Author: confidentwriter

December Writing Challenge · The Writing Process

Writing and the Procrastinator – Part One

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One of the biggest problems I have with writing is staying put in the chair.

Whenever I’m sitting in the chair to write, I want to run. Anything and everything is a void excuse to get up and do something else. And if I make myself stay there, then my back or my neck starts to ache. We won’t even get into the slight pain in my head. It makes me wonder if maybe I’m trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

I question whether of not I am really meant to write. I say I love writing, but it feels like pure torture while I’m doing it. Well, not all the time, but a lot of the time. Does that mean I should be writing? Or is the problem deeper? Or is it simple procrastination?

According to an article posted on Oregon State University’s Academic Success Center’s website that was adapted fromThe Feeling Good Handbook by David Burns, there are six reasons people procrastinate: skill deficit, lack of interest, lack of motivation, fear of failure, fear of success, or rebellion or resistance.

For years, I thought that writing was challenging because I didn’t know enough to do it well. My procrastination was a result of a skill deficit. I went back to school to learn how to write. Two rounds of Graduate school didn’t make writing easier. It taught me that writing well is a skill that takes requires more than just head knowledge. It has to be practiced over many hours with many, many drafts. However, if I’m honest, it’s the drafts that make me feel inadequate as writer. I struggle to get the words right. But that’s a problem most writers have. Anne Lamott even wrote a whole chapter in Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life about “shitty first drafts” that cautions writers about expecting too much from themselves:

I know some very great writers, writers you love who write beautifully and have made a great deal of money, and not one of them sits down routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic and confident. Not one of them writes elegant first drafts. All right, one of them does, but we do not like her very much. We do not think that she has a rich inner life or that God likes her or can even stand her. (Although when I mentioned this to my priest friend Tom, he said that you can safely assume you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.)

Maybe the real issue is the belief that the words should flow easier from brain to page. There shouldn’t be the push and pull of discover and understanding as you write. You shouldn’t have to grapple over meaning. You should just be able to write what you thought you were going write. But it doesn’t always work that way. Writing is discovery. You start off thinking that you are writing about one thing and discover along the way that it’s really about something else entirely. The more you write the more you learn about yourself and your subject. And that takes time.

Some of the resistance to sitting in the chair could be the knowledge that it might take a while to get the work done. And in this instant gratification world with which we live, it’s hard to slow down and work at something. We just want it done.

Today is the perfect example. The plan was to whip this blog off in thirty minutes, then go get my nails done. That was almost two hours ago and I’ve only touched the surface of writing and the procrastinator.

I guess I will save it for tomorrow.  

Until next time. . .

December Writing Challenge · Grieving

Remebering His Birth Day

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Today is my son’s birthday. He would have been twenty-seven years old. And for some reason I keep replaying the intricate details of his birth in my mind.

I spent the evening of the 26th watching Yentl on VHS with my husband and sister. We had to pause every three to five minutes for my contractions, which explains why I have very little recollection of the movie in general. Around midnight, I told my sister that I didn’t think I would be able to sleep if the contractions didn’t stop. Then my water broke. Things progressed pretty quickly after that because he was born a little after four in the morning.

I was totally amazed at the whole birthing process. I couldn’t believe that my body was capable of such a feat. I also couldn’t believe how much I was in love with my new baby. I wouldn’t let the nurses take him that night so I could sleep. I wanted him with me.

Twenty-seven years later I still just want him with me. 

Our goal today has been to celebrate his life by doing things he would have enjoyed. So far, we have gone to brunch and played mini-golf. We’ve shared memories and laughed a lot. But there has also been tears. I think there will always be tears. But all in all the type of day I think he would have enjoyed.  

Until next time . . .

