say yes quickly

abundance = coffee, apparently

I am back on the horse, y'all.  I have neglected this tiny blog so badly, but blogs are eminently forgiving and accepting and don't fault you for things like that.  Especially if you have another blog to keep up with, which is wieldly and sometimes cross and not quite as forgiving as a new, baby blog. I've neglected the Artist's Way as well, but the encouragement to keep going was strong.  How do people EVER do this alone?  They must be people of iron strong willpower.   

Last week was all about abundance.  It was a chapter that was hard for me, but one I needed to hear and read and think over.  It was difficult the first time I read it, as Husband and I are poor, poor newlyweds.  (Okay, not that poor I guess but not much extra money at all.) I wanted to laugh when she suggested we write down what we spend our money on, because at that point, there was no money to spend.  And going through it all, I thought there was only one abundant moment where the heavens opened and I was gifted with something beyond my means, but I was wrong.

I bought myself beautiful rainbow hued legal pans (which I plan to post a picture of for Blue Dog) for my morning pages, as I'd run out of the original legal paper I'd bought when starting the Artist's Way.  Plus, I needed a tiny treat to start writing morning pages again on a regular basis. I eschewed laundry detergent (but not frozen pizza) to buy that legal paper, I'm telling you! Clean socks, no! Morning pages, yes indeed!

Yesterday morning it felt so good to turn on some music and write things out - and I had to ask myself, why did I stop doing this again?  I started writing about abundance and realized that I had several instances where I was open to the abundance of the universe and received some good things:

1.  A concert on Valentine's night, tickets paid for by our generous church.
2.  Wednesday night meal at church paid for by the Other Parents, yummy shrimp over rice.
3.  A call to check on a dog Saturday afternoon,for which I was paid 20 bucks for 10 minutes of my time. (And which really helped when the cabinets were bare at home, plus financed the new legal pads.)
4.  A free caramel americano, my rediscovered favorite coffee drink, something I was longing desperately for. (This was the only one I remembered until I started writing them all out.) 
5.  Sunday lunch paid for by loving friends.
6.  Tuesday night Husband and I realized that we were out of coffee -after I'd been to the grocery store and had zero money.  I was so frustrated and thinking how can I make it through the morning without coffee? Then I opened up the refridgerator and stood there looking in it, and there! was a small bag of Starbucks coffee! given to us by friends as a honeymoon happy months ago!

Look at all that abundance!  Spilling out everywhere! So, see - perhaps this wasn't the free stuff that Julia C. is thinking of, as it doesn't affect my creativity per se (still waiting on that laptop to drop out of the sky) but it did help me tremendously. And it helps me to believe in the goodness and generosity of God,who if he cares enough to provide my morning coffee, will surely help me creatively. 

running up that hill

No reading.  I'm not doing very well.

On Sunday, when I cracked open the chapter and contemplated it, I was actually quite exhilarated by the idea of NOT READING.  Think of all I could get done! All the creativity I could unleash! All the time I'd have for drawing the tulips gracing my home, the doghair I would vacumn up, the laundry I would conquer.  I was optimistic, yet realistic.  Whatever Julia said, I would have to read for work.  I would still check my email (following Kat's suggestion of cutting back on checking email) and write for blog purposes, but everything else, given up.  Bedtime reading.  Bathroom reading. Reading while eating, one of my deepest (and deep seated) pleasures. Blogs, magazines, books, backs of cereal boxes - vamoose. I read while I dry my hair, people.  I believe that I must read, that it keeps me sane, it keeps me being ME. 

Somewhere along the way, I forgot that I have no willpower.  None.  I am a limp,wet, overcooked noodle when it comes to self-discipline.  I can justify anything - anything - especially for myself.  If anyone needs this week of rediscovering integrity, it's the girl you're reading about here. 

Sunday was hard, and I cheated a little.  I think going to bed without a book is one of the hardest things I've had to do.  I read myself to sleep every night, even if I only manage a few pages or paragraphs.  It's a safety blanket, a way of tuning out, a weapon for combating all those thoughts that could keep me awake.  I stayed up later than usual, as I couldn't retire to bed with a book, but stayed up watching TV.  Surely NOT what Julia was hoping for, I'm sure. 

