Joy , Validation and Perseverance

Photo by Kevin Tomasello

It's been a great week.

The big news is I am about to sign a contract for publication of my NOVEL with UNSOLICITED PRESS! A very cool independent press in Northern California. Check it out:
 www.unsolicitedpress.com

And this weekend it's my birthday and Mother's Day. And we've had a few beautiful sunny days in a row, so I got to ride my bike outside with silly bicycle shorts instead of cumbersome, restrictive bulge-inducing tights. And I got to eat birthday carrot cake from Wegman's and my mother's strawberry cake and Grandma Bear's- recipe-made-by-my-Mom chocolate cake with chocolate mocha frosting. (See why I needed the bicycle rides)?
Life is good.

That's my little dog Teddy above. He  is a little brain-damaged and doesn't know how to play with a ball like regular dogs. In fact, he is afraid of balls, even if one is simply resting quietly in the middle of the floor. Instead, he expresses joy by running around in circles. He can run faster than I can and I thought you would much rather see a furry little dog zooming around than me collapsing on my bum knee after jumping for joy. This is what it feels like to get an acceptance from a publisher you really like!

So, validation arrives for my writing. This is fantastic, but would I keep writing if no one wanted to see it? Some days I might say no, it's too hard. It's too big. It means too much. I don't have enough ideas. I don't have enough time. Whine, whine...wine! Then I remember how I feel whenever I read really good writing. I need to keep writing. I want to be that writer that stays with a reader long after the book is over. I want to keep writing better. I want to stir some souls (or at least entertain them for a while).

One of my favorite poems is actually about poetry, but it completely expresses how I feel about any creative writing. Pablo Neruda wrote a poem called Poetry that is so good I can't even stand it. I can't breathe whenever I read this poem. There is a reason this man won the Nobel Prize for his poetry. You need to read the whole thing to get the feeling, but here is how Poetry by Pablo Neruda ends:

And I, infinitesimal being,

drunk with the great starry 

void,

likeness, image of

mystery

felt myself a pure part 

of the abyss,

I wheeled with the stars, 

my heart broke loose on the wind.

Seriously! My heart breaks loose every time I read this poem. This is what writing means to me. I can moan about the process sometimes, but I can't stay away from it. It is part of me. I am counting my blessings.

Let the editing begin!

Finding My Tribe

Photo by Laura Bear

I recently spent a productive four days at a lovely house on Cayuga Lake in the Finger Lakes region of New York state with four talented, fascinating women. We each spent our first day decompressing from a stressful week and it was gratifying to experience and witness the gradual unfolding of peace and inspiration in all of us. Clearly, a retreat was long overdue.

Several of us hold full-time work outside of our writing lives. Although the day job may involve much writing, it is not typically of the creative soul-feeding type. As women with families, it is also unusual to steal un-distracted and uninterrupted time for that type of writing. Even more important was the chance to rekindle creative energy. I think it is safe to say that women in general spend much of our lives tending to the needs of others. Often, we do so willingly, but it drains us. That's what happens when you go with the flow, sometimes you get sucked down the drain.

The cool thing about spending four days with other women who write, is that we all write different stuff, but we could still relate to each other as writers...and people. Turns out we all like good food. And wine. Word play. And taking long walks or vigorous hikes. Or we kayak. We all love nature. We tell the truth. We appreciate beauty--whether it is a "beautiful, sleeping man" (wink wink, Elena) or a beautiful waterfall. The call of a loon on the lake. All of this feeds the muse, whatever that is. My muse is a wily b**ch. A shape-shifter who darts in and out with frustrating inconsistency. But, we all have one. I guarantee it.

Find your tribe. Invite the muse. Celebrate.

