Author: Shari Daniels

My 2014 Word of the Year ~ LOVE

| Shari Daniels

Photo on 2013-12-28 at 22.27 #5

It’s almost time to say goodbye to January. Not that I’m hangin’ on to it, by any means.  It’s been a month of wind, snow and frigid cold here in northern Minnesota.  We’ve had so many late starts and snow days that it’s beginning to feel like one long extension of our holiday break.  The upside is that a forcing to retreat indoors means time to reflect, read, be still, and to get it all on the page.  Yeah, yeah, I could take down the Christmas tree, clean the college kids’ bedrooms (ugh) or start taxes, but to me, this is FREE TIME!  The house is quiet and not a soul is here, so I will do whatever my heart desires.

I’ve chosen my 2014 Word of the Year, after much contemplation during the month of December.  My 2012 word of CREATIVE and 2013 word of COURAGE are pretty tough to beat.  Living with intent through the lens of those two words, I accomplished goals that I would have never been able to do otherwise.  The words still resonate with me and are etched into my being ~ well, they were before, I just had to reactivate them.  I will carry them forth with me to 2014.

But, I’m living out 2014 with a new word.  It’s a biggie.  MASSIVE.  I know. . . you’re feeling the suspense.

My word is LOVE.

Yes, LOVE.

“Oh.  That’s it?” is what you are thinking.

But really, I know that LOVE seems like such a cliched word.  We throw it around loosely, so it’s a word one would not think of choosing to toss into the universe because, from an outsiders perspective, we are “love-ing” all the time.  “I love chocolate. I love my family.  I love Christmas.  I love puppies.”  LOVE encompasses so much.  There are no boundaries.

My main focus with my word is SELF-LOVE.  Yes, I said it, SELF-LOVE.

Ugh.  It’s even hard for me to write that.

This is how I know I need it.  Here is my issue with it:

SELF-LOVE and SELFISH-LOVE are two terms that dance around each other.  Yet, they are each very different terms.  I’ve treated them both the same for most of my life, thinking that SELF-LOVE might be a form of egoism, narcissism, arrogance or self-promotion.  Really though, that is SELFISH-LOVE.

BUT, LOVING MYSELF?  SERIOUSLY?  WHO DOES THAT?????

I believed that others needs should always be  before my own.  (That’s what good wives, mothers and teachers do.) I believed that true humility meant to be modest and to talk down of yourself. (We learn this from everyone around us and a girl has to fit in!)  My truth was that I should never feel content with who or what I was because then, what would I work towards? (You gotta have goals and they should be based on what I need to be better at, right?) But even worse than that, I believed in my heart, that I truly was never good enough. . .in almost every area of my life.

SOMETHING always felt missing.

So, I tried to find it.  In so many ways.

Even when I knew others loved me, I still tried to fill a void in my heart.  I thought that if I could only be more perfect or find what I was missing, that void would be filled.  My 30 some years of trying to be perfect and seeking for more are over.  I’m learning to love myself just as I am.

And this is not going to be an easy road.

I’m hardwired with repeated “self-talk” that tells me I should BE better.  DO better.  LOOK better.

HERE’S THE NITTY GRITTY ~ THE SHIFT OF WHAT IT MEANS TO LOVE YOURSELF ~

Loving yourself means to open your heart to your own self, to accept yourself unconditionally for who you are, for what you look like, feel like, and think like with all of your differences, flaws (it’s only a flaw if your mind tells you it is), and unique characteristics of who you are.  Loving yourself means to treat yourself as you would a helpless infant.  It means to be a tender loving mother to yourself.  It means to use loving words when talking to yourself or about yourself.  If your mind tells you you are not good enough, then you are not loving yourself.  Loving yourself also means setting boundaries for yourself and being assertive enough to speak your truth.

I’m starting small.  And, I’m beginning with wiping out negative self talk.  Just being aware that my mind is telling me these lies is a start.  I would not say these negative words to another human being, why do I continue repeating them to myself?

