A Room of My Own

I've been feeling a bit introverted lately. I love having people over, and I love visiting other people, and I love my children, but the last week or so a little voice inside me has been piping up, saying, "Isn't there somewhere to go and close the door and be alone?" I was having my coffee with Mom this morning, and she said, "Sorry, but I'm still tired. I'm going back to bed."

I told her that was fine. I wouldn't mind at all if she left me alone and went back to sleep.

"I know you do mind, but thanks for saying it, anyway," was her reply, and she went back to bed.

And I had a golden half hour all to myself, before my kids woke up.

I don't find my kids stressful, mostly. I like their being around. I like shopping with them, especially when we hit garage sales, Goodwill, or other cheap places. I like playing games with them, talking to them, laughing, telling them stories...

But I also need alone time. And I haven't had that much lately. We're just about to go camping for a few days, and while I love camping and can't wait to see some friends of ours from Canada, I'm also wondering when I will next be able to get a few hours to myself. Not so that I can go to my playwrights meeting. Not so that I can meet a friend for coffee.

So that I can meet absolutely no one, say not a word to anybody, but just chill, all by myself, do whatever I would like to do, exist for a few hours in absolute, golden silence.

I have often envied people who had an office or study all of their own. People say things like, "I can come in here, shut the door, and just focus on my project without interruption." We created a workspace like this in our house in South Carolina so that I could work on my dissertation... but it didn't help. All it meant is that I had to leave it constantly to take care of my daughter, who was an infant at the time (she turned 2 three days after I graduated with my Ph.D). Instead, I set up my writing space in the living room, where I could leave it quickly and return quickly, writing ten furious pages while she napped in the carrier at my feet, printing only when she was awake (our printer was VERY noisy), and still keeping tabs on everything while I worked.

But now my kids can play on their own without my constant supervision. They play fantastically well with each other, but they still often choose to play directly near where I am writing. I love that they want to be near me (and I know that will likely change soon, as they grow older and more teenager-like), but there are times I'd like to have them one place, and me somewhere else, to hear the golden silence, to re-energize and truly focus on my pet projects.

Do you have a place on your own? Do you need one? What's your ideal creative situation?

A Ruined Ending

My children and I spent a week without Daddy... and we were having such a good time (despite the missing Daddy, which was pretty much a constant)! Last Friday we made a list of "Fun Things To Do," and we did all but two of them (playing Twister and riding bikes). No tantrums, no real fights, lots of movies, cooking, shopping, etc. We went on all sorts of adventures, drove all over the area, I taught the kids how to play Uno, my daughter cooked her first dinner (lasagna), etc.

We were at dinner last night, only a few hours before we were to go pick up Daddy at the airport... and everything suddenly went south. My son, the moody one (gets that from me), decided his dinner isn't coming fast enough. He started to get mad every time some other table got food, and he didn't.

Trying to distract him, I asked, "So, what was your favorite part of this week?"

His answer: "Nothing. It was all boring."

Yes, he was just being moody and tired. Yes, I shouldn't take it to heart. But I do. I spent so much time playing around with my kids and doing goofy stuff--not writing, not sitting them in front of the television, but being a VERY active parent--and the mood thing hurt me.

Now I look at the big list, the one we've been checking off all week, even drawing smily faces where we really liked what we'd done, and I just don't feel happy about it.

It's like a book that is going well, going well, going well... and then its ending stinks. I read the last few paragraphs, my stomach sinks, and I wonder, What the hell was that? Is that the end? Really? It's not missing a chapter?

I believe Carl Jung suggested readers read to "practice," as if each fictional story is practice for their own life's ending. An ending is satisfying if it happens the way we wish our own lives would go--the hero winning, balance restored, happiness, or at least resolution. When it doesn't satisfy us, it does so because the outcome is absolutely not what we would want, or it leaves us hanging in some limbo, waiting until the next book comes out. The second one just ticks me off. The first reason, though, makes me wonder... what if my desired ending isn't someone else's?

