It Is What It Is

"Enlightenment begins with acceptance, without judgment of "what is". This is known as moving into Isness. It is in the Isness where freedom will be found." -- Neil Donald Walsch
 
This was posted on Facebook. I love it. All its "isness". And I love that word!  Isnessssssss  It just rolls right off the tongue.
 
What I really like about this little reminder is the idea of acceptance with out judgement. As a writer I think that is really important. Especially for us "upcoming" writers who are still working their way through platform development and, well,...getting published.
 
It can be tough sometimes to remember that becoming a successful author is a lot of hard work and time consuming. When you work alone and don't always get good feedback if you get any at all, the urge to get really distracted or just quite all together can be very tempting.
 
We judge ourselves too quickly and sometimes need a little kick in the pants to get us up and going again. It's nice to remember that you can accept the way things are without having to attach harsh criticisms. We do this for a reason and keep on doing it. That has to mean something. Hell, it means something to us and that is all that should matter.

I Heart Mom

Photo by Mary Duvall (AKA Mom)

Once and great while I get the urge to put together a poem or two. They are what they are. I like them because they are my own little stories. Short captions of what matters to me and that is really the point isn't it?

 Well,... I heart my mom. We have be through one hell of a  ride together. But there it is. Down the rocky road paved with good intentions and I wouldn't want anyone else to help see me through.




I live, because she has lived.

I breath, because she has given me breath.

I laugh, because she has shown me joy.

I sing, because she has built for me a stage.

I fall, because her cradle is a safe place to land.

I climb, because she has laid a ladder before me.

I go forth, because she knows when to push me.

I run, because she knows when to let go of me.

I fly, because her spirit has filled me.

I love, because she has loved me.

I am, because she is.

I live, because she has lived.

The Power of a Good Picture Book



Photo by Maisie Duncan

I haven't posted a picture in a while. As I was looking for just the right one, I stumbled upon this one I took with an old point and shoot in Afghanistan. I love this picture. The girls were all given books depicting photos of women in their own culture who had taken steps forward and attained positions of power.

A large majority of the Afghan population is illiterate, especially the girls. So to have this book with photos of strong women, showing it was not only okay but vital to push the bounds of expectations was incredible. To be part of the experience and to watch these girls glimpse into what could possibly be their future was truly humbling. What a difference a book makes.

It is a nice reminder that what we do can have tremendous benefits not only to our checkbooks but in the minds of others. A wonderful thing to keep in mind when I sit down at my desk.

Just...Damn it.

One day up and another day down. Yesterday I couldn't think about anything other than writing. Today, I want to crawl in a hole and think of anything but.

Oh what a world, what a world.

People used to tell me the only way to get better at something was to surround yourself with those better than you. Those people obviously never wanted to be writers....want. Hmm.

I don't want to be a writer. I AM a writer. Got a paying gig and everything. So how come I always catch myself saying "want" like "I want to be a ballerina when I grow up." 

Maybe,because I still write in my p.j.'s.

I read some really great stuff today.  Damn it. I'm happy for the guy. I get excited for people when they get there. Just...damn it. Mean while, I'm drowning in a hoarder's nightmare of one-liners and snappy ideas that go nowhere and every time I try to grab hold of something concrete it crumbles under my weight.

 Too much weight. Not a big head. Just too many shoes in my bags, I guess.

Gotta say, I love when you can write incessantly about not being able to write. Mind you, I'm doing this strictly to avoid finishing the one act play I've been sitting on for who knows how long. I've got pages of dialogue written on paper. Just can't seem to get it on this dag nabbit contraption with out abusing my delete button. Pretty soon I think its going to start punching me back.

If you're reading this (and you know who you are) I am having a serious meltdown over this thing.
          (will retract after sufficient time has been allotted)

I think this is the part when I am supposed to light up a cigarette. Oh God, what I wouldn't give.

Why You Shouldn't Write

Take a walk around your local bookstore. The amount of books stacked within those four walls can be intimidating.

Think about the new books (hardback, paperback, audio, ebook) being cranked out each day.

Sometimes I think, "Look at all the new books out! There has got to be room in there for me somewhere!"

