Showing posts with label The Artist's Way. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Artist's Way. Show all posts

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Creativity Redux

So for like the 8th time in recent history I've started The Artist's Way again.  Clearly there's something in this creativity program for me if I keep doing it.  I think one of the signs for me is that, since I now sort of work on the fringes of publishing, I see all these mom&pop publishers putting out 3-5 eBooks a month on random topics, and somehow they're making it.  They're not millionaires, but I'm buying books from them, and I know others are too because they have employees, and book designers, etc.  They seem to be making enough to be comfortable, and I think to myself, "well I could do that."  

So why don't I?

I mean, I know eBook publishing as well as anybody else out there doing it (probably a lot better than anyone else out there doing it).  I already have a market in place with libraries.  I know good writing.  I've even done some good writing.

So what the hell is my problem???

I have a gazillion excuses - time, energy, job, yada fucking yada.  But I still have 24 hours in the day, just like Gandhi did.  He managed to win independence for an entire subcontinent.  And I can't put out a few eBooks?  Seriously?

I hit a fork in the road recently with my bipolar diagnosis, and then the summer was spent rehoming the cats and tearing down the home office J built me, but I'm starting to get into a groove now that Hannah is settling into a schedule that gives me at least 2 hours in the evening, and an hour in the morning (if I'm lucky) in which to do some creative work and still get a decent night's sleep.  I'm adjusting to my meds so that I don't feel like I got hit by a truck upon waking up every day.  

And the best part is that next year I'm not going to be working as much.  We have decided to move back to Pennsylvania and I'm going to take on contract jobs, hopefully staying with my current organization, and then maybe picking up some other projects along the way.  So I will have time in which to pursue some of these other goals I have around writing and creativity.

Every morning these days I get up around 5:30 or so to write.  I do my Morning Pages, and I'm working on actually finishing a damn NaNoWriMo book.  Which is good, because every day I get more book ideas.  But I actually have to finish one first.  So that's a goal for me, before the next NaNoWriMo in October.  Lots of editing and rewriting.

I have several friends who have had books published this year, and I'm hella jealous.  One has become quite a big deal - I see her books in Barnes & Noble, and I'm so proud of her - and she's an amazing writer.  But I'm tired of being on the fringes of that world.  I want to get in there and create and publish my own stuff, and stuff I've chosen.  I want to have a say over what gets created and published, too.  Life is too short, and I don't want to have some kind of crazy midlife crisis in 10 years because I never followed my dreams when I had the chance.

So here we go using the tools of The Artist's Way again.  Stay tuned to see what comes of it :)


Saturday, August 30, 2014

Summer Recap

So long time no post.  We've been traveling for my work, and busy with Hannah, and she's started sleeping through the night (yay) but winds up getting up at around 6 most mornings (not yay).  Which means that I kind of have to rethink my whole sleep schedule, getting up early to write, how I'm going to fit in The Artist's Way etc.  Our babysitter likes to talk about how she "puzzles" things together, and that's what I'm trying to do.

I was thinking back on the summer, and how it didn't work out at all the way I'd planned.  I had planned to go to Sweden for my best friend's wedding, and North Carolina for my stepbrother's wedding.  Neither of those things happened.  Instead, the following happened.

Memorial Day Weekend: the Saturday morning of Memorial Day Weekend I went to the doctor and got meds for my bipolar disorder.  I took them that Saturday night, felt like a freight train hit me, and slept for 13 hours without waking up once.

Hannah moved into her own room Memorial Day Weekend as well.  It was a big weekend all around.

The week after that I was in New York for BookExpo where I met a lot of publishers, took lots of long walks through the city, revisited some of my old haunts, and ate a lot of Pret a Manger sandwiches.

In mid-June the shit hit the fan with our neighbor when he came pounding up our steps swearing at us (he has some anger issues).  We should have called the cops for disorderly conduct, but we were too shellshocked.  Next day the County comes out and says that:
- we have to tear down the cat shed
- we have to get an inspector out about the home office
- we need to rehome half our cats.

That night I escaped to Seattle for the launch of the Amazon Fire phone and met Jeff Bezos the next day.

When I got home we decided that we were moving back to Pennsylvania by the next summer.  We would swing seriously into Moving Mode, which meant getting rid of stuff, fixing up the house, and yes, rehoming our cats.  I stopped feeling safe in our home thanks for the asshole next door, who also started coming up more often.  Before The Incident we'd seen him twice in 7 years.  Now he's up like every week.

Ok, so we spent tons of time and energy calling cat places and trying to find homes for older cats, which is a tough sell.

Then I went to Vegas for ALA Annual.  It was hot.  That's all I can say about that.  Oh, and the Bellagio fountain show is amazing.

