Probably no one feels as "behind" as the writer struggling to get a second novel written and published. Certainly that was true for me; my wrestle with the first and the ongoing business of the third have lacked the dreadful under-the-gun feeling I had before Sister India was released.
In "Success Sucks" U.K. writer Hamish MacFarlane has written a funny and "spot-on" piece about getting over sophomore slump to get going on his second novel.
"...I want to be read. I want people to see my take and say, you’re spot-on about that, and you put it in such a pretty way, too. I know this is true because it’s the opposite of my enduring number one fear of writing, not that I’ll fail to be published but that people will read my work and say, oh you freak, that’s not what the rest of us think at all."
It hasn't been easy for him. It wasn't easy for a lot of us. New kinds of boldness are needed, just when you think you had it made and didn't need all that sort of thing any more.
MacFarlane simply realized that the stories start to form anyway, best to just write them down instead of feeling guilty about not doing it. Plus, he wants to see how the story turns out. This attitude is part of what I think of as distance-runner boldness: endurance.
A note: MacFarlane complains (and you must go read it) about people constantly asking how's that new novel going? That question drove me crazy for a long time before Sister India came out. And then my annoyance faded, don't know how or why.
But I heard a good piece of advice about dealing with it. A woman I know who does strategic planning for movie studios, etc. said: just keep in mind that When's-your-next-one-coming-out? simply means Hello. It's something to say to show friendly interest, not asking you what you got on your report card.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Twitching
At the time, she thought her elementary school teacher was Jezebel, my friend said at lunch today. In addition to whatever else K. suspected about her teacher, the woman did one thing that was really, really annoying. She allowed no twitching, no finger drumming. She required that the students sit still.
The very thought makes my nervous mannerisms go into full play. (Now taking off bracelet, flipping it around in circles.)
And what a harsh thing to do to a bunch of kids.
But she was right about the twitching, K. says. It sidetracks energy away from the focus of attention. Sitting completely still allows a more intense focus. That's the idea.
I don't argue with that.
However, for me the twitching, even multi-tasking, helps to keep me from a kind of hyperattentiveness that can be as destructive as neglect. This hyper-focus is also known as trying too hard.
Ideally, I'd get rid of the trying too hard, and then be able to sit still, and then take in third grade math in a blinding flash. (Reach for the stars!) But without the near-continuous leg swinging, toe tapping, finger drumming, doodling and twiddling, I fear I'd gain a hundred pounds. Seriously. Steady movement burns a lot of delicious calories.
Anyway, I may try this stillness experiment--I realize now that my right foot is bouncing. But I'm going to be careful with it. I'd be interested in anyone else's experience with the pros and cons of full focus.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
The very thought makes my nervous mannerisms go into full play. (Now taking off bracelet, flipping it around in circles.)
And what a harsh thing to do to a bunch of kids.
But she was right about the twitching, K. says. It sidetracks energy away from the focus of attention. Sitting completely still allows a more intense focus. That's the idea.
I don't argue with that.
However, for me the twitching, even multi-tasking, helps to keep me from a kind of hyperattentiveness that can be as destructive as neglect. This hyper-focus is also known as trying too hard.
Ideally, I'd get rid of the trying too hard, and then be able to sit still, and then take in third grade math in a blinding flash. (Reach for the stars!) But without the near-continuous leg swinging, toe tapping, finger drumming, doodling and twiddling, I fear I'd gain a hundred pounds. Seriously. Steady movement burns a lot of delicious calories.
Anyway, I may try this stillness experiment--I realize now that my right foot is bouncing. But I'm going to be careful with it. I'd be interested in anyone else's experience with the pros and cons of full focus.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Self-Management
This morning I began an experiment with a new system of my own devising.
I think the matter of "managing" one's self well is pretty much central to everything, not just for freelance writers facing totally unstructured time. Seems to me that a personal management policy applies to every decision anyone makes: whether during "work time" to dig into the novel-in-progress or file tax receipts; whether, at lunch, to get the side of slaw or fries; even whether to give money to a particular panhandling homeless guy. None of these are no-brainers.
Here's my new system: I face each decision with two guidelines. 1) What do I feel like doing? 2) What choice would be "doing right by myself?" I don't get into an inner debate, I just bring these two questions into consciousness and then act.
I started this morning. The noticeable changes so far are that I ate a healthy breakfast and lunch. No fast food at all. And no quart of my beloved Mickey D's Sweet Tea, as is my usual custom. I don't feel deprived at all. I have no regimen I have to stick to; if lard feels like the right thing for supper, then that's what I'll have.
This new system is a blend of two I've tried that don't work: do what I want to and do what I ought to. Neither one of these alone takes me to a very good place. "Ought" leads me to fury and rebellious excess. "Want" leads me to leave off exercise, vegetables, meditation almost entirely.