December Writing Challenge · Inspirational Musing

Boxing Day Hike

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Today is Boxing Day, a holiday celebrated in Great Britain and most countries that were settled by the English except the United States. Some historians believe it started back in the Middle Age when the servants who had to work on Christmas Day took the next day off. As the servants left to visit their families, their employers would present them with gift boxes. Another theory is that the boxes placed in church to collect coins for the poor were opened and distributed on the day after Christmas. The tradition expanded over the years to include those that rendered any type of service. Now it includes gift giving to tradesman, mail carriers, doormen, porters and others who serve.*

For me, the day after Christmas was another shopping day. We generally went out as a family to shop the after-Christmas sales and to purchase gifts for Matt’s birthday, which is on the 27th. Though Matt would tell you he always got cheated because his birthday was two days after Christmas, that just wasn’t true. I always treated his birthday as a completely different event, never purchasing anything until Christmas was over. So the Brown family tradition was always shopping on Boxing Day. It’s sort of interesting that in Great Britain, today is their Black Friday.

But traditions change as our circumstances change. I had no desire to shop today. In fact, I wasn’t sure I was even going to get dressed and leave the house. I spent most of the day on the sofa reading. I wanted to finish the last fifty pages of my book – The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace: A brilliant young man that left Newark for the Ivy League – so I could count it in my reading challenge on Goodreads. And even though I knew the outcome because it was clearly stated on the book cover, I felt myself slipping into melancholy as I read the last few pages. And once I was done, I felt the need to write about it but couldn’t find the words. 

Fortunately, my husband invited me to go on a hike. We ventured about a half hour away from our house to Kennesaw Mountain, the highest point in metro Atlanta. 

About five minutes into the hike I began to have second thoughts. It was muddy and wet. Once we passed that, the incline sent both of our hearts racing to the point where conversation was no longer an option. Several times along the way I questioned whether or not the view was even worth it. But we persevered and boy was it worth it. 

   
   

I so enjoyed spending the afternoon in nature. The rocky terrain and fresh air challenged my body and renewed my mind. My husband and I  left park in a fabulous mood.  

Throughout the last 15 months, I’ve been so amazed at how healing nature can be. Though the unseasonably warm weather made it feel like summer today, I hope hiking will become our new Boxing Day tradition. 

Until next time. . .

December Writing Challenge

Merry Christmas 

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It’s Christmas morning and I’m waiting for my kids to wake up. It’s crazy how things have changed. It used to be that my husband and I would have barely fallen asleep before they’d come barging into our room ready to open gifts. Now I’m the one who can’t wait to see what’s under the tree.  

So while I’m biding my time before waking them up, I thought I’d take a moment to wish you all a very Merry Christmas. 

May today your day be filled with joy and peace. 

Until next time . . . 

December Writing Challenge · Grieving

Christmas Eve Triggers

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The last few days have been full of triggers.

First, there was the photo that popped up on Facebook. Even though I see the same picture several times a day when I look at my phone, it hurt to see it paired with a post that I had written in that moment two years ago. 

Then there was the gray jacket at T.J. Maxx that looked just like one I bought him for Christmas several years ago. As I gently brushed the fabric with my finger tips, I could almost see him standing in the kitchen wearing it. 

Last night, it was the silence that echoed through the house as the lights twinkled on the tree. Tears grew into full-fledge weeping. I wasn’t sure I was ever going to stop.

This morning at the grocery store, a friend from the cheese department gave me a hug and said Merry Christmas. Tears sprung up as I reached for the pecorino.

I would love to say that it’s easier this year, but it isn’t. I miss him terribly.

I contemplated not sharing my feelings on this blog, because I didn’t want to be a downer on Christmas Eve. But as I have said many times in the last month, if I’m going to be honest in my writing, I have to deal with my grief. 

There are gifts to wrap and few things left to prepare for dinner, and then there’s the candle light service at church. And though moving through these activities can feel like a struggle, there is also joy in the memories they trigger. That’s what I’m holding onto today.DSC_0268_1343

Merry Christmas!

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My Imaginary Dinner Party

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Today at lunch, a friend asked what three literary characters would I invite to a dinner party, and what would I serve.

I took me a while to answer the question. Mostly because I tend to think more about the authors of novels than the characters. So it would have been easier to come up with three authors.

Ernst Hemingway, of course, is first on the list. Though he isn’t my favorite author, I find myself drawn to his writing. Consequently, I read at least one of his novels every year. I would also invite Sylvia Plath. The Bell Jar is definitely one of my favorite books. And while I was in grad school, I read a collection of her short stories, essays and diary excerpts that taught me a ton about how our personal diaries feed our work. The third person would be a toss-up between Jane Austen and Langston Hughes. I’m inclined to pick Langston Hughes. He is my all-time-favorite poet and a character in my novel. But I imagine Hemingway making the party into an old boy’s club discussion if there was another man there. Nonetheless, I pictured the four of us (either Jane or Langston) drinking wine and talking about writing. How cool would that be!