We started Mommy & Me swim lessons the last week in June.  Hannah had a blast with the kids in the water, and even went off the diving board.

By the 4th of July we had homes for the cats lined up, and we were delivering them.  J took down the cat shed, but it took a week because he was doing it carefully since we might wind up reassembling it in our driveway.

The inspector comes in mid July and says that J has to tear down the home office, and has 2 weeks to do so.

I work part time so he has time to disassemble, and Hannah and I spend a lot of time together in the afternoons.

We had our first yard sale on August 2, and made around $70, and got rid of 2 carloads of crap.

The home office was mostly torn down by her birthday, on August 7.  Which she spent in the ER with strep throat.  A 15 hour overnight ER visit.  I'm still recovering from that.

Sometime in there I went up to San Mateo and got pissed off at the summertime tourists clogging up the airport.

After all this, the idea of going to Sweden - just the idea of it - made me nauseated.  I just couldn't do it.  So I bailed on my best friend and his wedding.  So sad.  I also bailed on my stepbrother's wedding.  Too many people got married in August.

Hannah took her first steps August 9.  She was really seriously walking by around the 19th.  Now she's a pro.

This past week we were up in Santa Clara for a big event I do there each year.  The drive through the Central Valley with an antsy 1 year old who can walk was pretty rough.  I had told my boss back in mid July that I was moving, and was going to be working for myself.  I might still stick around with my current job on a consultant/contract basis (and in fact I think it makes sense for me to do so, at least for a year or two), but I'm also hustling for other work next year, and will be going to the Pa Library Association meeting at the end of September.

And today, to nicely wrap up the end of summer in a neat little package, we had our second yard sale and made around $250.  I sold the Asus tablet I bought in 2011 at Best Buy in Upland.  J sold his first guitar.  We're seriously getting rid of everything.  It's awesome and freeing and amazing.

This summer I also started practicing daily meditation, daily writing, and using the loseit app.  I'm within 7 pounds of my pre-pregnancy weight.  I walk around the lake at least 4-5 days a week, with smaller walks the rest of the days.  It's great to start feeling healthy again.  I'm fairly well adjusted to my meds - they don't make me feel like I was hit by a freight train anymore, though I do still need 8 hours of sleep each night to not feel like death.

Hannah is on a good schedule, and I get time in the evenings to myself these days.  Also the mornings, if I can drag my ass out of bed early enough.  Now that it's getting light so much later, the 5:45 alarm seems even more like a medieval torture instrument.

And I've read a ton of books on Oyster.  I heart Oyster.

So that's where we are.  Nothing went as expected, but that's kind of how life goes, and I'm really excited about the future.  Working for myself, however that will go.  Moving back home (which sort of fills me with dread, but is also exciting at the same time - plus J is really excited, so it's great to see him like that).  Really committing to a number of big changes, which I think will be for the best for our family, and for Hannah.  It's been a crazy summer!

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Happy New Year's!

Well, I guess you all thought I disappeared off the face of the earth there for a while, huh?  Nope, I'm still here. And, in Reproductive News, I'm still not pregnant.

But on to other topics.

First, November was NaNoWriMo, which necessitated me spending all my writing time on my novel, which, incidentally, I really love.  I've taken a month away from it now, but I'm going to go back to it with a fresh view this month to start the editing process.  This is the fourth year I've done NaNoWriMo, and this is the first time I have really loved my book.

Then came Thanksgiving, with maternal visits, and lots of turkey.  Same thing you did, probably.

THEN I was up in San Francisco for a week.

And FINALLY the good stuff:  we've been in London since mid December.  Back in September my boss agreed to let me try out working here during a slow time of year, so that I could potentially spend a lot more time here, in the land that tickles my soul.  I work California hours, I transferred my phones over, and thanks to Skype, I see my boss more often now than I do when I'm at home.

With my work schedule I start work at about 4pm, which gives me my days to go exploring, wander on the Hampstead Heath, etc.  I had Christmas here, which was brilliant, and of course, New Year's.  The last time I celebrated Christmas in the UK was ten years ago.  It feels lovely to be back, with mince pies, and a full celebration of the 12 Days of Christmas (attention Target: if you're going to put up Christmas decorations on November 1, at least have the decency to leave them up the full Twelve Days of Christmas!  Oh, that's right, that interferes with your desire to start selling Valentine's.  Grrrr.).

I've been so busy living this amazing life, I haven't had much time to think about it, journal, blog, etc.  But I will try to do better, if for no other reason than to document the awesomeness that is my life right now.  I don't have a baby, but I do have England, so, you know, small victories.

