Category: 2024! Here We Come Ready or Not!

When writers tell me this is why work is not progressing, it reminds me of waiting for the elusive Godot. He never comes. We spend a lot of time wondering why. We never figure it out.

If you wait for inspiration to write; you’re not a writer, you’re a waiter.–Dan Poynter

Inspiration usually comes during work, not before it.—Madeleine L’Engle

I don’t wait for moods. You accomplish nothing if you do that. Your mind must know it has got to get down to work.—Pearl S. Buck

Why is it hard to finish a book? 

1. Fear it isn’t any good; it won’t sell; people will criticize it

I went for years not finishing anything. Because, of course, when you finish something, you can be judged. I had pieces that were re-written so many times I suspect it was just a way of avoiding sending them out.—Erica Jong

2. Fear it is good; it will sell; and people will wait breathlessly for the next one

The Mother of all Fears is so close to us that even when we verbalize it, we don’t believe it. The Fear That We Will Succeed. That we can access the powers we secretly know we possess.—Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

3. Fear you don’t have the experience/credentials/wisdom needed to finish

Remember, our enemy is not lack of preparation; it’s not the difficulty of the project or the state of the marketplace or the emptiness of our bank account. The enemy is resistance. —Steven Pressfield, Do the Work.

4. You have to do more research and you haven’t found the time for that

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.— Carl Sandburg

What happens When We Finish?

• A great sense of satisfaction warms our hearts from accomplishing a personal goal we set for ourselves. This is what we’re supposed to be doing. Changing. Growing. Risking. Learning.

• We develop our craft. Maybe this story or book is not marketable, but the next one will be better. No learning is in vain.

• We get to say it! We finished! We wrote the story, the novel, the memoir. That one thing alone tells the universe we are serious about expressing ourselves, and you know what happens when the universe takes notice.

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one commits oneself, then providence moves too. — Goethe

To Invite the Muse

Make space
Make time
Commit to your project
Work on a regular schedule
Learn what you don’t know
Keep going

 Sometimes inspiration comes with a prayer, because you lit a candle, because you begged most earnestly. And sometimes,

You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club. –Jack London

The inner world is endless and infinite.  Pregnant with knowledge, it waits for us to turn our attention around so the birth of new ideas, new songs, and new stories can emerge into our everyday world .

The earliest depiction of the infinity concept comes from Ancient Egypt in the form of the Ouroboros—the image of a serpent or dragon eating its own tail.  A symbol of eternity and renewal, harmony and balance, and cyclical rhythms, the infinity symbol has spoken through the ages to creatives and spiritual seekers.

Infinity is unlimited potential, and when you put it like that, you realize nothing is stopping you from expressing your authentic self.

But how do we do it?  How do we find the right place?  The right time?  

The creative impulse stirs.

We listen. 

We hear the whisper.

We dare new thoughts.

But the impetus fades. Disappointed and a little sad, we notice that the call to create requires more than an impassioned beginning. How do we recapture the feeling that something new is possible?

Ask the Creative Self for guidance, of course. But how?

Demanding that inspiration appear rarely works. That’s how the Greek Muses got their reputation for being flighty and unreliable. The Creative Self must be approached gently. With respect. As you approach that vast reservoir of creative energy, be humble.

The Creative Self operates on a different wavelength. She lives where time is spacious, measured in layers of meaning rather than hours and minutes. As in fairy tales, a day in the inner world might be a year in ours.

With the noise of everyday life, it isn’t easy to hear our authentic voice, which differs in kind from the repetitive mumblings of Practical Self.

You don’t have time for that now, Practical Self states, with smooth assurance.Learning to say no to Practical Self is a muscle that gets stronger with repetition.

Listening for the voice of Creative Self helps you notice how the negative messages of Practical Self reverberate through your mind. Noticing the blocks and letting them go clears the channel.

To deepen your communication with your Creative Self, try this simple exercise.

• Sit quietly in a safe space where you will not be disturbed for ten minutes. If thoughts intrude, let them float by. If negative beliefs come up, say hello to them and bid them goodbye. Notice how your chest expands with each breath. Notice yourself as a conscious mind and a breathing body connected to the earth and sky.
• Imagine all your repetitive thoughts collected in an enormous bubble that floats away at your command.

OR

• Imagine a golden mist covering all the repetitive thoughts like a warm blanket. The thoughts dissolve, leaving an open field of golden light where your Creative Self can play.

Try this before each creative session to deepen the connection to your inner world. Being still and receptive is an invitation. In stillness, Creative Self offers its gifts.