Some months ago, at the start of the New Year, I announced here that I was moving to a new system which I think of as Act Like You've Got Some Sense or Follow the Will of God. This has worked better than others. And this new approach is simply a way of divining "the will of God." And it doesn't require sense of me all the time. It doesn't require anything.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
I think the matter of "managing" one's self well is pretty much central to everything, not just for freelance writers facing totally unstructured time. Seems to me that a personal management policy applies to every decision anyone makes: whether during "work time" to dig into the novel-in-progress or file tax receipts; whether, at lunch, to get the side of slaw or fries; even whether to give money to a particular panhandling homeless guy. None of these are no-brainers.
Here's my new system: I face each decision with two guidelines. 1) What do I feel like doing? 2) What choice would be "doing right by myself?" I don't get into an inner debate, I just bring these two questions into consciousness and then act.
I started this morning. The noticeable changes so far are that I ate a healthy breakfast and lunch. No fast food at all. And no quart of my beloved Mickey D's Sweet Tea, as is my usual custom. I don't feel deprived at all. I have no regimen I have to stick to; if lard feels like the right thing for supper, then that's what I'll have.
This new system is a blend of two I've tried that don't work: do what I want to and do what I ought to. Neither one of these alone takes me to a very good place. "Ought" leads me to fury and rebellious excess. "Want" leads me to leave off exercise, vegetables, meditation almost entirely.
Some months ago, at the start of the New Year, I announced here that I was moving to a new system which I think of as Act Like You've Got Some Sense or Follow the Will of God. This has worked better than others. And this new approach is simply a way of divining "the will of God." And it doesn't require sense of me all the time. It doesn't require anything.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
On Hating or Not Hating Jesse Helms
In my days as a freelance news reporter, I once shared a car with the late Sen. Jesse Helms and two or three other news people. We rode from one news event to the next in central Raleigh, perhaps a dozen blocks. In that time, the senator was courteous, didn't swear at any of us or try to hog up more than his share of space in the backseat. Getting out at the downtown Holiday Inn, he said a very pleasant thank you for the ride.
A lot of people say they admired the notoriously right-wing and anti-integration senator because he had nice manners and stood by his positions however wrong.
But decent manners and loyalty to injustice are likely qualities of many of the world's worst dictators. His courtesy was not enough to make me admire him. As he swung his long legs around to get out of the car, I could only look at him in morbid fascination, the same way I like to look from a safe distance at snakes and murderers.
The fact that throughout his career he stuck to his dreadful politics--this should make him better somehow? I don't follow the logic.
I'm certainly in favor of forgiveness and have never spent any energy hating Helms. (Though I'm close to finishing a novel about a notorious right-wing racist Southern senator named Billy, who is charming and seductive as well as famously inflexible.)
I do understand friendship and love that transcend politics. I covered the NC legislature for 11 years and care very much about more than one person who has opposed my interests.
So what if I'd worked around Helms regularly, spent more time with him? Would I have been swayed by his personal manner to acting as if his actions and philosophy on race were not so bad?
Ideally, I could like somebody without being moved in the slightest toward supporting their destructive behavior, either in my voting or in my writing. Not easy. Not even easy to monitor in one's self. But it's what we have to aim for, I'm convinced, to actually achieve justice. It won't come from dividing people into categories of good and bad.
I do know I admire anyone who can maintain such a balance of opposing the injustice and still behaving decently to, even drinking coffee with, the unjust. I consider that bold.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
A lot of people say they admired the notoriously right-wing and anti-integration senator because he had nice manners and stood by his positions however wrong.
But decent manners and loyalty to injustice are likely qualities of many of the world's worst dictators. His courtesy was not enough to make me admire him. As he swung his long legs around to get out of the car, I could only look at him in morbid fascination, the same way I like to look from a safe distance at snakes and murderers.
The fact that throughout his career he stuck to his dreadful politics--this should make him better somehow? I don't follow the logic.
I'm certainly in favor of forgiveness and have never spent any energy hating Helms. (Though I'm close to finishing a novel about a notorious right-wing racist Southern senator named Billy, who is charming and seductive as well as famously inflexible.)
I do understand friendship and love that transcend politics. I covered the NC legislature for 11 years and care very much about more than one person who has opposed my interests.
So what if I'd worked around Helms regularly, spent more time with him? Would I have been swayed by his personal manner to acting as if his actions and philosophy on race were not so bad?
Ideally, I could like somebody without being moved in the slightest toward supporting their destructive behavior, either in my voting or in my writing. Not easy. Not even easy to monitor in one's self. But it's what we have to aim for, I'm convinced, to actually achieve justice. It won't come from dividing people into categories of good and bad.
I do know I admire anyone who can maintain such a balance of opposing the injustice and still behaving decently to, even drinking coffee with, the unjust. I consider that bold.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Stormy Lake Adventure
I have an urgent need to tell you my Fourth of July weekend outdoor experience, my small-scale "hero story." Now this episode was not bold, instead mildly stupidly reckless, and yet a fine little adventure with some lasting satisfaction.
Sunday afternoon I felt a strong pull to take my little inflatable Sea Eagle kayak out for a paddle on nearby Jordan Lake. It had been too long, and the sun was shining. Never mind that thunderstorms were predicted.
Once out on the lake, I could see that there was a dark smudge along the treeline on the horizon, but it was only about a foot wide. Intellectually I know that things get larger as they get closer, but I was still sure that with my lightning paddling speed, I'd be able to dodge it. The lake is huge and many-armed; I'd just avoid the weather, if it even traveled in my direction.
