Gratitude

Last week, my creative slump came to an end. I was sitting in the rocking chair, watching the kids play, looking out at a peach coloured sunrise, and the beginnings of a poem crept into my mind. I jotted some things down and then waited impatiently for P to get up, have his first cup of coffee, and relieve me so I could run upstairs and write.

Ending a fallow period of writing is like, if you'll allow the adult comparison, having sex after a long dry spell. It is that basic, that animal, of a feeling. For me, at least. It's a few weeks of nothing and then suddenly: a rush, a flurry, the inspiration sweeping me along, words beating in my brain; the feeling that this is finally going to happen. The dash to the bedroom, to the desk, fumbling at the laptop, the pen lid, the button on a shirt. The pouring fourth across the page, across the screen. The high and then, the slow come-down.

Ah.  Relief. I expect the clouds to open in heavy rain, the birds singing from sheltered perches in the trees.

I am grateful. Let my heart fill with gratitude for this return of words. Of course I knew they'd come. I glow with my thanks. I carry it over into my day. Thank you, Muse, thank you, Inspiration, for visiting me again. I'm always here, listening, ready. Writing like this is like communion, it is natural and also sacred; sex and life and love. It doesn't always happen like that, the burst of inspiration, but when it does, it's magic.

Now is the real work of going back over that inspired piece, which is always a bit messy. There are parts of it that are downright cliched, but in editing I work them over to bring out the truth, the essence of what I was trying to say. Sometimes in those hurried inspired times, I resort to cliche as a sort of shorthand. It can be frustrating to try and root out the right words, but I'm learning to enjoy the revision as much as the initial burst of writing.

I'm looking down the nose of a week of solo parenting, and so my writing slips from a regular practice to something I have to try and fit in where I can. I feel like there are so many things I'm trying to "fit in where I can", and they all feel important to me. I've been trying to begin a regular yoga practice, even just 20 minutes a day, and I'm trying to meditate for 10 minutes after the kids go to bed. Plus keep up with the several books I usually have on the go, favourite blogs, this blog, and oh yeah, those three kids...it all feels like so much, but I guess another way to look at it is with gratitude. I'm grateful that I even have the freedom and luxury to be considering all of these things (writing! yoga! meditation!) in my life. Self-care has become such a huge priority these days, and having a partner who works from home and can help facilitate all of this is a real gift.



This post is a part of the What I'm Writing link-up.

4 Ways to Get Through a Creative Slump

It's a strange thing, to finish a poem. I think other writers, or creatives in general, would agree that the feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment that accompanies a finished piece can be coloured by fear. Will this be it? The Last Good Thing I Create? Will the muse never visit me again, am I done now? Dried up?

I often feel a bit of anxiety, especially if I don't have something else brewing. Specifically, I've finished that tricky poem I mentioned last week.  It ended up being longer than I'm used to writing, but still about 75 words short of the minimum for the CBC Poetry Competition. Maybe I'll try a different competition.

But even though I've got a few ideas swirling, themes I see emerging that I'd like to explore more, nothing is coalescing for me right now, and that's frustrating. So I've been thinking about, and practicing, a few different ways to get through this slump. I wanted to share them with you here today.

1. Read

I've often seen the advice that reading should be a writer's primary task. Reading other works in our niche helps us to see what's already out there. Through reading we see what others have done before us, what they've done better than us. Completely immersing ourselves in poetry, or short stories, or novels or personal essays, whatever the genre, makes it possible for us to be deeply rooted in our craft, so that we can grow as writers.

Reading can also inspire us in many ways. When we read something that is so beautifully crafted it makes us ache, we can take that ache and turn it into our own attempts at beauty. Though if I'm being honest, my first reaction to reading something deeply beautiful is to despair that I'll never write like that. But it's important not to get caught up in that despair. Instead, we have to try to turn that into our own attempts at crafting with our own unique voice.

Reading can also inspire us in the sense that something we read can become a jumping off point. Maybe a line in a poem gets stuck in your head, and you find yourself starting a new poem from there. Maybe you've read a non-fiction piece that you'd like to explore further from your own perspective.

Reading exposes us to new words, new ideas, new ways of using language. It is absolutely the most important thing we can do as writers.

