by Jenna | Apr 3, 2013 | Writing Articles
Seems like every time I turn around, someone I know is going through something big:
… Friends with cancer.
… My father facing health challenges.
… A neighbor’s house catching on fire.
… My cousin’s husband dying.
… Even my own roll-over car accident a few years back now.
The circle of those affected feels like it’s getting closer to me, like a tightening loop.
And it’s got me to thinking…
…Is there anything I’m not paying attention to that I want to be?
Am I going to wait for my next wake-up call, or what if I just paid attention now?
Change the rules that keep you in the dark.
Last night, we saw The Croods. I loved the message at the end: “We changed the rules that kept us in the dark.” (I love that they really spelled it out; it’s a kid’s movie after all.)
And that got me to thinking even more.
How am I keeping myself in the dark, operating out of fear rather than reaching out for tomorrow? Or living for today for that matter?
As writers and creatives, one of the biggest challenges we face every day is our fear. No wonder we act like we’re confronting our own mortality. On some level we are.
But I don’t like this question.
I’ve never liked how people say, “If you knew were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?”
Maybe there’s something too cynical about me to fully appreciate that question, but there are things I commit to doing on a regular basis that I’m darn sure I wouldn’t do if I knew I’d be dying tomorrow, but I can’t live like that on an ongoing basis. Things like exercising and flossing and making sure my kid’s lunch is made, that yeah, I don’t think I’d pay attention to if the world was going to end.
On the other hand, I’m okay with it in the big picture.
But what about the big picture of our lives? I’m down with looking at that and making sure that what we’re doing matches with where we want to be now and where we want to end up.
Writing.
It wasn’t too long ago that I got the message, “Write like your life depends on it.”
And I’m writing every day now, which is a heck of a lot more than I was doing at the time. Which was rarely, if at all.
But am I writing like my life depends on it?
Not yet.
So am I going to wait for the next cosmic two-by-four, or am I going to do something about it?
Well, you already know the answer, right?
Do something.
Saturday I got out a pad of paper and started redesigning my schedule to put the focus on more writing. It’s not quite where I want it to be, so I’m going to do some more work on it today. And then I’m going to begin the process of shifting my schedule more and more in that direction. It’s okay with me if it takes a little while to shift; it’s a kind of gradual herding things into the right corrals. But it works.
Having fun.
The other persistent message that I simply have to do something about is FUN.
I’m good at working hard, you probably know that about me by now.
And I’m fairly good at really luxuriating when I give myself the chance. (I just love taking days off and putting my feet up and watching movies and eating great food and treats.)
But I just don’t give myself the chance very often.
I come from a long line of self-sacrificers and workaholics and the buck is going to have to stop here, now.
The funny thing is, I’m still not sure what I truly want it to look like, this fun thing. Writing is fun, but it’s also work.
I think it’s more about lightness of spirit and regular adventures. I hesitate to schedule time for fun. But I also used to hesitate to schedule time for writing, and look where that got me!
What if fun was worth making time for?
That sounds like a ridiculous question even as I write it.
But sometimes my brain needs an excuse to think of things in a new way.
Being appreciative and being present.
And last, I think my perhaps my biggest one, is about appreciation and presence. I’m so good at appreciating things in other people, but not so good at appreciating them in my own life. This is huge, and hard to admit. I’ve got more work to do here.
My recent tech shabbats have shown me about the power of being present and not checked out into my own little world. So I’m getting there. And there’s more. There always is.
What about you?
If this was your wake-up call, what would it be?
What is the voice of your spirit asking you to pay attention to right now?
What have you been neglecting but you know, deep down, you want to attend to?
If the Universe was going to give you a whack upside the head with a cosmic two-by-four, what would it be trying to tell you?
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by Jenna | Mar 27, 2013 | Reflections
Last weekend I experimented with something lovely: Unplugging.
It was precipitated by a comment from one of my Called to Write community members about wanting to feel truly relaxed.
I was reminded instantly of the deep relaxation I experience once a year when I'm up in the high Sierra mountains, truly unplugged. There's no electricity, no telephone, no wifi, no cell service, nothing. If we do want to get in touch with the outside world, we either have to walk 15 minutes up The Road (there's only one) to the campground to the public pay phone or drive 3.5 miles down The Road to the "City" (a rustic store that mostly sells pie and marshmallows to campers, along with a pay-per-day wifi connection).
On the plus side, making the connection hard to get to makes it a much more conscious choice. And when I'm in that world, and connected to nature and the basics of living, I am so much more relaxed than when I am at home in the thick of "so many things to do."
I thought, why not see if I can make that feeling of true, deep relaxation happen for myself more than just once a year?
The connection for sensitives
This is highly relevant for sensitive, introverted, writers, and creatives, particularly because we tend to have such rich, complex inner lives and focus so much of our attention inwardly already. Although the technological connections we can make can feel external (because we are often connecting with others online, for instance), to me it feels like it takes us deeper inside our own heads.
And too much time inside my own head doesn't really feel like a good thing. (A little like eating too much chocolate cake -- there is a just right amount, but too much feels awful.)