I had a particular and exciting goal in mind, finding the mouth of a creek that I regularly drive across a few miles away on my way to work and back. I had a pretty good idea where it would enter the lake.
Well, I'd paddled hard for over an hour, found a beautiful little cove I'd never seen, scared seven great blue herons out of the trees there, cruised along at the edge of a tall thicket of water grass, and still not found the creek mouth, when the rain began to fall. And, in instant, the thunder and lightning were cracking overhead.
I wasn't going to dodge the weather after all, and I was a very long way from anything but heavily forested shore with bits of exposed sand at the edge here and there. Plus, I was using a metal paddle, in the state with the highest number of lightning deaths per year (or so I'm told.)
So I took the paddle apart and used only the plastic blades, one in each hand, and slowly scoop-scooped my way to one of those little strips of sand, just in time. Five seconds after I pulled up onto this sliver of beach, huge wind whipped up and flipped the boat over as a big pelting rain started, and suddenly the lake was all grey surf. The waves were big enough to break and roll, to force water several feet up the strand and under my feet where quickly I'd positioned myself, lying beneath my overturned my boat, holding it down against the force of the wind.
Within moments, I felt cozy under there, a little warmish cave, with hard rain beating down on airfilled compartments overhead and on the sand on either side of me. The sound was like that of a tin roof in a storm, but all within a foot of my face. I could see out from under the edge of the boat and watch the long waves break into white against dark sky.
I'm accustomed to water. I grew up at the beach, living in Wilmington and spending much of my time at Wrightsville, and I continued going along on some surf fishing and deep sea expeditions in my early twenties. And my eldest nephew tried to teach me to surf fairly recently. But it had been thirty years at least since I was so surrounded by the raw edge of the elements. And this time alone, and definitely not in a charter boat.
As soon as I got under the shelter of my dear little boat I found I was immediately deep in trance. I was comfortable in spite of being drenched, and lying half across a broken branch and having one shoulder hanging out in the rain and dealing with some aggressive ants. For most of the hour and a quarter I was under there, I had little sense of the passage of time. I had a feeling of gratitude, for both the shelter and the nature drama, that was almost tangible, like a shawl of warmer air.
I wasn't really worried. The worst likely to happen was that the storm wouldn't let up until late night, and a small embarrassing search for me would begin. Husband Bob wasn't likely to be worried prematurely though; he's not a worrier and has also decided I'm invincible. I hope never to dissuade him.
I didn't want to be rescued, but I did wonder briefly where the bullhorns were. Once, out on this same lake on a sunny afternoon, I was floating in what was essentially a toy boat, an $11 blow-up vessel with plastic paddles that I got at Best Buy. I probably looked pretty ridiculous because the paddles were tiny and the boat not much bigger than an innertube; my legs were stuck up in the air. A huge cruiser chugged up close by, with enough waves to swamp me. From up on the bridge of the boat, a man in some kind of government park service uniform called: "Ma'am, are you all right?" I was just fine. It was a gorgeous day. There was no threat in sight. But on the day when a storm hits and lifts my 30 pound kayak into the air, I saw no crisply nautically uniformed man cruising up alongside. No doubt, he has the sense to stay in on such afternoons.
The rain quit once for about five minutes, then started again, quiet and steady. The thunder gradually became a little more distant. The surf died down. I crept out. I regathered my metal belongings from where I'd tossed them: glasses, earrings, the pole of the double paddle.
I set out on the water again, again using only the blades, one in each hand, one on either side of the boat, to paddle. There was still too much thunder and lightning nearby for me to want to be flashing a metal rod over my head. I don't know that any of my safeguards actually make any difference--I'm going to learn about that before my next storm chase--but I was doing what I could.
It was one damn long dog-paddle before I could even see the paved ramp where I'd left my car. And by the time I got there it was too dark wearing my prescription sunglasses to see anything at all. But the water was deliciously warm, and I found myself talking to it, every few times I dug a blade in, almost as if it were a pet: "nice warm water, such nice water." It felt as delicious as the shawl of air. Good thing: because if I paused in my paddling for a second, I slid backwards fast. The wind was not going my way.
By the time I made it back to the put-in ramp and was onshore deflating The Boat, packing it in the trunk of my car, I was shivering all over, ready for towels and a hot shower and more towels. And I was enjoying a strong sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, in spite of the basic dumbness of the escapade.
This morning, the day after my adventure, I drove across one of the lake bridges coming into town and thought: "My lake." I felt as if we'd spent a night together, this body of water and I. And we very nearly did.
I'd spent afternoons on or beside this lake before, but never so memorably, or to such effect. This trip melted me into the place, and brought back another location where I'd been so connected before.
When I was a kid, I had this kind of lying-in-the-wet-dirt intimacy with my whole neighborhood on Mimosa Place, knew how the grass grew under the drip line of the Lynch's roof, and could draw precise maps of the major branches of a lot of the trees. It's been a long time since I've had that cell-to-cell connection, even though I'm a gardener and love the plot I raggedly cultivate.