For heaven’s sake.

Now. . . going to pour my glorious self a cup of tea.  Well, lookie here – my Yogi tea message. . .

“Appreciate yourself and honor your soul.”

I’ve put LOVE out there and it’s already coming back at me.

I’m loving this word already.

What the Internet is Doing To My Productivity

| Shari Daniels

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What the Internet Has Done To My Productivity

There are currently 11 tabs open on my mac.  Before 10:00 am.  (Yes, this is a fragment.  I know.  I’m making a statement.)

It’s Saturday morning, 6:45 am.  A rediculous -26 degrees below zero in frigid northern MN.  I’m thinking that I am going to get a boatload of tasks checked of my to-do list today because I’m not stepping foot out into that danger zone outside.  Cleaning, writing, school work, decorate the tree and maybe even begin some Christmas baking.  I’ve got English Toffee on my mind.

Because of the mouse that I BELIEVE ran across my face this morning as I was pulling out my REMs at 6:30am, I first go to my facebook page and post this trauma to my status.  Childhood friends console me.  Teaching colleagues and relatives were as mortified as I was.  Former students from my first year teaching appear to reminisce.  Community friends offer solutions:  peppermint oil or cats.  My daughter scolds me in that I need to wash my bedding.

Knowing I should NOT log onto facebook before noon on a Saturday, yet realizing I’ve already broken my cardinal rule, I continue to peruse facebook status’, commenting and clicking on intriguing links that grab my now distracted mind.

A fb friend posts Steven Pressfield’s Writing Wednesday post on  Managing Your Time.  Whoa.  That is the Universe speaking to ME right now, so I’d better surf over there and find out how to best do that!

Pressfield relives a narrative that makes me chuckle because I live the same one, but these are the words that I write down to remember from his post:

“You have to run your day. You can’t let your day run you.

 You must roll out of bed each morning with an unshakeable focus and intention. Your novel, your start-up, your movie. That’s your day. That’s why you’re here.

 You can’t yield to distractions and temptations. You must be like the Blues Brothers.

 You’re on a mission from God.

 Who is in charge of your day? You are!”

Ok.  He is right.  As soon as I get off here, I’m going to start some writing.  But first, I’m going to tweet this blog post on Twitter.  It’s too good to lose and others will benefit from his wise words.  Pressfield wrote the War on  Art. The man speaks volumes. He knows a thing or two about productivity and resistance.

Once on Twitter, I come upon a tweet that has caught my attention.  Cathy Mere tweets that everyone should take time to read the tweets on #nerdlutions.  “Hmmm. . . what is this?  I’d better check this out as it must be too good to miss.” I click my way over there.

I believe “#nerdlutions” was started by Christopher Lehman, but perhaps the term was derived by Colby Sharp, but I’m not 100 percent sure, needing to give credit to where credit is due.  It seems “#nerdlutions” is defined as committing to doing something or some things for 50 days.  There are no rules.  Just make sure it makes you happy.

Of course, I’m a sucker for these things.  I’m in.  Being a part of this amazing  Twitter community is the draw.

I commit to 30 minutes of writing and 30 minutes of “moving my body in some form of exercise” every day.

 I’d better retweet this and I’ll pin it to my Pinterest wall as one of my blog posts to read over and over so I don’t forget about it.

Whoa, stop the trains – once at Pinterest,  after pinning this blog post, of course other pinners who have pinned this to their wall as well, pop up.  My mind tells me that these are “like-minded” souls, so I need to check out their walls.

