Time to Focus

I have not been able to focus in some time.

Wow, one sentence in, and I'm already lying. OF COURSE I can focus… I can give fifteen minutes to loading the dishwasher, without losing focus. I can sweep the house (takes about 30 minutes) and only lose focus when I find a piece of trash too big to sweep up. 

I can watch a TV show for 45 minutes (that's skipping the commercials, since I rarely ever watch shows live). I can even manage to read the kids a story at night, which might run 10 minutes, or might go as long as an hour. And I can read, too, late at night, before sleeping.

But so many of the things I love DON'T happen because focusing on them for 15 minutes doesn't get me anywhere. 

WRITING: I really need a good HOUR to work on my novel. Microsoft Word has an awesome button on it, though--down at the bottom left. It looks like a black screen with white corner bars, and it's called, of all things, "Focus View." Click on it, and everything on my screen disappears except for the page I'm working on--no icons at the bottom, no distracting stuff, not even the toolbar. Just text, as if I'm reading the novel page by page in real life. But it only works if I have the TIME to focus.

PLAYING PIANO: Time is not my real enemy here, for my hands ache if I practice more than 45 minutes at a time… but it's been hard to do lately for other reasons. The hubby's been home recovering from major surgery, so he's been sleeping a lot, and when he's not sleeping, he's vegging in front of the television. And the piano gets in the way of his sleeping, AND it drowns out the television (if you don't have a piano, you may not realize how loud an instrument it is). Besides, I usually don't have time to play until late at night, when the kids are in bed and trying to sleep (or looking for any excuse not to sleep). Fitting it in while not annoying everyone is the challenge here. And this activity invites interruptions like talking on the phone. Suddenly people sit next to me, ask me questions, ring the doorbell, call, hug, and otherwise keep me from focusing on the sheet music in front of me. 

SEWING: This one is hard, for I can sew for days at a time, but I always have a ton of repairs and alterations stacked up, which I have to address before the fun sewing can begin. Right now it's altering the hubby's new suits when what I really want to do is make my Halloween costume. I'm slowly getting the alterations and repairs out of the way. Another problem is that the sewing machine is portable, and I don't have a dedicated sewing room, so I always have a big mess on my hands when I'm sewing things, and the mess makes me feel guilty and stresses me out.

PAINTING: The hardest to focus on time-wise. Set up alone can be complicated, especially if I'm working on more than one canvas at a time (I'm painting a five-canvas panorama right now). Stopping is hard, too, for paint dries, brushes might get ruined, water cups need to be dumped and refilled, etc. At least my kids know to leave it all alone--such was not the case when they were younger. 

So there they are… all my stupid excuses. I've put them all here, and now I need to get started on something despite them. Time to focus on projects, not excuses. 

Would love to know what gets in the way of your focus… what excuses you make… 

Itchy

I woke with an edge inside me this morning, a call to do something more today. It's a lovely call, really, a voice in my brain bent on creating.

Will I listen? I haven't listened to the call much of late. I've filled my world with dishes, trips to the store, paper sorting, and other inane activities. It's as if I wish the voice to just go away, to leave me alone in mundane world and go off to call to somebody else. 

That is what separates an artist from one who is not. I write this, not to chastise you, but to goad myself into action. I'm not a writer if I don't write. I'm not a painter if I don't paint. I'm not a pianist if I don't play. Artists create. If they don't, they aren't artists.

I recently met an painter who, even at a young age, was compelled to paint. Any chance he got, with any medium at hand, on any surface, if given any free time. He listened to that urgent voice early on. And he painted, and painted, and painted. And he's still listening, still heeding, still painting. 

I've been going at this all wrong all my life. I've been locking this voice in a closet, letting it out only when I have a bunch of free time, when all my chores are done (which is not often). I've said I will write/paint/dance/sing/go to the ball only if I get all my work done. I've been my own evil stepmother.

That ends today. Permanently. I'm kicking my evil stepmother to the curb. I'm getting what I have to do done, but the rest of the time is mine. To paint. To create. To play. To turn my ideas into tangible, beautiful reality. I will not die regretting all things I never got around to creating. I am a Maker (as Orson Scott Card would term it), and it's about damned time I made something.