And what about poetry, screenwriting, play writing, comic book, graphic novels, journalism! The possibilities seem endless.

Then that mili-second passes and I am reminded of just how many people are out there trying to get published and never do. How many manuscripts got sent out just to get those dozen new releases on that book shelf that week? That's not just daunting it can be down right debilitating.

And what about everything else we risk. This is an incredibly time consuming and often a very lonely task. Let's face it. Until we get to the point where we can walk into that bookstore and it's to sign books and not just buy them, most of us are working at other gigs or going to school or raising a family or doing all three! Where's the time? On the commute, during nap time, between classes, after dinner, at night while everyone else is asleep and you were wishing you were as well.

While everyone else is snuggling on the couch eating popcorn and watching the latest new release, you're listening with one ear while stabbing away on the laptop. How many times does it seem like we have to check out of the rest of our lives to do this. And for what?  Rejection letters? .01 cents a word? Huge waves of guilt when you hear your kids playing dolls and one of them says to her plastic baby, "Not right now honey, mommy's busy."  Oh, kill me why don't you?

Forget all that for a moment. This is really hard people! I don't sit down to my computer and whip out prose that would rival the best Hemingway had to offer. It doesn't happen that way. Sure, maybe, every once and a while I get a charge of inspiration where the words just burst out. Maybe. But most of the time, not so much.

No. Most of the time I work and work at it and end up with something that falls insultingly short of where I intended for it to go. But that's the way it works.  Write. Then write it again. And again......And okay once more.

So why? Why do we put ourselves through this? Why risk pouring your heart and soul into work that may never live past our own imaginations. Why put the world away to create a fictional one?

 Because, the fear of looking back and knowing that, yeah, maybe I could have would be far worse than any rejection I received. Because I won't let fear rule me. Because when I don't, I miss it. Because, despite everything I risk or fear or ultimately win, I can't not do it.

The Coldest Day in August

Today I heard all of the songs that made me think of you
I cried and luaphed and thought of the past
It is bitter and sweet and lumps in my throat

Sometimes I feel you there
Watching, wishing
I wonder if you wish for the same things I do
More time, a chance to do things over

Time passes unwaivering
The empty space you used to fill follows me
It haunts the room

I miss you and love you

Wish I had told you more
So, once more for the road then


While you travel what unknown lies among the stars
Though your journey takes you from this place
I will keep you always
In love and in memory

Time Flys When You're Waiting to Have Fun

I am amazed at how long it has been since my last post. And unfortunately, I am sad to say I return, not because I have been called to, but because I have been told to. Thankfully so. So many times I find that this life-- one built on the pursuit of art and craft and literary indulgence-- is one that so often falls short of intentions. Perhaps that is my fault. I am sure it is. But here we are just the same and I would like to think that the reason I have brought myself back to this blog is not a matter of importance. I would like to believe the simple fact that I have sat down and written something is the key point.


I am scared. Doing this frightens me beyond justifiably reason, but it also excites me to my core. How wonderful! How incredibly awesome it is to take a leap and truly have no idea, no control over where you land. Sure I have a plan, a general direction I would like to go, but who the hell knows if any of that will come to be? Maybe everything I ever wished as I blew out my rainbow birthday candles comes true. Maybe any skill I have as a writer is an imagining of my overzealous and often wandering mind. Maybe...

I have let go of forcing it. I release it to fate or the heavens or God or whatever you want to call it. Its all the same anyway.


It feels good to be back here again. I like this: creating, designing, talking to myself or some infinite void or maybe even someone out there who stumbled upon this by accident. Either way it is good...really good. It seems that taking some time away has given me a chance to see this from a different angle, for all the things I want it to be. I have some new ideas. I may even adventure out and redesign the whole thing. Who knows? The only thing that is certain is that I won't wait so long before coming back here again.

