by susan | Sep 16, 2013 | Uncategorized
I can’t seem to write.
now, I know this is a temporary state of affairs. last week I whipped out a 5,000 word essay, and I wrote a bit the week before that. so, chances are, I will be writing again soon. but today I have no motivation, can’t find even a thread of it. I forced myself and wrote a grand total of 254 words today, 251 of which will probably be edited away later. I don’t want to write, I have nothing to say, I no longer wish to be a writer, I’m looking for a new career, a new passion, something to sweep me out of this abyss I’m in and help me build new dreams.
sigh.
I don’t like being in this place. I’m bored and grumpy and antsy and would rather do my physical therapy exercises than write. instead of journaling, I took the dog for a walk. instead of doing more research, I ate. (even as I type this, I’m thinking of eating again.) I am ready to throw my dream of being a published, prolific, professional, prosperous author out the window and go back to school . . . maybe I’ll study nursing. or dentistry. or accounting.
the good news is that, based on experience, this slump won’t last long. I tend to slump for short periods of time, then bounce back to being my passionate writer self quite quickly. I am a writer through and through, heart and soul, pen and paper. I can no more walk away from it than I can be a natural redhead. it’s ingrained in who I am, in my dna, in every cell in every part of my body (including those parts that are still recovering from that accident that led me to read all that no-brainer fiction.)
but today, this evening, I reside in a slump. it’s gray and dreary and deep, and something far below is trying to grab my toe and pull me even further down. I type away in an effort to resist this pull, but I’m not certain it will work. I own not a single iota of creativity, I have nothing to say, all of my projects will wither on their vines.
come tomorrow, I expect things will be different . . . because they always are. I will go to bed tonight and ask for a reconnection with my heart, with my soul, with the pen and paper I so dearly love. the prince of sleep will send me colorful dreams that will stimulate what is today lying dormant, and upon waking I will once again have the desire to write, to create, to find inspiration everywhere I turn.
I accept my slump this evening—moments like this are part of everyone’s lives—but will banish it tomorrow. because I am a creator, and like every artist out there, I have no choice but to do what I do, because it is who I am. not a redhead, but absolutely, a writer.
by susan | Aug 21, 2013 | what I'm reading
two great loves of my life are writing and riding . . . writing whatever it is my heart tells me to, and riding my bicycle.
I am fairly new to cycling, having not become a regular until about 7 years ago. as an adult I’d had a mountain bike, but was usually too busy working or parenting or both to get out on it much. living high on a hillside was another deterrent: no matter where I went, I’d have to climb back up to my house when I was done. I rode seldom to never.
then my bike got stolen, my children grew up a bit, and I suddenly decided it was time to ride. I bought a new mountain bike and started riding, but mainly on roads. after nine months of that I finally bought my first road bike. took an indoor winter cycling class, met some friends, started riding outside when the weather cleared . . . and now I figure I have ridden close to 40,000 miles on my road bike. well, bikes, as I’m now on my third.
I’ve learned a lot along the way, and I’ve had a few spills and cracked a few helmets. but the thrill of riding my bike is immeasurable and almost inexplicable. I love it. love it.
and then ten days ago I crashed, a more severe crash than others I’ve had. this one broke my scapula, separated my shoulder, and broke 5 ribs. thankfully I am recovering, and each day brings me a bit more mobility and energy and soon, hopefully, more lung capacity. but during these past five or six days–once I got off the narcotic-type drugs and onto the simpler over-the-counter types–I’ve had lots of time to sit and read. read books. finish ones I’d been working on, and start new ones. it’s been the perfect time for some lightweight, no-brainer fiction.
this genre has its place. it helps me disengage from what might be bothering me or causing anxiety, and it helps pass the time. it moves quickly and superficially enough that I don’t have to think too much. I can skim paragraphs that are of no interest without losing the storyline. it’s entertaining in a way that demands little from me. which, when you’re recovering from an accident, is just about perfect.
I’m also working my way through a few serious non-fiction books, and I find I can only read so much at a time before I have to take a break. (my excuse for this and other forgetfullnesses and silly comments is “I hit my head.”) back to the no-brainer during the pause, skimming and filling time and caring just enough about it to keep going.
I have no desire to create no-brainer fiction. nor do I want to write dense tomes that take enormous effort to read and understand. I want my readers to think, but I also want them to be transported, to be enlightened, to be validated and encouraged and empowered.
some days I want to be challenged by what I read. I always want to be encouraged and empowered. I like to learn, I like to be entertained. and some days I want to think as little as possible–like these current days–and am immensely grateful for those who write fiction that I lovingly call no-brainer.
by susan | Aug 7, 2013 | Uncategorized
today I handed over a piece of my new project to my publisher. if you’re any kind of a creator you can relate to the feelings involved, which are similar to those of a parent whose newborn child is on display.
possibly worse than being the parent is to be the viewer: dare we speak our truth? um, gee, that face is red and squishy, and the cheeks are out of proportion, and all those wrinkles around the eyes aren’t very attractive . . . the hair’s a mess, and yikes, look at her scrunch up her face and turn bright red and oh God, here comes a wail . . . no, we try to find the positive and focus on that. we put ourselves in the mind and heart of the parent and say, she’s beautiful.
as I handed these 4400 words over this morning, I told my publisher I’d already imagined a slew of responses he might have, considered what those might do to me and my project, and decided that I was going to keep moving forward anyway . . . so I handed the papers over.
and now I feel like I loaned him my baby. he might come back with responses meant to mollify me, stroke me, encourage me. he may say things that make me want to grab my baby back and never give it to him again. he might be honest, and I may or may not like what he has to say. it doesn’t really matter: I will keep writing what I need to write.
