Tag: Reflections

  • Wiley Wednesday: How To See the Forest If You’re a Tree Person

    As a right-brained and big-picture thinker, it surprises me when I throw a whole bunch of ideas at someone and I see their eyes widen in panic and they blurt, “You don’t want to do all that right NOW, do you?” I’m not a naturally cruel person, and causing this kind of stress in my friends, colleagues, and fellow writers is saddening. Which brings me to my topic for today’s Wiley Wednesday.

    If you are a tree person, and like things in digestible chunks without a lot of extra fluff out of nowhere, then read on. I shall attempt to demystify the forest way of thinking in order to bring harmony between the two camps.

    The first thing to remember when dealing with a forest person, if you are a tree person, is that brainstorming is fun. Forest people like to sit above the tops of the trees, sometimes so far above them that we don’t even know what kind of tree – we might not even know if they’re evergreen or not! This is fun for us. This is agony for you. We don’t know this, and so we go on, gleefully describing how that forest over there looks from a distance, and this one there, and did you know there’s a whole ocean on the other side?

    The key to brainstorming is to remember, there are no bad ideas, and that the word “No” stops the process in its tracks. This is painful to a forest person. If the tree person can simply say to themselves, here they go again, and let the forest person natter on about their ideas and be enthusiastic, this will lead to harmony. The forest person will usually take their own notes, but it is absolute heaven to us when a tree person decides to jot down our ideas. We think, “You get it!” Reality is, according to the tree people I know, that it’s out of self defense when the tree person is asked, “Weren’t you listening last month when I had the idea for the child seat company??” If you just bucket these ideas for a rainy day, much in the way of a collection of coins, it will go a long way to diffusing the tension.

    The second thing to remember when dealing with a forest person is that sometimes one needs to clarify, is one speaking as a forest person, or is the forest person working with the details of the here-and-now? My husband, for example, is a tree person. I need to remind him, “I’m talking about the forest here,” so that he knows to disconnect from the idea that I’m suggesting we do all these things right now. This type of communication is necessary when dealing between the two camps, because the tree people I know assume that the forest person is speaking about details and the here-and-now OR they assume that the forest person expects the tree person to sort out all the details right now. Neither is usually the case.

    The third and final thing to remember is that forest people like to throw out a lot of ideas and see what sticks. For example, when I was proposing some ideas for my writing group, I tossed out a blog, another blog, a print newsletter, a steering committee… Initially, I gathered other forest people to see what excited them. Then, when presenting it to the group’s founder, I went more slowly in a step-wise fashion. It paid off in the long run, since Debbie Cairo, a tree person, and I have now started a not-for-profit writing group and have held our first annual conference. Debbie said to me the other day that she’s figured out that I like to throw out a lot of ideas, and I’ve said to her that I don’t expect her to DO everything I suggest – I’m just seeing what interest there is for possible future directions. Plus, it’s a way for me to find interest among our membership in our ideas, and maybe a member will step forward and run with the ball – as Nancy Bockoven has done with our ShopNotes blog. (Which, if you haven’t checked it out recently, please do so – she’s done an amazing job on it.)

    If you are a forest person, and you’re reading this, please remember that when dealing with a tree person, they’re not being purposely stubborn and resistant to your ideas. They simply are hearing them as something you want them to do, RIGHT NOW. That sense of urgency, to a forest person, is enthusiasm. To a tree person, it can feel like pressure. If we can learn to spell out where we’re coming from, we’ll get much more cooperation from both sides and avoid having to cut down the whole forest, so there aren’t any more pesky trees.

    After all, it takes a lot of trees to make a forest, right?

    Happy Wednesday!

  • Wiley Wednesday: Sustainable Change

    I’m reminded recently of how change becomes sustainable, and how to set oneself up for failure. I thought I’d talk about that a little here, in the context of writing, but it applies to any changes one wishes to make in one’s daily round.

    A young colleague of mine recently decided to chuck it all, move home to another state and live with his mother, and “get in shape.” Then , once he’s down below the weight requirements, he plans to apply to Officer Candidate School of whatever branch “will accept him.”

