It Rained

What the crap is wrong with me?!  Seriously.  I just don't even know.  I'm so lost.  I feel like I'm not connected to anything.  Just floating out in the ether somewhere.

As far as writing, I'm stumped.  I feel like I've lost a part of myself with my inability to write.  I just haven't been able to write.  I don't know how to explain it.  It's not writer's block.  It's not a lack of ideas or time or anything like that.  It's just a plug.  Like someone's put a stopper in, and my writing just won't flow.

I've barely written over the last year and a half.  (Maybe before that; I don't know.)  I don't know if anyone's even reading my blog anymore, except for people who happen here based on a search for a certain topic.

I don't know why I haven't been able to write.  There are many possible explanations.

I've been more emotionally healthy (on the whole) for the last while.  For a long time I wrote therapeutically.  I wrote to work through all the horrific emotional battles I was waging.  I don't have as many of those lately, so it hasn't served that purpose.

I've been exercising a lot more, becoming much more physically healthy over the last year.  I wonder if that outlet has supplanted this one.  Also, since my hysterectomy put me into instant menopause, I just don't have the multitasking abilities I used to have.  I have trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time.  So since I've been focusing on losing weight and feeling better, I struggle to focus on anything else.  Like, it's tough for me to make a menu and shopping list to keep my family fed.  It's tough for me to stay on top of the household money and making sure bills get paid.  Forget about cleaning the house!

Besides focus, there's also the energy component.  I just don't have the energy for much else.  Now, it's possible that's changing.  When I first started working out, just under a year ago, I was coming from a place of near inactivity.  Like, almost nothing.  And from a place of extremely low energy (which is related to not being active, but I'm not sure about which was the cause and which was the effect; I have lots of thoughts on that).  If I worked out, I was just too tired to do anything else.  Or in too much pain.  Sometimes that's not the case now.  I hope I'll be able to move past that soon.

But I'm afraid I'm also stuck in a pattern.  For almost a year my main focus of each day has been to work out.  I find I'm having to really put thought into making other things happen.  Oh, there's so much more to this than you know!  I feel like I'm just giving the tiniest bit of snippets to explain (because otherwise this post would be seventeen pages long).  But I need to get some of this out.  So even if what I've said sounds like I'm being lazy and not using my time or my life well, please know that I don't think that's the case.  Perhaps I'll be able to explain it further in the future.

For now I'll just hit on one other potential cause of my writing drought.  I wonder if it's been connected to my mood stabilizer.  I'm a mood writer.  I have to feel driven.  I have to NEED to write.  I have to need to get it out.  Almost like throwing up, it has to be forcing its way out of me to feel right.

When I met with my psychiatrist Tuesday I asked to reduce my meds by half.  That's what we chose to do.  This is the second day of that dosage.  Today I'm writing.  I can't swear those two events are connected.  Let's wait and see.

When we met, she also strongly pushed me to get back to things I love.  Writing is one of those things.  So I may feel driven because the meds are finally allowing it or because it's an assignment.  I don't know which.

But I truly don't care right now.  It just feels SO GOOD to write.  Like feeling the barometric pressure rise before the storm hits, or does it drop before the storm hits?  Either way, the air becomes uncomfortable, and my body aches for the rain.  Today it rained!

It's Time to Write

It's time to write.
It's time to write.
It's time to write.

I've told myself that so many times over the last few months.  And, yet, still I haven't.

Why?

I'm not sure.  I have lots to say, but I just can't make myself write.  I even know how I want to say the things in my head.  I just can't make myself do it.

Maybe it's because the things I plan to write aren't the things I need to write.  My heart isn't exploding with the ideas.

In fact, I'm sure that's what it is.  It's amazing how things can become so clear when I just start writing.

See.  I was right.  It was time to write.

Have to Write

Have to write.
Can't.
Stuck.
Hurts.
Wound so tight.
Things a blur.
Unsure.
Lost.
Choking on thoughts.
Flailing.
Drowning.
Pinned at the bottom of the sea.
Looking up.
Wishing.
Waiting.
Believing.

Why Haven't I Been Writing?

Maybe it's because I've started drawing and that's filling a creative need previously filled with writing.

Maybe it's because the pain medication I've been taking has sedated my brain, making it quiet.

Maybe it's because my energies have been occupied with urgent things.

Maybe it's because I am in a foggy place mentally.

Maybe it's because it's just not a writing time for me.

Who knows?  Whatever the reason, I hope the desire to write returns soon.  I miss that part of me.

Writing

Writing because I need to.
Writing because my heart feels like it's going to explode.
Writing because I'm lost.
Writing because it's healing.
Writing because it's often how God and I communicate.
Writing because my world is dark.
Writing because I feel like I'm missing something obvious.
Writing because I'm sad.
Writing because I hurt.
Writing because . . . I just don't know what else to do.