I'm glad to rediscover that deep earth-to-human infrastructure, to remember it exists. When it's active it feels like a combo of raw storm energy and puppy affection, born of nothing but intense prolonged close-up attention to the place and dependence on knowing those details. I didn't know I'd missed that feeling. A funny thing to rediscover on an Independence Day weekend.
What I did know, while I was out there, was that I was going to relish telling this story.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Sunday afternoon I felt a strong pull to take my little inflatable Sea Eagle kayak out for a paddle on nearby Jordan Lake. It had been too long, and the sun was shining. Never mind that thunderstorms were predicted.
Once out on the lake, I could see that there was a dark smudge along the treeline on the horizon, but it was only about a foot wide. Intellectually I know that things get larger as they get closer, but I was still sure that with my lightning paddling speed, I'd be able to dodge it. The lake is huge and many-armed; I'd just avoid the weather, if it even traveled in my direction.
I had a particular and exciting goal in mind, finding the mouth of a creek that I regularly drive across a few miles away on my way to work and back. I had a pretty good idea where it would enter the lake.
Well, I'd paddled hard for over an hour, found a beautiful little cove I'd never seen, scared seven great blue herons out of the trees there, cruised along at the edge of a tall thicket of water grass, and still not found the creek mouth, when the rain began to fall. And, in instant, the thunder and lightning were cracking overhead.
I wasn't going to dodge the weather after all, and I was a very long way from anything but heavily forested shore with bits of exposed sand at the edge here and there. Plus, I was using a metal paddle, in the state with the highest number of lightning deaths per year (or so I'm told.)
So I took the paddle apart and used only the plastic blades, one in each hand, and slowly scoop-scooped my way to one of those little strips of sand, just in time. Five seconds after I pulled up onto this sliver of beach, huge wind whipped up and flipped the boat over as a big pelting rain started, and suddenly the lake was all grey surf. The waves were big enough to break and roll, to force water several feet up the strand and under my feet where quickly I'd positioned myself, lying beneath my overturned my boat, holding it down against the force of the wind.
Within moments, I felt cozy under there, a little warmish cave, with hard rain beating down on airfilled compartments overhead and on the sand on either side of me. The sound was like that of a tin roof in a storm, but all within a foot of my face. I could see out from under the edge of the boat and watch the long waves break into white against dark sky.
I'm accustomed to water. I grew up at the beach, living in Wilmington and spending much of my time at Wrightsville, and I continued going along on some surf fishing and deep sea expeditions in my early twenties. And my eldest nephew tried to teach me to surf fairly recently. But it had been thirty years at least since I was so surrounded by the raw edge of the elements. And this time alone, and definitely not in a charter boat.
As soon as I got under the shelter of my dear little boat I found I was immediately deep in trance. I was comfortable in spite of being drenched, and lying half across a broken branch and having one shoulder hanging out in the rain and dealing with some aggressive ants. For most of the hour and a quarter I was under there, I had little sense of the passage of time. I had a feeling of gratitude, for both the shelter and the nature drama, that was almost tangible, like a shawl of warmer air.
I wasn't really worried. The worst likely to happen was that the storm wouldn't let up until late night, and a small embarrassing search for me would begin. Husband Bob wasn't likely to be worried prematurely though; he's not a worrier and has also decided I'm invincible. I hope never to dissuade him.
I didn't want to be rescued, but I did wonder briefly where the bullhorns were. Once, out on this same lake on a sunny afternoon, I was floating in what was essentially a toy boat, an $11 blow-up vessel with plastic paddles that I got at Best Buy. I probably looked pretty ridiculous because the paddles were tiny and the boat not much bigger than an innertube; my legs were stuck up in the air. A huge cruiser chugged up close by, with enough waves to swamp me. From up on the bridge of the boat, a man in some kind of government park service uniform called: "Ma'am, are you all right?" I was just fine. It was a gorgeous day. There was no threat in sight. But on the day when a storm hits and lifts my 30 pound kayak into the air, I saw no crisply nautically uniformed man cruising up alongside. No doubt, he has the sense to stay in on such afternoons.
The rain quit once for about five minutes, then started again, quiet and steady. The thunder gradually became a little more distant. The surf died down. I crept out. I regathered my metal belongings from where I'd tossed them: glasses, earrings, the pole of the double paddle.
I set out on the water again, again using only the blades, one in each hand, one on either side of the boat, to paddle. There was still too much thunder and lightning nearby for me to want to be flashing a metal rod over my head. I don't know that any of my safeguards actually make any difference--I'm going to learn about that before my next storm chase--but I was doing what I could.
It was one damn long dog-paddle before I could even see the paved ramp where I'd left my car. And by the time I got there it was too dark wearing my prescription sunglasses to see anything at all. But the water was deliciously warm, and I found myself talking to it, every few times I dug a blade in, almost as if it were a pet: "nice warm water, such nice water." It felt as delicious as the shawl of air. Good thing: because if I paused in my paddling for a second, I slid backwards fast. The wind was not going my way.