    He had a lot to say about patriotism, and hypocrisy of those who sit on the sidelines during war and refuse to participate. On the other hand, he’s a brilliant young mathematician with a shot at contributing to the field of economics or finance.

    But all of that aside, all the question ns of whether t his is the “right” choice at the “right” time during a two-front war that shows every sign of being a generational problem, let’s focus on the most critical part of his statements as they relate to us as writers: he’s going to move home, “get disciplined,” lose the weight, and apply to OCS.

    As any of us who have attempted any long-term marathon change, such as weight loss or writing a large project, or even writing small projects consistently, we know that it’s little increments that add up to a larger whole. It’s rarely the grandiose gestures that make success, it’s the small accumulation of baby steps toward a goal that create the foundation for sustainable change. After all, one cannot cram for weight loss the way one crams for a test.

    Which makes a side point – education in the institutional model does not prepare us for reality, because we believe that cramming and writing papers the night before can lead us to success long term. Really, that’s a way for short-term success, but how much to we really remember of the test we crammed? How deeply did we mine our acre of diamond to come up with a paper we wrote in one night?

    Sustainable change must be perpetual, hence the word sustainable.

    From Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, page 1189, “sustain: 1. To give support or relief to; 2. To supply with sustenance; nourish; 3. Keep up, prolong; 4. To support the weight of; prop, also: to carry or withstand (a weight or pressure)” etc.

    None of those definitions describes something immediate or transitory. None is ephemeral; one is rather minded of bricks or a scaffold, something with permanency or providing support in order to build that which is permanent. Long-term.

    We need to set up a sort of perpetual motion machine that feeds itself over time – but this is not something that can be done overnight. It is said that a habit is formed over 21 days, which is hardly an overnight cram session, wouldn’t you say? That’s three whole weeks of sustained effort. Steven Covey talks about escape velocity, and I think that applies in this case – but after escape velocity is produced, what then? After we’re in orbit of our new plan, what then? How have you changed, and how have you set up scaffolding to support your new self?

  • Off the Beaten Path

    I am not a social creature. After a day at a bustling office, all I want to do is go home and immerse myself in fiction, either my own works or a book.

    This good group at the Writer’s Retreat has coaxed me out of my shell and encouraged me in ways I’d not thought possible. And the more people I meet, the more I find published authors and hopefuls alike announcing a roll of contact resources longer than my grocery list. I’m starting to feel foolish for hanging back.

    One friend flat-out insists I need a Facebook presence to become a successful writer. Yet even as my resistance is tested by this gloomy forecast, I haven’t given in. For one thing, my employer blocks social networks, which means I must investigate them at home. And when I’m there, precious few hours are hoarded like treasure and spent on (hopefully) uninterrupted writing time.

    A naïve part of me dreams of discovery by some powerful entity in the publishing industry. I want a benevolent handler who will front the business end and let me write. How’s that for fantasy? Especially since so much of what I write is rather far off the beaten path.

    Perhaps it’s best for me to remain that way, peacefully occupying my own patch of undiscovered country, and enjoy sharing stories without the stress a professional encounters. I don’t want just another job entailing more dull meetings and endless emails.

    Anyway, all of this speculation is pointless without finished product. Nobody has use for an incomplete story. That said, I’m going to try to block out the world for a while and have some fun.

  • Road Rage

    The other day I was driving home from my day job and watched an unknown vehicle cut off the poor, anonymous driver behind the wheel of another. For some reason, that cool disregard for the consequences to the victim brought something very different to mind. I thought of certain individuals one can often find within on-line writing communities. There are those everywhere who consistently put down the efforts of others and I think they’re a little like that reckless driver.

    Sometimes a slight is presented as some sort of vaguely stated “constructive” criticism. The critic might try to tell the author that what he or she penned is somehow wrong. Is there a correct verb tense or point of view? I think not. Most aspects of storytelling are not good, bad, right, or wrong. Outside grammar, and sometimes not even that according to more experimental stylists, the choices are spawned by societal fashion and individual taste.

    But why do I compare these persons to rude drivers? Sometimes, fellow travelers, it’s because they simply want your car out of the way! “Get off the road,” they would say if they realized their own true intent. It’s what I want to tell the driver who adds precious minutes or even seconds to my short commute. “Get out of my way!”