I click on a pin that pulls me in.  It leads me to Brainpickings, a site that I have become lost in before.  Uh-oh.  Don’t know if I should be here this morning, but I’m already astray.  The post I’m called to is by Maria Popova and titled,

“The Psychology of Getting Unstuck: How to Overcome the “OK Plateau” of Performance & Personal Growth”,

 which leads me to a book, Maximize Your Potential, by Joshua Foer.  These words from the blog post resinate in my mind for awhile and a rereading in necessary:

“In the 1960s, psychologists identified three stages that we pass through in the acquisition of new skills. We start in the “cognitive phase,” during which we’re intellectualizing the task, discovering new strategies to perform better, and making lots of mistakes. We’re consciously focusing on what we’re doing. Then we enter the “associative stage,” when we’re making fewer errors, and gradually getting better. Finally, we arrive at the “autonomous stage,” when we turn on autopilot and move the skill to the back of our proverbial mental filing cabinet and stop paying it conscious attention.”

The problem most of us have is staying stuck in “autopilot”.  By staying in our comfort zone, we tend to ‘cease to care about improving’.  Our mind tells us, “Ah, this is good enough.” I begin to think about the areas in my life I am on autopilot on and which areas need some improvement.

After savoring this post, I navigate over to Amazon to toss the book into my cart.

I don’t think I have to tell you what happens once I get there.

After losing two hours, I shut my laptop, I begin to wonder if I am crazy.  Am I alone in this world of distraction?  Are there others out there that are not able to accomplish their daily to-do list because of our online communities and getting lost in the internet playground.  I know I can’t be alone.  I ponder that if this is a struggle for me, an educated adult, what are our children going through?

I glance over to my bookshelves next to my desk.  A book seems to pop out at me.

The Shallows:  What the Internet is Doing To Our Brains by Nicholas Carr.    I don’t even remember buying this book.  I pull it off the shelf and realize I need to read this today.

After I post this to my blog today, an “unplugging” for the remainder of the weekend is in order.  I have things to do.  My mind needs a rest.  My husband will be home soon as ask me how my day was and what I did.  I’d better get something done, fast.

I might sleep with a sleeping bag on the dining room table tonight.  I don’t think mice can climb table legs.  You might say they can’t climb bed legs either, but when you blankets creep off to the floor, this creates a nice ladder for the little varmints to climb.

Did I mention I ran out of my decaf beans and perhaps ground caffeinated ones instead?  They were displayed in an unmarked glass jar.

Explains a lot.

Resistance. . . Big Time

| Shari Daniels

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This blog has been so neglected that I had forgotten my WordPress password and had to create another one.  How does one keep track of all the ever changing passwords?  I started a list on my Notepad app on my phone, but geez, then I was fretting about losing my phone. So, I now have a password to enter my phone.  But, I gotta remember that now.  Pretty soon we’ll need passwords to open the fridge.  Actually, that might not be a bad idea. . . 

Once into my blog page, I’d forgotten how to get to my Dashboard to start a new post.  Feeling some apprehension about even attempting a post, Wanda shows up, my inner critic witch.  Dang, I hate it when she appears.  She whispers to me in her crackling, old hag of a voice,

“You are not even supposed to be here.  You left long ago.  No one is left here to even read your words.  You betrayed your readers enticing them to follow you and then, you take off.  What a cruel joke.”

She is right.  I despise her when she is right.  Why do I even listen to her?  What could I possibly even say that would bring readers back to me?  I give her that look.  You know the one, the one that a wolf gives when you are the last piece of meat.  

She’s rolling her eyeballs now. . .

Feeling the pressure of choosing a topic for this debut return, she then leans over and breathes into my ear:

“I don’t even think they’ve missed you.”

Wicked, wicked, wicked.  

I can handle a line or two from her, but when the words are sharp and grind my soul, I whip out my sword.

“BEWARE, Wicked Wanda Witch!!! What do you think NOW?”  I slay the air a bit to show her my strength.

She is scared.  You should see her.  Behind that fake barfing, I know she’s trembling.

I will show her she is wrong.  I do deserve to be here.  There are people who will listen to my words and open their hearts to me, even if I have strayed (it might just be my mother and my sister).  I’m going to change things up.  Find a focus.  Hone in on my voice.  I won’t know what I have to say until I say it, but when I do, I promise you, I will say it in a way that you will understand. And it will be real.

