Category Archives: Power

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Dreams, daydreams, and nightmares

We write fiction because we are dreamers. Whether we dream by day or night, whether our dreams are sweet or nightmarish, our stories and novels come from that place where real and imagined combine.

Rêverie (Daydream) – Paul-César Helleu, 1901

At the mere mention of that place, some of us may drift off to ponder the nature of reality. Before long, we’re crafting a tale of some fantasy “I wish” or historical “what if” or futuristic “it could” or contemporary “it does.”

What power we writers hold. We create. From a lock of hair, a tilt of head, a room, a city street, a desire, a fear, a thousand other details, we fashion a character, a locale, a situation. We write a thousand words, a hundred thousand. “It’s alive!”

Some of us write brilliantly. Most of us less so. But we are writers all. We record what we dream because we have that ability. Because we want to. Because we have to.

We give life to our dreams out of despair, joy, hope, fiendishness, playfulness, cleverness, daring. What else can we do?

We are dreamers.

We write.


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Change is Always Happening

Twice before, I’ve written posts about Dani Shapiro’s memoir, Devotion, and how it touched me. Now and then, I pick it up to re-read an entry at random. A few days ago, I read this:

Change is always happening. So simple. So obvious, really—and at the same time so terrifying. A friend had recently sent me directions to her house, and in describing the way the names of the roads changed for no apparent reason, she had written:  Everything turns into something else. No wonder I didn’t want to think about this. What was the point of thinking about this? Love, joy, happiness—all fleeting. Trying to hold on to them was like grasping running water.

I’m older than a lot of you reading this. I think Dani’s realization is one that comes to most of us as we grow older. Everything is fleeting. Everything turns into something else. What was most important to you at the age of five is forgotten and replaced by real concerns at fifteen. And then again at twenty-five. And forty. And …

Everything changes. All things renew, reform, restart. I think back on the times I thought, I can’t survive this. But I did. I remember the times I thought, Nothing will ever be better than this. But I was wrong. Everything changes.  Everything turns into something else.

Grasp what you can and don’t worry about the rest flowing through your fingers. This is a lesson I need to relearn daily. How about you?


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Why age makes you a better writer

A few days ago, I confessed that I once burned books. I am not proud of that action, but while reading your comments, I realized something. I do not regret being the person who committed that act. I don’t regret being any previous version of me. I believe they were all necessary to make me the person I am today—someone I sort of like.

Towanda in action!

I used to envy those of you who are writing seriously at a young age—and young being relative, that means most of you, as far as I’m concerned. But you know what? To paraphrase the great Towanda*: “Face it girls, I’m older than you and I have more experience.”

I’m able to write from a different perspective. Think about this: at the age of twelve, fifteen … even twenty, could you have written with the depth you can today?

We are admonished to write what you know, and because of my advanced years, I’ve accumulated a good bit of knowledge—mostly trivial, yes, but what better use for trivia than to spice up your writing?

Write what you know can also mean write what you know from an emotional level. The older you are, the deeper the emotional well you have to draw from. Even pain can be used for good. You must have lived in order to write about life.

Of course, some you youngins have probably lived far more exciting lives than I have, but for the sake of my argument, I’ll ignore that. Age makes you a better writer. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

* If you haven’t read Fried Green Tomatoes (or seen the movie) you really must.

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Warrior Woman

What a difference a week makes. This time last week, I had sunk the lowest I ever have in discouragement over my writing. Then a river of encouragement lifted me up and carried me away from that dark place. Since I blogged about that, I feel an update is in order.

Victorious!

So, yeah … I fought back against that Blue Muse. How? During this last week, I wrote a new synopsis, a new query letter, a new first paragraph, a one-paragraph pitch for a contest at agent Nephele Tempest’s blog, audio recorded and edited two novel chapters, and entered the Sandy Writing Contest.  I also attempted to dissect Flannery O’Connor’s “A Good Man is Hard to Find” which wasn’t easy, considering I have very little practice.