    These folks might be stuck with writer’s block or face some form of rejection that has hurt their pride. This critic might unconsciously want others to suffer, as well. Others might have some superior notion that they are better and should be teaching others how to “drive” even though they lack the credentials. Some aggressors might careen through traffic leaving accidents in their wake in the form of defeated writers who end up believing they don’t have the talent. I believe that there are many gifted people who fear rejection to the point of eventually just leaving their car in the garage.

    This makes me sad. Writing is a vehicle that needs to be driven or it rusts and falls apart. For me, it’s the best, fastest, and safest way to travel outside myself for a time. And if I’m lucky, perhaps I’ll connect with likeminded acquaintances through my story. I’ve found enough kindly souls encouraging me to make more of these ventures. These friends fuel my tank and help map out new places for me to go. And each of us reacts slightly differently to the road rage crowd that can dent our ego if we let them.

    Some us might be fearless behind the wheel of our tank-like SUV and not worry so much about what the other driver intends. These people power over or maneuver around obstacles that lie in the direction they want to go. On the other hand, the same pothole might wreck someone in an economy car.

    That poor lad or lass gripping the wheel of a tiny sedan can feel fragile and intimidated by aggressive drivers that hog the road and only care about their own destination. That soul might wisely take a different route rather than risk being driven off the road.

    I think I’m somewhere in-between. I’ve got a powerful engine and sit comfortably surrounded by lots of airbags in my sporty little roadster. What about you?

    Wherever you’re at in my silly analogy, I wish you a safe and pleasant journey. Maybe we’ll travel together for a stretch!

  • Internet Addiction – Who? Me?

    Today I arrived at the office with the usual morning ritual in mind. My workday starts with checking the company customer service inbox. Fine. I read a few emails and replied to confirm orders as I entered them into the computer system.

    Then a strange thing happened. Every confirmation came back as “Undeliverable Mail”. And none of the emails were received later than last night! Not good. Our IT department informed us the communications company suffered “a major fiber connectivity outage” to the whole area.

    I could have stayed in bed! My presence was totally superfluous at this point. I felt like an appendage with no sense of touch or purposeful function.

    Since the phones were likewise down, I decided to go online and check my personal emails. Writing took precedence last night so I expected quite a few replies were in order.

    Oh, I realized, that’s right! We have no voice or data service. Duh…

    So I considered checking into spring vacation reservations. I have my cell phone. Would it be so bad talking to a real live person for verification? But then I remembered that all the information was accessible only via the internet. Not even the resort name had been scrawled on a scrap of paper.

    I went back to my latest story as a result, which saved an otherwise pointless morning and turned out to be time well spent. This helpless feeling got me to think about my habits, though.

    Months ago this part of the US went through an extended power outage and I felt proud occupying my mind just fine with pen and paper. Electric lights weren’t really missed as long as I had a candle. If ink ran out I could switch to pencil.

    Today I discovered that things are very different when the electricity is on. Having a world of information at my fingertips has become an unconscious expectation.

    Sure I didn’t suffer withdrawal in this morning’s on-again, off-again moments without connectivity. Yet I can’t help wondering how I’d react over a long term lapse. I think instead of questioning my weakness, I’ll post this blog and go check a writers’ forum.

  • Happy Tuesday

    Last night I took an interesting little journey through the world of blogs. I was looking for inspiration and found it in abundance…

    It’s a Jungle Out There

  • Wiley Wednesday for January 21, 2009

    I want to share a Zen koan with you, but I think first it needs a little introduction.

    A koan is a teaching fable. They don’t always make immediate sense to Western ears, (and may not to Japanese ones either, I don’t know), but that’s the point. They’re meant to make the student (and in this sense, we are all students) ponder them. Deceptively simple, like Haiku, they are powerful reminders of a way to live that is in tune with ourselves and the Tao.