What if my son's snide attitude was his way of not regretting the end of the fun week? What if he fears that the fun is over (now that Daddy's back), so he's negating the fun so that he doesn't miss it? And he doesn't understand the effect on his readers (i.e., me and my daughter) and doesn't realize the ending won't work for us?

We talked about the week again last night, and he made it very clear that he loved all sorts of parts... especially Uno and garage sale shopping (the second wasn't even on the list!). Perhaps a little sleep, and an assurance that the fun is not over yet, will help change the ending for us all.

A Blessing

Today, may the sun seek you out

And warm you.

May you feel the breeze

Slip into your mind

Soften all the world

And calm you.

May you feel the turning of the universe around you

Pulling you to where you most

Would like to be.

And when we meet

Some day

May we recognize each other's souls

And know we have arrived.

Speed Writing--Update

Just as I promised, I tried out the Speed Writing last night. I had my six projects up and ready to go, a timer, a glass of water, my kids sleeping, etc. I was ready.

Round I: My first novel, one I have not even glanced at since January, 2009. Prologue... hmmm... just as I suspected, it sucked. But, amazingly, not one minute into the speed writing session, I knew exactly how to change it! It would solve my late-arriving villain, would introduce the Old English facet, and would set the creepy tone for the whole thing. Perfect! I started writing, modifying, filling the page with dialogue... the alarm went off, but I was almost finished with the scene! I couldn't stop now!

So, there it is. It took another 18 minutes to rough out the prologue, and as I started glancing through the first chapter, I knew exactly where I was going wrong. I have my project.

Yes, I set aside the five other projects. It's probably best for me to do this novel, anyway, for it is the roughest of the three, and once I rewrite it, I can set it aside while I revise #2 and #3, and hopefully have them all ready for publication soon. I am tired of having them languish on my laptop, though, so at least I'm moving on them actively.

Did the speed dating work? Yes, and no. I do have a project, but I also didn't really do the whole speed dating thing. I picked up the number of the first guy I met and walked out the door with him. That's me, not playing by the rules. I can certainly appreciate Jeff's knowledge that speed dating doesn't work for him. If I get in a bind again, I might try it, but I wouldn't be surprised if the outcome is the same.

Now to tackle that novel, and make it brilliant ;)

Speed Writing

Speed Dating is a relatively new phenomenon, consisting of a bunch of single(?) people getting together somewhere public and rapidly moving from prospective partner to prospective partner, talking to each other for somewhere between 30 seconds and 5 minutes (I have no knowledge of what time limit is ideal, as I've been married longer than many of you have lived on the earth).

At the end of the Speed Dating "session," participants get to request numbers of those people who made an impression on them. If both participants request each other, then a connection is made. If both don't, there's no really uncomfortable moment when anyone has to reject the other, for no commitment has been made. Supposedly, it's a great way to meet lots of people and reject most of them in a very short amount of time.

As most of you know, I've been in writing limbo, drifting around without attaching myself to any of my writing projects. Do I want to write another veggie book for children? Revise one of my three novels? Work on my Oxford play? Write a ten-minute comedy? You see, it isn't that I don't have any ideas... it's like a filthy house: where does one start cleaning?

I've decided to play my own sort of game: Speed Writing. I'll set up six different writing projects on my computer--the three novels, the Oxford play, a blank screen for the ten-minute, and another document with several veggies listed (cabbage is next, I think)--and I'll spend ten minutes with each of them.

At the end of ten minutes, whether I enjoyed working on the project or not, I'll switch to the next. At the end of an hour, I'll have tried them all, and I might have discovered the one I want most to work on. More than likely I'll be down to two, and I'll spend a longer date--30 minutes--on each one to figure out which will be my "steady date" for a while.

