nice thing for someone can also be encouraging and empowering, as well as health-improving, for the do-er. (See The Healing Power of Doing Good, by Allan Luks with me, Peggy Payne.)

My local paper Sunday ran a piece by Jane Lampman from The Christian Science Monitor about a woman and her website who promote doing a nice thing every Monday. DoOneNiceThing.com offers specific suggestions and addresses if you'd like to send a nice thing: for example, a packet of pencils, notebook, etc. for a child in Afghanistan. This one idea has resulted in the delivery of 70 tons of school supplies.

The originator of the site, Debbie Tenzer, an LA marketing pro, also found that it perked up her sometimes discouraging Mondays.

I do realize that today is Tuesday, but we could secretly pretend it's Monday and do something nice anyway. As Martha might say, It's a bold thing.



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Cross-Training

If you've been practicing and teaching your art for a while, it's helpful to occasionally become a beginner at something else. This experience refreshes the practitioner's imagination and renews the teacher's empathy.

Years ago, I heard novelist Lee Smith say to a writing workshop group: if you're new at this, I have some sense of how you feel; I just started taking a tap dance class.

Yesterday, I was a construction assistant to my brother Franc Payne, who is renovating a house in Atlantic, NC, on one of the huge sounds behind the Outer Banks.

I'd never done this kind of work before. (The only thing I ever built before was, tellingly, a lectern when I was about nine, and it was wobbly.)

I found I was pretty fair at carrying lumber in and hauling old bricks out, a bit tentative on subtracting fractions fast in my head, and quite wary of the nail gun and the electric saw.

In addition to having had a wonderful day-long visit with my brother, I return to my desk today well-exercised and with a wider view of the world...and probably more patience with the fact that in the arts we're always beginners.



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A Cure from the Creative Unconscious

Yesterday I very reluctantly took a small action toward where I need to be and made a paradoxical leap forward.

Translating that into more concrete terms: A week or so ago, I posted here that I was going to have to relax, at least in my sleep, because I've been damaging my teeth because of jaw tension at night.

My first goal was to convince myself that tension is bad. "To do this I first have to recode my tense muscles as unhealthy. Right now, I view a state of tension as sleek and alert and leopard-like. That's got to change, all the way down in the basement of my mind. I think that once that's done, the rest may come along naturally."

So yesterday I attended a four-hour hypnosis workshop led by my psychologist-hypnotherapist husband Bob (Dick), with the stated aim of learning to see my unconscious tension as bad. (I'd never even felt this clenching, since it only happened in my sleep.)

Here's what happened: I fogged out in trance as Bob led an induction for the group of about a dozen, each of whom had described some desired change. When I "woke up" maybe twenty minutes later, I was in pain from my forehead down to my collarbone. All the bones in my face hurt. At first, I was disappointed, thinking: well, I've only made my trouble worse.

Then I realized: I'd just created the motivation I needed, had just changed my whole view of this tension. There was no question that it was bad; it felt like a killer sinus headache all over my face. That continued until I went to sleep last night.

I am now entirely sure that this kind of tension is bad. It is not strength in any form. It has been grinding me down. And I'm pretty sure that, with this new awareness, my basement mind is convinced and that I'm on the way to being through with it, if not already there.

Putting one's whole mind to work on a problem, of art or anything else, can create some pretty amazing results.



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And He Thinks Writing Is Scary?

We all know how to muster courage in a scary situation. That knowledge is transferable.

I knew a fellow once who was a Marine fighter pilot, but the prospect of finishing his novel made him nervous. He finally marshalled his airplane driver gumption, wrapped up the book and sold it to a major house.

A lot of the time the things that stump us are really the easier ones. I find that if I shift myself into the easeful state of mind of earlier successful ventures then I can ride on that courage to take on the sticky challenge at hand.

From the Charleston Post and Courier, here's another writer with a paradoxical courage story, James Lynah Palmer,author of a collection of stories, "Going Coastal."

"When friend and publisher Donna Huffman asked him to publish stories in the magazine in 2003, he was wary.

'I've always had a fear of writing,' he said. Huffmann suggested he use a pseudonym to write his stories. He took her up on the offer and Stumblin' Jimmy Watermelon was born. "Going Coastal" encompasses three years of these stories. Palmer continues to write stories for the Bluffton Breeze. This is his first book...

When not writing stories, Palmer has made a business of fashioning underwater sculptures, scuba diving to find underwater materials to turn into art. He's turned sunken logs and rocks into fish carvings and carved an angry fictitious "Hugo" character into a rock underwater near Mepkin Abbey. He also finds businesses and corporations to sponsor the projects."

Added note: for some of us, finding corporate sponsors can be a project requiring monumental courage. Often we don't give ourselves credit for large accomplishments simply because they're familiar and routine. Everybody has a few heroic acts in their pockets; it's simply a matter of recognizing them.


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