Tag: joy

New Look at Morning Pages

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.

International Women's Day

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Season of Change

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.

For several months we lived in a house with no pets. We didn’t have to organize visits to the vet or clean up litter boxes. We could go away without finding a cat-sitter. Yet our hearts were heavy. We missed the extra heartbeats in the house. We missed the love the furry little creatures doled out on their own schedules. We missed being “staff” to our royal felines.

Last week we brought two calico kittens into our home. Life has changed! they have only two speeds — top gear or sleep. The floor is littered with shredded paper, empty spools, a Ping-Pong ball and a roll of string. Anything and everything is a toy, including my bare toes. I bear little scratch marks everywhere. Yet I am happy.

My friend came to meet them and couldn’t stop laughing as they wrestled and jumped and ran. She asked if I ever got anything done. The answer was “not much.” It took me three days to complete what should have been a two hour task.

But there is joy in our hearts. After a time of mourning, we celebrate new life.

Writers experience seasons of change in their work-life too. A friend of mine recently switched from historical romance to historical mystery. The change renewed her enthusiasm for writing. It brought her a new audience and it refreshed her spirit. A change of season in her writing life.

I know another author who has decided to change her writing schedule from one book a month to one book a year. For her the season of growth has changed to the season of reflection. For now, she has time to fill the well, to enjoy her family and to appreciate the beautiful place we live.

A well-loved vocal teacher in my town passed away recently. At a service for her I saw old programs and photographs. Before she became a teacher, this woman had a successful career as a performer. None of her students every heard her express regret for the change of season in her life. She embraced teaching with enthusiasm and dedication, taking enormous satisfaction in the success of her students.

Life is not static. We don’t stay children, or newly-weds or young parents for more than a season. We do not stay mired in sorrow or exultant on the mountain tops. Life is change.

Barbara O’Neal not only writes great books, she is a font of wisdom on the writing life. She says, And don’t forget to plant some new joy for writing.

So, I may be distracted and unproductive for a time while I enjoy my calico cats. That’s my season of life just now. It’s all part of living and writers need to live fully. Instead of chafing at wasted time, I’ll embrace a slower pace. Who knows, it may improve my writing?

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Lessons in Storytelling

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.

The story meandered on and on, the various pieces seemingly unrelated, the plot line indiscernible and the characters rather wooden.  Yet words spilled out, props were shifted, a doll’s arms adjusted, a book on Rudolph ( in high summer?) acted as a foundation for the entire ensemble.  Clearly story-boarding is built-in to children.  We re-learn that technique as adult writers.

For me, the listener, the story didn’t make a lot of sense but  the joy of the storyteller was unmistakeable, and she knew where she was going with all of this. Eventually bedtime put an end to the tale, but I’m sure it will be continued with endless adventures for the fish and the farmer and the elephant.

There was no editor for this story, no “market,” just a little girl stringing words together and having a whale of a time. I felt privileged to listen in.

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