Monday - Monday wiped me out.  Good intentions were shredded like silk stocking after a cat comes in the room.  As I felt things crumble around me, I reached for, true enough, those tranquilizers that would take me out of the moment.  Besides, I had to read Wendy Wasserstein's obituary, right? And every other interesting article from the New York Times? While I've avoided my usual blog binge, I've still not been able to resist to checking up on my friends, or other Artist's Way bloggers, to find out their take on this whole not reading thing.  I love this group of fiesty people.  I love the outrage over such a suggestion, the outright "I'm not doing it!" (how I admire them!) and the willingness to try. 

Maybe the goal is LESS reading.  Concious, mindful reading.  Why am I reading? Is it out of habit? Is it love for story? Is it hunger for information? Is it your safe escape? Is it that feeling of you can't live without this character in this amazing book? I like the idea of less reading.  I think I can do less reading. 

What about you?

all the fun you can have for fifty cents

  DSCN1479 
  Originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

Yesterday I took myself on a mini-artist's date.  I left work purposefully right at the appointed time and headed straight to my favorite antique store.  Only thirty minutes until closing time, but plenty of time to browse through my favorite room - the one in the back, stuffed full of books. 

At first I got all bushy tailed and excited because there were more books than usual in the usually well-organized room, now not quite so well-organized but rather helter-skelter.  There's nothing that can make my heart race like stacks of books.  Then I realized that all the 'Christian Living' books were displaced from their usual room, along with plenty of mouldering VHS tapes and record albums.  Oh well.  Still plenty of books for plundering. 

So many books can be overwhelming.  The titles and colors seem to swirl together.  Not only are you scouting for great deals - like the newest David Sedaris that I once found, hardcover, for 5 or 6 bucks - but the obscure.  The things you always on the lookout for because they're precious to you.  Another time I found a crumbling copy of Anne of Green Gables, with a original copyright in the 1930's.    I'm constantly hunting Gwen Bristow or Madeleine L'Engle.  I will quickly scan the titles, taking them all in, and then go back again for a second look, peeking in the front cover for the yellow post-it with the price. 

In the far left corner, in front of rows of dry history books, there stood a wire rack.  "All Paperbacks Fifty Cents" the sign read.  I twisted the rack, recognized some books from previous visits.  (I don't think books move very fast out of this place.)  Some esoteric reader must have died and some unfortunate relative sent the lot to auction - plenty of 'The 17th Century English Novel' and such things.  I found a copy of Donna Tartt's The Secret History, one of my favorite books.  I picked it up to pass along to a friend.   Of course, I am one of those people who is happy to have several copies of the same book.  Just in case of emergencies. 

Then a beguiling cover caught my eye.  The Aunt's Story, by Patrick White.  I remembered this book from before,too and I'm sure I even picked it up and read the back - "...written of a complex and appealing woman's search for personal happiness of three continents - Australia, Europe, and North America."  But the cover! The cover was too delicious.  I could buy it for the cover alone.  I flipped it open and read the first page.  In the first paragraph was the word 'antimacassar' and for some reason that sealed the deal for me.  I had to have this book.

After I got home from a quiet sushi dinner with Husband and a sometimes disasterous sight-reading choir rehearsal, I slid into the book with a sigh.  The cover fills me with satisfaction, and I can't even explain why.  But the writing - the writing is spectacular.  I am not one who usually notices really good writing, unless I am told to notice it.  I like a good story, a certain voice.  Mr. White's writing - he packs so much in a single sentence.  Listen to this -

"From the church across the bay a sound of bells groped through a coppery afternoon, snoozed in the smooth leaves of the Moreton Bay fig, and touched the cheek." 

It is all that good.  It's a book to be read slowly, sipped like a precious glass of ruby wine.

And all for fifty cents.