While I played this scenario over in my mind, my friend was still waiting for an answer. I thought about taking a cop-out by answering the question I liked better, but that’s kind of obnoxious.I didn’t want to be that guy. You know, the one who always has a “better” idea.

So I thought about all the books that I have read and tried to pick three characters who I would love to have a conversation with. At the top of that list is Jane Eyre, followed by Elizabeth Bennett and then Adah Price from the Poisonwood Bible. All of them were strong women whose strong beliefs echoed my own in some ways. I imagined the four of us discussing societal and religious constraints that have been placed on women.

Once I told my friend who I would invite, she wanted to know what we would be eating. I hadn’t thought about that. I was too busy imagining the particulars of the conversation. So much so that I thought it would make a great writing prompt for a short story, which I might be writing now if I didn’t have to cook dinner and wrap Christmas presents.

It’s interesting how many ideas I’ve had l since I started this challenge. Let’s hope that the momentum keeps up after this month is over.

I’m so glad my friend posed that hypothetical question over lunch. Not only was it a welcome relief from the tedium of Christmas shopping, but it has my brain spinning with ideas. I’d love to write a story about either one of those imaginary conversations.

I’m curious about who you would invite and what you would talk about. Post your answers in the comment section below.

Oh and by the way, I would serve pasta. It’s my go-to dish. In fact, it’s what I’m going to make right after I post this blog.

Until next time. . .

December Writing Challenge · The Writing Process

Twenty-two days and counting 

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Day 22. 

I count the days much like I did when I quit smoking. Three days since my last cigarette. Ten days since my last cigarette. Twenty-two days since my last cigarette. 

Counting reminded me of how far I had come. It helped strengthen my willpower when I wanted to quit. Did really I want to start at day one again?

That’s the question I’m faced with as I face today’s blog. I’m tired of trying to figure out what to write. There is so much I need to do to get ready for Christmas Day. Not to mention the fact that I desperately need a day off. It’s like having unfinished homework hanging over your head everyday.

I gave up cigarettes for lent in 1994, and for forty days all I thought about was smoking. I kept telling myself all I had to do was make it to Easter Sunday. If I wanted one after that, then I could have one. Though the craving was intense at times, I perserved. By the time Easter came around, I no longer had a desire for cigarettes. Shortly after that, I stopped counting. 

But then my husband and I decided to spend a week with our families between Christmas and New Years. By New Year’s Eve my stress level was off the charts. Eight months of being smoke free no longer mattered. I wanted and had a cigarette. 

It tasted horrible and did nothing for my stress. I started my count again. 

Coming up with a new idea to write about everyday is challenging. It would be a lot easier to build on an existing idea. Your brain could focus on how to expand or develop what you already have. Ideas percolate overnight and pour easier on the page the next day. 

Thinking  about this concept makes me wonder why it’s been so hard to finish the revisions on my novel. Something to consider for a future blog. 

In the meantime, I’ve made through another day. The counting continues. 

December Writing Challenge · Grieving

The Sunday before Christmas

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CardinalThe cardinal was the first this morning, followed by a woodpecker and then a blue bird. Each pecks at the feeder a few times and flies away. But the cardinal stayed the longest. He didn’t exactly look at me, but he turned toward the window.

Some believe that cardinals carry spiritual messages from precious love ones who have passed on. Maybe that’s why I wanted the bird to come closer, to stay longer.

Today is the Sunday before Christmas, the day of our tradition Christmas brunch. A day when both of my sons would happily dress in their nicest clothes without any prompting. We’d go to an early service at church and then head directly to the nicest champagne brunch I could find. The tradition started a month after my daughter was born. That Sunday also happened to be Christmas Eve. One of the nicer restaurants near our house had a bunch with Santa.  We generally avoided nice restaurants back then, but I thought the boys would enjoy seeing Santa. Before we ate, I took a picture of the boys holding their new sister by the Christmas tree. The whole experience was such a success that my husband and I decided we would do it again the next year.

