Intersection

I just realized that in order to really write, I need to write from the place where my humanity intersects with my divinity. At all times. That intersection is entirely unique for each of us. We all have something beautiful to say.

Releasing the Story

Sometimes I think about the journey I’ve taken from *there to here* and I want to tell the whole thing. I want to detail the fall and the stumble and the final moment when I uprighted myself and, though exhausted, dragged myself across the distance to become the person I wanted to become. I want to tell the whole story of meeting someone who rocked my world and expose every nuance and emotion and ponder it endlessly for you. But I think there are really good reasons that I haven’t done this, one of the largest of which is that in the pondering there is the possibility of becoming stuck. While my world has been busy being rocked, the last thing I’ve wanted to do is ponder it or write about it. I want to FEEL it, to experience every last drop of it, to pour it all over myself and roll on the ground in it like a dog. I want the experience to mark me with its scent.

Being a writer is a strange experience because if you’re not writing, you’re not exactly a writer. But often when you’re writing, you’re not living. You’re holed up alone with your laptop or your pen or whatever instruments of writing torture make you tingle. You shun the world and immerse yourself in a narrow tunnel of your own thoughts and characters and ideas and emotions. You cull and you trim and you think and rethink until your mind is numb. Then you go back and do it all over again. But you’re not out living, per se, at least not as much as you could be. The writing takes some of your life from you. It needs to in order to give birth to itself. And in not allowing the thoughts that space and time to come out, it will render you incapacitated. The creations trapped inside the artist will eventually kill the artist if not given an escape route. So I find myself in a constant tug of war between writing and living. I can’t seem to do both at once. And when I can, I find I’m doing them both half-assed, which is not something I take pride in.

I wonder about writers who actually write for a living, as opposed to someone like me, who writes, if for no other reason, than to stay alive. What is it like to discipline yourself to sit down day after day and write, while maintaining the rest of life around you? Where do you find ideas to write about while life is busy going on around you?  How do you revel in the flow? How can you meet deadlines for editors if your creativity is on temporary hiatus? How do you avoid garnering that ‘artistic temperament’ label from those close to you when you’re pouring your soul into your work every single day?

There is a collection of books called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It began with the simple book itself and has launched into a phenom all its own. But the basic ideas are there for soulful artists to attempt to reign in their craft and become disciplined enough to learn how to make a living doing it. If nothing else, she shows how artists can relieve the pain of keeping everything locked inside by using disciplined artistic outbursts. As someone who is tired of holding it in and who is tired of working at jobs for which I have no love, I take this very seriously.  I maintain the belief that there must be a way to do what I love while a) earning a living at it and b) not losing my mind in the process.

So here I sit. The story is ready to tell itself. It’s been waiting for release from this cage I keep it in. It’s starting to burst forth in the form of little holes piercing the dam of my resistance. I’ve had my fingers plugging everything shut. Now it’s time to let go and let it pour. 

The Hook

Sometimes I wonder why I write, why I'm bothering with a new blog. I mean, really, why? It seems so self-indulgent. I can come up with all kinds of reasons for it, such as I like writing, which is totally true. Or I could say it's because I'm working to process things in my head and I need to get them out somehow so I don't explode. That's a pretty good reason, too and very true. But the essence, the RAW TRUTH of why I really write this blog is that, for me, it's a hook.

What am I trying to catch with this hook?

YOU.

I'm not fishing for anything other than YOU, the person reading this right now.  I write for you, because I want to get to know you, I want you to reply, I want to know what you think too. I am always interested in poking open what is raw, what is painful. I like to agitate, I like to irritate. I like to explore the things that people would rather keep covered up. I expose some of my deepest, biggest flaws when I write because I want YOU to know you are not alone in your imperfection, you are not alone in your failures and your sadness. Every single one of us stumbles, falls and sometimes has a hard time picking ourselves back up again.

Do I ever write about happy things? Happiness, to me, doesn't require as much exploration. People don't feel the need to dissect happiness as much as they dissect their pain. Because when you're happy, it seems so precarious that you don't want to touch it for fear it might crumble. It's like not looking that gift horse in the mouth for fear of getting bitten. Don't poke the laughing Buddha in the belly or he might die.
Anyway, that's what came bubbling to the surface tonight as I questioned my motives for writing YET ANOTHER blog. Why do I write? It's because I want to pull you in, to know what you think, to hear your stories. I'm not very adept at asking people personal questions, mainly because I believe if someone wants to tell you something personal, they'll open up themselves. I was raised not to pry and to respect another's silence. Just one of my peculiarities.  If you wanted me to know personal things about you, I have faith that you would just tell me. But it also tells me that I'm addicted to the hook in some way, that I love the interaction, the reactions, even the rude ones! I love the sweet comments, the poems written in response to a post, or the really in depth explanations about some philosophical topic. I love the GIRL POWER when a female friend backs me up, and the kindness of friends who recognize when I'm feeling raw. Most of all, I love when YOU share your stories with me, your triumphs, your failures, your personal experiences -- all without me having to ask. I love the sharing! I think your stories are fascinating, probably why I love reading blogs, and I love to draw them out of you with my thoughts, without having to actually ASK for them. Instead, I strive to inspire you to reach into your own mind and then reach out to me and to everyone in communion, to share.

We learn it when we're in Kindergarten and it remains the single most important lesson throughout life: Sharing is good. We can share together, my thoughts for yours, my stories for your stories. We'll learn a lot along the way.