By the time I made it back to the put-in ramp and was onshore deflating The Boat, packing it in the trunk of my car, I was shivering all over, ready for towels and a hot shower and more towels. And I was enjoying a strong sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, in spite of the basic dumbness of the escapade.
This morning, the day after my adventure, I drove across one of the lake bridges coming into town and thought: "My lake." I felt as if we'd spent a night together, this body of water and I. And we very nearly did.
I'd spent afternoons on or beside this lake before, but never so memorably, or to such effect. This trip melted me into the place, and brought back another location where I'd been so connected before.
When I was a kid, I had this kind of lying-in-the-wet-dirt intimacy with my whole neighborhood on Mimosa Place, knew how the grass grew under the drip line of the Lynch's roof, and could draw precise maps of the major branches of a lot of the trees. It's been a long time since I've had that cell-to-cell connection, even though I'm a gardener and love the plot I raggedly cultivate.
I'm glad to rediscover that deep earth-to-human infrastructure, to remember it exists. When it's active it feels like a combo of raw storm energy and puppy affection, born of nothing but intense prolonged close-up attention to the place and dependence on knowing those details. I didn't know I'd missed that feeling. A funny thing to rediscover on an Independence Day weekend.
What I did know, while I was out there, was that I was going to relish telling this story.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Happy Boldness Day
For people of the USA, there's never a better day than the 4th of July to make a significant and positive bold move. If you do make one, be sure to report it here. It will inspire all.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Two Free Tickets to a Bold Performance
To the first person to comment here who can plan to attend, I'm giving two tickets to this Saturday's Raleigh performance by the Brussels Chamber Orchestra.
It's the American premier of this group and they are hot; their second American performance, to be held in the Hamptons next week, just got a nice calendar notice in The New Yorker.
Setting up the Raleigh appearance is the very bold project of my office partner Carrie Knowles, whose 26 year-old son Neil Leiter plays with the group. She single-handedly turned the news that the group was coming to New York into the creation of an annual international classical music festival for Raleigh. A successful visual artist, gallery owner, and author, she says its the largest project she has undertaken, and that is saying a lot.
If you want to buy tickets ($15), call 919 757-9279. The performance is Saturday, July 5, at Raleigh's AJ Fletcher Auditorium. The musicians, eleven young talents from six countries, will come out front and meet the audience at the close of the program.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
It's the American premier of this group and they are hot; their second American performance, to be held in the Hamptons next week, just got a nice calendar notice in The New Yorker.
Setting up the Raleigh appearance is the very bold project of my office partner Carrie Knowles, whose 26 year-old son Neil Leiter plays with the group. She single-handedly turned the news that the group was coming to New York into the creation of an annual international classical music festival for Raleigh. A successful visual artist, gallery owner, and author, she says its the largest project she has undertaken, and that is saying a lot.
If you want to buy tickets ($15), call 919 757-9279. The performance is Saturday, July 5, at Raleigh's AJ Fletcher Auditorium. The musicians, eleven young talents from six countries, will come out front and meet the audience at the close of the program.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Monday, June 30, 2008
The Fear of Separation
I recently finished watching the full six years of The Sopranos TV series a couple of weeks ago, in sequence in my living room on Netflix DVDs. Through the last weeks with the famous "Mafia" family, I had come to dread the inevitable end of the disks, so great was my attachment to these people.
I even did that dumb thing that people do--that I thought I'd never do--when someone close is dying. I started to withdraw in advance, in order to ward off the full impact of the blow.
I was surprised at myself. If there ever an example of "cowards die a thousand times before their deaths, the brave but once" or whatever that quote is*, this was it. And provoked by nothing more serious than the loss of fictional characters I can always rent again.
Ideally, one stays involved full-tilt to the end, even with fictional people. At least that's what I think. That strikes me as the boldest and most satisfying approach. No numbing out, no missing of the final intensity. That's what I mean to do should I ever face another such loss.
But I can't even imagine it. I agree with New Yorker editor David Remnick: The Sopranos were the best thing that ever hit TV. I also think the show was the best characterization I've ever seen on film. I'm pleased that this particular piece of art unfurled in my lifeime.
Surely that deserves full engagement.
I'm doing one thing right in this process though. I thought about immediately starting to rent The Wire or My So-Called Life or some other series. But I'm not yet ready for another relationship. First I need time.
*
Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.
from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
My Beaded Fish: A Writer's Cross-Training
Last week, during my stay-home-and-clean-up-the-house vacation, I finished this little craft project that I'd let sit for about two years.
Because of popular demand (one request, thank you, Mamie) I'm displaying it here. I mean for it to go outdoors, hanging from a tree near our little "farm" pond. But I hung it up overnight in front of the curtains in the den, and decided for the moment that I like it there.
She's a quarter of an inch shy of three feet long. This kind of goofy free-hand playful handiwork does a lot for loosening up my creative juices for writing. It's very helpful to me to switch gears so radically: to place little physical widgens of color rather than words.
And to not have to meet any standards of quality or of market limitations. Very freeing. It's also nice to literally tie up some loose threads.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Because of popular demand (one request, thank you, Mamie) I'm displaying it here. I mean for it to go outdoors, hanging from a tree near our little "farm" pond. But I hung it up overnight in front of the curtains in the den, and decided for the moment that I like it there.