    I was given this koan by the Universe in what can only be described as an episode where the Universe was showing off its sense of humor. (And those of you who think the Universe HAS no sense of humor have never really studied a platypus.) (Of course, some say the platypus is proof that God smokes pot, but I digress.) Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away, I was an idiot. A cute idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. Like many cute idiots, I found a ‘man.’ This man was charming, smart, and just-so-slightly dangerous. You know, the kind of man that if I had a big brother, my big brother would have kicked his ass and buried the body before my next date. But I didn’t have a big brother, so I went out with this jerk. I mean, he even had a special made-up name, which at the time I thought was edgy and cool.

    Yes, I know. Didn’t I say I was an idiot? Pay attention!

    So I go out with this guy, and of course he treats me like an idiot. (Fitting, wouldn’t you say?) It took me mumbleSIXmumble months to figure out this jerk was no good, and I dumped him. However, he had my favorite radio at his house. So instead of buy a new radio, which on my income at the time really was not doable, I went over to his house to get it, with my new boyfriend in tow.

    I rang the well. “Ding dong!” (Remember that alliteration.) I was met at the front door by a fat guy and a skinny guy. (Don’t some jokes begin this way?) Both guys were completely.stark.raving.naked.

    You read right.

    Naked.

    My current boyfriend turned beet red, and did I mention he’s a martial arts teacher? The storm clouds were brewing, my friend, and the forecast did not look promising. All this for a radio?

    Ever onward, I went into the house and asked after my ex. He was in the bedroom, I was told, with his current girlfriend. She had a Playboy bunny name, and you could feel the heat from my current boyfriend’s fury. I asked to use the bathroom. As I walked by, the door to my ex’s bedroom as open, and they were engaged in, well, things that are better done with the door closed.

    Particularly with a fat naked guy and a skinny naked guy in the next room, call me crazy.

    So I retreated into the bathroom and sat there, trying to figure out whether I should just stand in the living room and shout for my radio, leave, or wait it out. And then I saw it.

    There, on the window sill, an innocuous little book, entitled, Zen Koans.

    Take it from me. When in this situation, beware of Trojans bearing gifts. Or something.

    I picked up the book and flipped to a page at random. And here, in all its glory and magnificence, is what the Universe said to me:

    “Chau-Chu fell down in the snow, and yelled, “Help me up! Help me up!” A Zen monk came and laid down beside him.

    “Chau-Chu got up and went away.”

    Enjoy!

  • Fleeting Moments

    Merry Christmas everyone! I hope
    the New Year is full of wonderful
    adventures, health and happiness.

    Your Spirit engorges me
    until there is nothing but

    You

    Only…
    the sense of the
    Divine

    All earthly things fade
    away

    Your light almost
    blinding

    Painful to look upon

    The fine line I walk
    between sinner and
    saint obscured

    Heavenly awareness
    pervading my
    soul.

    ~

    Love,


  • Wiley Wednesday, 10/15/2008: “Twin Realities”

    As we head into what shows every sign of being a prolonged period of economic stress, it pays to look to our own houses and make sure they are ready to weather the coming storm. As writers, we must be sure to keep our spiritual and emotional house in order so that we may continue to create. It is the times of challenge that show us where our weak points are, the cracks in our armor that let the wind in; the leaks in the roof that send drips down on our heads. These don’t need to be as onerous if we just remember the universal principle of the power of thought.

    While not a new idea, it bears repeating. I’m not talking here of ‘blame the victim:’ “Oh, you thought about cancer, so that’s why you have cancer.” That kind of cause/effect leap is specious and unhelpful. I’m talking here in a subtle reality shift of what reality we choose to inhabit. The key word there is “reality” – I’m not talking about avoidance of reality, quite the contrary. But there’s a world of difference between being aware of reality and cynicism – though cynics will, of course, tell you differently.

    Every day we are given a choice (or, if you prefer not to think of something “giving” us anything, then I’ll say merely each day we have a choice to make). We can inhabit the reality of abundance, or the reality of lack.

    It’s easy to get down about the future, the world, when things aren’t going our way. But Rena Tarbet once said, it doesn’t matter what stops you – your mother’s diagnosis of cancer, a sick child, your own injury, the dog threw up. What does it matter, if it stops you? There are stories of great everyday heroism – Christopher Reeve, Helen Keller, Steven Hawking… these stories can inspire us, but better, they can inform us of what it takes to inhabit the real. We are far more wealthy than even we are aware of, a fact that immediately becomes apparent if we watch footage of Iraq and Afghanistan, to name just two of the places on earth today that are torn by war and worse. We have safe homes to live in and people to love us (even at the remove of the internet – love is love, don’t throw it away because it’s not physically sitting next to you on your couch).