I have 14 hours until bedtime. Plenty of time to make something. 

Wanting More?

I can't say whether it's just in the U.S., but it seems like people are compelled to buy more and more stuff in the relentless pursuit of happiness.

Shoppers are rushing back to the stores even as I write--returning gifts they don't want, then spending a ton more on gifts they DO want--as if the stuff will finally satisfy the hole they find in the pit of their stomach.

I don't believe that really works.

The hubby waxed philosophical about this yesterday, shaking his head and saying, "You know, I think I'm happy now. There's nothing out there that I don't have that would really make my life better. I'm content with everything just as it is."

He looked at me for that spousal agreement sort of thing. You know, the oh-honey-I-think-the-same-thing-in-exactly-the-same-way comment. But I realized that I wasn't content with everything just as it is.

Not because I wanted more stuff. Oh, no. I don't like stuff in general, and I'd be more content with less stuff. I'm not content, not because I want more stuff, but because I want to DO more. Looking back over my year, I wish I'd written more, painted more, sung more, played piano more, tried out more new recipes, exercised more, sewn more. And the list goes on.

It probably doesn't make any sense. I just feel driven to do all I possibly can with the life I have. I don't want to waste time on crap. I want to create something real.

So, that's my goal for today--and for every day: Make something.

I plan to sew today--do some mending, but also sew my daughter a bathrobe and my son a toy bin. They'll probably drag on through tomorrow at least, but then I'll have made something. It's a beautiful feeling, too, making something. Better than having stuff. Far better than buying stuff. Creating something may, perhaps, give me the best feeling in the world. It's worth all the work, all the time, all the effort.

Enough blogging. I'm off to MAKE.

Brush Strokes

Just one stroke
Of cherry red on white
Then another

Not much, I know,
But the strokes add up
Faster than I could imagine

Filling in the space
With color, with crimson sharp
Against green leaf

A flick of brush
Isn't much at all
On its own

But when are brush strokes
Singled out one by one
Set apart

No

Though the brush strokes
Each are little enough
They become the whole

Be patient
Keep painting little strokes
And see the world form
Swirling into beautiful existence
Under your fingertips.

To Make or Not to Make

It can't just be me. 

Surely other people find that DOING something productive can also be a load of fun, and sitting around doing nothing is a form of purgatory, at the very least, if not sheer hell. 

I've worked two straight FULL days on a single project, and I'm taking off in an hour to begin another full day, but I have loved pretty much every waking moment of it. Had I chosen to blow it all off and spend three full days in my pajamas catching up on all the recorded shows I have waiting for me, I would not have been half so happy. 

So, am I right? Or am I alone in this? I start my week of hardly any obligations tomorrow, but I have plans for it--and they don't involve pajamas and television watching. I have things to sew, things to paint, things to write and things to rewrite. 

Maybe it's just that I'm a "maker," as Orson Scott Card describes in his series starting with Seventh Son, a fascinating mytho-American set of novels. Maybe I was born to create, and when I'm not creating, not "making," I'm not happy. Even when I was a child, I was easily bored, but instead of asking the typical, "What can I DO?" to my mother, I always asked "What can I make?"

It was the right question for me. And I am salivating my creative prospects this week. 

What about you? Are you, too, a maker? Or are pajamas and boob tube watching your MO for any given Sunday?

Keys to Happiness

I've been a very busy girl.

I'm sure you've already guessed this (especially since I haven't posted since October 5!). You probably thought I'd dropped off the face of the planet, but, no, it's pretty much the opposite. I've been so busy that by the time I get home at the end of the day, I'm too tired to think or do anything productive.

While I can't say I love everything I'm doing each day, I have to admit I love almost all of it. Most of all, what I'm doing makes me very happy. I'm as happy as I've been in years, and I'm likely to stay that way for quite a while. Then again, even during my not-so-happy stages, I've still found I'm happier than most people.