She's a quarter of an inch shy of three feet long. This kind of goofy free-hand playful handiwork does a lot for loosening up my creative juices for writing. It's very helpful to me to switch gears so radically: to place little physical widgens of color rather than words.
And to not have to meet any standards of quality or of market limitations. Very freeing. It's also nice to literally tie up some loose threads.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Day Five: Clean and Organize
Many emotional stages to this process: last night I felt my efforts at helping Bob clean out his junk room weren't being properly appreciated. I had a talk with Gandhi who reminded me that we need to refrain from focusing on the fruits of our labors; "do the work and then step back."
Also had a talk with Bob; there were points on both sides. Today I'm feeling much more appreciated.
I feel I know Bob a bit better, from seeing the things he has saved for twenty, forty, sixty years. It's rather moving to me.
And then I come back to earlier bits of my life in the process too. Had to pause for a while over a 1969 Yackety Yack (UNC yearbook, for the non-North Carolinian.) Even though I'm a Dukie, that was pretty stirring.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Also had a talk with Bob; there were points on both sides. Today I'm feeling much more appreciated.
I feel I know Bob a bit better, from seeing the things he has saved for twenty, forty, sixty years. It's rather moving to me.
And then I come back to earlier bits of my life in the process too. Had to pause for a while over a 1969 Yackety Yack (UNC yearbook, for the non-North Carolinian.) Even though I'm a Dukie, that was pretty stirring.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Day Four: Clean and Organize
Hoo boy. We have taken on something large here. Yesterday morning Bob and I started on his "junk room," which is also the kennel location of his 125 pound serious-shedder of a dog. This morning Bob likened the process to remodeling; it tears up everything and leaves it a mess for a long time.
It's satisfying though. We're making progress.
And I'm also doing smaller projects that are actually finishable: the bathroom drawer, the upstairs chatchke bowl, and a more inventive little undertaking: sewing corner extenders onto the sheets so that they don't come untucked.
I started that last one because I have a larger sewing project in mind that I don't want to do by hand as I usually do these things. So Sunday I bought one of those little $15 hand-held battery sewing machines at Target and I'm trying to learn how to use it. Haven't quite got the hang of it yet. It feels like a cross between a stapler and a hamster.
This is all so grounding, this real-world nonverbal stuff. I say that somewhat ironically, but it's true.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
It's satisfying though. We're making progress.
And I'm also doing smaller projects that are actually finishable: the bathroom drawer, the upstairs chatchke bowl, and a more inventive little undertaking: sewing corner extenders onto the sheets so that they don't come untucked.
I started that last one because I have a larger sewing project in mind that I don't want to do by hand as I usually do these things. So Sunday I bought one of those little $15 hand-held battery sewing machines at Target and I'm trying to learn how to use it. Haven't quite got the hang of it yet. It feels like a cross between a stapler and a hamster.
This is all so grounding, this real-world nonverbal stuff. I say that somewhat ironically, but it's true.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Day One: Clean and Reorganize
Since I last blogged, I finished beading a two-foot image of a fish and did all of the pile of mending for Bob and me (3 prs. pants, 2 shirts, a scarf, a vest, and a gardening glove). The pile was mainly winter clothes. Oh well; they're ready for next year.
Cleaning and reorganizing mean different things to different people, obviously. I'm very happy with this progress.
Tomorrow I will hang the beaded fish art from a tree near our pond. This particular project has been lying around my house unfinished for about two years. What a relief and delight to get it out of the house and up a tree!! It had become one of those things that coaches and feng shui people refer to as an "energy drain." (See Cheryl Richardson's Take Time for Your Life.) Getting rid of those is a major point of this cleaning week for me.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Cleaning and reorganizing mean different things to different people, obviously. I'm very happy with this progress.
Tomorrow I will hang the beaded fish art from a tree near our pond. This particular project has been lying around my house unfinished for about two years. What a relief and delight to get it out of the house and up a tree!! It had become one of those things that coaches and feng shui people refer to as an "energy drain." (See Cheryl Richardson's Take Time for Your Life.) Getting rid of those is a major point of this cleaning week for me.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
A House Cleaning Vacation Plan
This coming week, my husband Bob and I are staying home to clean up. We had this "vacation" planned before I stayed home last week being sick, but I've rallied in time to pitch in; though I may forget what my office looks like in the meantime.
The work-at-the-house week doesn't officially start until Monday when we'd normally go to offices. But I thought I might get a running start this weekend.
Well, not yet, as it turns out. It's 4:08 pm. Saturday and I've not yet done a dab of the planned neatening.
But I'm excited about this. My plan is not to create some ideal of order (fat chance) but to make the kind of changes that actually make life better. If I discovered that this worked, there could be a revolution.
Anyway, this effort is for me pretty damn bold.
I'll keep you up on progress.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
The work-at-the-house week doesn't officially start until Monday when we'd normally go to offices. But I thought I might get a running start this weekend.