2. Take yourself on an "artist's date".

In her book "The Artist's Way", Julia Cameron prescribes weekly artist's dates as a way to unblock your creativity. This is meant to be something fun that you do on your own, something outside of your usual experience. Something that appeals to your inner child, your muse.

If you've got kids in tow, like I usually do, every day can be an artist's date. It's easy to be in touch with your inner child when you're surrounded by children.

So take all the kids, your inner kid included, to a museum, an art gallery, the aquarium. Go for a hike. Buy a disposable camera and take some pictures (and get them developed!). Build sandcastles at the beach, swing at the park. The idea is to experience new things, things that inspire your creativity in different ways. And in the process, we might be inspired by a painting, a conversation overheard, the feel of the sun on our skin.

Last week we took our kids to the aquarium in Toronto. It's led me to reading up on horseshoe crabs, and I feel like it might eventually lead to a poem. If nothing else, I've learned something new.

Getting out of our heads, as artists, and as parents, is really important. Because the act of creating is often a solitary one, just like the act of parenting. We get into our routines so easily (and having a routine is great!) but sometimes we can get stuck there. I feel like that's especially dangerous when we're between projects. When I'm not working on something, I end up sitting at my desk, staring out at the same trees, the same street, the same dog that walks past at the same time every day, and feeling like I'm in this loop. A really uninteresting, uninspiring loop. So an artist's date can help to lift me out of that. To see things from a different perspective, or even to try something completely new, can be magic. It takes a bit of mental gymnastics to turn your everyday with kids into an artist's date, but it can be done.

3. Journal or Freewrite.

I try to start all of my writing time this way. Personally I aim to fill 2-3 pages with freewriting: I just write what's in my head, no matter how dull or uninspired it might be. Sometimes what I write is related to what I'm working on creatively; sometimes it's just a bunch of complaining about what I have to do later that day. But just getting that pen moving across the page can be a surprising thing, because occasionally something really interesting comes out. Often my freewrites have led me to a poem, as I flesh out an idea or a thought or experience, and really explore where my mind wants to go with it.

Some people like to do this using a prompt. If you Google "writing prompts", there are endless resources available out there. You can sign up to get writing prompts delivered daily right to your inbox. What comes out of your use of prompts might just be practice for you, a way to flex your creative muscle a little, a way to get you thinking about something in a new way, or it might turn into something really wonderful that you take further. Either way, at least you're writing something, doing the work of creating and using that part of your brain.

4. Connect with other writers.

This is something I don't do enough of, and maybe that's why I'm adding it here. Talking to other writers and artists is a good way to realize that you are not alone. We all get stuck, we all have downtime. I'd be willing to bet that even the best have these moments of despair.

So reach out on Twitter, or on blogs, or better yet, in person, if you're lucky enough to have a circle of writers near you. Commiserate a little bit. Remind one another that this will pass. That last poem will absolutely NOT be The Last Good Thing You Create. There will be other poems, essays, stories. You are not a one trick pony! We have to remind ourselves, too, that writing and creating is our life's work. It is easier to write than to not write, There will be a next thing. We just have to do the work of showing up at the page, being patient, and listening.

What's your favourite way to get through a down time? I'd love to hear your tricks in the comments!



This post is a part of the What I'm Writing link-up. Please click through the link to visit the other participants!

When Your Inner Critic Won't Shut Up

I've been working on a poem lately that has proven difficult. It's a bit more complex than what I usually write; and to add to that, I'd pre-emptively decided that I was going to enter this poem in CBC's Poetry Competition. Entries must be between 400 and 600 words...and I don't usually write poems anywhere near that long. It's possible to submit a collection of poems, but I just had it so firmly in my mind that this was going to be one poem. With a minimum of 400 words.

So where I usually revise a poem by cutting out all that is unnecessary, I found myself keeping an eye on the word count, adding in things that I knew weren't really adding to the poem. Trying to make it work. Getting really frustrated in the process.

And then I did something even worse: I went on to the Canada Writes website and started reading through last year's winning and shortlisted poems. And reading the author bios. And getting really, really discouraged.

Julia Cameron calls it "the critic" in The Artist's Way. Kim Addonizio simply refers to it as our demons. Basically, it is this sad, scared little voice that sometimes gets very loud, trying to convince us that our creative endeavors are silly, stupid, tired, pointless, worthless, etc. etc. My demons were loud yesterday. I'm not a published author! My poems are not like these poems! I do not have an MFA! Oh god, should I get an MFA? I can't afford an MFA! I'll never be published! Give it all up now!