I'm not going to give advice about how YOU can be happy. I honestly have no idea what makes you happy. Many people are unhappy for years and don't even know it. Others have made it a point to be unhappy. Some choose the angst-ridden poet, or the angry misanthrope, or the grumbling hermit. And that gives them kicks, so I'll let them go on with that. Some have a good reason to be unhappy, but they play it to the hilt, ignoring all the things that might help lift their mood a little. If that is the case with you, and you do all you can to resist happiness, go now and read someone else's blog.

When I am drifting towards unhappiness, it's usually because I've forgotten one of these habits:

[Note: Remember, I said this stuff worked for me. If it doesn't work for you, well, that's not my fault. Make your own damn list. That's what the comments are for, after all.]

1. Live in the moment. Who cares what you're planning for dinner tomorrow? That's tomorrow. So what if somebody said something snide to you yesterday? That's yesterday. Only live somewhere else if you're in a boring meeting--or if you're grading papers. Better yet, live in that moment, and actively work to make the bad task take less time, or make it more fun. Put on tango music when you're sweeping the house. Sing while you do the dishes. Plan your halloween costume out while you help your kids with their homework. I listen to Baroque music while I grade -- I find it goes much faster.

2. Do something selfish. That doesn't mean steal candy from the kids, or eat all the dinner yourself. It means take some time each day to do something you TRULY want to do. Yesterday I worked all day on editing, and while I do love editing, I don't love it as much as painting. So this afternoon I'm painting. I even have it on my list: 1-4 p.m.: PAINT. If you love reading, but don't have time for it, check out a CD book at the library, and listen to it on your commute. Make the kids go watch cartoons while you have your morning coffee. Take a nap. Take a day off.

3. Do something unselfish. When I especially need to feel better, I do something to help somebody else. And I don't expect a thank-you card for it. That's just stupid. Yes, it's polite to send thank-you cards, but most people don't, and if you're only doing it for the thank-you, your motives are selfish. Give a gift to somebody for no reason. Help serve meals to the homeless. Serve your family a lovely dinner, complete with candle light. Clean up the kids' rooms while they're at school. Volunteer at the library. But don't do anything that makes you resentful, or makes you think everybody in the world except you is lazy. You're not better than everybody else. Volunteering is a way for you to show that, to show that you love people and are willing to help them, not a way for you to feel superior.

4. Get your work DONE. This is absolutely necessary to my happiness. I can paint all I want, but if the laundry is stacked up and nobody has any clean underwear for Monday, I ain't gonna be happy. And doing a load of undies isn't going to solve that, either. If it seems like a pain, set it up in steps. Sort the laundry the night before, so it's ready for the morning. Then just attack it one load at a time. And be sure and mark off the task with a big, thick cross-out when you're done. I'm always amazed at how much better I feel when I can cross stuff off my list. Just remember to put fun stuff on your list, too. That's the best chance you'll have to make it a part of your day, too, along with the have-to's.

That's my list. Now I'm off to start laundry. Got anything to add?

Writing Wednesday: Why I Don't Need an Agent (Yet)

I don't need an agent.

I don't.

No, I really don't.

I know what an agent can get me. I know that I can only send out my manuscript to a handful of publishing houses without one. I also know that even if I'm allowed to submit my stuff to a publisher, an agent's recommendation will carry more weight. I know that the agent will help me get a good contract, that I'll have a much better chance of making it as an author if I have one.

I know all of this. But I still don't need an agent.

Why? Because none of my books are ready. Not a single one. Because, even if I manage to write the best pitch letter EVER, the book it describes isn't good enough to be published.

Right now all my stuff sucks.

I don't need an editor, either. I don't need anyone to tell me my stuff sucks, mainly because I know it does already. I even know what's wrong with most of the plots/characters/etc. I just can't figure out whether fixing these problems is worth it. Will the novel, if repaired, be any more worth reading?

I don't know. I'm at that awful stage in so many things--painting, writing, piano playing--when I'm good enough to realize how completely awful I am. It's a hard peak to reach, but it's even harder to face when I've done so much work only to realize that most of it's a waste.

So I don't need an agent.

I need a good book to read, a good night's sleep, and a little perspective. Then I'll return to the computer and start editing (again), return to the piano to work on Pachebel's damn Canon in D, and return to my paints to try something new. I do realize this is all practice. I just wish I could see my practicing getting me somewhere.