Check out the following links for excellent writerly advice, inspiration, and tidbits about literature and food:

writerunboxed.com

elenagreene.com

http://www.creative-writing-now.com/

www.thedomesticbeast.com

Thor's Day

Photo by Laura Bear

The blank page looms like the expanse of lake just outside the window, except the lake is rippling with waves and the page is not rippling at all. I can't even conjure a lake picture at the moment because I am not home. My camera is at home. So, here is the closest I can come: tiny lake droplets, if you will, on green leaves. You will have to be satisfied with that this week. I am in a place of exquisite beauty. I would love to share it with you, but I am being a little greedy today. Besides, I don't have my camera with me.

It's been a busy, crazy week. A week to remember, or even better to forget. I know, I know, the week isn't over yet, but I'm not counting the regular work week. No, no. This week, Thursday is the new Monday and it is good. The start of a new work week with alternate work that could almost be categorized as play. Thursday's child is full of woe, so that nursery rhyme goes, but not this Thursday. This is decompress Thursday. Transitional Thursday. New Thursday. Not Monday. Not Tuesday, either. Not quite Friday and certainly not Saturday. Or Sunday. Wednesday was so bad, I have decided it will be the end of last week.

Thursday is fresh. Like a cold drink after toiling in the yard all hot summer day. Thursday sounds almost like thirsty--and I am thirsty for relief and inspiration and concentration and meditation and...play. A quick internet search reveals that Thursday is actually "Thor's Day." You know--the Scandinavian dude with the big hammer. This Norse god is associated with thunder and lightening and strength, but also with sacredness and healing and fertility. A suitable way to begin a new week, wouldn't you say?

Anyway, that's what I say. Let the new week begin!

Community

Photo by Laura Bear

Today was an unusual sunny April day in the upper 70's (back to the mid-40's in two days). I went for a bicycle ride with my husband and some friends. I rode too far and too hard for this early in the season, and except for the fatigue and all-over body pain, I felt great! It was good to get the cobwebs out of my mind and to commune with friends. Dinner and a glass of wine put some of the aches and pains to rest and allowed me to contemplate this idea of community.

As much as I love my alone time (and never get enough of it), I need the company of others, too. I think community is especially important for writers. After all, we spend most of our writing time alone in a room, typing or long-handing our thoughts and inspirations onto paper (or electronics). I may have the company of my dog or one of the cats, but I don't actually have to engage the animals to make them happy (most of the time). Even though I get plenty of people-time in my day job, I spend much of my other time either thinking about writing or actually writing--by myself. How I crave that singular time to dig into the writing, the story, the poetic rhythm of word play. I whine and fret if I don't get it often enough. But, what good is the writing if no one reads it?

The most magical part of writing is making a connection with a reader. Nothing stirs my heart more than a reader's feedback. They get me! My writing touched someone else! What else is more euphoric? Okay, yes, the birth of my child, the realization that I am still in love with my husband, the pride I feel as my son becomes an amazing young man, a perfectly risen loaf of homemade bread, spring flowers unfurling in the first rays of sun, the excitement on one of my therapy patient's faces when they learn how to speak again after a stroke, the delight of a child's discovery of anything...you get the idea. Okay, so maybe there are actually a lot of options for euphoria here. Why am I so pessimistic then? Because, crappy things happen to good people, there is too much hate in the world, too much violence, too much death and destruction. True, all that, and yes, I let it get me down. But, then something happens to revive my faith in all things good again.

There was a devastating flood here in 2011. We barely made the national news because we live in an un-news-worthy part of upstate New York. The Susquehanna River in Owego rose 40 feet over flood stage. It filled the first floors of almost every home in town up to the ceilings. Some people lost everything. There was looting and other royal crappiness afterward, but most of all there were people helping. At least two local restaurants--The Cellar and Mario's fed the town even though they were both affected by the flood themselves. They grilled the meat they could no longer keep refrigerated because the electricity was out for days. We took in a lady from the flooded downtown even though we had no water or electricity. We were worried until our good neighbors with pools offered us buckets of pool water to flush our toilets. Other neighbors took in several people whose homes were flooded. People with generators let others charge phones when the cell towers were working again so they could call and let family members know they were okay. We were cut off from the rest of the world, even from the rest of the town, but we had a community of people who looked out for each other.