Have you made any New Year's Resolutions?

I'm still working on mine, but they include:

1) Continuing to lose weight and get healthier.

2) Switch to mostly vegetarian foods.  Mostly because the cruelty to animals in the dairy industry, especially, simply horrifies me.  I feel like a hypocrite, saying I care about animals, and then supporting industries that force female cows to keep having calves so they continue to lactate, and then "dispose" of those calves. It makes me feel dirty when I think about it, and when I do eat dairy, I'm going to research it to make sure it's from a cruelty-free farm.

3) Practice transcendental meditation, which I was taught last week, at least once a day, regularly.

4) Read the entire King James Bible.  I missed doing it on the 400th anniversary year, but anyone who says they care about literature NEEDS to read the King James Bible, if only for the literary influences.  Even Christopher Hitchens (rest in peace) adored the King James Bible.  I'm ashamed that I've not read it completely.

5) Edit and self-publish my book.

Which leaves very little time for Skyrim, but I'm going to try to squeeze that in there, as I can...

And, the usual, complete the Damn Artists Way.

Seriously, I need to do it.  I'm driving myself crazy with my lame excuses for not.  Which leads me to my final one:

Give Up Being Lame.

Happy 2012...

Sunday, October 2, 2011

More of The Artists Way

Ok guys, so I know I've been crappy at blogging lately.  But, you see, there's just been so much living going on in my life, that I'm having a hard time finding the time to blog about it.  Which is a good thing, really.

First off, I joined a choir.  A good choir, not an old-lady-church-choir (no offense to old-lady-church-choirs).  For almost three hours a week I get to bask in the bliss of Vivaldi, and it's awesome.

Second, I'm doing The Artists Way again.  Despite my best efforts, some day I'm going to finish this damn book.  I've had it since 1996.  Seriously.  1996.  But I'm slogging through it.  This week's main task is Reading Deprivation.  No reading all week.  But since the book dates from 1992, before the internet and email was really a big thing, I'm changing the rules a little bit.  The whole point of the exercise is to clear out all the extraneous noise and chatter in your head, and give you room to create something.  Julia Cameron says that many blocked creatives are voracious readers because they use other people's words and creations to numb themselves and distract themselves from what they would really like to create.  That struck a chord with me, since I am a voracious reader myself, and it's probably for those reasons.

But not reading at all?  What about my work email?  And what about my audiobooks on my walk around the lake.  Are they ok?

I found this post with updated rules for the Week 4 task in the 21st Century, and I'm going to try to abide by them.  I'm also going to avoid TV.  I will allow myself my audiobooks while I'm at the lake walking.  I will allow myself work email, but not on a steady stream, the way it generally is now.  I will check it three times a day, and respond then as needed.  I won't waste time on facebook/twitter reading stupid posts conjecturing the status of the Kutcher/Moore relationship.  I will not go to the Huffington Post.  I won't watch The Daily Show.

I will, however, write in my journal, work on my book, and go on my Artist Date.

The only thing I'm worried about is that I'm meant to have Jury Duty on Tuesday.  Ok, so listen, Tuesday has to be a giveaway day for me.  Jury duty trumps Julia Cameron, no?  What would I do if I didn't read?  Sit and talk to people, I guess.  Write.

Good grief.  Ok, I will attempt to do my best to avoid reading this week, even with Jury Duty.  But I have to realign my whole sense of purpose now - I had been looking forward to spending the day reading in a nice quiet spot.  But now I will have to look forward to spending the day talking to new people, looking at the wall, and listening to the voice inside my head.  Maybe I should just write out my inner conversation all day...

I don't know.  We'll see how this goes.  I'm skeptical.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Artist Dates at the Flower Market

If I had another life, I'd totally open a flower shop.  I could definitely get myself out of bed at 5:45 a couple of times a week if it meant I got to play with flowers all the time.  The LA Flower Market is the most awesome place on the planet, and the best place for an Artist's Way Artist Date...

Wrigley came out on the deck to lay in the sun and play with the flowers.

Thousands of orchids...
Row upon row of gerber daisies
Lots of roses

What $35 at the Flower Market will get you
With which you can make lots of arrangements

A day with lots of flowers is a Good Day


Friday, March 11, 2011

In the mood for Spring!

Wrigley explores the snow 2 weeks ago - it's all melted now!
Crazy how things can change in two weeks.  Two weeks ago we had a massive snowstorm coming, which knocked out our electricity for 40 hours, and dumped three feet of snow in our yard.  I was still pregnant then, though I had started spotting and was trying to stay chilled out about it, because I knew that lots of pregnancies had spotting.