    Okay, so all of that is very good and well, if we already inhabit the reality of our own abundance. But if you are reading this, thinking “Yeah, yeah, but I’m really NOT living in abundance and have no idea how to get there,” do not despair. Two simple tools can help each of us shift our reality. If you consent to walk this path with me, you will not be the same person three weeks from now.

    The first tool begins as soon as you finish reading this: count your blessings. That’s right, pull out a sheet of paper, (yes, please handwrite this exercise; the hand knows reality better than the keyboard). Write down each of your blessings: you have underwear, socks, pants, shirts, sheets, a bed, four walls and a roof, food, and go from there. Try to get to fifty, then a hundred.

    The second tool is a gratitude journal. First discussed in Sarah Ban Breathnach’s lovely book, Simple Abundance, the idea of the gratitude journal is to make us aware of just exactly how much we have in our lives, every day, for which to be grateful. Each night for the next month, before bed, write down five things for which you are grateful. Some days they may be magnificent. Others, particularly if you are really in a state of lack, it may simply be the simplest: I am alive, I have an internet connection, I can type, I can read, I ate food today. That’s okay; they don’t have to be big things.

    And that’s the lesson. It doesn’t have to be big things. But the reality of abundance is the mirror image of the reality of lack, and they are both simple realities. It’s your choice which one to inhabit.

    Please, leave a comment and tell me how your blessings list went, or any thoughts on the twin nature of reality that you might like to share. We are not alone, and sometimes just that simple fact can remind us of how abundant our lives really are.

    Resources

    Ms. Sarah Ban Breathnach’s website: http://www.simpleabundance.com/
    Author, Simple Abundance (and many other excellent books, including Moving On)
    Available on Amazon, http://www.amazon.com/b?ie=UTF8&node=282922

    Ms. Rena Tarbet’s website: http://www.renatarbet.com/
    Author, How to Succeed in Spite of Life’s Challenges
    Available on Amazon, http://www.amazon.com/Rena-Succeed-Spite-Lifes-Challenges/dp/1880692325

  • Wiley Wednesday 08/27/2008

    The Peripatetic School

    Peripatetic:

    ADJECTIVE:
    1. Walking about or from place to place; traveling on foot. 2. Peripatetic Of or relating to the philosophy or teaching methods of Aristotle, who conducted discussions while walking about in the Lyceum of ancient Athens.

    NOUN:
    1. One who walks from place to place; an itinerant. 2. Peripatetic A follower of the philosophy of Aristotle; an Aristotelian.

    ETYMOLOGY:
    Middle English peripatetik, from Latin peripat ticus, from Greek peripat tikos, from peripatein, to walk about, or from peripatos, covered walk (where Aristotle allegedly lectured) : peri-, peri- + patein, to walk.

    http://www.bartleby.com/61/55/P0195500.html

    So. What does peripatetic have to do with writing? Good question. I was reading Julia Cameron’s work and she commented that several writers belong to the “peripatetic school.” My first thought was, what the heck is peripatetic? Then it was, what does walking have to do with writing?

    Well, try it, then you can tell me.

    I should just stop the essay there, but I’ll be kind. For me, walking is something that slows me down to human speed, rather than caffeine speed, stress speed, or I have to finish twenty things in time enough only for ten speed. Walking is repetitive. There’s not much more than pick up one foot, put it in front of the other. Lather, rinse, repeat. This allows the mind to wander while the feet, well, wander.

    How is this of benefit to writing?

    Well, try it, then… you get the picture.

    It’s strange how we get so into our own heads when we write. Our own heads are not necessarily the most helpful places to be when writing, either. But instead of fighting with our internalized voices, next time you are stuck try getting up and walking around the block for twenty minutes. See what interesting insights might bubble up for you.

    Besides. You can dazzle and confuse everyone by telling them, “I’m part of the peripatetic school.” “Really? What degree are you getting?”