Perhaps I need a little courage, too. Anybody got some extra courage they can spare?

Why am I Playing this Retarded Game?

The job awaits
Two more ghost writes
Before I am finished

But I am putt-putt golfing, creating rainbows
For no apparent reason.

My novels whisper to me
Yanking at my hair
Even as I sleep

Yet I insist on tossing colored balls
Around this stupid screen.

My painting--still unfinished--
Lies winking at me
Dried long since

While I make ice cream sundaes
For impatient customers.

Tell me that you do not understand.
Call me retarded, and you'll be more than right.
Urge me to put the time wasters down
To turn the television off
And return to the life I know is mine.

Perhaps I'll listen to you
For once
As soon as I can finish this Sudoku...

Finishing

I can't believe I haven't posted in a week, but at least I know I have been working. My current novel revision is one fleshed out scene away from being complete. And it's fun, and exciting, and I'm relishing the thought of sending it off to beta readers for a good swift bashing.

I'm also grinning at the thought of working on my mermaid novel again, now that this task is almost complete. And I have a play I am desperate to turn into a full-length. And my veggie books are calling me longingly, like sirens.

The piano, too, feels neglected, as do my watercolors. Can I tend to it all? Probably not, but it's nice to be called to, nice to know I have a TON of things to do once this project is finished. So, as with last week, along with three hours of scheduled Zumba fitness today, I have a bunch of other possibilities. The chance to finish a revision is at the top of the list, too.

What feelings does finishing conjure up for you? For me, it's a deep sigh--and perhaps a drink--before beginning on another exciting project. It's a sense of a job well done, a task no longer on my list of things to do. A closure, rather like the last performance of a play's run, the final meeting of class before we all go home, the final entry of grades for the semester.

It's one of my favorite feelings in the world, though it comes with a sense of loss.

What about you? What have you finished lately? How did it make you feel? I'll read through your entries once my scene is complete. In the meantime, happy writing/painting/coloring/singing/playing/doing/FINISHING!!!

Countdown to NaNoWriMo

It's coming. Every year it's coming. I tried it once and failed miserably, mainly because I spent the second half of the month house hunting. But I've moved now. Nothing should be standing in my way, especially a house hunt.

And the house we bought is almost fully refinished/painted/cleaned/reorganized. Even those pesky backsplashes are completely tiled and grouted (though I still haven't posted pictures). My son's quilts are days away from completion. I do have a ton of Christmas houses to paint this year, but if I don't get them all done, who will know but I? Christmas comes EVERY year (just like NaNoWriMo).

I'm revving up my revisions on several novels, after hardly writing in July. I'm excited, I'm motivated, and I'm fully aware that my kids start school in four days. So, the countdown might just be meaningful for me this year. I'm posting it here, just in case.

Do I really want to do it? Not sure. Last year I realized at the halfway point that I was way off base with the novel, and I haven't done anything but research it since. Will the novel eventually turn into something? Probably, knowing how willing I am to revise (i.e., shred). But you can bet I won't be sending any piece-of-crap novel out December 1.

What about you? Will you write for NaNoWriMo? Are you already churning out a book? Do you act like it's NaNoWriMo every single month? Does NaNoWriMo make you yawn?

Coming Home

The shutters are all closed

Floors dusty

No, dirty

Only the cat has tended to home

All this time

(And he doesn't sweep)

But the smell

Fills me

With memory

The trip was long

And I am sore

Yet my feet

Find a spot on the rug

To stand

Where I always have

In my mind

The windows greet me

Smiling with sunlight

The walls

I painted by hand

Are smooth under my fingertips

Vacations are bliss

And I know of those I have left

That I already miss

Terribly

But nothing compares

To the serenity

Of sitting in

Wallowing in

My own space

My own walls

My own work

At long last

I am home.

Almost Finished

I am minutes away from beginning to grout all of the backsplash tile... and once I'm done, and it's all wiped clean, and the dishes from the spur-of-the-moment party last night are all done, I'll post pics of the finished project.