Two weeks later, I've lost a second baby, and the weather has warmed up so that the snow has mostly melted, except for some of the big piles and berms made by the plow.  I'm looking forward to springtime, and spring cleaning, which we got a head start on today.  I'm working at home today anyway, so at lunchtime we spent an hour cleaning the last of the snow off the deck, taking up the mats and rugs that were wet so it could dry underneath, and hauling a crap-load of junk to the dump and thrift store.  Our deck is empty of old crap, the kitchen has more space, and my office doesn't have the extra big chair which we were keeping around because the cats liked to lay on it.  They might enjoy the chair, but when you live in less than 800 square feet, which we do, you can't have extra giant office chairs laying around.

I've been on another Peter Cetera kick - he's my go-to-guy when I'm sad - and this morning I told J that I was going to rock out to PC, and he wasn't allowed to make fun of it.  So half an hour later, J comes in to ask me something, purses his lips, stifles a snort, and walks out.  I ask my Rise Against-loving hubby what's going on, and he says, "I'm not allowed to comment.  I'll be back in later."  So I turned it up and sang along even more.

AND I bought two bottles of wine last night, since, you know, I'm taking a break from the whole getting-preggo-scene.  I might get drunk for the first time in almost a year!  Not tonight, though.  I'm waking up super-early tomorrow to go to the LA Flower Market.  It's the giant market district where all the professionals go to get their flowers, which they open up to the public two days a week, and it's the most magical place on earth.  If I had another life to live, I'd totally be a florist.  When we lived by Dodger Stadium, I'd go to the flower market once a month or so, and for two weeks the house would be filled to the brim with gerber daisies and lilies and tulips and all kinds of colorful things.

For our wedding, we went to the flower market early in the morning the day before the ceremony, and loaded up the car with roses of all colors, and tons of gorgeous fall flowers, and for less than $400 we made all the bouquets, centerpieces, and corsages, and had enough left over to cover the archway in ivy and autumn-colored flowers.  I'm lucky to have crafty ladies in my family circle, who know how to arrange flowers, and we had so much fun that day - buckets of flowers in the bathtub, clippings all over the floor, vases filling the refrigerator, flower wire caught in our hair...it was the best part of our wedding, I think.

So tomorrow, for my Artist's Way Artist's Date, I'm going to haul my butt out to the flower market early in the morning (to get the best selection you have to get there before 8am, and it's an hour and a half away) and drop $25 and get enough flowers to brighten up every spot in the house.  I only hope the cats don't go crazy on them.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Dating my Inner Artist

So I am finishing up Week 2 in The Artist's Way and stuff is starting to happen.  First, I noticed that I'm really avoiding working on my book, which is funny because I really love it (it involves Henry VIII, boys, time travel, self-discovery, and in-and-out burgers - who wouldn't love working with that?) so I think there must be some kind of fear of really putting myself out there.

But the best thing to happen so far was on Friday, when I took myself out on an Artist Date.  The Artist Dates are where you get to spend time with your inner-artist, nurturing it like you would a child, providing it with inspiration and stimulation. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do an Artist Date because it was Friday night and my in-laws were coming, and there was stuff to do, AND I didn't want to go down the hill to one of the big museums in LA because I was feeling lazy.  But I said to myself, "Self, you promised you would do an Artist Date, so you have to go do one."

I know that in Lake Arrowhead there is a gallery run as a co-op by the artists, and I figured I could have fun poking around looking at all the stuff there.  So I head to the lake, park my car, and walk to the gallery which is, sadly, closed.  At 5pm on a Friday?  What the heck?

My inner artist wanted to have a tantrum.  "I told you that you should have planned it better," she screamed at me.  "I want an Artist Date, and I want to be inspired, and you're not letting me," she pouted.  So I took her on a walk around the lake where we looked at ducks, swans, and geese.  I walked the long way back to my car, through most of the Village, and noticed another gallery I'd never seen before.  It was next to a bar, and looked empty, but my inner artist got seriously excited and pushed me forward.

And I'm so glad she did, because I got to meet Daniel Gerken, who makes these strikingly beautiful crosses with all kinds of materials including distressed wood from the badlands of South Dakota.  He owns the gallery, and was kind enough to walk me around, showing me his favorite paintings and telling me about the artists.  I told him I was on an Artist Date, and that I was learning how to let out my own inner artist, and he suggested that I hang out at his gallery and write, whenever I want.  I could even be the "Writer-in-Residence," and he'd even make me a plaque, he said.  It was so inspirational to meet someone who followed his dreams, and listened to his own inner artist, and is expressing himself fully.  And now I'm totally inspired to go back and take up my "Writer-in-Residence" duties.