Stop. Stop stop stop stop stop! Step away from the internet!

I did just that. While babies napped and 4 year olds watched a show about crocodiles, I unrolled my mat and did a few rounds of sun salutations, then a few more poses and finally a blissful savasana. Just lying there, feeling my body sink into the floor, watching my mind very briefly go quiet. Then I got up and hugged my kid, made some pizza dough, got outside, came back in, drank a beer, and went to bed.

And this morning, on waking, I knew. Don't listen to those demons, first of all. Because writing is my life breath; it is so important for me to do. I must do it even if I never get published, never win an award.

And I knew, too, that I must stop trying to write the 400 word poem that will be entered into the CBC Poetry competition. Instead, write the poem that needs to be written. Write it on your terms. Cut out all those extra words that are making it a poorer poem, anyway. It seems so simple but I, and I hope I'm not alone, often get into these rigid places where my mind is set on something and so it must be. It's useless, though, to try and fit ourselves into a rigid structure that just isn't working. The outcome will make us feel like shit, and it certainly won't win any prizes.

Once I'd freed myself of these expectations, I was able to come back to the poem and see it's truth and beauty. The demons were quiet again, sitting petulantly in the back seat, looking out the window as I let my muse drive the car.

That poem won't be entered in the CBC Poetry Competition. In fact I don't know that I'll enter anything in any competition right now! Instead I'll focus on writing the poems that need to be written. And if they happen to fit nicely into a box, then maybe. But I'm done trying to force them.

It occurs to me as I write this that these things hold true for parenting, as well. It's funny how often I see parallels between my writing life and my parenting life. Just as with this particular poem, I get these ideas about how my kids should be, or how I should be as their mother, or how our day should be structured or whatever. And then I just try so hard to slam that square peg into that round hole. And nobody is happy, and it never works. I need to parent the kids I have, the way they need to be parented in each moment; and I need to be the mother that I am. The harder I fight these things, the harder our lives are in general.

It should be noted, too, that comparison comes in to play. Don't compare yourself to other mothers; don't compare yourself to other writers. So obvious, but so difficult in practice!

So how about you, readers and writers and parents? How do you shut up your inner critic so you can just do what you have to do?



Image via Flick user TheGabeC. Licensed via Creative Commons.


*This post is a part of the What I'm Writing link-up.

Self-Care is (Still) Hard

This past weekend, a week into a ten day stint of solo parenting, I left all three kids with my parents while I walked to Wortley Village. I stopped in at the health food store, I made a quick trip to the library, I bought a tea and found a sunny bench in the church garden. And I found myself sipping my too-hot tea, burning my tongue, and reading the first few poems in my book without even really reading them. 

Because self-care is still really hard for me. I felt like this time was undeserved. I felt like I had to rush to get back to my parents' place. Like for sure the kids, Charlotte in particular, were all perishing without me. I was tense, just waiting for my phone to buzz with a message from my mom saying "you'd better come home".  

I had a similar experience a few weeks ago. I went to a yoga class one Sunday evening, leaving all three kids with P and my parents. So one adult per kid. It's a fair ratio! But through the entire class I just could not relax. I could not still my thoughts; instead, I spent the entire time picturing Charlotte screaming, tear stained face. I rushed out of the class when it was over, raced home and burst through the door to hear...nothing. No crying baby, no freaking out toddler. Maybe a little laughter, the sound of the t.v. Of course everyone was fine without me. 

So back to the church garden, and that sunny bench with my tea and book of poems. I stopped myself. I took a few slow, deep breaths. I closed my eyes, felt the warmth of the day. And reminded myself that everyone would be okay without me for awhile. In fact, they would be better without me.

We all know that in order to keep at the hard work of pouring ourselves into these little people day after day, we have to stop and fill ourselves up, too. No one seems to talk much about how hard it is, though. How making time for self-care often feels illicit. It is so difficult to just shut down that part of our brain that is constantly thinking about the next diaper change, the next snack time, the next melt-down, and just sink into the moment and take care of ourselves. 

I'm going to keep at it, though. I might continue the practice of checking in with myself, taking a few grounding breaths before I do whatever it is I'm doing. What about you? Do you struggle with self-care? Are you getting better at it? Or do you find yourself, like me, rushing through it so you can check that off your list, too? 