I think that’s what you call a blitz attack. And it worked!


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No, no … that’s the old me

Yes, I know, I’ve told you many tales of my life as a hermit. I’ve revealed my social awkwardness, my reluctance to venture into public places, my preference for a virtual life. Just two posts ago, I expressed the belief I’m not confident enough for Twitter. Well, that was just … um … an act. I will accept the Oscar, thank you.

Okay, so it wasn’t an act. But I realized that not only could I not pro2hermit_hafmote my writing in this hermit state, it wasn’t actually true of me anymore. So … tada … I’m coming out of my shell. I’m taking the plunge. I’m stepping out on faith. If you follow Judy Clement Wall’s blog, you know that 2009 was her year to challenge herself this way. And she has now become the flat-out rocking “Incredible J” of 2010 … and beyond. I don’t hope to equal her success, but who knows?

I’ve undertaken my first challenge and I’m so excited about it, I moved this post, intended for Wednesday, up a day. Over a year ago, soon after starting this blog, I came across Mari Mayborn’s. She’s an inspirational writer and speaker. Her beautifully written blog posts were some of the first I dared to comment on. She reciprocated here and, eventually, even dared ask me to give her feedback on articles she was preparing for submission. Then, she let me know she’d be in California this month and asked if we could get together.

Normally, my response would have been to say, “I’m sorry. That would be nice, but _____ (fill-in the blank).” I am now, very glad I didn’t do that. She drove two hours (one way!) to meet with me at a Starbucks yesterday. I will not lie, I had a mild anxiety attack as I was about to leave my house. But I persevered. Mari was as lovely a person as I knew she would be and we talked for nearly three and a half hours! (And I’m pretty sure I didn’t babble the whole time.) It was great. I loved it. I’m ready for more.

So, I’m through with the hermit “I can’t” thinking. There are, of course, still things I won’t do, but only because they’re dangerous, wrong, or just plain stupid. To the other things, I’ll say, why not?

What’s the best that could happen?

Photo credit: Dawn M Schiller – Odd Fae and Autumn Things

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Alone time

Do you get enough alone time? Some people say they thrive on activity and social interaction. I’m not one of them. At this point in my life, I’m blessed to have a good bit of time when I’m the only human in the house. I take advantage of that and sit writing, with only the sounds of the keyboard to keep me company. Okay, I admit, there’s also the email alert … except on Saturdays when, it seems, most everyone in the world has better things to do. My husband works three Saturdays of the month (poor man) and though I usually have a mental list of things I should do around the house and yard, I rarely keep to it. But I had a different sort of alone time in mind when I started writing this.

I’ve been thinking back on times when I felt truly alone within myself.

Frightening times, like when, after major surgery at the age of fourteen, I realized I could die.

Spooky times, like when I’ve driven late at night in an isolated area and realized I hadn’t seen another car for ages, and started wondering: have I passed over into the Twilight Zone? has some world catastrophe left me the only person alive on earth? are those tales of alien abduction really true?

Awe inspiring times, like standing by a brook deep in a wood with the sun’s light filtering through the canopy, or standing on an ocean beach or mountain ridge, looking out to forever and feeling this could be any point in time.

For me, the best alone time has always been the tender times in the still of the night, watching someone you love peacefully sleep. Whether child, or friend, or lover, you stand guard in those few minutes. You are empowered in your aloneness. In your all one ness.

May you always have enough alone time.

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First, do no harm

Words are power. Last night and this morning, I was reminded how carefully we should choose them. Words carelessly thrown out are dangerous. Consider these clichés: cut me like a knife, pierced me to my soul, sliced me to the bone, broke my heart, stabbed me in the back, crushed my spirit. Words can do those things.

But words can also raise our spirits, fortify our hearts, sooth our souls, fill us with love and laughter and hope. We hold that power in our tongues. We have that power in our hands as we write. “First, do no harm” is a principle we all should live by.

May we love before we hate, laugh before we cry, and listen before we speak.