And ha! I just googled Patrick White.  It seems he won a little prize - the Nobel Prize for Literature. 

a bust

Can I just say that Week Two was a total bust? And that it's so much harder to fall on your face in front of 100 blogs than in the privacy of your own little world?  My Censor is tapping his pencil, tsking me - "I knew you couldn't do it, you never finish anything you start."  And yet the big question is this: Why am I standing in my own way?  Why am withholding this gift from myself?

But I figure I can bring it here and lay it down, and move on to Week Three.  I've adjusted my check-ins to Sundays, NOT THAT IT HELPED THIS WEEK.  And I did morning pages every day, just not always THREE, maybe 1 and a half or 2 two days out of the week.  This past Sunday (which technically counts as week 3) I didn't manage them, between answering the prayer line and getting in a little extra sleep before my long day.  But I've been back on track otherwise and even am spitting them out in 20 to 25 minutes, which is definitely something I wanted to accomplish.

Last week something from the second week that really stuck with me was the encouragement to take advantage of small pieces of times, to not feel despairing over not having large chunks of time.  To utilize your lunch break.  I totally needed to hear that, now I just need to utilize it.  There are some exercises in Week Two that I'm planning on doing in Week Three - always behind as usual.  Someone either needs to kick my butt or hold my hand.  Maybe both at the same time. 

I so didn't want to do this to myself.  I wanted to be PERFECT at this Artist's Way exploration.  So I need to let it go, my lack of completeness, and get on the back of the whale.  Ride out to sea.  Let it go.  And begin again.  What do I always tell my prayer callers? Everyday is a new day, redeemed.  I just need to live like I believe that for myself, as well. 

this way home

  this way home 
  Originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

Week One check in - I'm behind as usual, but better late than never.  The Saturday to Saturday thing isn't so great for me as I work on Saturdays - no more long leisurely Saturdays in pajamas, which is almost so depressing that we won't dwell on it.  Really, it's not forever, which is what I tell myself on Saturday mornings when my bed of all things good and delicious wraps its down comforter arms around me. I peel its fingers away, to coffee and more money and doing something instead of sitting around and worrying about it.  Besides, it's not like I was keeping up with laundry, no matter how much I was home.

Morning Pages - SEVEN out of SEVEN.  I get eleventy gold stars.  To keep me humble, this morning (technically week two) I only had time for one and a half pages - seriously, I chose sleep and time on the couch with coffee and a bedrumpled Husband over scribbling my morning pages.  As I've recorded here, morning pages are really dredging the scum out of my pond.  I am loving it - yes, sometimes it's scary, writing on paper what you normally keep knocking around your head, and I realize how stupid it was to not purge it all out before now.  Definitely healing me, making me laugh at myself, and something that I look forward to every morning.

Artist's Date - I combined one of the exercises with my Artist's Date.  I took myself to a paved woodsy walkway  - actually in the middle of town, next time I want to go out in the country, as I don't like hearing traffic and looking at the backs of apartments - and walked for a good thirty minutes.  It was wonderful, especially on a Friday, kicking off the work week monkeys - and how long has it been that I walked just to WALK, not for exercise?  I made a point to breathe deeply, filling my lungs with clear air, to notice the trees and sky and roots of the trees.  I want to keep doing this, taking walks - it seems like such a writerly thing to do.  I wore my big corduroy coat, with my hands shoved deeply in the pockets, and took pictures along the way.  Go to flickr to see my 'Artist's Date' set. After the long walk, I headed to my local bookstore and used a Christmas gift card to pick up this book, which I've been wanting ever since I read the first chapter in a bookstore, on my honeymoon.  I decided not to buy it then as reading about husbands dying is NOT how you want to spend your honeymoon.

One of the three exercises I did - a letter to the editor.  At first I didn't really want to do this, as people who tend to write letters to the editor really get on my nerves, or at least the letters I read in the local newspaper do.  Then, the more that I thought about it, I knew I needed to do it.  So, tonight (I know, late, but finally I was in the right place and time for it) I took out my journal/sketchbook and boldly wrote in red 'A Letter to the Editor', emblazoned with red and yellow stars.  I addressed the letter:

To Whom It May Concern, Which Is, The Whole Entire World and Galaxy beyound our Own.