Nothing is as rewarding to me as having something finished. And nothing more irritating than not finishing something, especially when I can't finish it. The "can't" is always one of two things:

1. I do not have the time in my schedule to work on it, or

2. I don't have a clue how to go about finishing it.

The latter reason is impeding my novel progress at the moment. I'd tell you that from now on I'll devote myself to this novel, but my son could still use two quilts on his bed to complete his room. And my TV trays could use some sanding, painting, and lacquering. And I have about 100 books still to rebind for the library. And that back hallway still to paint, when I paint the walls near the backsplashes, once the grouting is finished. And some books to peruse and take notes from before I take them back to the library in a week.

As usual, though, I'll fit that pesky novel in. I'll be taking off for Seattle soon, and I'll have a month without house projects to devote just to writing and reading. Though I'm sure I'll find plenty of other projects to tackle while I'm there, too.

Wish me luck on the grouting! I'll post again as soon as I take pictures. Who knows, I might just fill this week with pictures of my house, now that it's worth looking at.

Summer Goals

Okay, so it's taken me a MONTH to post on what I want to get done this summer, and the kids go back to school early in August. So I'm behind... so what? I've already crossed off one of them--revising novel #1 so that it's ready for publication. I've sent it off to a few readers now, and hopefully I'll have it fully revised by August. But there is more to do.

Here's my list, ambitious as usual. Remember, too, that "revise" always stands for "shred," and "rewrite" means "start from scratch and retain very little from the first version":

1. Revise Mariah's Ark fully, so that it's ready to send off to agents.

2. Revise Ghostly Charley fully, so that it's ready to send off.

3. Repair all of the books from my kids' school's library (glue spines, fix pages, etc.).

4. Read the whole How to Train Your Dragon series and other books.

5. Research Caribbean sea life in prep for Mermaid book re-write.

6. Finish backsplash.

7. Finish painting house.

8. Make both comforters for my son's twin bed.

9. Make some cute tops for my daughter for when school starts.

So, there it is. It's a bit less overwhelmingly ambitious than the usual summer list. Still, it means I need to get to work.

Not Dead

It's only been 20 days, but it feels like forever since I've had Internet access!

In case you'd assumed my death, you were wrong. I am alive and painting pretty much every room in my new house, now that we've moved in. I'll share more once I clean the paint out of my hair a bit. I might even give you a few pictures!

Hope all of you are doing well. I'll be checking all of your blogs a.s.a.p., I promise!

Made by Hand

Ever notice how a gift made with love and one's own hands means more than one purchased in a store? (Don't even get me started on gift cards.)

For instance, my children's great grandmother sent a bunch of knitted baby afghans for them when they were little, and while pretty much all of the other baby stuff has now been donated, I still have these blankets, and I will likely give them to my kids when they have children of their own. I save cards with handwritten notes in them, even if the notes aren't that brilliant, because the writing is in my friend's or sister's or hubby's hand.

Elementary school teachers understand this, too, and the hand-crafted macaroni gifts my kids bring home are treasured even after they start to lose their macaroni. I know the brushstrokes on that painting are my kids' brushstrokes, and that alone makes the gift worth keeping.

With that in mind, and inspired by my fellow blogger Crafty Green Poet, I'm offering the first five commenters on this blog something handmade by me. Yes, I am currently stuck in a hotel, but once I am safely tucked away in my own home, I'll get to crafting for you, my select five readers/commenters. All I ask is that you offer the same on your own blog--or at least make something of your own for five people, even if you don't have a blog--and that you give the handmade gifts out before the end of the year.

You can't be sure what you will get. Will it be a bright, framed watercolor of a fairy? A dried flower painting? A recording of me on the piano? A pastel drawing of orbs in space? A poem written just for you in calligraphy? Fresh-baked banana bread or chocolate chip cookies? Feel free to name some preferences, and, even better, tell me what you plan to make by hand.

And if you turn out to be a late commenter, just make your post count, and I might still send you something!

A Relaxing Beginning

My class starts in about half an hour. I should be nervous. Or at least keyed up or something.

But I'm just sitting here, my stress level at about a two (on a ten-point scale)... nothing to do until class begins...