Over the years we went to a variety of restaurants, but The Club House in Oak Brook, Illinois was our favorite. Everyone was always in a great mood as we climbed the grand staircase to our table. Each of us had a method for attacking the all-you-can-eat buffet. The boys would go deep, fast with piles of bacon, French toast and pastries. I’d start with the salad, peel and eat shrimp and salmon. The feeding frenzy would go on for a while amid lively conversation. My husband and I drank champagne, the kids hot chocolate with whipped cream. At the end of the brunch we would joke about our family being the reason restaurants stopped having all-you-can-eat buffets.

Two years ago, we went to Ray’s on the River in Atlanta. I hadn’t made a reservation, so we had to wait for a table. We weren’t in the greatest mood, though I don’t remember way. But once we sat down and started to eat, things were as they had always been. The champagne flowed liberally. The boys, who were also able to drink, gladly turned the keys over to their sister, who was not. As we were winding down, I noted that it was the nineteenth anniversary of our brunch tradition. I took out my phone and snapped a few pictures of my three kids together, as I did that first brunch.

I look at that picture every day. It’s the screen saver on my phone. 

Last year it was too painful to even think about going to brunch. In fact, we collectively decided that we wouldn’t do brunch anymore. That was definitely the right decision for the place we were in our grief. But much like the music a few weeks again, I’ve felt Matt urging us back to the things we loved as a family. We have all felt it. We decided to go back to our tradition next Sunday on what would have been his twenty-seventh birthday.

The cardinal came back. He didn’t look at me or even come on my side of the feeder. I don’t know if it’s just a coincidence or if it’s a sign. Lots of other birds have been in and around the feeder this morning. But seeing that cardinal gives me a sense of peace this morning and that’s all that matters.

December Writing Challenge · Inspirational Musing

How do you define fun?

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I don’t feel like writing today. I also don’t feel like Christmas shopping, or wrapping the few gifts I bought yesterday, or going to the grocery store, or cleaning the kitchen, or thinking about what to cook for dinner tonight, or picking up the books and papers from around my office, or reading submissions, or answering emails. I feel a bit like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, all work and no play makes Kim a dull girl.

I need a free day to just have fun. Although, I sometimes struggle with the concept of having fun. Does it have to be playful? Or adventurous? Or a special event? Does it involve laughter and other people? Or can it be quiet and relaxing? I really enjoyed the Star Wars last night, but would I describe that as having fun?

I loved the throw-back aspect of the story and the way they worked the original characters into the story. It felt much like putting on an old comfortable pair of slippers. So I suppose that was definitely fun. But I was troubled by my son’s reaction to the movie. He was disappointed that there wasn’t anything spectacular or different about the way they approached the story. He clearly wouldn’t have described the whole experience as fun. In fact, he likened his feelings about the movie to the way he feels when Michigan State loses a football game. But I don’t think it had anything to do with the movie itself. It probably was one of those unexpected consequences of grief.

Matt was by far the biggest movie buff in our family. His knowledge of movies and directors was nothing short of amazing. A few days ago we were having a discussion about Al Pacino, and I asked what did he get an Oscar for. We looked it up on Google. Matt would have been able to tell us not only the movie, but the director and if that director had won for any other movies**. The was always a big build up for blockbusters like Star Wars, and after the movie he would give a post-movie commentary.

I noticed his absence, too. I always do. Last night when they ran the previews of the next X-men movie, I remembered the way he talked me through the last X-men movie. Memories like that make me smile. And as we left the movie theater, I wondered what he would have thought about the movie.

The more I think about it, I did have fun last night.

Fun doesn’t have to have a ton of excitement and special effects. If you come away from the activity feeling a sense of satisfaction and enjoyment, then it was fun. Truth is every time I finish one of these blogs I come away with a huge sense satisfaction. So maybe writing is fun, too. It’s all in the way you think about it. Of course, cleaning the kitchen or grocery shopping may require a lot more thought.

Until next time. . .

** Al Pacino won best actor in 1993 for Scent of a Woman. The director was Martin Brest, who also directed Meet Joe Black (1998) and Beverly Hills Cop (1984).