My friend, Gency Brown, recently published her first novel, A Right Fine Life. I attended her book launch party at one of our locally owned bookstores, Books on the Bosque, an excellent store that welcomes author events.

The book is a contemporary saga of a young man who dreams of becoming a country western recording artist and the challenges he encounters as he learns about the tradeoffs required to achieve fame. The research that went into this book made it come alive for me. I learned a lot about the behind-the-scenes world of country music. Gency is active in the country music community, and I asked her how important it was to write about a character breaking into the music business in her first book.

“I wasn’t ticking off an item on my bucket list,” she said. “The character grabbed me and told his story through my memories and imagination. I knew people like him. I wanted to show that not all country music stars are drunks or drug addicts. They’re good people in a hard business.”

When I asked Gency about her biggest challenge in bringing her story to life, she mentioned the editing process, and how valuable her beta readers were, as well as a helpful critique partner. Gency also mentioned that she attends writer’s conferences, always a wonderful source of information and inspiration.

Gency is retired, as are many of my writing students, and I asked her what advice she has for writers starting their books later in life. “Believe in your story and yourself,” Gency declared. “You bring a lifetime of experience to the work but never stop learning.” Good advice for us all.  

Finishing a first novel and having it accepted by a traditional publisher is an enormous accomplishment, and when I asked her what was most rewarding about the process, she smiled and said, “Finishing! I had doubts throughout the writing, but kept going, and now I’m proud of the finished product.”

Given the enthusiastic crowd of well-wishers at the launch party, it was clear that her readers appreciate her efforts. 

You can pick up a copy of A Right Fine Life at Amazon and and, of course, Books on the Bosque.  Gency’s website is www.gencybrown.com and her social media is under gencybrownauthor. Her website blog offers insights into her writing process. Check it out for words of wisdom from a published author!

Beatitudes for the Weird

Blessed are the weird people

—poets, misfits, writers, mystics heretics, painters & troubadours—

for they teach us to see the world through different eyes.

Blessed are those who embrace the intensity of life’s pain and pleasure,

for they shall be rewarded with uncommon ecstasy.

Blessed are ye who see beauty in ugliness,

for you shall transform our vision of how the world might be.

Blessed are the bold and whimsical,

for their imagination shatters ancient

boundaries of fear for us all.

Blessed are ye who are mocked for unbridled

expression of love in all its forms,

because your kind of crazy is exactly that freedom

for which the world is unconsciously begging.

Blessed are those who have endured breaking by life,

for they are the resplendent cracks through which the light shines.

Blessed are the Weird by Jacob Nordby

Writing about the upcoming arts and crafts festival at UNM Continuing Education got me thinking. As much as a sense of unease rises in my chest at the sight of artificial Christmas trees for sale in October, I tell myself to stop being a curmudgeon. It’s the holidays! Get in the spirit!

Time is moving too fast, I protest. Can’t I enjoy fall leaves and carved pumpkins before trimming the tree and singing carols off-key?

In fact, No, the universe answers (with a smile).

Fall is winding down, even though summer flowers are still blooming on my front porch. It’s time for gloves and shorter days and a huge turkey dinner before we begin the great slide down the hill of this year toward Christmas/Hannukah/Winter Solstice. Celebrations that remind us of light and darkness, our ancient past, and how to push through winter until the weather turns again.

The winter holidays hold the promise of light renewed. If we have the capacity to express love for others—family and friends, our community, the people and animals of the earth—then perhaps there is hope for us too, even during the coldest winter night.

During the winter holidays, we are encouraged to express our love with gifts. If heartfelt, and offered without expectations, the most delightful of acts. To give freely, with no thought of what will return to us is a true expression of the concept of the high heart, which expresses authentically, without bartering.

The high heart offers compassion for self and others, appreciation, perception without judgment, and forgiveness. It works within healthy boundaries and does not take responsibility for the behavior and feelings of others. (As you might expect, living in our high hearts is related to feelings of calmness, peace, and more integration of our physical systems, which leads to less stress)

The low heart can be judgmental, fearful, clinging, sympathetic, and prone to attachments. It lacks boundaries and wants “credit” for its good deeds. It expects gifts received to be commensurate with gifts given.

So in this season of craft fairs, holiday sales, and lists of gifts to purchase, I hope to maintain an attitude of appreciation for what I have. I choose to be grateful for the years on this earth I have been gifted with, to forgive those who have injured others, and to send love to all beings, no matter how misguided and off-track they may seem.