Why? Several reasons:

1. Preparation. That's all it is. I'd finished my syllabi two weeks ago, sent them off to be copied, and found the neat piles this morning, ready to hand out. All the assignments, readings, due dates, and other elements are organized. Nothing to figure out. Everything is just ready to run, like a well-oiled machine, and I'm looking forward to the adventure, the new students, and pretty much everything (except the grading).

2. Saying no. I turned down a total of four more classes this term, so while I'm surrounded by teachers running around trying to teach 5 or 6 courses, I'm just floating with two (three is full time, and I don't want to teach full time unless I get paid full time). Last fall at this time I was halfway through two courses by now, and I took on four more, finishing them all before December. No, I didn't end up strangling myself before it was over, but I nearly ended up in an asylum.

3. Doing things I love. Yes, instead of thinking about school starting yesterday, I painted. And when I get home this afternoon, I'll be working more on my novel. And playing piano. And reading. Anything I can do to make sure I enjoy the day as well as work through it.

I hope you are as relaxed as I. I hope that knot right below your shoulder blade eases itself out, and you can just chill with a lemonade this afternoon. That's what I intend to do.

Happy Mediocrity Day to Me!

[Disclaimer: I am really okay. One of my beloved readers actually called me this morning to make sure I was okay after she read this post, so I didn't want any of you to get scared. I'm pretty chipper this morning, but perhaps that doesn't come across in the tone of my post below:]

I've been seeing several celebrations by other blogs lately--five year anniversaries, one- and two-year milestones, so I thought I'd check to see how long I'd had this blog. I know I started blogging on Today.com first (and sometime in August, 2007), but I moved from there when my sister and so many others were locked out of their accounts when Today.com didn't like what they were saying.

But this is not an anniversary. It seems my first blog here was in April 23, 2009. So I've been blogging one year, four months, and 17 days. Wow! That is so not any kind of milestone! Fantastic!

Oh, and it's not like I've been blogging every day, either. In one month I only wrote six blogs, which comes out to about one blog every five days (see, I can do simple math). That's pretty awful! How much more mediocre can I possibly be?

And this proves something, and it's something I need to remind myself of every now and then: I do not have to be the best at something (or even really good at it) to have fun. I can write crappy poetry, and as long as I toss in a good one now and then (or at least one that rhymes) I can keep my sweet readers coming back. I can offer gardening/editing advice, and people take me seriously.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty mediocre (and happy) in several facets of my life: I have written three unpublished novels, I play piano badly, my paintings are far from professional, my mom skills are questionable, my housecleaning...well...let's just say Merry Maids wouldn't hire me, I'm only an adjunct English teacher (even with a doctorate), and I still look a bit like I'm wrestling pigs in Zumba. But I'm happy. No gold medals, no sign of physical grace or exceptional talent, but I guess that doesn't really matter much to me.

Today, I embrace my mediocrity. And I embrace all of you (though that's really not comfortable through a laptop--oof!), and thank you for sticking around these last one year, four months and 17 days. You help make my life exceptional!

So, how about you? Anything you delight in being mediocre at? (Notice how I used a preposition at the end of that sentence? Cool, huh?)

Summer To-Do List

Admit it. You knew this was coming. You did. You knew I was just biding my time, holding back my inner OCD-driven list maker. Haiku kept it at bay over the last few weeks, but here it is, my overwhelming summer list of creative To-Do's:

1. Revise Mariah's Ark (second novel)

2. Revise Charley (third novel)

3. Revamp plans for Thomas novel series, rewriting the first episode from scratch

4. Write mermaid novel (to be my fourth)

5. Research all I can for Edward de Vere play

6. Write Edward de Vere play (full length)

7. Get ten-minute play "A Game of Dance" ready for performance

8. Write at least three more short plays

9. Paint with my kids at least once per week

10. Get back on track teaching my children to play piano

11. Write two more veggie books and get them ready for submissions

12. Develop a submission plan to implement by September for ALL works, so that I can submit at least one item each week through the school year.

I'm sure I have more, but I'm already feeling overwhelmed (and excited). I'm about to start on the research part, mainly because half the books I am using are already overdue at the library.