On the way home, my own inner artist gloated.  "I told you that you should take me out to play," she said.  "Look how you got to meet an awesome person by doing that!  How much does life rock when you just listen to me?"

Friday, January 7, 2011

Art People vs Slide People

So it's Friday night and I just took down the Christmas tree.  I know it's supposedly bad luck to leave it up past the Epiphany (though I am a firm believer in keeping it up until then - if we can put the decorations up after Halloween we can at least leave them up until the Magi got to the Baby Jesus).  But last year I diligently took everything down on January 6, thus avoiding bad luck for the year.  And I lost Baby Teysko.  So I think that whole bad-luck thing is a load of hooey, and the tree came down tonight.  Sweet - we get our living room back! But the cats are all wondering where their jungle gym went.  Bummer for them.

One of the big assignments in The Artist's Way is that you're meant to go on Artist's Dates with your Inner Artist at least once a week.  Yesterday J and I went to LACMA.  I hung out in the medieval rooms checking out various paintings, each called Madonna and Child.  They either didn't have very good imaginations, or there wasn't much else to paint during the middle ages.  I'm thinking a combination of both.  

That reminded me of an art history class I took in college.  So I was a history major with a minor in the humanities, so I wound up taking a lot of classes like art and music history.  So let me be clear to start with by saying that I'm not the most visually-stimulated person in the world.  Landscape photography touches me; capturing the magic of creation, nature, etc.  But paintings...not so much.

So the class was huge.  It was like Renaissance Art 101 and there were about 75 people in it.  I wound up in the back.  A non-visually-stimulated person in a huge class in the back row.  And it was only once a week for 3 hours, and because the professor taught like 4 of those classes, he was lazy and always let us out after the break; something I liked at the time, but now I can see that I would have gotten more out of it if I'd actually had three hours of teaching.  Because the professor had too many students, he made the tests all slide-identification.  One word answers with no essays, while I had always excelled at paper-writing and essay questions.  He also said that he would take the term paper out of the syllabus for our class because he didn't want to read 300 papers.  So the whole grade was dependent on those damn slides.  And I was in the back, and not visually stimulated.

I got a D, and a comment on my final exam that I wasn't an art person.

I decided right then and there that art wasn't my thing, and I wasn't into paintings and 'stuff like that'.

When I lived in London, I worked literally on the other side of Trafalgar Square from the National Gallery.  One of the greatest collections of art in the world, right at my doorstep, and it's free.  Took me almost a year to go there.  I'd go to lunchtime evensong services at St Martin's in the Field, but I'd never get over to the gallery.  Too many tourists, and I wasn't into art, I'd say.

So then I started The Artist's Way and needed to go on an artist date.  I figured that it would be a good thing to visit the National Gallery and check out the Leonardo Da Vinci sketches they have (I'm a big Da Vinci fan, just because he was so awesome).  I can't even tell you how blown away I was.  When you're standing up close and personal to a painting, and you can see the brush strokes, and you can see how they made the colors, and how they did the shadows - it was nothing short of mind-blowing.  I was in awe.  My new favorite thing became going to the National Gallery once a week and picking a random painting, and just studying it, learning it, and getting to know it really well.

Well I can't even tell you how pissed off I was for that douchbag professor who was too lazy to read term papers or do his job, and thus led me to think that I wasn't an art person.  I forget his name now and I'm not going to bother looking it up because he's not worth it, but he was so wrong.  At the time I still remembered his name, and I would buy postcards in the gallery gift shop sometimes and write messages to him telling him that he was too quick to judge people, and he should do the job that student tuition paid him to do.  And I would tell him that he was wrong about me, and that almost cost me the joy of art, but I would forgive him if he didn't do it to any other students.  I don't know whether he ever received these, and I don't really care.  It made me feel better to send them.

The point is, I am too an art person, I'm just not into slide identification, and anyone who thinks that's what makes you an art person is just a slide person and doesn't have an ounce of art in their soul.  

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Affirmations and A Brief Treatise on the Nature of Reality

So this week in The Artist's Way we're working on positive affirmations.  Because most of us struggling creative types have lots of opinions about art, and creativity.  We think things like, "If I do my art, it will mean I'm constantly broke."  Or, "I can't do my art because only the really talented people make it."

Part of the homework assignment is to come up with positive spins/affirmations on our own thoughts about art and creativity. I can see the power in this because I've done a lot of thinking about the nature of reality and the power of conversations.  The conversations we have create our lives.  Stick with me here because this is kind of ethereal.