I hope he likes it, of course. I hope he thinks it’s fantastic. but I also know that whatever he says I will hear through a parent’s (and a creator’s) self-protective, love-filled bubble. I will listen, take in as much as I can, keep on writing, and subtly adjust as time goes on and the words flow through.
today I handed part of my baby to a relative stranger, and I’m waiting for him to tell me what he thinks of it.
I’m not holding my breath, but I am, however, gently holding my heart.
by susan | Jul 31, 2013 | Uncategorized
I attended a wedding the other evening, a beautiful celebration on a grassy lawn beside a pond, shaded by trees, with dappled sunlight touching guests here and there. a chuppah was set in front of the chairs, a striking collection of slender logs with smooth gray bark, chiffon, and flower bunches thick with light purple hydrangea and pale yellow roses. the ceremony was heartfelt and personal, while still adhering to tradition and doctrine. other than one of the bridesmaids fainting, it flowed easily and engagingly. a string quartet had played traditional music as we gathered and seated ourselves and for the entrance of the wedding party and bride, but as the newly married couple departed the setting, they played a beatles song, in my life.
I don’t listen to beatles’ songs nearly enough. in my life is a love song that includes people and places and memories, saying I’ll often stop and think about them, and that I’ve loved them all. life is filled with experiences and encounters, and there’s no better way to go through life than by acknowledging how each one–good and bad–has affected you for the better.
reading good literature and poetry, listening to powerful compositions, and hearing musicians do what they do best are all things that touch hearts and souls. and the beatles were extremely talented at writing poetry, lyrics, and music. I am not placing them above anyone else, I am just using them as an example of talented people who created amazing works. I listen to lyrics like these and think, what else do we need to say?
we now live in a world of 7 billion people, a world that has fostered writers for over a thousand years, writers who have produced millions of written works.
I sometimes wonder if there’s anything left to say.
yet I keep plugging away at it, as do tens of thousands of others. after all these years, after reading and listening to thousands of others, we still want to say things in our own words. I think about just spending the rest of my life reading what everyone else thinks, feels, and writes, and it’s certainly tempting. but I find that after a period of time spent reading, or riding my bicycle, talking with friends or just being, my hand begins to search for a pen, and I want to write.
whether it’s all been said or not, I have a desire to say it again, perhaps a little bit differently, hopefully from a perspective that is subtly shifted away from that of others. I accept the reality that my words will bear striking similarity to those of others, and that none of my thoughts are truly unique. that’s okay. I still have to write.
may you continue doing what you need to do, whether someone else is doing the same thing or not, whether it’s already been done a million times, or even if it feels like just one more version of someone else’s idea. you have a passion for a reason: fuel it, feel it, live it.
by susan | Jul 10, 2013 | Uncategorized
two months ago my favorite publishing company–torrey house press–approached me with an idea for a book, and asked me if I would be interested in taking on the project. let me clarify: they approached me with a topic. a one-word topic, a topic that they said I could take on and write about in any way that inspired me. sounds great, doesn’t it? sounds like a dream job, sounds like something any writer with half a brain should say yes to.
so I said yes, (because I appear to have–sometimes if not always–about half a brain). and thus I find myself writing a book about wolves.
yep, wolves.
and it is going to be a damn good book.
I’ve been researching like crazy for the past two months, reading and interviewing and traveling to yellowstone and missoula and bozeman, thinking and feeling and synthesizing it all . . . and I am creating an incredible book about something I never even knew I might care about. at least, I’m creating this incredible book when I can tear myself away from the never-ending research.
about a month into my indoctrination-by-overload into the world of wolves, I had eight books stacked on my table and I needed a bike ride. along the route, my biking buddy bob was listening to my current-and-future wolf reading list, and he said to me, “back in college, a professor once told me–after listening to all of the research I’d done–just start writing.”
so I just started writing. and I’m still writing, and researching, and reading, and continuing to write.
there are numerous books about wolves already out there: you can read about the reintroduction of wolves into yellowstone, you can read the science, you can read books with amazing pictures, you can read about people who camped and lived with a wolf pack for six years. mine will be nothing like these: they’re already out there. mine is a personal story, a personal journey, with universal application. it’s a book about wolves, and it’s also a book about what it means to be human, in a world with wolves.
and it’s getting written. slowly. there’s more research to do, more experiences to be had, more people to talk with. but I’m remembering to write. because it’s an awful lot like bicycling: nothing happens when you don’t pedal. and once you begin pedaling, your destination comes closer and closer, one pedal stroke at a time.
one day you’ll want to be reading my wolf book. because not only am I an excellent researcher, but I’m a darn good writer and I’m going to keep writing, one word at a time, each day bringing my destination just a little bit closer, and closer, until one day, the wolf book will be ready for you and I will begin writing something else.
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