The Best Thing I've Ever Written

Not this post.  A different post.  In fact, several different posts.  Because every now and then I write one of those posts.  And someone comments or sends me a message or tells me in person that what I've just published on my blog is the best thing I've ever written.

Those are good days, I'm not gonna lie.  I enjoy hearing that from people.  But how can multiple posts be the best thing I've ever written?

When I first got that comment I tried to analyze my post.  What had I done differently?  What made this post better than other posts?  How could I replicate that?

And I've learned that it's not all about me and what I put out there.  That's part of it.  But another part, maybe a more important part, is what's going on in the reader's life when they read what I've written.

Sometimes I write funny, although mine is generally a dry wit.  Sometimes I write tragedy.  Sometimes I write philosophical.  Sometimes I write spiritual.  I even occasionally write slap stick.  And any of these could be the best post I've ever written -- for you, at that time.

My writing is most powerful when it touches something within the reader.  Maybe I made you laugh about something you were taking too seriously in your own life.  Maybe I answered a question you had.  Maybe I helped you find the path you were looking for.  Maybe I inspired you to make a change.  Maybe I offered you hope or strength when you needed it most.  Maybe I pointed out something so obvious that you've always known but have never told yourself.  Maybe only one sentence from an entire post pierces your heart but was exactly what you needed that day.  Or maybe so many other things.

The more I've blogged, the more I've learned that the best writing is a collaborative effort between the writer and the reader even if we never talk to each other about it.  And I am so lucky when I get to know that magic happened because someone who read what I wrote told me it touched their heart.

I hope I have many more best posts in me.  I hope you are moved by what I write.  I am honored to experience the magic with you.

I'm NOT Writing a Book

Because I don't want to.

I know a lot of bloggers are.  I know many bloggers blog for this very reason, to work toward publishing a book.  And when I started blogging there was a part of me that hoped to be discovered and pursued by publishers.  A tiny, dreamy part.

Being pursued sounded nice.  Being wanted is cool.  But what comes next?  Okay, that part holds me up.

Right now I just don't have the burn to write a book.  It's not inside me itching to get out.  I don't ache to tell a story, at least not one I can't tell through blogging.  And that matters to me.  Writing needs to come from my gut.  I need to need to tell a story.  Or it's just not a satisfying and cathartic experience.  And that's what I want writing to continue to be for me.

I would love to have my words touch everyone, reach every corner of the world.  I really would.  But I don't think writing a book would make that happen.  I think writing a book would make my words and thoughts and experiences less accessible to those who may benefit from them most.

A book intimidates many people.  A blog is easier.  A book costs money.  A blog is free.  A book becomes too much about me.  My words are for everyone.

And as much as it makes my husband crazy, I don't want to be paid for my writing.  Yes, we could use the money.  Yes, I'd like to feel like I contribute something to our family budget.  But not through writing.

Writing is from my heart.  It's spiritual.  It's how I offer a piece of myself to the universe hoping to make it a better place.  I believe charging for it would cheapen it.  Would tarnish it.

Which is funny because I don't feel this way about other writers.  I have bought many books over the years and (almost) never felt like an author sold out because he/she put their writing into a book.  I've never felt writing had less value because it was bound and sold.  I don't look down on or judge people who make money off their writing.

It's just not for me.  I may change my mind some day.  But today, my words are free.  And I offer them to you.

The Center of Attention

As a kid, I loved being the center of attention. Anything I could do to be in the spotlight, I did. Sing a song. Dance. Tell a joke. Do a cartwheel. Whatever.

Somewhere along the line, this desire waned. No longer did I enter a room loudly declaring my presence ("I'm here! The party can start now!"). I kind of stealthed in. Trying to find somewhere to sit or someone to talk to so that I didn't stand out. Trying not to be noticed.

How did this happen?

As children we come into this world with great energy and no fear. The world quickly puts a stop to that silly nonsense. Over time we learn that when we shine others sometimes try to squelch our glory. When we put ourselves out there in the public eye we open ourselves up to criticism and ridicule. We make our offering and it is sometimes rejected as inadequate. We learn that the cost of attention is sometimes too high -- it costs us a bit of our self-worth.

I no longer hide from the spotlight, but I usually don't seek it either.

So why do I blog?

I started blogging at a difficult time in my life, while I was in therapy. I found that writing things out helped clarify my thoughts and helped me process things. It helped me find truths I was hiding from myself. Writing works for me.

But choosing to publish my writings on a blog took a lot of pondering and soul searching. I just wasn't sure I wanted to put it all out there.

