Writing A Book & Parallel Parking…

Dear Ones, 

I realized this morning that I had made it. Made it safely into the book. Past the danger zone where you keep changing the title and the first couple of pages and then peter out and quit. After 3 attempts I connected with the writing vibe and was almost giddy with this morning’s writing. When I closed Scrivener I tweeted this:

“Beginning to write a book is like parallel parking. You back in and out, in and out, and finally you are parked. I am parked. I’m in.”

And then I tweeted, because I was on some kind of high as I finished writing this morning —

“I realized this morning that I had found my rhythm. I wrote staring off into space, not looking at the keyboard. There were no typos.”

And then I wrote on my Facebook page, “Becoming An Artist At 60” where I will be keeping a log of my process writing this book along with the journey that I record with my art:

“I am going to chronicle my journey of writing this book with you here. It is an unusual book and it is so right on for me and it feels so good. I will write these little notes, like breadcrumbs along the way. One day you can follow the breadcrumbs right into the pages of the book. Won’t that be grand?”

And finally, on my Facebook page I wrote:

“My art supports my writing. I will be painting later today. Painting and, perhaps, typing with paint stained fingers. Or perhaps weaving, fibery fingers finding their way back and forth from the keyboard to the loom. I believe one must engage in several artistic practices at once if one is to get the job done.”

And that’s the thing, we don’t write in a vacuum. I truly believe that if writing is all you are doing it will lack dimension. You don’t need to paint or weave but get outside, work in a garden, have other physical or artistic pursuits, cooking say, and live as fully as you can, because you bring that with you onto the page.

Also I have been listening to music off and on all day. Playing with moods and music. I put YouTube on streaming on the t.v. and put on music videos that I love and dance with them, all over the place, with the pugs and Miss Scarlett the grey parrot who love all the excitement. When my booty gets leaden in the chair I get up and dance. Lately I listen to the original Village People doing YMCA. I love their video. And Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, “I Will Survive.” I just love them. And more. And then I get closer to writing and I have just an ache inside when I think of Freddy Mercury whom I have adored for decades, Queen’s music just rocks my soul, and I watch the videos and rock it with Freddy singing and then I sink down lower and put on Bohemian Rhapsody which I believe is the finest song ever written, and I play it over and over and it breaks my heart and makes me literally break down sobbing. Every single time. And this cracks me open to that place of truth and deep feeling so that I can touch down on the bedrock of truth that is so hard to reach. You have to be broken open. Freddy does that for me. And then I put on Queen again with Freddy singing, “We are the champions, we are the champions of the world.” And I am singing along and crying and shaking and dancing and high fiving and sending up messages of love to Freddy in the heavens and I am catapulted into my work. When I get in deep I switch to classical music and I have a whole roster depending on what kind of mood or scene I am writing. Right now it is 6 hour Mozart piano classics. Classical music has been the music I have written to for 40 years and I choose the composer by the mood of the piece and the weather inside of me. Sometimes it has to be Chopin, sometimes Bach. Sometimes you need something bright to clear the palette. (As I am editing this post I have switched to a gorgeous collection: “Music for reading – Chopin, Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, Debussy, Liszt, Schumann…”)

Now the strangest thing, and another good auger for my writing is that since the fire, now over a year ago, I have not been able to listen to music almost at all. That part of me was dead and closed. It goes hand in hand with my writing and now I write and listen to music all day, 7 days a week. This is my life, my real life, and I have returned with a deep sense of gratitude and relief, with hosannas and hallelujahs. The music, the writing, my animals, nature — my studio door is standing open and the wild birds and squirrels are at the many feeders and I can hear them and there has been no greater peace for me for some time.

Since I last wrote a week ago about spending far more time offline there have been many interesting things happen. First of all somewhere in the middle of the week I deleted everything in my email box. Inbox/spam/sent/trash. All gone. I had saved important mail in file folders for safekeeping along the way but there was just so much there I felt like banging my head against the wall. Someone said something this week that really struck me. They said that all of that mail was someone else’s agenda in your mailbox. Whoa. And so it went. I am a bipolar writer and artist who has been through hell and back in this last year since my house burned down and with these mental heatlh issues that I deal with ongoing it can be a struggle just to get through the days. Radical self care is essential, and getting rid of the flood of email has helped enormously.

Too I find it curious that when I explained that I would spend less time online those who know me well and love me were incredibly supportive and really happy to see me back to work, but a few people that I’ve gotten to know and like very much online but don’t really know deeply personally have gotten angry or upset when I wouldn’t answer them right away. I have been shocked, but if those people cannot support you they don’t really care about you. I’m sorry but as much as I do care deeply and will be present as I can — I hop on and off to do a few things and then shut it all down again and write — I can’t and won’t and never did like to “chat.” That is reserved for a very few people and not very often anymore, and those near and dear ones understand. I am eliminating an enormous amount of my interractions with the outside world because it takes all the focus I can muster to take care of my life and days and write this book and it is not only important to me it is life saving. I have also seen a number of people drop off my “friends” list on Facebook recently and I am very much at peace with this. I remember someone saying a long time ago that if people leave they are not your tribe, bless them and wish them well as they leave. And I do, most sincerely, and then I continue my work.

This is so new for me that every day is a revelation. I have spent most of my 60 years writing and only the last few have I had trouble doing so. I am an anchorite, I have been on a long, difficult pilgrimage and I have found my way home. It was hard won and will not easily be lost. I won’t let it. I am like a mother tigress protecting her young when it comes to protecting this life I have created in which to work and rest and find the balance that I need to get through my life with its myriad challenges. I am finding my way again. I will clear-cut the path in any way that I need to to keep on going.

I am finding that writing first thing in the morning, after taking care of all of the animals, before I even have breakfast or make coffee, is best for me, and like so many writers before me I find it best to work from what my dear friend and writer May Sarton called primary intensity, those first hours of the morning before the day encroaches. Then I let it go to make my breakfast and coffee, and have some time on the internet, and I go back and forth between many things in the afternoon and blogging in the evening is perfect. I thought I would do less blogging but I may be doing more. It is a way to bring together all of the areas of my life and look closely at them, see where I need to find more balance, and what I can use to fuel me to keep writing more.

It is a sublime moment in time. It is exquisite. My whole body is relaxed and melting down into the floor, through the floor into the earth below the house. I am connected to what I hold holy, the earth, nature, the living things, family, which I treasure above all — we had a wonderful dinner last night at my daughter Rachel’s for my sweet son-in-law Jeremy’s birthday, and my eldest daughter is due to have her second baby any time now. This life matters more to me than anything else I could possibly have and I thank God every single day, and I chant my mantra, and I return to my Buddhist roots, and my Catholic upbringing, and the Christian teachings that are so powerful. Spirit is everywhere in every form and I drink it all in and feast at the banquet of all things holy. My plate is very full. My mind is reeling in an ecstatic state that I thought I might never find again. This is my life as a writer.

Every writer has their own process and way of working. I am sharing mine, for whatever it’s worth, and to help me keep track of myself as I go along.