For two beautiful weeks I left my life of schedules, deadlines, family ties, and responsibilities behind. As I boarded the plane to Hawaii I allowed myself to disconnect from it all. No bills, babysitters, homework, or blinding computer screens. I wasn't even allowed to think about it. Finally, I was able to open myself up to my surroundings and connect to them in a way that always seemed impossible before. The world around me was always cloudy at best. An after thought in my daily rituals and to-do lists. But suddenly, I was part of it. My senses were more acute; I saw things by way of their color, smell, texture. By letting go of trying to find creativity, I found myself just being creative. I have since returned home and am trying to settle back into the routine I held before. It is unsettling, really. Responsibilities, deadlines, and a fear of blank pages may never go away. But one thing I know for certain is that I want to keep that connection forever. We spend so much time alone or disconnected from the world. I realize more than ever, that if my goal is create a world of believability, wonder, and excitement I have to see that in my own surroundings. You are never going to find your creativity. It isn't lost. You just have to allow it to be. You have to push all the other stuff away and connect to the most basic, natural parts of the world. In between laundry and 500 words by Friday, of course. 

Photo by Maisie Duncan

Inspirationa Photo of the Day

Photo by Maisie Duncan

How to Find Inspiration at Your Fingertips

I really do mean at your fingertips. I am talking about pictures. Practicing photography (and i mean practicing-I am definantly still at hobby try-out level here) is one of my favorite things to do. What I love about it so much is that it forces you to look at the world in a more discerning way. Suddenly you start noticing the contrast of light on angles, the back lit curls of someone's hair, the immense beauty in something so simple as a rock or a tree. What's even more thrilling is seeing the developed photo and feeling its story captured in that moment.

Pictures are used in writing prompts often. I bought a wonderful book, The Pocket Muse by Monica Wood, that is filled with pictures as prompts. I have had it for several years and it remains my go to back up in my frequent blank page stare downs.

The idea came up of using my love of taking pictures to find a deeper connection to my actual surroundings. All in the hopes of creating inspiration versus waiting for it. This was actually my mom's idea. I adore her for it, but kick myself for not thinking of this before.

Starting today I will be posting some of my photographs. Images of my world in which I find unexpected beauty, curiosities, or histories waiting to be told.

What ideas or questions do these pictures bring up in you? Use these as inspiration for your own writing. Or better yet, go grab a camera and capture your own! Have fun with this.

These photos are my own and I would appreciate requests before they are shared outside of this blog. Thanks!

Photo by Maisie Duncan

Riding the Short Bus to the World of Social Media

I’m not trying to create the greatest blog the internet has ever seen. I am just a writer trying to do what she loves and share the experience with others who are in the same boat: writers taking the leap from passion to career. Now, I have to create a presence, get known before I get published, gain followers, loyal readers, friends in the publishing industry, blogosphere, tweet and facebook world. Oh, and don’t forget the clips you need to get the jobs so you can get the clips you want. Okay...Breathe... I can do this.... 

This is my life now. I am in it for what I think are all the right reasons. So why does it seem like those reasons are supposed to be taking a back seat to all the hoopla I am supposed to be making about myself? And all that writing I am supposed to be doing whilst creating this vital platform…well let’s just say that it’s falling farther and farther down the list. Like the ‘do the dirty dishes’ part of the list. When I have managed to gain 30 minutes to write uninterrupted- which is not happening right now, by the way—I consider myself lucky. Now those 30 minutes are being scrounged out of seemingly nowhere.

The point here is just to comment on staying focused. Keep the priorities aligned with our desired outcome. If I had a blog rated in the top 10 on TopMomBlogger that would be the cherry on top! But I am trying to remind myself that it is not my initial goal here. It is so easy to get lost in this endless world of life stories, opinions, lessons, and advice. It is addictive. It’s downright mesmerizing! At any one time I have 8 to 10 tabs open on my server just clicking from one world to the next in a race against my short attention span.

STOP. FOCUS. FOCUS. FOCUS.

And I thought all I was going to have to worry about was just being a terrible writer. It can all be very overwhelming sometimes. But thanks to all of the other bloggers, tweeters, facebookers, and podcasters out there, at least I feel I am in good company.

Procrastination Station

I did laundry instead of writing this evening. As I was shoveling towels into the water basin and scrubbing out chocolate stains, I couldn’t help but note that I was wasting my time. Sure, laundry needs to be done. It did not, however, need to be done that very second. There was no laundry emergency. There was no underlying denial that I was stalling, either. I was completely honest about the fact that I was doing chores simply to avoid sitting at my desk. That got me wondering about the things we chose to procrastinate on.