Let's face it, the constant accessibility of online activities -- even or especially in the guise of "down time" -- is highly overstimulating. Although we may be connecting with others, which can be considered more "extroverted," or relaxing by playing around on Twitter, Facebook, or digital games, we're actually taking in stimuli and information.
That information can become so overloading, it's no wonder we feel distracted, busy, and overwhelmed. Couple that with the common sensitive's tendency to be afraid that we'll miss something, and you've got a recipe for constant overstimulation doing what might otherwise look like quietly being at home.
This is true for anything we're engaged with that involves going deep into our own minds and not interacting in the day-to-day Real world. Even reading to excess, though I hate to say it. Again, too much of a good thing is still too much.
The invitation
So when my Called to Write member raised this point, I thought, "Okay, it's time to try a 'technology shabbat'."
This is something I've been hearing about for a while from Tiffany Shlain since I first got interested in her and her work Connected: The Film, about being interconnected in this new technological era. Like me, Shlain sees the possibilities in the amazing ways we are connected now. And she also sees the overwhelm factor associated with it.
She recently sent an email invitation to her mailing list, saying, "Will you try unplugging with me?"
My answer: Yes.
What's a technology shabbat?
In her own home, Shlain's family practices a regular weekly "technology shabbat," from sundown on Friday to sundown on Saturday, where they turn off their electronic devices and focus on their time together.
In her recent article on the subject, she notes "Researchers at the National Institute on Drug Abuse have compared the sense of technological dependency — the feeling that we must be accessible and responsive at any time and in any place — to that of drugs and alcohol."
Case in point: It's fascinating to me that apparently people are losing interest in visiting the mountain enclave we go to every year precisely BECAUSE it's so hard to access phones, messages, and online accounts. But when put in the context of addiction it makes much more sense. We've become so accustomed to everything being at the tips of our fingers that we've become afraid to be without it. And to me it DOES feel like an addiction -- something that's hard to put down once I get involved in it.
So I decided to try a tech shabbat for myself.
And it was amazing.
Instead of being drawn to my phone or computer off and on all day to check email, or sucked into playing games with my son our iPad, we cleaned the house in a focused way. My son conducted experiments with glitter, water, and his sand box. I made banana bread for a family who lost a loved one recently, and I went to visit my dad who hasn't been feeling well.
In some ways, it wasn't anything particularly unusual or different than I might have normally done. In fact, the specific things we did we might well have done anyway.
But we did them without interruption.
I didn't feel like I was missing anything. Much. :)
I felt calmer. I felt present. I felt happier.
The real test came when it was over and time to check in again. Had disaster struck? Had anything gone awry? Would there be 18,000 emails from angry customers or desperate assistants?
Nope.
All was well.
And it felt great.
What's been interesting to notice since then is 1) how I have gone back to being highly involved in the technology again, but while 2) feeling somewhat resentful of the intrusion of it. I was reminded that when I first started my business I used to methodically shut down my computer every Friday night and not reboot it until Monday morning. And that was back before I had a cell phone or any of the myriad of ways to stay plugged in. (Does this remind anyone else of The Matrix?)
I also feel myself turning over in my mind some new rules about how I want to regularly engage with technology or not. What time and where, those kinds of things.
But mostly, it's been an incredible reminder of a simple way to create what feels like a vacation day to me, without even leaving town. What a treat!
Warmly,
by Jenna | Mar 20, 2013 | Writing Articles
One of the greatest bugaboos of writers (and creatives of all sorts) is resistance.
Ah, resistance.
Resistance is that unseen force that repels us from writing (or eating our vegetables or doing other good things we know will move us forward in our lives). We’ve talked about resistance here before, including why we procrastinate, especially about the stuff that really matters.
I often talk with writers about the ways to face and battle resistance — it’s something that must be overcome pretty much every day, in order to sit down to write. (Or floss. Or exercise. Or take your vitamins. Or keep your resolutions.)
One of the very best antidotes to resistance is creating a solid writing habit. (Just like a habit of going to the gym makes is so much easier to keep going.) Once you’ve got the habit in place, you stop thinking about it, and you just do the work.
But resistance is tricky!
One of my community members mentioned the insidious nature of resistance, and how sneaky it is. I was instantly reminded of a story that illustrates resistance all too well and posted it on our forums for our participants. I thought you might like to see it too.
In one of my favorite fantasy books, Seventh Son by Orson Scott Card (part of his excellent series, The Tales of Alvin Maker), there’s a scene that I think describes how resistance operates very well. Keep in mind that it operates in a positive way in this story, at least from the protagonist’s point of view, but from the antagonist’s point of view, it thwarts him to no end.
Here’s the scene:
Alvin is a young boy with innate magic abilities, a force for good in the world, and a natural “Maker” — someone with a knack or talent for making things. Reverend Thrower, the local preacher deeply opposed to the folk magic Alvin practices in his community, has been instructed to kill Alvin by the “Unmaker.” When Alvin is injured, Thrower is asked to perform a surgery on Alvin’s leg, and Thrower sees his chance. He goes into the room where Alvin is resting to do the surgery with a knife and bone saw, with the intent to kill Alvin with the tools.