Well, not yet, as it turns out. It's 4:08 pm. Saturday and I've not yet done a dab of the planned neatening.
But I'm excited about this. My plan is not to create some ideal of order (fat chance) but to make the kind of changes that actually make life better. If I discovered that this worked, there could be a revolution.
Anyway, this effort is for me pretty damn bold.
I'll keep you up on progress.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Clay Collins: Creative Freedom
I just stumbled across a blog on a kindred subject: The Growing Life, about the blogger's creation of a life and career outside of corporate institutions.
"One of the great tragedies of human existence is that so many of us toil for another person, who is in turn toiling for someone else, who is working for someone else’s interest. And on and on. There are entire corporate chains of command comprised of people working for someone else’s interest rather than their own. In far too many cases, there is no there, there."
I feel much the same way about large organizations, and not only from the point of view of what it's like to work there. My objection is: it's too hard to locate the conscience in an organization where the final deciders are the amorphous stockholders, presumed to be interested in profit by any means.
So there's much I agree with this blogger Clay Collins, who describes himself as "a trafficker of ideas, an outdoorsman, a proponent of human rights, a creative visualizer, and a believer in a better world."
There's one idea, though, which crops up here and there in the posts and comments on this highly popular blog, that drives me crazy. Irritates me enormously. And that is: a trace of feeling superior to those who work day jobs for salaries, etc. Examples:
*"At a very young age, I somehow knew that the schooling process was bullshit."
*"It's the dilettantes that really get to grow."
*"The paradox of intelligence (POI) says that in general, the more intelligent you are, the less brainpower you’re likely to keep for yourself."
*"Who’s winning the battle for your mind?"
My stance is that I do my thing and people who are doing something else no doubt have their reasons. No doubt I'm inclined toward righteousness or I wouldn't be so easily irked by it.
Anyway, I very much like, on the whole, the way this guy thinks. I save my wee smackdowns for the people who are almost meeting my impossible standards. (I often niggle about how Bill Moyers presents something; never give a thought to Rush Limbaugh.)
So do go visit this site. Because there's a lot of damn-right good stuff: "Once external factors no longer tie us down, it becomes easy to become our own tyrant bosses... We make what seem to be incredible sacrifices to remove ourselves from restrictive conventional situations, and damn it, after all that sacrifice, it better result in something breathtakingly amazing. So we start setting unrealistic and ego-driven goals (as opposed to the unreasonable authentic goals that bring us alive and cause us to wreak havoc on the world in beautiful ways)."
Now I'm off to wreak some havoc.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
"One of the great tragedies of human existence is that so many of us toil for another person, who is in turn toiling for someone else, who is working for someone else’s interest. And on and on. There are entire corporate chains of command comprised of people working for someone else’s interest rather than their own. In far too many cases, there is no there, there."
I feel much the same way about large organizations, and not only from the point of view of what it's like to work there. My objection is: it's too hard to locate the conscience in an organization where the final deciders are the amorphous stockholders, presumed to be interested in profit by any means.
So there's much I agree with this blogger Clay Collins, who describes himself as "a trafficker of ideas, an outdoorsman, a proponent of human rights, a creative visualizer, and a believer in a better world."
There's one idea, though, which crops up here and there in the posts and comments on this highly popular blog, that drives me crazy. Irritates me enormously. And that is: a trace of feeling superior to those who work day jobs for salaries, etc. Examples:
*"At a very young age, I somehow knew that the schooling process was bullshit."
*"It's the dilettantes that really get to grow."
*"The paradox of intelligence (POI) says that in general, the more intelligent you are, the less brainpower you’re likely to keep for yourself."
*"Who’s winning the battle for your mind?"
My stance is that I do my thing and people who are doing something else no doubt have their reasons. No doubt I'm inclined toward righteousness or I wouldn't be so easily irked by it.
Anyway, I very much like, on the whole, the way this guy thinks. I save my wee smackdowns for the people who are almost meeting my impossible standards. (I often niggle about how Bill Moyers presents something; never give a thought to Rush Limbaugh.)
So do go visit this site. Because there's a lot of damn-right good stuff: "Once external factors no longer tie us down, it becomes easy to become our own tyrant bosses... We make what seem to be incredible sacrifices to remove ourselves from restrictive conventional situations, and damn it, after all that sacrifice, it better result in something breathtakingly amazing. So we start setting unrealistic and ego-driven goals (as opposed to the unreasonable authentic goals that bring us alive and cause us to wreak havoc on the world in beautiful ways)."
Now I'm off to wreak some havoc.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Five Things We Cannot Change...
I just started reading a book from my stack(s) that my hand felt magnetically drawn to. The title: The Five Things We Cannot Change...and the Happiness We Find By Embracing Them. The author: David Richo.
I hadn't even reached the discussion of the First Thing before the book had reminded me very memorably that: the difficulties we each encounter are our chances to learn, expand, and shine.
I've always had a feeling that any problem I encountered was likely caused by my own bad planning. No matter how improbable it might seem, somehow it was a bad decision I made that caused trouble.
I don't know how exactly this book dissuaded me of that. But for the moment at least it has.
If you're burdened with hyperresponsibility, you might find it worth having a look at.