Oh, and by the way, I have the secret password.

“I am a writer.”

That’s all I need.

Shari 🙂

Shaken ~ By A Coffee Shop Employee

| Shari Daniels

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I’m blessed to be able to travel to Ohio a couple of times a year for training at Ohio State University for my job as a literacy coach.  I travel alone and to be honest, I love spending time with myself alone.  The traveling is a bonus.

The mornings in Ohio are glorious.  Temperatures about 30 degrees warmer than MInnesota, the sun rises and warms the sky to wrap around you and just fill you with bliss.  My rental car, a spiffy little Chevy Cruz (a change from my big Trailblazer)  hugs the curves of the road as I drive about 15 miles to my destination.  The radio stays set at 104.9, The River, a Christian radio station that touches my soul each morning.  Yum.  Life is good.

Each morning in Columbus, on my way to training,  I swing by a Caribou Coffee shop for a large dark decaf, two shots of hazelnut syrup and steamed, whipped skim milk. ( M-m-m-m, just writing that makes me miss Ohio)  The drive through line always long, so I end up parking my car and walking inside to order.

One particular day, after placing my order and paying, I slide along the counter to wait at the end for my drink to be ready for pick up.  The gal who takes the order is never the maker of the order. She gives the order to this big, burly, 20 something year old guy who does all the coffee fixings.  I’m watching him and waiting, hoping he gets it right.

He hands me my cup and states, “Here’s your coffee.”

“Yay!” I’m rejoicing.  Happy day!  Life can begin now!

Then. . . I think, and I ask, “Is it decaf?” just to be sure.  I’ve been handed a regular coffee before, after a decaf request, and my body and mind do not sit well downing all that unintentional caffeine, so I NEED to double check.  Always.

“What?” he asks, looking at me confused.

“Is it decaf?” I ask again, a little clearer and a little louder.  Maybe he has a hearing problem, I don’t know.

He looks at me strange, then glances over at the gal who took the order and she says to him, “Yes, it’s decaf.”

He then, reports to me, “Yes, it’s decaf.”

“Thank you!” I tell him and I smile, taking my coffee and heading towards to door, all happy and warm inside.  Life is wonderful!

How could a morning be any better than this?  A perfect coffee, amazing weather, and an opportunity for me to engage in trainings that expand my mind and connect with other literacy coaches?  Honestly, I am so lucky!

Upon approaching the door, I then, hear the burly man say to the ordering gal, “Is this decaf???” in this loud, mimicing, obnoxious voice.

I stop dead in my tracks.  Jolted, I look over at him and he’s chuckling to her.  She looks at me with a “I don’t know him,” look.

What? I caught that.

Seriously?  In shock, I have trouble making my feet go forward.

My mind is asking, “Did that just happen?”

I am shaken.

As I walk to my car, stunned over this episode of pure disrespect for another’s well being, I almost forget where I am, what time it is and what I am doing there.  I manage to get inside the car and just sit there for a moment.  I take some deep breaths.

And then, I cry.

For Pete’s Sake.

“Really, Shar? You are going to let some idiot allow to enter your state of mind and wreck the flow of glorious love you are feeling?  What’s wrong with you?  He is not worth your energy or thoughts!  Shake this off!  Get a grip!”

I’m angry at myself for letting others affect me in this way.  I thought I had moved beyond this.  I’m an adult.  I can take a little criticism.  But, it’s the years of teasing in my elementary and early high school years that come flooding back.  Once a target for teasing, if that thorn is not yanked out, a little brushing up against it causes all the pain to come rushing back.  The pain is raw.

Or, (my mind running rampant now) is it that fact that I’m not some cute little young thing? I’m a middle aged, late 40ish, woman, who means nothing to this younger generation.  Ignored, unnoticed and unappreciated.  I’ll bet he would not mimic a cute 20 year old, like my daughters Gracie or Lauren.

