Photo by Maisie Duncan
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
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!
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
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, March 15, 2010
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?
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?
Friday, March 12, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
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...
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...
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