I tip-toed into blogging. I began writing without telling anyone. Then I told a couple of people. And I was surprised to find that others enjoyed my writing. Others found value and strength in the things I was learning and sharing. The things I wrote made people think and started conversations. To me, this increased the value of my writing.

Plus, it's fun to get nice comments.

My blogging has evolved. There are fewer therapy sessions but still plenty of philosophical ideas. There are more family stories. As I have moved through that painful time to a happier place, my blog has reflected this.

But I still don't use pictures.

**********
Today is my day to shine. I am the featured blogger on SITS (a wonderful blogging community that teaches, supports, and connects bloggers). If you are visiting me for the first time, welcome. I hope you feel comfortable here. Check out my About the Author and About the Mess pages -- they have pictures!

I usually stink at replying to comments, but for this day only I promise that if you leave a comment I will reply and/or visit your blog in return.

A Little Housekeeping

No, I'm not going to write about housekeeping.  If you thought that, you really don't know me.

I just want to let people know what is coming up on my blog.  I generally steer clear of conducting business on my blog, but I don't want people to misunderstand.

I have a lot of followers who aren't bloggers.  People who follow me because they know me and like me.  Or my train wreck of a life is entertaining.  Whatever.  I want to clear some things up for them.  Because if there's one thing I've learned in the past year that I've been blogging it's that blogland has it's own set of guidelines and it's own language.

Now if you know me, you know that I'm not a stickler for following the rules.  Commandments and laws, yes.  Societal rules and expectations, not so much.

So as I've been adjusting to this new blog world, I've picked and chosen which rules I'd live by.  I've avoided a bunch of the everybody does it areas.  Because they weren't me.  And if I can't be me on my blog then I won't play anymore.  I'll take my ball and go home.

But I have participated in a few things.  One of those is a blogging community called SITS.  It's all about developing yourself as a blogger and connecting up with other bloggers.  It's about supporting each other.

Truthfully, I've boycotted a bunch of the activities they do.  Just not my thing.  But this month they are all about writing.  It's Content is King month.  That's something I can get on board with.

In particpating in this event, I am choosing to do several of the suggested activities -- all with my flavor.  I will do two of them here and one on my other blog (heavier topic).  That's this week.  Who knows what next week will bring?

The focus for this week is Finding Your Voice.  I think this is something I'm generally pretty good at.  But I usually pick my topics.  Doing this with someone else's prompts may be a challenge.

This month is all about improved writing, so I am throwing out an open invitation.  If you have feedback for me, please share it.  If you see things I could improve on, please tell me.  I'm open.  I promise we'll still be friends afterward.

On with the challenge.

A Smartly Metaphor

I have a new essay up over at Smartly.  A metaphor for life.  You should check it out by clicking this link. 

And I will have a new post here sometime soon.  I hope.

Writing Smartly

I have recently joined the ranks of conributing writers at smartly, a writers collective showcasing one essay a day.  My first essay, Creatures of the Night appears there today.  It's a new essay so none of you have read it yet. 

You should go check it out.  You know, like, now.

What Makes a Writer?

My brother is a doctor.  He went to school for about 70 years so I could say that (okay probably not quite that long, but his wife claims it's close).

I am a mother.  I had sex and gave birth.

Some titles are easier to qualify for than others.

What about writer?  What is necessary to qualify for that title?  Who gets to decide when you can rightfully wear it?

I've asked myself that question a lot lately.  I write a lot.  Other people read my stuff.  Does that make me a writer?

I'm not published (no, I haven't tried).  My daughter is, so I guess she's a writer.

Is there a difference between being a writer and being an author?

I think it's tough.  Some people claim that title for themselves rather easily even though I wouldn't give it to them (yes, I'm talking about Stephanie Meyer again -- I know, I've got issues). 

And there are many published authors out there making a lot of money on serial novels that are very formulaic, no originality, no thinking (no, I don't feel this way about all of them; don't send me hate comments; I'm sure the ones you read are awesome).

The real question here is if I am a writer.  No, I'm not asking you.  I know that you can easily answer in the comments, but that won't do it for me.  Unfortunately, no amount of telling me something positive about myself will convince me.  Not from the outside.

I need to feel it from the inside.  That's the only way to convince myself, to wear the title.

I have received many wonderful compliments on my writing (thank you, all you wonderful people -- you rock!).  I have had people tell me that I've helped them through a difficult time.  I've had people tell me that I made them laugh or made them think.  These things are very cool.

But I think what finally convinced me is that I enjoy it so much.  It feels right.  It feels like I am exercising a muscle, stretching and growing, progressing.  It fits me.

It's part of me, part of who I am.  Writing. 

So I guess that makes me . . . *gulp* . . . a writer.  Identity crisis averted.  For now.

How I Write

I'm always interested in how people do things, the same things I do, differently from me.  I recently asked a few other bloggers how they write.  It was interesting.