Personal health update: still recovering, sleeping about 12 or so hours a day, and feeling amazingly serene.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
I hadn't even reached the discussion of the First Thing before the book had reminded me very memorably that: the difficulties we each encounter are our chances to learn, expand, and shine.
I've always had a feeling that any problem I encountered was likely caused by my own bad planning. No matter how improbable it might seem, somehow it was a bad decision I made that caused trouble.
I don't know how exactly this book dissuaded me of that. But for the moment at least it has.
If you're burdened with hyperresponsibility, you might find it worth having a look at.
Personal health update: still recovering, sleeping about 12 or so hours a day, and feeling amazingly serene.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Eleanor Roosevelt
Rarely has anyone so bold emerged from such a timid beginning.
Last night a 2.5 hour documentary on Eleanor Roosevelt aired on my local PBS station. I hadn't planned on watching, though I knew it was scheduled. I told myself I already knew that story.
I happened onto it by accident, though, turning on the TV just as the program was starting. I was fascinated through the very end. And not so much by any new facts I learned, instead by watching this woman transform.
She moved from dreadful shyness to become the most powerful woman in the world. And it didn't happen in a smooth easy sweep. Nor did she transform herself into a different sort of person. Instead, she took herself, as she was, out into the world and kept doing the best she could: for human rights and equality and the easing of poverty. The effects of her work continue. So does her example, made more powerful by the fact that it was never easy.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Last night a 2.5 hour documentary on Eleanor Roosevelt aired on my local PBS station. I hadn't planned on watching, though I knew it was scheduled. I told myself I already knew that story.
I happened onto it by accident, though, turning on the TV just as the program was starting. I was fascinated through the very end. And not so much by any new facts I learned, instead by watching this woman transform.
She moved from dreadful shyness to become the most powerful woman in the world. And it didn't happen in a smooth easy sweep. Nor did she transform herself into a different sort of person. Instead, she took herself, as she was, out into the world and kept doing the best she could: for human rights and equality and the easing of poverty. The effects of her work continue. So does her example, made more powerful by the fact that it was never easy.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Healing Quotes
Advice from our wise commenters on healing boldly:
From Mojo:
"Take your time..."
From Billie:
"...When we get sick like this it's a direct message to take time for our 'selves'; and slow down our pace."
Debra W:
"Part of living boldly is knowing when to just say no to everything else, so that we can give ourselves the time that we need in order to heal. It is very important to learn when that time comes. We must become bold enough to become our own advocates."
Thanks to all.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
From Mojo:
"Take your time..."
From Billie:
"...When we get sick like this it's a direct message to take time for our 'selves'; and slow down our pace."
Debra W:
"Part of living boldly is knowing when to just say no to everything else, so that we can give ourselves the time that we need in order to heal. It is very important to learn when that time comes. We must become bold enough to become our own advocates."
Thanks to all.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Pneumonia Lungs
The bug I was thinking of as sniffles turned out to be pneumonia. As the germ turns!! It was certainly a surprise to me. I tend to downplay any health problem, because I've never had one to amount to anything.
But other people kept telling me that this situation was not looking good and I finally went to a doc. One person had actually refused to do business with me, said we'll talk another day.
I'm a great believer in optimism. But there's also some value in not jauntily walking off a cliff I'd refused to recognize.
So, with a few days of sleep behind me, now I start creeping back, a little at the time. Then picking up speed, if history is any indicator.
More later on combining sickness and boldness in a useful and nondestructive way.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
But other people kept telling me that this situation was not looking good and I finally went to a doc. One person had actually refused to do business with me, said we'll talk another day.
I'm a great believer in optimism. But there's also some value in not jauntily walking off a cliff I'd refused to recognize.
So, with a few days of sleep behind me, now I start creeping back, a little at the time. Then picking up speed, if history is any indicator.
More later on combining sickness and boldness in a useful and nondestructive way.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Expecting to Recover Soon
Got a bug. Can't talk now. Back soon.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Friday, June 06, 2008
The Last Lecture
If you haven't seen this already, go to Youtube and listen to Professor Randy Pausch's last lecture--on how to live--which he gives knowing he has pancreatic cancer and has been given a life expectancy of two to four months.
I had a sore throat the day I saw it, and was moving kinda slowly. The video of this gutsy, charmingly immodest, athletic, gorgeous, smart, and nice 47 year-old facing death didn't take away the slight under-the-weather feeling I had.
But it did remind me that, with the right spirit, it's possible to face anything with courage, joy, boldness, generosity, gratitude, and style.
One delightful piece of news: he has already outlived by months the prognosis. At least as inspiring as the video is his online update of his progress.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
I had a sore throat the day I saw it, and was moving kinda slowly. The video of this gutsy, charmingly immodest, athletic, gorgeous, smart, and nice 47 year-old facing death didn't take away the slight under-the-weather feeling I had.
But it did remind me that, with the right spirit, it's possible to face anything with courage, joy, boldness, generosity, gratitude, and style.
One delightful piece of news: he has already outlived by months the prognosis. At least as inspiring as the video is his online update of his progress.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