What are your plans for summer? Got a to-do list of your own?

Creative Groups

How many of you belong to a writers' group? A painting group? A music group? How many of you attend a weekly/biweekly/monthly poetry slam or open mic?

Most artists recognize the need to get with other artists, share their work, and get feedback (especially the writers among us). I've started three different writers groups (only one still running), and I've been part of all sorts of other groups for creative types. I currently have a spectacular group of playwrights I meet with a few times a month, and our interaction has certainly helped my playwriting develop more effectively than if I had gone it alone. I've moaned a few times about not having a similar group for my other genres of writing, and I'd LOVE a group where I could go and paint while other artists are also creating art.

This past weekend's writers conference introduced another idea to me, however. Instead of forming a group for critiquing work--so that we can bring in poetry or short stories, read them aloud, and figure out ways to improve them--several presenters were part of what they called a "creative group." Rather than bringing and sharing material, these people meet several times a month so that they can talk about the writing/painting/drawing/singing/music/etc. creative process. They share their fears about their own work, their goals, the struggles holding them back, stress, rejection, successes, etc.

They do not share and critique their work. In fact, the people in these groups come from every creative pursuit. Some are band members, some painters, some photographers, along with several kinds of writers. The creative genre isn't important. The pursuit of some sort of creative venue is all that is required. One of these groups has lasted more than 20 years!

So, what is the benefit of such a group? Consider what we do online right now, only in person. Support. Understanding. Reaching out and communicating with other people who are trying their hands and creative things. My husband loves me, but he doesn't understand my goals. He actually compares my writing pursuits and goals to his playing fantasy football (yes, that's as close as he can get, poor guy).

Oh, but to have people who may not go about their creative adventure in the same way, but who are on similar roads... that would be wonderful. When I felt like I should just give up writing, I'd have people who understood my misgivings. When I was elated, I could share that joy, too.

Hey, wait a minute! Am I a moron or what? I already have that! It's right here, right now, with all of you...

Bonus! (Now if you just lived around the block, life would be perfect!)

Nipping Off Interests?

An old friend from church called a few days ago, telling me, "Forget about writing novels. You should be a poet! Write more poems like the ones in your blog, and then publish a book of them."

About a month ago, my husband suggested I concentrate on my playwriting, since it's where I write my best work (in his opinion), and where I'm achieving the most success.

I've written several short prose pieces for writing groups lately, and with each one, other writers encourage me with, "You should turn that into a novel!"

So, which is it? According to a professor with whom I interviewed at Indiana State, "No great writers ever achieve success in more than one genre." He was obviously ignoring all the exceptions, from William Shakespeare to Emily Bronte to D. H. Lawrence. Okay, he was obviously an idiot. I knew that then. I know it now.

The truth is, practicing poetry helps hone one's prose, for one becomes attuned to the sound of language, learning to say meaningful things in as few words as possible. And poetry is the best choice on days when I don't want to use punctuation or obey rules.

And prose is great practice for keeping the plot moving, concentrating on more than one element at the same time (scenery, action, dialogue) without losing track. A tough job for this Piscean, yes, but great practice!

Playwriting has similar qualities to poetry, for it does depend on the rhythms of language--yet this language is all spoken aloud, and in dialogue between characters. This dialogue has poetic elements, but it still needs to fit into (usually) more realistically spoken conversation between characters, so the rhythms have to be more subtle.

Even my other pursuits feed into these. Painting helps me visualize setting in prose, images in poetry, and the scenes themselves in playwriting. Colors, shapes, and textures all play into these--textures seeping into my poetry and prose so that readers can feel as well as see what is going on.

Music leads directly into all three genres, helping me practice mood, pacing, and rhythm. I even incorporated a scene of total pantomime into one recent play, set to music played on a bass violin. Even now I listen to music when I write certain scenes or poems, hoping to capture the mood of a piece of music as I write. Some of my characters have theme songs, which I hum as I write.

So do I really need to pick one genre and stick with it? I joked with my husband that none of my pursuits had panned out as of yet, so why abandon any of them?

Honestly, even if one brings me some success, I doubt I'll ever put any of the other ones down.