Write Once, Read Once, Move On (For Now)

It's been a doozy of a few days, or perhaps a week. But I've been working diligently on my book of essays. Or, on my random essays (the actual organization of said essays is TBD). I figure I will pull them into some semblance of a book later.

And the rule I'm living by right now is to write it once, then go back and read (and lightly edit) it once, and then move on. I think this is a good strategy for me. It allows me to push through that first dump of thoughts unhindered. Which needs to happen if anything good is to come out, because I'm really good at stopping to judge everything that I create.

This system also gives me boundaries: I know I will be allowed to read and edit it once I'm done dumping. And then when I do go back and read it, I don't have to pick it totally apart right now (and probably shouldn't, honestly). I will have plenty of time later to get it right.

Everyone has to find a system that works for them. Some people write nonstop for hundreds of pages before looking at what came out. Other people edit every sentence as they go, which probably isn't the most effective way to write (I used to do this, and I surely didn't get far). And still others make a detailed outline before sitting down to do anything. They simply need that structure to organize their thoughts and move them along.

Whatever your system is, once you find it, stick to it. Own it. It doesn't have to be like anyone else's, but feel free to borrow and try what other people say works for them.

I've been encouraged by the number of ideas that have been percolating in my head lately. I wake up in the early morning hours because of other things, and sometimes jot things down in a notebook in the dark. I think it means I have found my subject matter.

It's about damn time.

So that's it for now, I suppose. I'm having a resting weekend, mostly. Trying to get my body ready to chug along for the new week. But I am making an effort to sit down and write as often as I can when the mood strikes. And it struck. So here I am, and there you go.

Today I Didn't Write Crap

Yesterday I sat down to wallow my way through a personal experience I'd had (writing absolute rubbish over the course of an afternoon's hour). And I'm glad I did it, because what I ended up vomiting onto the blog yesterday gave me the confidence to try again today.

I was driving home from the grocery store this morning listening to NPR, which I do often, and the guest was pitching capitalism as the great American way. Or, more specifically, pitching outsourcing as the great American way.

Now this guy was adamant that everyone benefits from this arrangement - Americans get more money, people overseas get jobs, overall quality of retail products is better, etc. etc. etc. Personally, I understood how he was constructing his argument...but I sure would beg to differ.

And that got me thinking about why I beg to differ. We all have opinions about things, but most of us forget how we formed those opinions in the first place. And honestly I think it's kind of important to examine these things, both for our own growth and for the advancement of the human race. But that's a story for another day.

I realized that my perspective was based on something I've become fairly passionate about. I definitely did have reasons for feeling the way I did, and they were good reasons (from where I sit), and they were also reasons that maybe others should consider. So I sat down after putting my chicken in the fridge and let the thoughts flow out as they wanted.

The essay I wrote today was called "Five Dollars Can Change The World," and I really do like the title I came up with for this piece. If you want to know what it's about, you'll have to stay tuned because it's a secret (I giggle coyly). But I feel like it's one of the best essays I've written in this book of essays I'm working on, which is now approaching 50 pages and 15,000 words.

We all need wins in our lives. Sometimes the loses outweigh the wins to the extent that we get lost in a dark hole and struggle to climb out. That's how I've been feeling a lot lately, in so many ways, and I know it's coming out in my blog.

But I've learned over the last couple of years to take the small wins where I can find them. And sometimes the win is spending 45 minutes crafting an essay you really like. Sometimes it's cooking a lovely dinner that makes your family happy. Sometimes it's reading a good book, or watching your favorite tv show, or going out to a festival in the fall.

Today I didn't write crap. That's my win for the day.

Today I Wrote Crap

I wrote crap today - a big wad of crap that I should probably throw into the nearest dumpster. And I was feeling pretty bad about it so I decided to come over here and mull over the experience instead. Because apparently I can't write things if I'm not feeling them. And I'm surely feeling this right now.

I'd had a pretty unproductive day because my health was acting up, I was frustrated by my writing business, and I'm still waiting on the green light to start the ghostwriting project that was supposed to breathe meaning back into my days. I kept wanting to sit down to write some essays, but I had to finish other paid work first. Because I picked up another $200 worth of medical supplies this afternoon and those things don't pay for themselves.

By the time I finally got to a place where I could focus on my own writing, I was frustrated and beaten down by the day and by my life. I wasn't feeling it. I wasn't feeling anything, except that I wanted to do something that would make me feel productive and like I'd accomplished something today. So I did what the books always tell you to do...I sat down and forced myself to write.

And forced, it was.

I sputtered for a good hour, piling 1500 words upon themselves that didn't seem to mean much or resonate in any way. It didn't help that halfway through my efforts, I suddenly saw a construction worker outside my window. I say this as someone who lives on the fourth floor of a building. Looking out and seeing a random dude suddenly rising up from nowhere is startling. Talk about a distraction!

It also didn't help that for the entirety of his flotation, he was yelling all the way down to the street below, presumably to his colleagues. And it was in Spanish. Which is ok, I used to be fluent in Spanish so it doesn't sound (to me) like random sounds clashing against each other. But it was annoying nonetheless.

