VIRA
Last week my romance writers group, VIRA, held our Valentine’s brunch. It was a great time. Since COVID we’ve met mostly on-line so it was a real treat to meet up in person with my “tribe.” The room was loud, the laughter plentiful, encouraging words filled the air. And that brings me to morning pages.
Writing Workshop
When I first began this writing journey, I diligently wrote morning pages because Julia Cameron said to, and so did Bobbi Hutchinson, the presenter at the very first romance writing workshop I attended. She said, “if you don’t know what to write, start with I remember . . .” I revelled in those pages, enjoying the flow of words from my brain to my pen, playing with story ideas, creating characters who might or might not show up in a story. I practiced being a writer.
Menopause
But time passed, my writing time got shorter and my career stalled. Menopause gave me the gift of brain fog and stole half my vocabulary. Morning pages seemed a waste of time. It was so hard to drag words from my brain that I elected to use them only in my stories. And writing became all work and no play. As the years passed, I wrote less and less. My “career” died.
Joy Cometh in the Morning
That brings me back to the VIRA party. I’d been keeping my “shameful” secret — the one about not writing — hidden from my writing colleagues. But, at the party, I told the truth. No one scorned me or pointed fingers. Instead, an old mentor suggested I write about something that I have held dear all my life. “I see passion there,” she said. She was right. I’ve gone back to writing pages– sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon — in order to tell a story about myself that makes me smile, or weep, and sometimes elicits a wry chuckle. The words are coming easier — not elequent, but serviceable. I look forward to time at my desk rather than avoiding it. I don’t even think about publishing or having a career. For now, I am thrilled to pick up my pen and write two hundred words that bring me joy.
Society’s greatest loss during COVID lockdowns was companionship. We all huddled in our corners. We did our best to substitute technology for human interaction. We wore masks, got vaccinated and did our level best to stay healthy. But that was then. This is now. For myself, and many others, the time has come to engage with human beings, friends or strangers. Ordering on-line is quick and easy, but grumbling about the weather with a store clerk is much more satifying to the psyche. And, having real, live-person chats with other writers is one of the best things an author can do for herself.
What about you, dear readers. Have you found your way back into the company of fellow humans? Do you avoid crowds or do you seek out like-minded enthusiasts and spend time together? How is your choice working out for you? I hope that whatever path you choose, you find joy in your days.
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My household has just come through a time of sadness. Our fifteen year old cats both died. We missed them sorely, constantly opening doors to let them in, then remembering they were gone. There were many tears.
Last week I had a visit with my not-quite 4-year-old great niece. Part of our conversation consisted of her laying out all her toys – figures, books, squares, coloured cloth, rocks — and telling me a story. I heard bits of Cinderella, echoes of Goldilocks, and lessons from a farmer. There were fish, which, for some reason required mud. As items got moved about, I was reminded over and over “don’t touch,” because the story required that all the bits and pieces be in their proper place, as determined by the author. Good advice for any storyteller during the first flush of creativity. While the story is new and fragile and only just revealing itself, it’s best to tell your inner editor, (or well-meaning friends) “don’t touch.” The words need to pour out, redundancies, repetitions and irrelevancies untouched as they flow onto the page.
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