I think it is important to have a community of writers, also. I had been away from the writer's world for so long, I felt disconnected...alone. Then I went to a writer's retreat and met some fantastic writers who were also excellent people. I reached out to a local writer, we became friends and I met more fabulous people through her. My wonderful friend, and writer-extraordinare, Gregory Norris edited my book, introduced me to one of his publishers, and continues to encourage and comfort me along the way. He is living his dream and is not stingy with his joy. When I begin to feel whiney and pathetic, I wallow for a while and then kick myself in the derriere. Some people warned me that people in the writing business can be jealous, self-serving, mean-spirited, and cutthroat. I have been fortunate to have met only the best people in the writing business so far. I believe in small presses! I believe in working for your dreams. I believe we each have the power to decide how to live our lives. I am not always good at remembering this, but I find that if I believe in and help others to reach their goals, if I reach out to people with good intentions, if I forget about what I want and focus on what I can do, the life I want to live becomes easier to achieve.

I wish the best for all of you.

Renewal

Photo by Laura Bear

A true taste of spring this weekend. The fickle sun taunted the landscape for one glorious crystal day then disappeared like yesterday's prom date. Crocuses stretched toward the sky, fluttering their petals in shameless abandon. The pale masses thronged outside to soak up every last ray. Today, the silver rain washed away that golden dawn.

Perhaps there is a lesson here. How rude! I just want spring! Beautiful, verdant, clear blue spring! After the cold, dark winter, new life always emerges. Sometimes later than we like. The dormant ground erupts with emerald spears. Tiny color bunches push through the brown, half-frozen earth. The last clouds of winter shroud the sky in their battle with the sun.

Oh bother, said Winnie the Pooh.

What good is this constant cold bland nonsense? Would spring be less welcome if it were sunny all day long? Do people in the South disregard the constant sunshine? In summer, they hide from it inside air-cooled boxes.  Even those of us in the North start complaining about the humidity if the dog days last more than a week. I suppose we should be thankful the sun shines at all, but I do enjoy my melancholia. I love my cloudy, dramatic days--they make for moody photographs-- but enough is enough!

For now I am greedy for that fleeting warmth. Such a tease! The woodstove has lost its allure. Soon there will be bicycling outside instead of in the cellar on the monotonous trainer watching episodes of Breaking Bad, Mad Men, and Antiques Road Show. Readying the garden for planting instead of waiting for a peek at it as the snow melts. Okay, okay... there will be more rain. I live in Sinus Valley, after all. It's inevitable. But, a warm summer rain is so much more pleasant for writing, reading, meditating...or combing the cat. Spring rains coax those flowers to bloom. So, yes, I'll take the rain, but please, I'll have a side of solar power with that!

May the sun always shine away your dark days.

Thank you for reading.

Loss

Photo by Laura Bear

This weekend was the anniversary of the death of my nephew Kyle. I had to miss the fundraiser in his honor because of my day job.  I thought loss would be a good blog topic this week.

Kyle became my nephew through my husband's family. He had some struggles in his young life, but he never seemed to take things half way. He was exuberant and funny. Everyone's friend. A PRESENCE where ever he went. I am not qualified to ponder what led him into the darkness of drug addiction, but it was not for lack of love and certainly he did not die because of lack of effort on his or his family's part. The reasons for Kyle's short time on this earth are not for us to know and are not important.

Every life touches many other lives. Every life is a story. Like links in a chain. So, when we lose someone, we feel that chain is broken, hanging free. But, life is also a cycle. Every living thing is born, lives for a while and dies. Some live very long lives, others are too short. Some believe that we come back to live again in another body. Others believe that we go to Heaven and live forever with God. Others believe we go back to the earth, returning to our carbon and water ingredients. I don't know that any of that is right or wrong, but we all die and we all mourn for people who die before we do. I believe that our bodies are only vessels. If you have ever been with someone who passes, there is a tremendous energy in the process. Often the process is not pretty as the spirit struggles to break free of the dying body. Other times, it is so quick there is no time to register what is happening. But, there is no doubt when the spirit has left the body. The vessel becomes a hollow shell. We know when someone is gone from it. But, are they gone forever? I don't think so.