The only reality in life is based in conversations between people.  As follows:

One example is the United States of America.  In physical reality there is no such thing as the United States of America.  On the border with Mexico there is no line, like there is on a map, or in a cartoon, that outlines which side is Mexico and which side is the USA.  If you were just out walking and didn't pass a border stop, you would not know, until you started talking to people, that you had entered from one country to another.

The United States of America is a concept, conceived by people in a conversation called The Constitutional Convention, which took place over several days during which time men created something called the USA.  It isn't real.  It's a conversation.  Enough people had a conversation called "We Don't Want to be Colonists" so that the conversation led to actions.

King George had another conversation going on at the same time called "The American Colonies Belong to England," and the two conversations were incompatible.  So they fought a war, and eventually the Independence conversation won out.

It's an ongoing conversation, and one that the vast majority of people in the world now agree to.  But not everyone agreed all the time.  There was an event called The Civil War, which started from a separate conversation, a conversation called "The Government Can't Tell Me What to do with my Property," and "This Government Isn't What I Signed Up For."  Enough people had that conversation so that eventually it led to an action called Secession, and a conversation called The Confederate States of America began.

The two conversations were incompatible, so there was a war, and people died, and after four years the conversation called "The United States of America Isn't Something you can Secede From" won out.

There is no physical United States of America.  It's all a conversation that we have been brought up in as long as we were born, so it seems natural for us to believe it's real.  And it is real - in language.  Jesus said that wherever two or three people came together in His name, He was there with them, and that's how it works with creating realities as well.  You get enough people to have the same conversation, and it creates a reality.

You get enough people to think that every winter they should bring a giant living tree inside their houses and stick some lights and plastic decorations on it, and you get a Christmas Tree.  There is no such thing, inherently, as a Christmas Tree.  It's a conversation that started out of pagan festivals of light, and enough people agreed to it so that every year we bring trees into our homes, and we call it festive.

You get enough people in the world to think that there is something good about kicking a ball into a defined area, and bad about letting that ball go into that area, and you get soccer.  There is no such thing, in reality, as soccer.  Soccer is a conversation that the entire world has bought into, and it's yielded a beautiful result.

So the idea that none of these things are "real" doesn't make it bad, or sad, or anything. Soccer is wonderful.  I love it.  But it's not real.  There is nothing inherently physically better about kicking a goal than letting the ball go into the goal.  In some alien versions of the game it might be just the opposite.  They might play with rules that say that goals are bad.  The rules are made up, in conversation, and we all just agree to them.

Realizing that reality lives in language, in conversation, can give you power over the reality that you create.  Sometimes we joke about people living in their own world.  But it's true - each one of us really does live in our own world.  There are collective conversations that have become ingrained in us from an early age so that we mostly go through life thinking that our reality is the same as everybody else's realities.

Every once in a while we are surprised by something that reminds us that our way, our reality, isn't the only way.  Like a wife will insist that every meal has to be eaten at the dining room table "because that's how it's done," while the husband wants to eat dinner in front of the tv.  Many times, the wife will then complain to her friends; "my husband wants to eat dinner watching football!"  And because people generally gravitate towards others who share similar conversations and realities, her friends will probably agree that the husband is an oaf who needs to be tamed.

And that's not how it is.  All that's going on is that there are two separate conversations, which seem to be incompatible.  If people could only just get it that their realities aren't the right realities, or even the only realities, powerful changes in the world could take place.  Like the husband and wife could sit down and say, "In my world, we eat at the table" and "in mine we eat at the couch" and then come up with a new reality they invent together, which might look like, "in our world, we eat every other dinner in front of the tv."

Like let's take Israel.  I'm not an Israel expert, but as far as I can tell, there is no inherent place called Israel.  There can't be because the borders are always changing.  There is some land, which the Israelis believe is theirs because of promises that God made them.  This is a very powerful conversation.  There is also a conversation called Palestine, which is also a very powerful conversation.  The two seem to be incompatible.

But where it gets really messy is that both sides think that their conversation, their reality, is the only one.  When it's so clearly not.  But we look at these other conversations, which could be a threat, and we deem them "wrong" and "evil" when all that's really going on is two seemingly incompatible conversations overlapping each other.

Now if you could get the people on either side to see that their reality isn't the only reality, that the other side has a reality that is just as strong and powerful as their own, then you could maybe get somewhere.  But it's hard for people to admit that these conversations, which are so powerful and so ingrained in us, might not be really real.

Reality must be fluid when you consider the idea that, if ten people witness a car accident, you'll probably get at least five accounts of what happened.  If there was only one reality, you wouldn't have that happen.  Everybody would see the same thing.  Reality.

So where all this takes us to is the power of conversations.  Conversations have the power to create countries.  Conversations have the power to start war and genocide.  But conversations also have the power to create peace, if we would let them.