When the paths I chose to follow are habitually walked with intention, even if I end up clawing and clamoring to the end, why this random stray? If I know that the challenge is going to throw me out of my comfort zone, be painful, uncertain, or I am told I won’t be able to do it I am all the more for it. Yet when it comes to the one true passion I have held nearly my entire life, I get up and do the laundry.

Four loads later, I finally made it back my desk. Whites white and brights bright, I have permission to relax. The kids are in bed, the house is clean, and the dishes are done. I am all out diversions.

How do you stall when it’s time to write?

Hemingway, Starbucks, and Plastic Clowns

I have been writing as long as I can remember. It always held a special part of me; the spirit of my secret world. That little spark catching my attention, nudging me to the seclusion of my room. There I would write until my arm cramped from the vigorous whirl of chicken scratches only I could decipher. I was then, and still am an advocate for the old fashioned pen and pad. In between these childhood quests of creation, I would often imagine what my life as an adult writer would be like.


I would be wildly successful of course, but still maintain my delicate insecurities we creative types are supposed to harbor. I imagined sitting by a glowing fire, drinking wine and dining on fascinating conversation of all things essential to the modern creative mind with other artists du jour.

I would envision vacations on the east coast, taking in the salty breezes of ocean air. Closing my eyes, the scent of water would fill my swelling nostrils as I breathed it in deep. I thought about how I would bask in the glow of the sun and the warmth of my latest rave review, while I wrote my anticipated follow-up novel and dug my toes in the sand.

I pictured snuggling into a corner of a local coffee shop during the winter months. Nestling amongst a dozen other aspiring writers. I would write fueled by inspiration and too much coffee. We diligent coffee house writers, pouring our jittery little souls into our manuscripts, with the screams of a milk steamer as our background music. Of course I was picturing 1950’s Paris café, not so much Starbucks circa 2010.

I admit these fantasies are all a bit cliché. But this was what I thought the leisurely life of a great American author was like. Every picture I had ever seen of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Plath and more only seemed to emulate this. It was lovely.

Fast forward a few, uh hem, years and well….I don’t like wine, live nowhere near a beach, and the background music in my local coffee shop is excessively loud cell phone conversations instead of the rhythmic click clack of keyboard keys. And in most cases the coffee I rely on is cold before I manage to get halfway through it.

I spend weeks working in five minute spurts in between fights over cowboy hats, diaper changes, meals, and play dates. The prose I toil over is read aloud to an unresponsive wall covered in Crayola stick figures instead of contemporary art. I never gain the confidence of that beach dwelling writer I envisioned. My opinions of the world and its affairs fall onto the tiny ears of my 3 year old. She listens intently, her blue eyes wide and head shaking ‘yes’. But just as I start to think I am instilling some impression of smart, opinionated womanhood onto my precious little girl, she usually follows with something along the lines of, “Mommy, I got boogies.”

Instead of swanky coffee houses I have fast-food playrooms. That’s okay. It’s the writing that feeds my soul. Not the location or circumstance. I have learned the value of like-minded friends. That is one thing a writer must have. Otherwise it can be lonely, and suddenly, life a lá Hemingway doesn’t sound so glamorous anymore.

The important thing is that we make time to write. I emphasize the word make, because if we are always trying to find time to write, we will be on the hunt forever. I used to look for time to write, like I was going to find it hiding under the bed or in the closet. There isn’t any more stashed away, waiting for us to count to 10 and start looking. Whether it’s on the commute to work, sitting on the toilette while the kids take a bath, or next to a life size plastic clown surrounded by the echo of a dozen screaming banshees, er uh, children…it doesn’t matter. It’s not exactly the elegant lifestyle I imagined I would be living by now. That’s okay, and then sometimes it’s not. I know I will get there eventually. The key is to never lose site of the art, the love of the craft. I have to believe I AM the writer, to DO the writing, to HAVE the life of a writer I imagined. Even if that means my biggest fans still pee their pants.

OH NO YOU DIDN'T!!!