One Foot in Front of the Other

I'm sitting on my bed, drinking tea. I came up here to write for one hour, as I've been trying to do for almost two weeks now, every day. Some days, it's easy. I can't wait to get here, pouring out the words to a new poem or working one in progress like a jigsaw puzzle. Some days, like today, I get here feeling uninspired and with a whining voice in the back of my mind. I don't feel like it, the voice says. Just skip today. And I guess these are the days that are most important to push through.

I used to believe that I could write only when the mood struck, when inspiration hit. I believed that if I just waited patiently in between those bursts, another idea would come eventually. Now, I understand that the real work of creating comes between those (rare, precious) bursts of true creative inspiration. The real work of creating is just showing up, day after day, sometimes kicking and screaming.

As I sit here musing over this aspect of the creative life, it occurs to me that parenting is much the same. Most mornings, I wake up feeling unrested. I open my eyes and I think "already I have to get up with these kids? Didn't we just go to sleep?" I expect to get out of bed with the ache in my lower back and pelvis and thighs and feet having been soothed by sleep, only to find the ache is still there. It's a constant in my life. I change diapers, I get the kids breakfast, I refresh my Facebook feed, bleary eyed.  I nurse the baby. The sun comes up, the boys start to get wild and I know I need to engage, I need to get us all outside. But the ache. The tired. I just want to sit, and rock in the rocking chair, and close my eyes. But doing that is always so much harder than pushing myself to get up and get us all dressed and out the door for an hour. And eating junk convenience food for dinner always feels so much worse in the end than actually prepping and cooking a real meal.

Every day of this parenting gig I feel like I do the impossible. I wonder how the hell I can possibly get through another day, but then I just do. I'm sure most parents, moms of more than one child in particular, are familiar with the question: "How do you do it all?" I don't even know how to answer this. I shrug. Because I have to. I have to do this, I have to show up every. single. day. And feed and dress and engage with these little people because I don't have a choice. I have to do this work because I can't NOT do it. And some days are fabulous. Some days are beautiful and smooth, they just flow from moment to moment like my pen flows across a clean blank page in those rare moments of true inspiration. I push through so I can be open for those inspired moments.

So, in writing poems as well as in parenting, I just continue to show up. When I don't feel like it, when I'm tired, when I want to do anything but. I put one tired foot in front of the other, and keep plodding along.

Writing, Life

The past week was an exciting one for me in terms of writing. I met with UWO's writer-in-residence, Tanis Rideout, to go over some of my recent poems. She was so warm and encouraging and gave me some really helpful pointers for tightening up my work; suggestions that seemed general at the outset ("get rid of everything you don't need!") but that just clicked for me. I've been reworking everything I've written recently with these things in mind, being ruthless, looking at my poems line by line rather than just as a whole. Questioning each word, what does it do for the poem, what tone does it set, is there a better way to say this? I love the way a little nudge like that can just open up a whole new way of seeing. I'm going to submit these revised poems to another round of literary magazines, hoping to find them a home.

Over the weekend, London had its 2nd annual Words Fest, a festival celebrating all things wordy. I was able to take in a reading on Saturday morning at Museum London. It was invigorating for me to be among other writers, and especially to hear some localish authors read from newly published works. My favourite was Carolyn Smart, reading from her new collection of poems: Careen. Her reading was powerful and I picked up the book, a dramatic rendering of the story of Bonnie and Clyde.  I'm most of the way through it already and I'm really loving it.

Through all of this it's become clear to me that I want to connect with other writers, poets, creatives. I desperately need to share that part of myself with others who get it: who get the process, the struggle, the thrill of a new idea. Who can look at something I've written and offer constructive criticism. I think there is a thriving writers community here in London. Later this month I'm going to try to attend a meeting of the London Writer's Society in hopes of finding a critique group, and some day...when I can be away from babies and stay awake past 8 pm, I'd like to attend one of the poetry open mics hosted by Poetry London.

I see it as being a long road, but I feel my feet are firmly planted upon it and if you're still reading this blog, you'll get to come along for the ride. I suppose I see this space as focusing mostly on my journey as a writer. If you came here strictly for the baby stuff, and you don't wish to follow along further, then thank you for coming this far, at least.

