Summer’s Harbinger
Frozen, wings beat fast
The hummingbird has returned
Tasting sweet flowers
A Haiku For The Day
A Windy Spring Day
Leaves and branches dance
Every plant twists and bows
Wood creaks and seeds fall
Haiku and You
By no stretch of the imagination do I consider myself a major poet. I dabble at bringing images into a snapshot focus through the art of haiku. It’s not even something I do very often.
Today I read something disheartening from a blogger I admire. A British fan of all things Japanese, she goes by the moniker Haikugirl. In this post she talks about a haiku workshop that made me realize that there are far more rules to it than I knew. Her own experience involved a criticism that I found undeserved.
This makes me wonder if I’ll continue pursuing this art form. Should I forge on even if I’m doing it wrong according to the experts? My inner critic says no but I think that’s the wrong answer. I hope the childlike artist inside me finds another haiku she determines worth sharing.
And speaking of sharing, here is the post I reference:
Catching the Blossom with a Haiku
I hope you’ll read her post. I’d also like to know your opinion on the subject. In the meantime, happy writing!
Monday Morning
Jackie heard the child’s voice before he saw her a thin high call that cut through his coffee and newspaper, straight past his earbuds and Morning Edition. Pulling the left bud free, he waited a moment.
Damn kid didn’t appear. “Crap.”
He stuffed his paper and his iPod into his satchel and rose, joints popping. Every time, every time he came to park, he got interrupted.
“Maxie!” The cry came again and this time, he saw the girl. Thin and dark-haired, she had tear tracks dried to her face. She was as big as a minute and twice as cute, but unhappy as hell. How the hell was Jackie supposed to help? And who the hell was Maxie?
He squatted down so he didn’t loom over her. “Lose something, sweetie?”
She glared at him, all suspicion and mistrust packed into a four-year-old frame. Five, tops. “My cat got out.”
He sighed. One of those mornings. Figured. He’d just gotten to the Op-Ed page, too. “What’s she look like?”
“He!”
Jackie blinked. “Pardon?”
“Maxie’s a boy!”
Her aqua jumper had smudges of dirt and a grass stain on it, but she seemed clean enough. All fresh dirt, anyway. “How about I help you?”
“I’m not to talk to strangers!”
Modern kids. “Do you have a quarter?”
“What for?”
“Well, if you pay me a quarter, I’ll help you. Then we won’t be strangers. You’ll be my boss.”
She narrowed her eyes, considering. He waited, not rising, though his knee ached like a sore tooth from the position. Finally, she nodded. “All right.”
They wound their way deeper into the park and found the cat cowering under a bush. He spit when he saw Jackie, but Jackie sighed and dropped his glamour for a moment. The cat blinked and then walked out from the bush, calm as you please.
After he saw them both back to his bench, he sat down again.
Ah, mornings. Coffee never tasted so good. He put his earbuds back in, fired up NPR, and paged through to the Op Eds. Now if he could just find a naughty child, he’d finally get some breakfast.
Writer Wednesday: Daily Maintenance
As my daily round brings me back to the first Wednesday of the month, I find that the post I intended to write has evolved. Originally I wanted to discuss writing conferences, since the RT Booklovers Convention is here in Chicago this year. While that is a fabulous thing and I’ll write about it in other places, today I wanted to downshift and return to home base. It’s easy to forget, in all the fuss and bother, that the daily round is a daily round, not a line, and that the things we thought completed come around again and again. And not just laundry or dishes.
I’ve been working with Julia Cameron’s book Finding Water: The Art of Perseverance and find that, as is usual for Cameron’s work, many of her ideas resonate with me. In particular, one passage jumped off the page at me: “I must write. I must walk. I must pray. I must content myself with small amounts of progress. Above all, I must not binge on drama and despair.”*
As I talk with other writers and creative people, I find that many of the folks who I talk to assume that creatives must be able to do what they do just because of who they are, because they are creative, and not because of concrete, grounding behaviors that they must invest effort, time and care on an ongoing basis. In addition, the thought process seems to progress to the idea that if we, ourselves, cannot do that kind of thing – prodigious art creation without any real grounding – then we must not be “real” artists.
This couldn’t be farther from the truth. Regular creative output is like any other kind of output, be it legal briefs, laying bricks, or cooking and cleaning for a family of adults and children and pets. It takes energy, effort, and consistency; it also requires rest and recharge for the creator unless one wants to have an ugly breakdown. And sometimes, despite our best efforts, we end up at breakdown anyway.