The holidays are a perfect time to take stock, see where we’ve been, and decide if we want to change the story of our life for the coming year. I’m starting now. Not with goals or resolutions, but intentions.

•             I will love more
•             I will write without fear
•             I will trust my Creative Self to guide me through challenges
•             I will appreciate
•             And I will live the story of my life as honestly as I can

A good question, posed in a graduate social psychology class, and an eye-opener for me.

I had recently moved from Philadelphia to California to escape an abusive relationship. What I wanted for the past year was crystal clear. Get my affairs in order, plan the move, and get out of town without my partner’s knowledge. That mission was accomplished. I left my job, shipped my belongings to storage, and drove cross country in my Toyota hatchback. Without an address or a deadline, I never felt so free.

After I found an apartment and settled in, grad school was my first attempt at reinventing myself. I had been a vocational counselor, a humdrum job in a shabby bureaucratic system, but given the volatility of my personal life, it worked because it was safe and easy.

Entering school again did not answer the question, what do you want to be?  Keeping my options open, I soaked up the information offered, acquired organizational and leadership skills, and figured it out as I went along. That was just the external, though.  Inside, quietly, I knew I was a writer.

I wanted to tell stories, maybe write novels. The kernel of the novel I would eventually write was already swirling in my mind. Finally, I had the time and opportunity to write, which I did, but sporadically. School work, extracurricular activities, and jobs pushed creative writing lower on the list of priorities.

Later, I worked in corporate communications and training, and free lanced as an editor and ghost writer. The novel grew in fits and starts. I took creative writing classes and got positive feedback, but my confidence didn’t grow. I compared myself unfavorably to everyone — other students, teachers, published writers I admired.

Suffering from residual childhood trauma, I didn’t realize how deeply I’d been affected by the paralyzing fear of my early years. I knew something was wrong, but not what. Resistance offered opportunities to heal my wounds. Many I missed, but occasionally, patterns were too blatant to ignore. I started reading metaphysics and eastern philosophy, and began changing my ingrained, negative beliefs. Still, resistance plagued me

What I wanted to have was the easy one. Material possessions never meant much, but I wanted a decent place to live, a car I liked, enough money to pay my bills and support my writing habit.

What I wanted to do never changed. To communicate. I loved working with people, helping them move through transitions in their lives. I began to teach. I always wrote, and eventually finished the novel. Wrote short stories. Took writing workshops. Joined groups.

What I wanted to be was not about career. As a career counselor and coach, I worked with people unhappy in their jobs, who wanted to express themselves in new ways. I saw myself as a motivator, a facilitator, a cheerleader. I loved watching my clients and students grow into new understanding. But as time went on, my work identity took second place to a growing search for my spiritual identity.

Now, in 2020, as we look out in horror at the pandemic ravaging the world, staying safe in our homes if we’re lucky, and wondering about the future, these questions re-emerge.

• What I want to have is simple.  Groceries delivered, cleaning supplies, a mask, a strong Internet connection, my books.
• What I want to be is simple. Who I am. A writer, a teacher, a child of God. I want to be brave and confident in these turbulent times. I want certainty to outweigh fear and doubt.
• What I want to do is even simpler.  Talk to friends. Wave to my neighbors. Hold my classes on Zoom. Bike through the neighborhood. Walk along the river. Mostly I want to write.

The excuses have faded as do all denials when faced head on.  There is enough time. More than enough. No reason not to finish the new book, churn out a couple of short stories, write a blog post every week.

The faces of resistance dance in my mind.

• I’m too busy. 
• Work takes all my time. 
• I need to have fun once in a while. 
• I’m tired. 
• Tomorrow is soon enough. 
• It’s too late to start. 
• The project isn’t worth finishing. 
• It turns out I have nothing to say.
• I’m not good enough yet.
• No one cares if I tell my story.

But this time is different. It’s like being given all the resources you thought you needed to complete a project and they turn out to be irrelevant. Now all that stuff is strewn around me in a circle, none of it useful. I walk from room to room, kicking it aside. If I look at the issue sideways, what I want to do and what I want to be are the same.

I want to heal/change/transform that which stops me from being who I am. 

Put it like that and things fall into place. There’s journaling and sitting in silence and listening to the wisdom of the trees and playing with my old dog and young cat. There’s writing and listening and being honest. There’s faith and trust that the forces of change turning our lives inside out are the birth cries of something new.

That’s how we grow in spirit, and also how fear catches us. We don’t know what’s coming. So it’s back to basics. Write it down. Show up at the page. Tell the truth. Listen for guidance.

You have to listen hard though, because sometimes spirit whispers.