Category Archives: negative voices

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One Thing a Writer Must Believe

Today, a post for writers. The rest of you can move along…… :-)

I’ve been working on two major writing projects. I use the term “working” very loosely. Here’s why:

I HAVE BEEN PLAGUED for a long time by a repeating cycle. I am enthusiastic and begin to write, but am soon dogged by the thought, “Who cares about this stuff? Nobody will want to read about this.” And I stop. and it isn’t so much that I stop, but that I am so drained of enthusiasm and energy that I haven’t the oomph to put two words together.

It’s common to writers, I know, this experience.

Call it writer’s block,
call it what you want,
but it’s an awful cycle to be caught in.

I’ve tried everything. Surrounded myself with Post-its filled with words of wisdom from other writers. Reminded myself of the importance of perseverance. Mused the possible causes. Explored even more deeply the root of the negative voices. I’ve taken breathers from writing – eased off, stopped pressing it.

Nothing’s done the trick.
Maybe there is no trick.

Yes, I’ve toyed with quitting. Quitting trying. But still, there in front of my face hangs the story waiting to be told, to be written. (More than one actually.) It doesn’t go away. I start again, newly resolved, all the quotable quotes about applying the seat of pants to the seat of the chair firmly set before me.

I have applied for other types of work, work that will take me away from the writing. Maybe I will be refreshed by that, or at least my time will be taken up by something else and I will stop doing this dance with the writing. Let me be productive and useful somewhere, please!

I was away last week, caught up in a world of Playdoh and toy trains and Superman figures and singing and hide-and-seek. And even while there, lost in a child’s world, I wondered where it would end – the false starts, the failed attempts, the incessant thought that the only thing I have to say is something not worth saying, the only note I have to sing is one not worth singing. And what will I do? What is going to be the end of all this?

* * *

I WOKE TO THE SOUND of freezing rain and snow plows at 4:30 Saturday morning. Me, with a 6-hour drive home in front of me and suitcase packed and waiting by the door. Stuck.

No sense grousing about the weather.

While the rest of the house slept, I coffeed and chatted with my son who’d just returned from a week away. Nice! The Weather Channel’s continuous updates ran quietly in the background. Soon daylight crept in and there was stirring in the far reaches of the house.

Then came the sound of a 3-1/2 year-old’s voice from upstairs. “Grammie! Grammie! I want to show you something!”

Down the stairs he came, calling out. “C’mon, Grammie! I want to show you something and it’s white!” All his speech is in exclamation points these days. He grabbed my hand to take me back up the stairs.

“You can see it from down here, too,” others said, but he wouldn’t hear of it. His mind was set. Up the stairs we went. Up the stairs, down the hall, through the doorway to the corner of the bedroom, to a window that looked out the back of the house.

“LOOK!” he said, pointing. “Snow!”

How important it was to him that I see it out that window, the very window from which he’d first seen it! And I’d been carried up the stairs by his enthusiasm for that view, his belief that it had value and was worth the trip.

And it was! Though I’d been watching the snow and ice for hours, seen it out the guest room and family room windows and even stepped outside the front door to assess conditions and test it under foot, his view really was different from the ones I’d had. It was worth the trip.

Sure, it was simply snow. H2O frozen. Common stuff. Still it was something worth showing someone. Something worth seeing.

A writer must believe the view out his/her window is worth seeing, worth it enough to show someone else. That has been missing for me for quite a long time.

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What if Nobody Notices?

I came upon it unexpectedly Monday -
a rock,
a piece of fence,
some beauty tucked away.

and thought,
wow,
someone had a vision
and composed this little spot.

* * *

Then Tuesday
clearing out weeds
from beneath a small hedge
I imagined
something colorful
peeking out
right at the spot I’d tended -
might be fun!

But right behind that thought
came this:
What if nobody notices?

Yes, just briefly,
there it was,
that serial killer of
so many
good ideas,
orphan-maker of stories untold
paintings unpainted
songs unwritten
acts of compassion decided against:

What if nobody notices?

But remembering
the little out-of-the-way
rock, piece of fence, flowering whatchamacallit
that I might never have seen,
but did
and enjoyed…

I stopped what I was doing
and headed straight for the garden center.

Bringing home the splash of color.

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Going for Help

Multitude Monday. On Mondays, I expand on recent entries in my Gratitude Journal.

* * *

#1072 Signs I am getting better
In March
I noticed,
caught myself doing it again,
excessive “just in case” packing.

Each trip
a larger portion of the suitcase
devoted to items
meant to fill downtime,
even when little downtime was expected.

But you just never know.
It sneaks up on you, the void.
And there you are, with nothing to fill it,
leaving room for
thoughts unfocused
to run amuck.
Bad, that.
Better not be caught unprepared.
Toss in yet another book/magazine/DVD……

Like a person afraid to be alone
with her own thoughts, I was,
and noticing same,
wrote about it.

* * *

I went for help.
Yellow Pages,
under “help for people who fear being left alone with own thoughts.” :-)

No.
I prayed
about whether it was something to address or let go,
and what, if anything, could be done.

Shortly afterwards, help presented itself,
neon sign over its head:
“Here’s help. Go see THIS person.”

Step shown,
I went.
Despite doubts,
believing deep down that surely
nothing new could be told to me
about the causes and possible remedies,
that I would just have to live with it,
tough it out,
I went anyway
to the place with the Pez Wall
and happily discovered
I was wrong!

New tools in hand
new way of thinking about the problem
I returned home
to either
continue on as before
or do the hard work
of the thing.
Up to me to choose.

Getting better is not for chickens.

And now
several months
several insights
several changes
later,
I notice
my own thoughts are not bad company anymore
and
my last two trips….
there’s been a lot of wiggle room in suitcases.
All good signs, I think.
I am traveling lighter.

Do not be afraid to go for help, my friends.

A heart of gratitude is like a muscle strengthened by consistent use. The idea of noting the easy-to-overlook graces of each day, keeping a journal, building to a thousand (and beyond) began with Ann Voskamp and has spread through the blogosphere, anywhere people believe in the work of cultivating a thankful spirit. On Mondays, many share from their journals. I am one of them.

(My online journal has grown so large is has become sluggish when I add to it, so I am tinkering with it, but rest assured it’s still going and growing.)