Okay, I am going to try not to do this too often, but it has been bugging me since I returned to school 2 years ago. It is time for the Bitch session. If you are an educator at a college please take note. This one is for you. With all due respect, of course…


I am not 17 years old. I am a grown woman with two children. I have lived on my own, taking care of myself and my family for a long time now.

DO NOT treat me and others like me as if we are a wet behind the ears know-nothing children. Nothing infuriates me more than being spoken to as if I have no life experience. I dare one of you to walk the tight rope I traverse everyday and see how you perform. I dare you.

Yes life happens. My life is happening every second and as strange a concept as this may seem to you, your class is NOT my life. I am doing the best I can with what I’ve got. You would do well to learn a little about the people in your presence and show a little respect. That whole bees and honey thing.

Please try to maintain your professionalism when dealing with students; All students. If you have a problem, deal with it personally. At least this is how the professionals in the rest of the working world tend to these matters.

I come to class, do my work, and make good grades. That should be enough. I am trying to let things slide. I am trying to maintain my Zen. But professor after professor insists on throwing their weight around. And frankly, the way I see it, it’s my time. I am paying for it, not getting paid for it.

So here I am ranting on a blog about it, because unfortunately I don’t think it would matter if I said it in person. That is a shame. As a person who has had that amazing teacher turned mentor relationship, I can say you are missing out on opportunities of what being an instructor is all about. And I’m not talking tenure here.

If nothing else, please PLEASE take this: Show some common decency when dealing with other people. Because no matter what you think you have seen or heard, you really have no idea who and what we are. That message is for everyone.

Okay, that’s it. I feel better now.

And away we go!

I have been considering staring a blog for several months now. And of course, all of the old excuses were there waiting for me as soon as the idea came to mind: I'm too busy, I'm too tired, I don't have anything to say, at least nothing interesting. While I am busy and tired and going losing my marbles most of the time, the real reason I waited so long really boiled down to one thing. FEAR. Which is the whole point of me starting this blog. To face fear. Fear of writing publicly, putting myself out there, putting myself first, admitting what I want and asking for it.  It seemed like I was asking for a lot. Was I really going to allow myself to take time away from my family, wifely duties (term used loosely here), household chores, and school work to hide away in my office  and put myself first? Hell yeah! I made a commitment to take care of my family, and as strange a concept as it may seem, I am in my family too!

When I had my daughter, Emma, nearly three years ago, I felt an enormous amount pressure to be this picture perfect Gerber commercial mommy. I was terrified. I was 25 years old and still in the readjustment period from my deployment in Afghanistan just 2 months earlier. How could I be the ideal mom when I was not (am not) anywhere near a picture perfect person. In my mind I had failed before I even began. What a great way to start parenthood. A month after Emma was born, we had moved to North Carolina and I was pregnant again. Away from all my family and friends I tried to suck it up while my husband was gone all of the time with the military. Before I knew it, I had quite school  and work, staying at home with my two beautiful children and the walls started to cave in. I felt robbed. It wasn't the circumstances that I resented. It was the feeling that these were decisions that were made for me, not by me. I would relish in the giggles and triumphs of my growing babies. Those moments were my life force. But in the silence that fell during nap time, I would find myself completely void of emotion. I was numb, lost.   It didn't have to be that way.

The biggest mistake I made was falling into a victimization mentality. I let all those same excuses that held me off this blog and off writing, hold me off of life. By not deciding, I was deciding. I felt I couldn't be what I was supposed to be so that meant I wasn't anything at all.  That is just rediculous. And I am not alone! We have the ability to be and do it all. We just have to make the choice and get to it. Don't buy into all of these prepackaged  roles we are pressured to pick from. We arn't this or that. We are all of it and none of it, ever changing as the world changes us and because of us.

This is my journey, my experience. Creating it how I want it. Being a good mom, wife, and person in my own terms. Finding the joy IN me, instead of looking for someone else to give it to me. Life is crazy, and I go crazy with it. That's okay. I accept that I get a little looney sometimes. I also know that even if it seems like a nightmare, its still my dream, and I am in charge. I like being in charge.
So here we are. Just you, me, and the entire electronic world. Let's see what happens next...