It made me laugh, but also, it illustrated how deeply I want to be vindicated.  I want EVERYONE to know that I am not the person 'they' claim I was, but as I listed my grievances and complaints, I grew weary of it all.  Tired of dwelling in muck and twisted, complicated relationships that ended long ago.  I do feel better - a little cleaner, a little stronger, and better for getting it out.

So - on to week two.  I'm still so excited at the amount of people participating in Blogging the Artist's Way - I've added a few links here, and I'll more as I build relationships with all the new folks out there! I absolutely believe doing this in such a group is helping me, keeping me motivated and accountable, and most of all, making it so much fun.  I love reading about your discoveries and moments of synchronicity.  I had one of my own moment of synchronicity- after remembering my inner child doodler, I really wanted a sketch book.  I have one half full, but I wanted a new, fresh one, for THIS journey.  I'd already started writing a bit in a journal that I'd received for a birthday a year ago.  Today I went to tear off the sticker still on the front of the journal and saw that it read, 'journal/sketchbook'.  I flipped through it and discovered that indeed, it's half lined journal and half blank sketch pages.

Tonight I drew my first whale in a very long time.  She's full of the people I wrote to the Editor about - she's still deciding whether to spit them out in Nineveh or digest them for a nice snack.

blue whales leaping

So many things to write about - Imaginary Lives, but we'll come back to that later.  Saturday is fast approaching and I'm feeling a bit guilty for not doing more exercises.  That is one of the drawbacks of doing AW in a big group and being able to read everyone's progress - "Wow," I find myself thinking, "She's so much further ahead than me!  I suck!"  I know I've got to be careful not to compare myself against others (and such lovely others, I'm just falling in love with all of you) but be inspired and encouraged in the journey. 

Today after work I'm going to take my artist's date, still not sure WHERE, but if it stops raining I'll take a nice walk with my camera, breathe in fresh air and let the week fall by the wayside.  I'm trying to be gentle with myself that I've felt determinedly under-the-weather for most of this week, and when I finally DID feel better I had commitments to honor.  This morning we woke up to the most rumbly sort of thunder and the satisfying beat of rain against the bricks of the Marital Abode.  Needless to say,it was a struggle to clamber out of my bed, only motivated enough when Husband got the coffee going. 

Once again, I am going to sing the praises of morning pages.  Just when I think I'm not doing it correctly, that I'm really more journaling instead of capturing my stream of conciousness, I uncover a hidden treasure chest.  I was writing about how, though I have had certain people step up and take on the persona of Censor, I've been blessed in plenty of encouragement.  My mom in particular - I can hear her now saying, with amusement and pride,"Sissy, you're so creative."  She valued that in me, therefore I valued it in myself. 

Then an event bubbled to the surface.  This story involves my dad, but when I tell this story I absolutely am not bashing him or saying he stifled my creativity.  He was just the vessel, ordinarily my dad is hugely loving and supportive.  One day, in 5th grade, I brought home my schoolwork, and showing it to my parents - probably some 100 on a spelling test or something, something I was proud of.  I was very good in school, except for math, and lapped up praise like a fat pug puppy.  My dad was looking at it and said, "What's all these drawings?  Why did you draw all over your paper?"  I'd illustrated my spelling test with luscious blue whales - surely inspired by something on the spelling list - and I usually drew on my papers when I finished the assignment and was waiting on the next one.  All that white space was an invitation for SOMETHING to draw.  I'd always loved to draw, my whole life, filling up notebooks with funny ladies and cats and feet, I could never get the hang of feet.  I would draw a story on a page, a dialogue with bubbles coming out of people's mouths - somehow, it always led back to story.  I had a box of pastles and gloried in the color, but never could get the result I wanted. 

"Daddy, I just drew some whales.  It's okay, my teacher doesn't mind." 