I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow. I've never tried anything like this before. Have you? Do you have six (or more) projects that could use some doing? Might this work in other activities, like painting, sewing, etc.? What do you think?

Stuck Inside the Box?

Two fabulous posts reflect some of the changes I've made over the last 24 hours. I was going through my methodical way, forcing myself to do stuff on my list while hating every minute of it. The advice from all of you, dear readers, was to step away from the drudgery and work on something that inspires me--in effect, to try something new.

And then I saw Neatorama's post showing Leroy Anderson's little composition entitled "The Typewriter." I was fortunate that my father liked classical music, and as a kid I was exposed to several of Anderson's compositions, and this one is a personal favorite. Who would have thought of making a typewriter into a musical instrument? It works beautifully, too. His "thinking outside the box," to use the modern cliche, turned into fun for my whole family this morning. I showed the video to my kids, then showed it again (at their request).

Another post, by one of my fashionista friends Ordinary Girl, showed a letter she'd written to herself, vowing to take better care of herself and not let stress take over her life. I could not agree more, but it reminded me that this was one of my faults, too, and this year it had really gotten out of hand.

My lists are my aid in life, helping me be far more productive than I would be without them. However, they are also a force to stifle me if I let them take over. Yes, I can get done what I must today, but, at least for the summer, I am going to do what I want every single day, even if it's for an hour. I'm starting to work on my novels, and making them into unique, fascinating manuscripts will be my goal. If that means the dishes start stinking in the sink, or the carpet get a little gross, so be it.

How are the rest of you stepping outside of your own boxes lately? Or do the sides seem too steep? Are you living without the box completely?

I admit to liking the box in the same way I like sonnet form and haiku as opposed to free verse. But a little free verse isn't a bad thing once in a while, is it?

Writer's Block

I worked very hard this academic year. I taught twelve classes, four of them completely new, and I have worn out my grading hand pretty thoroughly. I thought when summer came that I would want nothing more than to write.

I guess I was wrong.

Over the past four weeks (yes, FOUR), I've managed to do dishes, play piano, do laundry, go shopping, sweep, and even vacuum more than write. I think I have spent more time cleaning out the cat box than I have writing. I have used every excuse there is, but the truth is, I've had a bit of a block.

For perhaps the third time in my life, I have writer's block.

It doesn't feel good. My stomach squirms, I spend far too much time playing free games on Yahoo, I eat more, I'm bored, and I feel pretty foolish.

I have done writing-related activities. I just finished going through my fourth resource for the Oxford play I'm planning (discussed in an earlier blog). But research isn't writing, and my doctorate is no indication that I love research. The books on Oxford so far--barring one--have been pretty lame, too, filled with assumed information in much the same way that biographies of Shakespeare are filled with assumptions. Every author is snide, too. The Stratfordians sneer at the likelihood of Oxford (or anyone else) authoring a single word of the plays, and the Oxfordians sniff back. It isn't pretty, it isn't nice. Furthermore, it isn't me. That's why I'm not writing a stuffy textbook expounding to the world the "truth" that I have "discovered." I make no assumptions about what the truth is in this case, mainly because until I die and go talk to all of these people myself, I won't know what really happened. (It kind of reminds me of faith--I can't fault someone's beliefs just because they don't coincide with mine, for I can't know that I'm right.)

Anyhow, while I'm slogging through the research, I'm not loving it, and it's causing me to avoid the computer, the books, everything to do with writing.

Solutions? I'd love it if you have some. I certainly don't want to start teaching in late September only to realize that I didn't write a word all summer.

I've decided to skip the research for a week. I can renew the books indefinitely (it's not like anyone else wants to read them), so they can be waiting when I actually want to "work" on writing. For now, I'm going to play. I'm going to plan out adventures, revise my novels until they are bright and shiny and ready for publication. And if I get in a rut, I won't let it last. I'll just switch gears and find something I want to write instead.

What do you do when you get stuck? How do you resolve writer's block?