So I thought I'd share my process.

I keep a running list of ideas in my planner.  If I don't have that handy, I text the idea to myself and write it down later.  Once I get an idea, it kind of just stews in my brain until I'm ready to write about it.  Right now I have about 40 ideas for future posts.  I guess that means the every weekday thing isn't running me dry.

Sometimes a particular idea will become clear, complete itself in my head.  That's probably the one I'll write about that day.

Or I'll come up with what I think is a good opener.  That's enough to get me started so I go for it.

Other times something happens in my life and I blow off all my earlier ideas and go with the flavor of the day.  And even if I go to my list, I still go with my mood.  I'll read through a few until I find one that strikes my fancy that day.  Serious.  Playful.  Snotty.  It really just depends on the day.

I am very much a stream-of-consciousness writer.  I have an idea and I just write.  Whatever comes.  So sometimes the idea may be complete, sometimes it's lacking.  Sometimes I finish and my post ended up no where near where I intended it to go.  But it's a flow thing.  I feel like I am following the thought, letting it lead me.

I'm a pretty good speller and grammarian, so I edit as I go.  That said, I usually post and then find at least one mistake to fix.  Sometimes I fix a mistake, repost.  Find another one and fix it.  Repost.  I like to have it as perfect as possible.  C'mon.  It's in writing.  No one wants their mistakes in writing.

Once in a while I'm unsure on spelling or usage, so I open another tab and go to dictionary.com and check it out.  Does that word really mean what I think it means?  (Yes, I have to look things up, too.)

I get the whole thing written in about fifteen minutes, more or less, depending on length.  I preview it.  I fix mistakes.  I post it.  I fix more mistakes.  Repost.

Then I set it as my facebook status and wait for comments to come rolling in.  I usually have a long wait, because I tend to post after everyone has gone to bed.  But it's okay, I need to be more patient.  And I need to fight the hunger for positive feedback.

Actually, I'm still waiting for my first negative comment.  The one that tells me I'm an idiot.  What could I be thinking?  I guess I'm not controversial enough.  Give me time.

And I have liked posting more often.  Instead of just waiting until the mood strikes, I try to make myself post once a day during the week.  It's kind of like being in school, except with a lot more freedom and usually in my pajamas.

Sometimes I really like what I wrote.  I'll go back and read it over and over because I learned so much in the writing.  I'm not really sure where it came from, but I'm sure it wasn't from me -- it was for me.

Other times it falls flat.  Or wanders.  But other than flat out mistakes (or too many uses of the same word) I try not to edit the way it came out.  For me it's all about letting the thought take the lead.

I never know where we'll end up.

And, yes, I found my ink well.

Thank You, Marcus Bakeman

What inspires you?

As you think about this, let me tell you a story.  Imagine me as a junior in high school (put Sam's head on Jess' body and you have a pretty good representation).  It's the fall of 1986.  I walk down the halls of SHS, past the office, turn left and then turn into the first door on the right.  This is my English class.  I sit down and wait for class to begin. 

The teacher comes in.  He walks to the front of the class and holds up a small figurine.  It is of a Mexican man, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, head resting on his knees so that his sombrero hides his face.  The teacher instructs us to write about this figure for the next ten minutes or so.  After a moment, hands go up.  "What are we supposed to write?"  "Will we be turning this in?"  "How long does it have to be?"  He answers, "Write whatever you want.  Write whatever you think about when you see this.  There is no length requirement.  You will be graded only on participation.  Write until I tell you to stop."

We did this every day with different prompts; it was called journal writing.  Sometimes it was an object, like the figurine.  Sometimes it was a song.  Sometimes it was a question.  My favorites were when he brought his guitar and sang -- especially Chalkin' and Huggin'.

The cynic would say that this was so that he could keep us busy while he got ready for our class. There could be many other, more altruistic, reasons for doing this as well.  But the reason doesn't matter. What matters is what I learned.

I learned to look.  I learned to notice.  I learned to think.  I learned to express.

It was one of these journal writings that helped me and my best friend discover that we had opposing political beliefs.  It was through these journal writing prompts that I was exposed to Don McLean and James Taylor.  And it was in these journal writings that I discovered my love for essay writing.

I'd always written, for as long as I'd known how.  I'd written poetry and short stories.  But never did I feel more free than when I did these exercises.  Never did I feel more empowered than when I discovered how to express my thoughts and opinions safely on paper.  And I loved it.

Sometimes people ask me how on earth I chose "that" topic to write about in my blog, whatever that may be.  "You notice such strange things."

And I think back fondly and thank this teacher, not just for teaching me the assigned subject, but for teaching me to think and helping me discover something about myself.  Thank you, Marcus Bakeman.  May you ever continue chalkin' and huggin'.