Science shows us that we basically run on electricity. Self-generated electricity. Our hearts pump blood through our arteries and veins because of electrical impulses within the heart muscle. Electrical impulses travel through our brains in pathways that make us think and speak and respond. When our spirit leaves, that electrical source disappears. But what was there to spark the electricity in the first place? Why can't we "recharge" someone who dies (like Frankenstein). Because their essence is no longer in that body. But, science also tells us that energy never dies.Our essence is energy. Energy cannot "die" it can only change into another form of energy. It searches for another form or dissipates (like the energy from lightning). Water evaporates into gas and gas dissipates into water. Water freezes to a solid form with low temperatures then melts into water when it warms, but it is still water at its basic level. I certainly don't pretend to know the answers to the questions of the Universe. In fact, as Iris Dement sings, "I think I'll just let the mystery be."

So, what does all that matter when we lose someone we love? The fact is that they are still gone from us in the way we want them. We miss them. We miss seeing them and talking to them and being with them. We yearn to hear their voice. We all miss Kyle's presence on this earth. But, I do take some comfort in the idea that his essence goes on in some form and his memory will not die as long as we continue to tell his story.

Kyle, your story lives on.

Writer's Retreats

Photo by Laura Bear

On the subject of writer's retreats: definitely! My writing was reignited at When Words Count Writer's Retreat in the Green Mountains of Vermont. I was one of the first writers to stay there when it opened in October of 2012. The people who own it had a vision and created a spectacular place of peace and inspiration. Steve Eisner sat me down the first evening in the front parlor to find out what I was writing. He asked me questions about myself and my life and where I thought my story was going. If this was writing therapy, I was a willing patient! Jon Reisfeld was my first contact via email, encouraging me that yes, indeed I was qualified to come stay at the retreat. I had never been to one before and I hadn't written anything in many years (except reports and the occasional poem). They were so welcoming and excited about my writing that it was contagious.

Not only were the rooms beautifully appointed and comfortable, the food was amazing. Chef Paul whipped up masterful dinners, snacks, lunch, and breakfast every day. No cooking, no cleaning: nothing but writing, writing, writing. Before dinner each night, the writers (only me and this other fellow on that first stay), Steve and his wife Neale, and Jon met in the Gertrude Stein lounge for libations and discussion. Paul kindly stoked the fire and offered hors d'oeuvres as we talked about our writing. It was truly life-changing and just the kickstart I needed to get my writing wings back after a very long hiatus. A writer's Heaven, for sure and a lovely beginning to my first novel. Now, this can become quite expensive if you wish to pay for coaching sessions and manuscript evaluations, etc. and I did feel pressured to partake in these things at first, but later decided that the writing had to happen first, before I spent any more money on figuring out what to write.

I did return to When Words Count Retreat a few months later, for more time to spend just writing and to meet more writers. This time, there was a special deal for those of us who had been there before, and I was able to stay in the Mark Twain room with its own bathroom and large bed. I had many inspiring dreams in that room. Happily, I met several wonderful writer people who have been encouraging, inspiring, and have generously offered advice on editing and the business side of writing. I am so fortunate to have found a community of writers and creative people who are so giving and talented. I intend to return to Vermont again, but I am content to write in my own home at the moment. After reaching out to a local writer friend, I was invited to go to another writing retreat in the Finger Lakes. Much closer to home and much less expensive because we all share in the lodging costs and take turns cooking meals for the group. I can't wait to spend several days and nights just focused on writing and communing with other writers in a lovely setting.

By all means, if you have been hesitating on going on retreat to focus on your creativity, recharge your creative self and DO IT! Isn't your dream worth it?