I hate how the mind works in these situations.

I then realize that I have to write this down.  These disturbances within us are cause for a deeper exploration.  I don’t want to lose it, as uncomfortable as it is, I need to get to the root of why this stranger’s remarks can hurt me in such a way.

I drive to my training site and sit down next to a friend.  She asks how I am.  My story creeps out of me.  She looks at me with feelings of empathy and pain and tries to lift my spirits as women friends do.  “What an jerk,” she reassures me.  Then she asks, “Did you say something to him?  You should have, you know.”

Ughhh.  I know.  Now I’m even more perturbed with myself because I could not be calm enough to take a stand and say something in defense of myself.  What’s wrong with me?  I’m a mature, strong person?  Dang.  Double Dang.  I missed a major opportunity to practice standing up for myself. I’m so weak, I tell myself.

And then, this amazing thing happens.

Our topic of study in training that day?  Persuasive writing.  We dig into our memories of unjust acts towards us, how we might make the world a better place for all and putting our words on paper for the appropriate audience to make changes where change is due.

Boy, did I have stuff to write.

The Caribou Coffee shop manager was going to receive a letter from me explaining my experience.  I voiced how I did not want this nimbusul fired, but that I just wanted to make sure that they trained all their employees to treat their customers with the utmost dignity and respect.  For heaven’s sakes, the coffee shop people are often the first humans others speak to in the morning.  Their energy emits a tone for the entire day!  It should be their JOB to spread light to all they come into contact with!

Synchronicity again. The occasion happened to ready me for several opportunities, not just persuasive writing.  But, to examine what is deep inside of me that needs to be healed, and to awaken me to the fact that I need to work on wordage to stand up for myself and for others when unkind acts take place (without being a bitch ~ there is a line, you know.  However, Madonna says you have to be a bitch to get things done).

All I know is, I refuse to be a wimp anymore.  I will build my character.  Grow.  Teach others what it means to be kind and have compassion.

Maybe those idiots just don’t know. . .

Maybe their lives are far worse off than our own.

Sadly, because of their ignorance, I now, will get my coffee from Starbucks.

An Artist Date Discovery

| Shari Daniels

My word of the year is whispering to me everywhere I go.  I chose the word “courage” this year, as I have quite a few goals I intend to reach, but I need an extra double shot of “courage” to put myself out there.  You can read my post about this here.

So, in an effort to work through my fears, I joined the Life Book 2013 group. Last week, I began to work on my first art journal page assignment from Tam.  Our assignment was to create our own fairy art mother who chases away our inner critics in order for us to create with freedom.  Our fairy art mother would shoo away  that nasty voice we hear about our work not being good enough.

Here is my fairy art mother:

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I even added a sword!  I don’t know why, but I guess I was thinking that those wretched voices are like dragons and I could ward them off with a sword.  Crazy.

I’m also rereading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron and this caused me to join a fabulous face book group of ladies who are also reading the book.  We are sharing our artist date experiences and I am so inspired by the experiences I read.  

So, today I decided to take myself out on my artist date.  Restock the well.  Explore.  Open up all my senses.  I decided to do some browsing in an old used bookstore we have downtown.  It’s actually more like a used “everything” store, but it started out with just books.

I walk in the door and right there I see her.  On a tall glass shelf at eye level.  Looking at me.  I am drawn to her and my mouth drops.

It’s her.

My fairy art mother.

As a statue.

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She even had the sword.

I snatched her up and felt like I’d discovered gold.  A giddiness inside was just bubbling.  My mind was on monkey overdrive.

“What did this mean?”

” How could this be?”

“Holy Crap.”

I paid 5.00 for her at the till.  (Well, not right away really.  I browsed the entire store and also found an armful of books at a dollar each.) The clerk gently wrapped her in newspaper and told me to carry the bag carefully.

All I could think was, “Seriously?  Don’t worry, lady.”