And then...then!...he went to paint my balcony. Right where my tomatoes live (the ones I EAT) and also where my pretty folding table makes its home (the one I eat ON). So I got up, ran, poked my head out the door - only to find he was already done and floating along. Following the beat of his Spanish shouting to the street below.

So I should have known then that nothing was going to work. The flow of whatever I might have been trying to create had been interrupted so many times that it just went dry. But I tried, and tried, and tried to turn what I was working on into something readable before I threw up my hands and decided it was crap. I shut it down. And then I went to mope on the sofa.

When you're going through hard times and really want to do something (like, you know, have the energy to cook a meal), you get really discouraged by the smallest things. My doctor said I had adrenal fatigue and I know this contributes. Like, she made me spit into a tube over the course of a day, measured out all my brain chemicals, said she was surprised I was even functioning, and sent me on the health journey I've been on for almost two years. I know things are still bad because I got so frustrated by one episode of crap today.

But now I can feel better because this post has come out rather easily, so I know it's not crap. At least I can believe it's not crap - I honestly don't care what anyone else thinks anymore. I used to. Even a year ago, I cared. But I don't now. Wisdom? Or stupidity?

I will say that part of what pulled me out of my funk was seeing a hummingbird on my patio. I've always felt like something special was happening in the universe when one of those shows up in the middle of the city. Maybe it's silly, but it makes me happy to believe it might be true. Just when I was wallowing at my lowest point, perusing my food journal to see what could have possibly caused my health issues this time, there it was. Buzzing along, sucking nectar from all the flowers I'm trying hard to keep alive in the hot July sun. And I did smile. Hummingbirds are my favorite.

Sometimes you just need that thing to snap you out of it. And if you write crap, ok. At least you wrote. I've got to learn to be more ok with failing if I'm ever going to succeed. But I think the universe is teaching me that lesson right now, because I sure am failing a lot.

Finding Meaning In Small Habits. Writing Is What Does The Writing.

Today I'm sitting down to write while struggling with massive fatigue, nausea, chills, hot flashes, stomach upset, the works. My life is fun some days, although I still try to approach everything with a grateful heart.

I'm proud that I've been keeping it up. I haven't written many blog posts because I've been writing essays, and poetry, and (wait for it)...creating memes on my new Instagram account.

I have to say, this meme thing has been unexpectedly fun and meaningful for my spirit. It gives me the opportunity to be creative in short little bursts, and to send something out into the world immediately with the sort of instant gratification most of us want these days. And I know it's a little silly on the surface, but I think we need to find meaning wherever it pops up. For me, it popped up in a groovy little typeface app that lets me design stuff for Instagram.

In case you were wondering what I'm doing exactly, I'll give a one sentence summary: I'm mixing colors and pictures and fonts with quotes and exposition and thoughts to create something that feels meaningful to share. And I think that's pretty cool. You can follow me over here if you want to take a look.

Aside from that, I've banged out several essays and a few poems over the last week. And I've also secured a ghostwriting gig for a book, which I'm really excited about. And I've started to notice some patterns that I probably realized before but simply didn't make actual note of. That being that I find I write best, or am driven to write the most, during the transitions between day and night. It's like my spirit wakes up at these times and I can sit down at my keyboard, or pull out my little black poetry notebook, and spit words out without getting in my own way. Without my inner critic or runaway emotions taking over and shutting down the party.

I'm getting better at that, though. I'm reading a really excellent writing book right now that I've had on my bookshelf for about two years called Writing Down the Bones. One of the things the author says is that when you are writing, the writing is doing the writing. It's not your mind doing the writing. Your fingers are just documenting whatever is streaming through from wherever things like that come from.

And it makes sense to me, because when I get in a groove I'm not really thinking about much of anything consciously. The words are coming out too fast for me to think about them, which is why I generally prefer typing over using a pen - I can actually kinda sorta keep up with my thoughts. When I get behind, my thinking brain starts kicking in and the magic (and the flow) stops. My only exception is poetry, which I always seem to write by hand. Almost as if I need to pause and consider the words as they come out, although I have to herd my thinking brain along and out of the way sometimes.

So that's what I've been up to lately, aside from plunging back into the depths of chronic illness after what was a really excellent eight to nine days of feeling pretty good. But I had those days, and I know they will come again. At least I have something to hang onto. And I have my writing. And my new Instagram hobby.

Writing Ruminations. Buddhist Philosophy. Growing a Business Sucks.

So it's been a busy week. I decided to write and by golly, I did write. I wrote almost 5000 words of stuff that I'm not quite sure what to do with.

But this time around I'm just writing without a plan. I'm writing what comes to me. I'm writing what I feel like writing. I figure at some point down the line I can pick it apart and see if there are any trends or themes or if something starts to gel. But in the meantime I'm determined to not think too much about it. Because that's like drinking poison or jumping off a bridge.