What is the lesson there?
I think it’s just as Cameron says, above. There are several simple things that, done daily, help us stay on track. It’s like Curly says in the movie City Slickers: you have to find your One Thing (see below). You have to respect your own process enough to know what works for you, and if you don’t know, then you need to find it. I suspect, though, that you probably already know a few of them: get enough sleep, eat clean, write daily, etc. Whatever your “things” are, respect them and do them. It’s the only way I know of to get to where you’re going.
Write On!
*Finding Water: The Art of Perseverance, by Julia Cameron; Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin, New York; 2006; page 40
Resisting the Critic
Inspired to write this moments ago, I recognized an attack by the inner critic. I’m sure anyone reading this knows what I’m talking about. I gratefully say that “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron makes these insidious traps easier to recognize and combat.
In my case, my wandering mind wondered if I should continue writing a particular theme on another website. After all, I don’t have all that many readers or reviewers. Maybe it’s time to veer away from that particular character.
And that’s when my thoughts froze in realization that the skeptical and cranky critic in my mind was on the loose. As I’m gently reminded again and again by friends from this very blog, Story is God. Thank you, A. Catherine Noon, for sharing that particular, poignant phrase.
After all, who am I really writing for? Myself. It’s a creative urge that gives great pleasure and satisfaction. What else ultimately matters? Sure, it’s nice to know others appreciate what I’ve penned. In this information age, though, I should be grateful for any kind of niche in which to be found.
That’s not criticism of my writing, it’s simple fact. I find myself with limited time to read and a subsequently small list of writers which I faithfully follow. One can only wonder, out of all the blogging and twittering going on, how much time others lend to reading any fiction at all.
So that returns me to what’s important – following my muse. I really just need to be grateful I hear this calling at all considering the dry spell of which I’ve lamented in previous posts. Recalling how much joy has been garnered from material I’ve never even shared with the public, I feel darn lucky at the moment.
I hope sharing my brief battle with the critic will enable you to dip into your creative well for the sheer, childlike enjoyment of the process. Happy creating!
Sustaining One’s Sense of Humor
I have had some trying times relative to my job lately. While it finally culminated in a satisfactory fashion and I’m no longer chained to that desk, I want to share the image that has been my inspiration for the last two months and I remind myself that I am, in fact, numinous, powerful, and smart.
No matter what little snot-nosed punks who were in diapers when I started working say.
So there.
And I have one more thought to give you, before I share my image: remember that you know what you know. This world can be challenging, particularly as we labor to bring into being that which has never existed before. Never forget that you are unique, and that you know things. You may not know everything, but no one does. You do, however, know what you know. And that, in and of itself, is a powerful thing.
The Gift of Friendship
As I write today, I’ve been joined by a tiny parade of three cats taking turns at sitting or lying by my side. It’s a joyous reminder of the friendships I’ve garnered through my penmanship.
Even as I allowed a dry spell to overcome my creative tendencies, friends on this blog have continued to encourage and support me. Cards and gifts have come my way, much to my great joy. Also, kind words at the work place have occasionally brightened my daily routine as a few folks in the know inquire as to my doings in the realm of writing.
Thanks, my dears, for uplifting me! Now I’m going to move forth with some new project. All I really have to contribute to folks is the message that we must count our blessings in remembrance of all those things and people that help us create. Happy writing, or whatever endeavor you pursue!
~
Pursuing Perfection
I had an experience today that brought home to me once again that the Critic is something I fight in my daily life as well as in writing, and that I often do things that make it even easier for the Critic to get some punches in.
Probably everyone says this, but it’s true for me. My grandmother was a great cook. She passed when I was in seventh grade, but I still have very vivid memories of Saturday afternoons in her kitchen, homemade beef noodle soup on the stove, fresh cinnamon rolls warming on top of the wood stove, and pies cooling on the counter. My grandma was the first person to put milk instead of water in my tomato soup and to make me a gingersnap cookie. I won’t pretend that my picky younger self loved every single thing my grandma ever cooked, but I always loved eating as a family, and I especially loved seeing the smile on my grandma’s face when we raved about what to her was a very minimal gift.
Now I’m grown up, and one of my favorite things is to have family and friends over for a meal. It’s not an every Saturday sort of thing, but I do it whenever I can. I don’t know that I actually enjoy cooking so much as I enjoy bringing everyone together, giving the gift of food prepared with love and taking the gift of love and conversation and time spent in return.