I think I've found my writing time, though. In making the best of being up at 5 am with the littles every day, I've started slipping away for an hour around 7, once P is awake and we've both had some caffeine, back up to the bedroom where I write for an hour. I've always loved mornings best, and of all the times I've tried out in the last couple of months, this feels the easiest. I think it's something I can maintain. And having that writing time in the morning makes it easier for me to be present and engaged with the kids the rest of the day, something I've been working on, too.

I started this blog lamenting the loss of myself in motherhood, but over the last 6 months I see myself reclaiming my identity as writer, a poet, and that is inextricably tied to my recovery from PPD. A year ago, I was merely surviving, dreading having a third child, totally overwhelmed and depressed. Today I see myself as being on the brink of thriving, and I am so deeply grateful for that!



One year ago, heading out of the Yukon.

On Rejection

Recently I wrote that I'd submitted a few poems to several different online and print literary magazines. I've heard back from two of those journals already, both kind-hearted rejections. And I'm okay with that. In fact, I was expecting it. It's been years since I read or wrote poetry with any regularity. It's only been weeks, a few short months at most, since I decided to dedicate myself to the craft of poetry again. So it's silly to think that with the first few poems I write, I could be published.

And I understand in a way that I didn't years ago that it's okay to be rejected, that it is absolutely a part of the creative life. It's the risk we take in creating and in putting our art out there. In her book "Big Magic", Elizabeth Gilbert asks: "What are you passionate enough about that you can endure the most disagreeable aspects of the work?" She quotes a blogger named Mark Manson, in asking "what's your favorite flavor of shit sandwich?" Which is to say that rejection is the shit sandwich that goes hand in hand with putting your art out there for consideration. And if you love your art, you'll learn to tolerate the shit sandwich, too.

Through reading "Big Magic" and in considering more deeply my relationship to my writing, I've come to understand an idea that I've flirted with for years, an idea first brought to me through "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron. That is the idea that the practice of any kind of art is a spiritual one. To create is a spiritual endeavour. It's the idea that the work, whether it be a poem or a photograph or a sculpture, wants to be made, and it wants to be made through us. It is a gift from the Universe or God or whatever random creative forces coincided to put us all here, and the best thing we can do is be grateful and enter into communion with our creativity, acting as midwives to bring them into being. It's a beautiful idea, and one that softens the blow of rejection.

Because I want to create. It gives me joy to write poetry, to play with words and punctuation and line breaks, to bring a thought into being, to crystallize it on the page just so. Lately I approach poetry and writing as a form of play. It brings me peace instead of the anxiety I used to feel. I've let go of the idea that to be successful, to call myself "writer" I have to be published and widely read. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be published and widely read, but it no longer feels like an end goal. I feel like I'm finally learning to feel joy in the process, in the magic of creating, whatever the end result may be. I will continue to hone my craft and I will continue to send my work out for consideration. I find satisfaction that someone, somewhere, read it and thought about it long enough to say "No, thanks. Not for us."

I see this shift in my mind touching other aspects of my life, too. Last week I tried a new recipe, a variation of shepherd's pie, for dinner. I put a fair amount of time and effort into the meal, first roasting, peeling and pureeing sweet potato for the topping, then chopping all the vegetables for the filling, sauteing them and making a sauce. The dish was bright, colourful, and I was excited to try it. But my boys declared it was "yucky" before they even had a bite (though Colm did eat some of the sweet potato topping) and my husband bravely ate most of his portion, though I noticed all of the kale pushed to the side of the plate in a soggy green pile. And my initial reaction was one of disappointment, and even a bit of embarrassment to think I was going to pass this very different dinner off on my currently picky bunch. I bit back tears as I cleared the plates in a huff.

But then I remembered these ideas about creativity I've been turning over. I remembered the grace with which I accepted the rejection of my poems. I realized that I took joy in preparing the meal. I myself thought it was quite good. So what if my critics disagreed? I probably won't make it again, but I'm glad I tried. In that moment my mind shifted from feeling personally offended to just observing the reactions with curiosity. I realized that I can take pleasure in preparing a meal, but I can't control peoples' taste. Just like with my art.

If we're to live a happy creative life, we have to learn to deal with the inevitable frustrations, too. I'd rather write poems that nobody else likes than not write poems at all. And the same goes for my cooking!