In fact, I'm here writing now just because I feel like it. Because I'm feeling overwhelmed by my day job and yet underwhelmed at the same time. Growing a business is really hard. Dealing with clients who are rude or who won't respond is really hard. Trying to find people who are willing to pay more than slave wages is exhausting. And wondering if you're ever going to be anything beyond what you currently are (which is not what you originally intended to be) is a constant source of anxiety.

Sometimes I want to give up all of it and seek purpose elsewhere. Giving up sure is the easy choice some days, but giving up never got anybody anywhere. Unless you've tried for so long and failed for so long that maybe it's time to take your talents in a new direction.

I'm actually really proud of some of the positive mental steps I've taken lately to get myself back in the game. To start creating again and to start finding career meaning where it had dried up. And also to start striving for more than what has landed in my lap, because while it did sustain me during my illnesses, ultimately it has not turned out to be very satisfying. And the sad part is I know this, and I've known it for probably 1 1/2 years. I was just too sick to devote any energy to caring.

I don't have a point with this blog post today except to ruminate over my current happenings and to try to find some sort of motivation to keep on with the keepin' on. Currently, I'm enjoying working on my personal writing efforts much more than I'm enjoying the constant failure that is growing a business. Sometimes I need some wins. Honestly, I really need some wins.

But they always say the best things in life don't come easily. So if that's the case, then I shouldn't give up just yet. I'll keep doing what I'm doing and hope that something meaningful comes out of it all at the end. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't supposed to be here, right?

I was reading a Buddhist magazine last night called Lion's Roar, and it's really my first big intro to Buddhist philosophy aside from the plodding I've been doing the last couple of weeks through the Dhammapada. And what I like about the philosophy is that it helps you to be content with wherever you are. No matter how crappy things seem, you can learn to find peace and contentment anyway.

I'm definitely going to put it into practice in my life, in my career, and in my creative efforts, and see what comes of that perspective. Maybe I can learn to be happy with what is, even on days where I feel like a burning wad of trash. Maybe even if I write crap, that's ok. Maybe if I have no new clients, that's ok too. I'll sit over here and smile in contentment, knowing that all is well in the world.

That's the goal anyway.

Intent And Effort Are The First Steps To Success

So I've still been writing, although I did take a bit of a break for the holiday (and also to wallow in rock bottomness; it's been a tough couple of months).

But I'm starting to formulate thoughts about what I actually want to write about. How I actually want to write creatively. What will make me happy. What I'm good at, or what I could be good at. 

And I feel like that's a positive movement even though it's still mostly in my head. I still haven't produced anything to show anybody, and I'm still sort of afraid and hiding behind a curtain. Although again, it's only been a couple of weeks since I even cared enough to try.

I posted a question in a writers group yesterday about how to come back when you've been away for over a year. When you haven't written a single word beyond what you have to do for work, because aspirations have to take a back seat to everything else when you're in survival mode.

I didn't get a lot of great suggestions except to just keep writing and to not judge what comes out. Which, if you read this blog, is something I've been trying to do for a long, long time. I do wonder if, after the experiences of the past two years, I'll have a bit of an easier time with it now.

I spit out a poem last night before I fell asleep. And I mean literally right before I fell asleep. I was reaching over to turn the light off, which was to be followed by me immediately smushing my face into my pillow, when I decided I had to write down a phrase that popped into my head.

So I reached over for my little black notebook, wrote down said phrase, and tried to quickly expand it into something more. I read it when I was done (with a shrug) and placed the black notebook in its spot on the night stand. I haven't looked at it since.

I *feel like* I wasn't all that successful in creating much of a poem, but I'm going to do myself a favor and decide if it *actually sucks* later. Because if I keep judging everything that comes through my fingertips I'm never going to get anything accomplished.

Therefore, I say to the internets, tonight my hubby plans to go play basketball and I'm going to take my first stab at writing a personal essay of some sort. I made a list of potential topics yesterday, so I'll pick one and just go with it. Maybe it won't be worth much. Maybe it will be worthy of a trip to the nearest trash can. But the intent is there. The effort is there. And aren't those the first steps to success?

We All Must Be Here For a Reason

When I was doubled over in agony again this morning, there were two things I kept turning around in my brain:

1. God, what would I do without my husband?
2. I must still be alive for some reason.

As I laid there, playing witness to my body, I kept thinking about how I'm still here. How, despite what's happening right this second, I'm not dead. I'm going to have another day today. And I'm going to have another day because I'm supposed to have another day.

So rather than get sucked into the despair vortex, I've been chewing on that idea for a while. And here I am, exhausted, frustrated, still not feeling great, but I'm at my computer. Writing something.

I showed up.

I think if you're still here to breathe another day, it means you need to try to figure out how this world is using your life. Or, how you can use your life to contribute to the world. I'm not really sure which way it goes, although it sort of sounds the same either way.

So I'll keep continuing to show up, day after day. Even on the days where I have to spend half of that showing up on my couch, resting. Or in my closet, crying (that's my safe spot, it's a long story).

And besides, isn't pain the thing that makes artists great? Supposedly? If that's the case, man I'm going to be a prodigy.