And this is where affirmations come in.  If conversations between people can create countries and empires, it follows that conversations we have ourself, about ourself, can create our lives.  And if you really examine people, most people live lives that are the product of the conversations they have.

For example, people who have a conversation called "There's Not Enough Money" will never have enough money, even if they win the lottery.  They just won't.  Because There's Not Enough.  Whereas people who make very little money, but believe that There Is Enough, generally seem to have enough.

Or women who have a conversation called All Men Are Jerks generally seem to find guys who are jerks.  And women who have a conversation called There Are Plenty Of Good Guys Out There generally seem to find good guys.

Is it possible that these conversations are creating their reality?  You betcha.  Because your conversations dictate your actions.  If your actions come from a place of There Are Plenty of Good Guys, you'll probably go out with lots of guys, meet a few duds but not let that color your opinion on the entire gender.

I have the following conversations about writing for a living:

Writing for a living is too hard.  You always have to be out hunting for the next job.  You have to be really super organized.  You have to work so hard to get your name out there and navigate the confusing world of publishing.  It's just too hard.

And so guess how my reality looks when I go to start pursuing writing?

It looks really hard.  The actions that come out of this conversation look like starting research, getting overwhelmed, freaking out, giving up, and then getting jealous when other people somehow make it.

But if I could change that conversation, if I could have a conversation that writing was actually really easy, and simple, and that you really don't have to always be out hunting for the next job, that it's not a life of scarcity...things might actually look different when I start researching things.  What if I had a conversation called Writing and Publishing Takes Effort, But It Can Flow With Ease?  What if my actions came out of that conversation?

On the simplest level, it would make my approach to researching and submitting things much more enjoyable. I might actually be more organized anyway, because I'm going with the Flow, and organization creates Ease.

On a deeper level, it might actually alter my reality.

Resolutions and Declarations

I'm thinking about my New Year's Resolutions, and I find that, like most people, I make the same ones every year.  They always involve writing, being more creative, being more self-expressed, doing the things that I really love doing (writing, going to museums, meditating, etc).

This year, I am whittling it all down to one Resolution, which is only a 12-week commitment anyway.  I declare that I will complete The Artist's Way, starting yesterday.  If you don't know The Artist's Way, it's a book/course on "discovering and recovering your creative self," and I've owned this book since my sophomore year in college.  No kidding.  That's like 15 years, I think.  There are exercises, writings, readings, meditations, etc., and at the end of it, you're living a much more created/creative life.  I see the value in it.  I see that there's no way I can do all the exercises over 12 weeks and not lead a more creative life.  And yet I have resisted this book for so long.  I've never gone past page 59, somewhere in the middle of week 3.  I reach a point where things start to happen, I get confronted, and I bottle it all up.  I'm one of those people for whom success is much scarier than sitting on the sidelines, talking about and analyzing why I'm not living the life I want to be living.  Suddenly other things become really unbelievably important, and I close the book, literally, on the course, and go back to talking and analyzing.  

A friend of J's is doing the course.  He mentioned it to me, not knowing what exactly it was, and I just sighed.  "I have the book.  I can't get past page 59," I said.  And so my ever-supportive husband has decided to do the course with me.  At first it was just to support me, and keep me from weaseling my way out of it. But now he sees the value in it for himself, too.  

So here's a story on my creativity.

When I was a kid, I loved to write.  I wrote all the time.  I wrote stories in my Hello Kitty diary.  I wrote books and stapled the pages together.  I love writing instruments.  I love notebooks in which to write things.  I love books.  I love words.  I love the power of stories.  Being an only child, my first best friend was Laura Ingalls.  My second best friend, when I was a little older, was Anne of Green Gables.  Oh, how I longed to be with Anne, and call her Cordelia, and spin stories in the Haunted Wood!  

Nobody ever came out and was really mean to me about a creative career like writing.  But my dad, having lived in refugee camps when he escaped from East Germany (and thus knowing what true hunger was) valued security and always guided me to good stable careers.  Teaching, for example.  To this day, my dad would like nothing more than for me to be a teacher back in Lancaster, Pennsylvania where he could watch over me and take care of me.  

I love my Dad.  But in some ways, he just doesn't get me.  I don't know whether there's a blocked artist living inside of him somewhere who was repressed so that he could be "responsible" and provide for his family (I suspect there is) but he drilled into me the idea that creative careers were for young and irresponsible people, who haven't yet graduated to the Big People Table on which is a spread of mortgages, bills, children, car payments and other Duties Requiring Responsibility.