But when he gets into the room, he realizes that he’s left the tools outside the room. So he goes to get them. And then goes back into the room. And realizes that he’s left the knife and saw outside. Again. And then it happens again, even with other people trying to go and bring the tools into the room. Somehow this force of resistance simply will not allow Thrower, the knife, and the saw to be simultaneously in the room in Alvin’s presence. And it keeps happening, endlessly, until somehow Reverend Thrower finds himself a half-mile away from the house, walking away from it.
Now again, I realize, this is a positive kind of resistance, because it’s a benevolent force protecting Alvin’s life from Thrower.
But at the same time, I have always been mesmerized by the notion of this man who is so determined to do something, but an unseen force acts against him repeatedly, despite the strength of his intention and will.
This is how I see resistance to writing. An unseen force that will do whatever it can, trick us however it may, into “staying out of the room” or not sitting down to write, as if somehow butts in seats and fingers on keyboards are mutually repellant forces.
Vigilance is required.
The force of resistance must be met anew every single day.
This is why I keep writing every day, pretty much, and doing it early, because it’s SO MUCH EASIER than having to think about it and wrestle my way through the mountain of resistance and procrastination and guilt and shame that comes up when I wait to do it later in the day.
Everyone I talk to about how I get up to write early thinks I’m so disciplined and determined, and it’s true in some ways, I am.
But — think what you will — to me it feels like I am taking the easy way out. I know that sounds crazy. But I feel it inside me, that writing early, having that regular habit, actually makes it easier to keep doing it than it is to stop, and so much of the daily struggle over when I will write or will I write or how long am I waiting to write, etc., it’s just gone.
Gone.
Warmly,
by Jenna | Mar 15, 2013 | Science Fiction, ScriptMag Articles
My inaugural "Sci-Fi Circuit" article for ScriptMag:
I was indoctrinated into the world of sci-fi by my father at the tender age of nine, when he handed me my first sci-fi book, The City and the Stars by Arthur C. Clarke. Right around the same time, I saw Star Wars. I was hooked. Together, they changed my life. No longer was… [read more at ScriptMag]
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
by Jenna | Mar 6, 2013 | Writing Articles
I spoke with a sister writer yesterday and we talked about the many, many challenges we face when it comes to completing projects, let alone getting them out there into the world.
As moms and working women, we said, there’s always so much that has to be done, so many dishes to wash, noses to wipe, and deadlines to meet. Then if you start factoring in other people’s needs and wants (especially when you put them first) it’s all too easy to let your precious soul’s work slip to the bottom of the pile.
I’ll get to it later
If you’re like most people, you’re probably going through the day thinking that you’ll get to it later — whatever your “it” is, that creative work you’re endlessly postponing for another day, whether it’s writing or painting or drawing or finally getting the word out about your work — but that later never comes.
Or maybe you’ve promised yourself that you’ll work at the end of the day, but quite frankly, you’re exhausted.
The trap
The trap is that you’re aiming to clear the decks first, thinking your brain will finally have the space it needs for the creative work.
You figure you’ve got to get to Inbox Zero or handle all those administrative tasks or answer so-and-so’s Very Important Message first. Then you’ll be able to focus.
But.
Those things are like tribbles from Star Trek. They multiply at an exponential rate of growth, and if you persist in putting them first? They will literally devour your time.
And right now, you are letting them do that.
It’s time to stop.
How?
Let’s face it. Life happens. Life can be busy. It doesn’t have to be, but it often is, in this culture, in this era.
There will always be more email.
There will always be more to do. More information. “Opportunities.”
And we get to choose how we respond to that stuff, or not.
Do you want to organize your life around it?
Or do you want to organize your life around what is most sacred to you?
Your deepest, soul-level priorities.
What does that even look like?
For me, that is my writing and my family, period.
So guess how I spend my mornings?
I wake up, and I snuggle with my son. When we feel ready, he goes to play with his dad and have breakfast while I write for 30 minutes. It’s not a huge amount of time, true, but I do it 6 days a week.
I’ve also corralled my business, for the most part, into regular, day time hours. Rarely does it spill over into the night or onto the weekends. Why? So I can be with my family in the evenings and focus on my son.
Doesn’t mean my life isn’t hectic. Doesn’t mean there aren’t still things I want to change. But I’m working on them incrementally, moving them to the place I want them to be. Just like a writing project, bit by bit.
The key
The key to all this comes from a few simple notions.
1. Your creative work is what you were put here to do and is therefore of the utmost importance to you, your life, and your soul’s fulfillment (and even as a role model for your kids).
2. In order to fulfill that work, you must design your life around it and make sure its priority level is reflected in the day-to-day choices you are making. (I can help you with this in 1:1 coaching.)
3. Then you must protect that sacred work time — I call mine my sacred writing time — like your life depends on it. It does.
Warmly,