For some reason, it really bothered my dad. Maybe he wanted to protect me FROM getting in trouble with my teacher.  "NO, you don't draw all over your papers.  That's not what the assignment calls for.  Don't do it anymore." Dad was frightening when he was angry, and he was angry about this.  I couldn't think of why - why was he so upset? I didn't get in trouble at school for it, so what did it matter?  I was hurt, but I know I absorbed this moment, in the cells of my body.  I still drew, I'm sure, but either hid the papers from him - colouring creativity with fear - or censored myself. 

I don't believe I've been a stifled artist - I've still spent plenty of time doodling, especially in college, on tests again! - but it brought it all back to me.  Part of me wanted to cry, thinking of a hurt little girl with her blue whales, desiring praise and receiving damnation instead.  Yet remembering all it gave me the germ of idea - I could draw! I could paint! I could do all sorts of things, visually creative - and here I was just thinking the Artist's Way would free up my writing.  A gift, truly. 

artist's way contract

  artist's way contract 
  Originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

One good reason to do The Artist's Way with a group - you don't forget to sign your contract.

I really did almost forget all about it, how sad is that?  I'm sure it wasn't intentional forgetting.  I decided to make it pretty, once I remembered!  I dug out my old sketch book - used for a journal because I like the wide expanse of plain white page - I knew I needed plenty of space to have room for a collage.  Or strips of collage.  All those leftover bridal magazines came in handy - I hit the mother load, after cutting out wedding bouquet after wedding bouquet - a big feature on 'color' with these lovely square blocks with a huge selection of different flowers. 

I've decided to paste it to the front of my big manila envelope holding my morning pages.  Just for a little reminder, in case the going gets rough and I don't want to go deep, or it's getting too hard.  I have to admit that going deep is scary.  I feel, as I told someone, that I've been living in my little romantic world - and I don't want to wake up in the cold haze of reality.  So far, I haven't done one exercise for the week - just morning pages.  So, there's my confession, so that you can kick me in the booty (with a nice bossy boot, perhaps) and help me get started.

That said, I feel like I'm already incorporating more creativity in my activities.  I don't remember the last time I made a collage - or cut out pictures for a collage and actually used them! I discovered a Ziploc bag full of images, just ready and waiting.  So, a small step forward is a very good thing. 

baby demons

I've decided that it would be good to have a separate place to write about Artist's Way - at the 'other' blog I feel too compelled to write in a composed sort of fashion, to shine it up, make it pretty or good.  Maybe not so much here.  Maybe it will be a little more like morning pages.  But I want people to get to know who I am - it's so much fun digging through archives and getting people's stories - so they'll have to go through sunday school rebel to get here. So if you're here, HELLO!

Speaking of morning pages - this morning I got STRAIGHT OUT OF BED, poured my coffee, found my glasses, and starting writing.  It was slow.  The past two mornings I've puttered about (not POTTERED as some have tried to tell me is the correct term) - made coffee, stretched, spoken to the dog - those little things that help you wake up and your brain to percolate.  Perhaps it's better I have a few minutes to really wake up.  It was like writing through sludge there at first, until the coffee really started kicking in. 

I know some people are not loving the morning pages, but I will be a first class nerd and say that I really do like them.  It's so great to have somewhere to write about the stuff you can't put on a blog, or talk about elsewhere. I can ruminate over an issue that maybe I really should have gotten over by now - something that truly does affect my creativity, as I feel like I have demons waiting in the wings with poisoned arrows, ready to shoot me down - I give so much power to them. See? I just called them demons.  It helps to write about it - and I know we're not supposed to re-read our morning pages, but one phrase that came out writing about it was 'your tiny, sad kingdom'.  That gave me such satisfaction.  Yesterday I scribbled a poem, maybe not a poem but chunks of sentences set down in a poetic structure - and I came out with all sorts of things. I'm going to keep going for it, getting it out, purging the thoughts and conversations that have been spinning in my head for so long. 

Right now I'm reading Madeleine L'Engle's Certain Women - rereading, I should say - and at one point, the characters speak of forgiving.  Emma asks, "What is forgiveness?"  Her sister Chantal answers, "It's not forgetting. That's repression, not forgiveness.  Remembering, but not hurting anymore."