Which brings us to today.
Due to my new work schedule, I now eat “lunch” at 9am. I have been bringing traditional lunch food, and that’s worked out fine, but towards the end of last week I was really starting to think about preparing some breakfast food on the weekend to take for leftovers during the week. I invited my family over for brunch today as a way of nudging myself into actually taking that step instead of just thinking about it.
It might have worked a little too well! Before I knew it I had talked myself into making three recipes (sausage egg casserole because that’s what I’d been imagining, vegetarian egg casserole because my brother’s a vegetarian, and peach french toast because it’s so darn good.) Both egg recipes were new to me. I did five loads of laundry yesterday and cleaned the house in addition to grocery shopping. The vegetarian egg casserole and the peach french toast needed to be refrigerated overnight, so I prepared those last night as well. Suddenly it’s 9pm and I’m exhausted (I’ve been getting up at 3am, so 9am after a busy day is quite a bit past my bedtime.).
I woke up this morning and finished the housecleaning and started preparing the food, only to realized I’d put the vegetarian egg dish in the oven an hour too early.
And then 9am came around and my growling stomach pointed out to me that scheduling brunch at 11am, two hours after I am used to eating my first major meal of the day, was probably not a great idea.
So, fighting low blood sugar because I had a cup of yogurt instead of the full breakfast I needed, I proceeded to brown the sausage by itself instead of with the onion the recipe called for. I also put it in the oven for 30 of the 60 minutes it needed to bake without covering it. And then I did the same thing with the peach french toast.
By this time, I have to say I was not expecting great things from brunch at this point. I was sure the vegetarian casserole would be cold, and the french toast and the sausage casserole would be dry. And that doesn’t even cover the bacon that got a little too reheated in the microwave as well.
But you know what? Someone was really watching out for me today, because everything came out great. The sausage casserole was awesome (We ate it all – so much for leftovers!), and the peach french toast was delicious. Mom brought cinnamon rolls and Barbara brought fresh raspberries and pink grapefruit and oranges. It was really a lovely meal. Even better was having all of us around the table enjoying each other’s company. There was so much positive energy in the room, I can still feel it.
So what does this have to do with the Critic, you ask?
First of all, dinners for my family can’t be so-so, they have to be amazing. Hence my decision to bake three different entrees instead of one, or even two. And heaven forbid I serve them a recipe I’ve actually made before (Except chicken pot pie. We all love that!). So I end up with two new recipes that weren’t especially complicated but that did require me to carefully read and follow directions, paving the way for lots of little things to go wrong.
Scheduling it at 11am instead of 9, or even 10 wasn’t so much an attempt to sabotage myself as it was fact that we almost always have brunch at that time (my brother and I are not early birds as a rule) and I simply forgot to take my new work and eating schedule into account. But it was still something to kick myself with while I was trying to apply tinfoil without burning myself.
First and foremost I am taking away a whole bunch of new memories of a great day with my family. I have a couple delicious new recipes, too. But there is no denying that I’m also coming away from today with a strong reminder of how important it is to be reasonable and realistic with ourselves not just with the goals and expectations we have for our artistic selves, but for the balance of our lives as well. Our inner artist shares space with our work self and our family self, and what happens to one can happen to all. We must be kind to every part of ourselves.
Today reminded me that sometimes it really is enough to take a step or two rather than running the whole race at once. I hope all of you get to really enjoy those baby steps, too.
Darla’s Wiley Wednesday
As I sit at home during a much needed rest from the day job, I’m trying to get caught up on blog posts for the month. I’ve allowed quite a dry spell after frenzied and joyous activity on all things blog related. Now it’s time to turn the tide and set aside precious minutes to indulge myself.
While having written that paragraph in the plainest of terms, I can’t help but think of Julia Cameron’s “The Artist’s Way”. She would be aghast at how I’ve allowed the work week to stifle my creativity.
While having written that paragraph in the plainest of terms, I can’t help but think of Julia Cameron’s “The Artist’s Way”. She would be aghast at how I’ve allowed the work week to stifle my creativity.
It’s time to remember how artistic productivity rewards and enlivens. I feel the energy coursing through me today even as I sit glued to my office chair. Well, I’m not entirely glued. My playfulness carried over to benefit one of my cats, also in a playful mood.
Now if I will just remember this feeling in the middle of a bad day at the office, then perhaps I can smile and look forward to coming home to a blank screen and another chance to create. Here’s hoping you find your own artful rejuvenation!
~