I never wanted some stable corporate job.  I always wanted to go out and experience the world, and write about the things I saw, and share stories, and be around other storytellers, and read and write and read and write, and generally immerse myself in words.  Words words words, trains, words, planes, words words, nature, words and then more words.  All day, every day. 

I never thought I could actually be a writer.  So I majored in history, and did writing projects on the side.  I created a kickass website on Colonial America, for example - over 150 html pages of information on food, clothes, church, music; basically everything you could want to know about Colonial America.  You can still find it on the web archive if you search for colonialamerica.org and look at the site from around 1999.  Man, it was some kind of wonderful for the early web, and won some awards too.  Go html!  Go geocities!  (Remember Geocities?  What the heck happened to Geocities?)

My senior year in college I had a wonderful semester with a creative writing professor who really nurtured my dream of writing.  He told me I had talent.  He told me I could totally make a living as a writer.  He told me to write write write all the time.  

In December that year, I tagged along on a field trip that my boyfriend's economics club was taking to the NY Stock Exchange.  I had been on an Enya kick for about 2 years, and considered myself pretty hip to the new-age music scene, and spent the entire drive up listening to The Memory of Trees on my discman, and thinking about what I wanted to do when I graduated.  I had received my creative writing portfolio back the day before, with my final grade, and the professor had made some kind of comment to the effect of, "if you don't give it a try, you'll regret it forever."  So I was thinking a lot about how one "became" a writer while listening to "Book of Days".

The bus dropped us off near Central Park, and boyfriend and I were walking through the park when a girl handed us a  flyer for a CD signing at Borders that very afternoon.  The person signing the CD's was Enya - her greatest hits CD, Paint the Sky with Stars.  I knew from having read countless websites about Enya that she rarely did CD signings.  Like, hardly ever.  

I knew it was a sign.  

I grabbed boyfriend and ran to Borders where I waited in line for three hours while he patiently read motorcycle magazines.  When I finally got to go up and meet Enya, I was like Ralphie from A Christmas Story when he meets Santa.  "I want to be a writer, and I think that I could be a writer, and my professor says I should try, but I don't know because I think that I should do something secure so I'm not broke, but I also think that you don't have to be broke to be a writer because there are writers who make a living writing, and I was thinking about it on the drive up here today and I don't come to NY very often, so this is so weird, and this girl was handing out flyers, and I really love your music and I think that I should try to be a writer, and if you say I should, then I definitely will.  What do you say?"  

To which, the lovely ethereal Oracle of Eithne (that's how you spell her name in Celtic, I'm told), replied, "Who should I make the CD out to?"  And gave me a heavenly smile. 

The next semester I took a paralegal certificate course so that I could have something "practical" to do after graduating with my Humanities degree.  I did buy a Writer's Market, but found the whole thing so overwhelming, I didn't know where to start.  If you ever want to get me to stop something, just overwhelm me.  Overwhelm is my thing. 

There was another period when I lived in London when I was officially "freelance" for about a month.  I woke up and meditated.  Then I went to Bar Italia in Soho and drank a hot chocolate, sitting on the silver metal chairs and looking up at Soho Square and the BT Tower, and thinking how grand and bohemian I was.  I would be like Henry Miller!  I couldn't wait!  

Then I would walk up to the internet cafe on Frith Street, I think, plug in my laptop, and get to work.  The internet cafe where I went was also a coffee bar, and they allowed smoking.  I would smoke Silk Cut (because that was the brand that Bridget Jones smoked, and I didn't know any other brands, not being a smoker), and drink cappuccino, and feel very bohemian and liberated.  "Ahh, this is the life," I thought.  And I would wonder, "why can't I live like this all the time?  Where is it written that I have to work in an office?  Where is it written that I can't create beautiful words and stories and somehow make a living from that?"  

But then my UK visa expired, I went home and spent the next year working in a law firm, thus killing the whole Henry Miller mystique.

I started blogging, I do NaNoWriMo, I journal, I am a Vine Voice on Amazon (which means I write good reviews and get free books - yay!); I hover at the sidelines of writing, looking at the people actually doing it and wondering how they figured it out.  

People look at my situation and think I have it made - I work largely from home, I require little supervision from my boss, I am pretty much in charge of my time and what I do with it.  I am fairly compensated.  And I am very lucky.  I really am.  I'm not knocking it.  I'm very grateful for it, in fact.

But losing Baby Teysko has made me rethink everything, and one thing I'm thinking about is that life is too short to not try.  My professor was right - I am kicking myself for not trying sooner.  

So this New Year's I am doing The Artist's Way, and I'm pretty sure that doing it, finishing it, declaring myself the creator of my life, and living out the the things I learn from it will set into motion a whole new life that I can't imagine yet.  

Here goes...