On Regular Practice (A Love Letter Reprise)

(While I’m away teaching in France for the month, I’m running a few favorite letters from last year.  We will be back to regular, new programming the first week in October. Meanwhile, if you want to come to France with me next year, click here for a look at this year’s program.)

I have a busy life. (And I’m betting you do, too.) There’s my writing, client appointments, teaching, reading manuscripts, planning workshops, blogging and writing newsletters. And let’s not forget my gloriously time-consuming family, including four grandchildren under five who I want to spend as much time with as possible with while they still think Nonni is cool.

I love all this, every bit of it, even when I’m fretting about getting everything done.  But a funny thing often happens to me. People ask me what’s new or what’s been going on and I draw a blank. I know I’ve been doing a million things but I can’t get my brain to land on any single one of them. Does this ever happen to you?

I notice that this happens a lot when I’ve been writing regularly.  When people ask me what’s been going on, I start to say, “Well, you know, Bridget just found out that Cade is dating someone young enough to be her child.  And she’s tempted to  leave the small town he brought her to! But she can’t, because she has to stay to see this job through.” And then I remember—that’s not my life, that’s what’s happening in my book.  The one I’m working on every morning.

I’ve finally realized that’s what’s going on in my life—I’m writing.  Day in, day out (with the occasional every Saturday, when I can’t seem to focus, off).  There’s no drama, because I’m busy working.  Nothing to see here. Move along.  I’m practicing.

Practicing, as in sitting down to work at my profession every day and practicing, as in working to improve my work in my profession.  Because when you have a practice, as in something you do regularly, you get better at it.   You just do.  You can’t help but improve when you turn your attention to the same thing over and over again.

I’m happiest when I’m practicing.  And I suspect I’m not the only one.  I used to think that as a creative person, consistency would be boring.  That life needed to be exciting so I had something to write about.  But quite the opposite is true.  Nothing is richer and more fulfilling—and thus more exciting—than having a consistent practice.

I have two consistent practices in my life at the moment: writing and meditation. (I used to be consistent at walking but a pesky knee ailment has sidelined that for the time being.) I feel better when I’m practicing both. (But if I had to choose, I’d go with the writing.) As Mitch, one of my wonderful clients said last weekend, “I start to get edgy if I don’t write for a few days.”

Indeed. Me, too.

Leave a comment and tell me what you practice regularly. I’ll do my best to respond promptly, despite being in France!

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A love letter about having, and deserving, good tools (A love letter)

Recently, I got a new computer, the one I’m writing this newsletter on.  It’s a Macbook Air, and I love it. Working on this computer makes everything easier and smoother and faster.  Working on this computer makes me happy.

My previous computer was two years old; a very inexpensive PC. I liked it well enough. I thought it was just fine. But it wasn’t until my cat threw up on its keyboard that I pondered getting a new one.  (Only the keyboard was damaged, the rest worked fine. So, for a while I carried an external keyboard and mouse around with me.) I went kicking and screaming to a Mac, buying one only because I want to run Vellum, the book formatting software on it, and it is available only for Macs.

And now I’m in love.

The other day I had to check on something on my old computer.  I was stunned at how slow it was, how long it took to connect to the internet, how clunky it felt. (And let me be clear, this is not a rant against PCs, I like them. It was more about my poor, overworked computer.) But as I worked on it, I remembered: this was previously what I struggled with every day.

So why didn’t I get a new computer earlier? Because new computers are expensive. Because I told myself I didn’t need one. Never mind that I use it all day every day. I told myself the one I had was just fine. Never mind that it was slower than trying to get a toddler to do something he doesn’t want to do. Just never mind.

I guess I should thank my cat for vomiting on the keyboard because now I realize how much I was putting up with. Settling for.  And pondering all this has made me think that maybe there’s still a bit of that old residual feeling of, but I’m just a writer. I don’t need anything fancy. For some of us it may even be a reluctance to admit that we are writers.

So many of us have self-doubt about our role as writers. And even though I’ve been a professional writer for years, I still sometimes struggle with this, too. When I read a story about a humanitarian building schools in Africa or a teacher changing the lives of children or an activist accomplishing great things I get deflated.  And start to think that all I’m attempting to do with my so-called life purpose is entertain people.

And then I remember one of my favorite quotes of all time, from Christopher Vogler, author of The Writer’s Journey:

But take heart, because writing is magic. Even the simplest act of writing is almost supernatural, on the borderline with telepathy. Just think: we can make a few abstract marks on a piece of paper in a certain order and someone a world away and a thousand years from now can know our deepest thoughts. The boundaries of space and time and even the limitations of death can be transcended.

And when I remember it is magic, I feel better about my role as a writer. I hope that you will, too. And also remember that because you are a magician, you deserve the best tools, be they a computer or the special pen you love or that expensive paper that feels so good to write on.

Indulge yourself. You deserve it. You’re creating magic!

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Make Like a Bird and Sing (A Love Letter)

I’m betraying my age here (which is fine, I’m old and I own it), but when I was younger there was a common saying that people would twist in funny way.  I’m going to make like a banana and split, you’d say when you were leaving.  Or, make like a busboy and get the fork out of here.  Or, make like a tree and leave.  We said them for all kinds of occasions.

Ah, yes, those were simpler times.

But I thought of those sayings the other morning when I was outside writing early in the morning, listening to the birds greet the day as the sun rose over the houses across the street. And I thought, I need to make like a bird and sing.  (Only in my case, sing is a metaphor for write because, trust me, you don’t want to hear me sing.) Or, make like a flower and bloom.  Or, make like an Oregon grape plant that the husband planted against all objections and take over the garden.

My point being: the birds don’t worry about who, if anybody, is listening, or if they are singing it right. The flowers don’t worry about if they look fat in that color of red, or if they are arranged in a way that will be pleasing to everyone.  And the Oregon grape? Well, I’m pretty sure it has world domination in mind but never mind.

Because, wait for it here:  we need to make like a writer and write.  Because like birds singing, flowers blooming, and Oregon grape dominating, that’s what we do. Writers write. Except when we don’t.  Because we worry. About how it will sound, how it looks, is it right? Will the agent I want to submit to like it, how will my readers react, what will my mother think when she reads that sex scene? Did I spell that word right, is the grammar correct, and how do I punctuate a sentence like that?

It gets worse when you start writing professionally (or aspire to) because all of those concerns can be front and center all the time.  You have to push yourself to write fast, to go back to writing for the joy of it—even if you’ll eventually get paid, too.

Because I wager that none of us got into this writing biz because we wanted to fuss and worry over punctuation and sentence structure.  (Okay, I know there are some of you grammar geeks out there shaking your heads.) We got into it because writing, to us, is singing, blooming, growing so marvelously lushly that there’s no room to walk past us on the deck. Am I right? And it really is easy to forget that.

So, next time you sit down to write, remember the birds. And the flowers. And the Oregon grape. Okay, not the Oregon grape. Remember why you do this…and make like a bird and sing.