Back home, I googled the statue’s significance and here is what I found:

“Faerie Guardians of the Glen II are defending our earth and protecting its inhabitants. Although fearless strong and heroic these faeries still personify a timeless beauty that make the Faerie Glen collection so unique.”

Defending our earth and it’s inhabitants.  A protector she is.

And then, I realized. . . this faerie guardian is within me.

Not only am I the protector of my artist self, but I am also the protector of much more than that.  I am responsible for the protection of my health, my dreams, my goals, in my beliefs and passions.  No one is responsible for all of this but me.  It’s my duty to hold myself accountable to it all and protect the “me” that is to be.

Whatever evolves will evolve and it will be good.  As long and I am courageous and can draw my sword when that inner voice starts whining, or criticizing, or worse.

I have a fairy art mother and a faerie guardian now.

There is no stopping me.

I have swords.

Shari 🙂

Word of the Year. . . Courage

| Shari Daniels

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I’ve been struggling over the last few weeks trying to nail down what my “word of the year” for 2013 will be.  I think too much about it, of course.  I should just go with my intuition and grab what comes to mind first.  But, then I think, “No.  This word is a big deal.  It guides my decisions for the entire year.”  It deserves some attention and contemplation.

I’ve been choosing a “word of the year” for the last 3-4 years.  Trading in the resolutions for a single word was something I learned from Christine Kane.  She now even has a free download to help you discover what your might want your word to be.  Check out her toolbox here.

Last year, my word was “create”.  And, “create” I did.  I created a lot of things I didn’t finish.  Story of my life. You know how you have that stab of inspiration?  That high of motivation?  And, you fly with it without even stopping for air?

And then, you run into a wall.

Sometimes that wall is boredom.

More likely though, the wall is fear.

Fear of the wicked voices in your head saying, “Who do you think you are?”

So, I stop.  Move on to something else.  Something I am more capable of.  Like Pinterest or something.  Something safe.  I mean, you can’t mess up on Pinterest.

Well, this year, I’m fighting that voice.  I’m standing up to the old hag in order to finish the things I’ve started.  I’m casting my sword and shouting, “Stand aside oh wicked one!  Here I come!”

If I can push the wickedness aside, I should be able to:

*reshape and resubmit my book proposal to another publisher

*sign up for that art retreat I really want to go to in California

*write and submit some articles for magazines

*open an Etsy shop

*get my body into prime shape (the wickedness has been telling me that I’m old and can’t do what I used to do – dang her)

*say what I need to say (the wickedness says to just be quiet)

*finish the writing e-course I created and actually get it out there!

This is only the beginning!  With courage by my side, amazing things can happen.

If you had courage for this upcoming year, what would you do?

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” ~E.E. Cummings

A Peek Into My Writers Notebook

| Shari Daniels

I’m reading through writers notebooks today, my holdalls of seeds that might grow into something big, or to just be taken as the perfect word choice in exchange for my blah ones.  I’m giving you a peek.  Because I know you’re curious. . .

I’ve used this line in even my talk.  You know this face.  What a perfect use of words to describe it.

Time magazine has such amazing writers.  I copy down sentences and word phrases that get stuck in my head and practice using them with my own words.  And, I’ll bet we all know a “glory hopper” or two. . .

I keep my notebook with me at all times.  It’s a reminder that I’m a writer and it helps me to think and see differently when I’m out there in my normal every day world.  With a pen in hand, I observe, listen and think with a writer’s eye.  .  . and get it down.

What gems lie in your notebook?  Or is there something you have heard or seen lately that needs to GO into a notebook?  I’d love to hear what you consider that “notebook worthy”.

Shari 🙂

Writers and Their Notebooks

| Shari Daniels

I have at least 30 or 40 notebooks and journals filled with my writing.  They are all over the place.  This is a photo of some of the notebooks that would show up for a portrait.  Others are in boxes, shelves or drawers, or just in hiding.

If you are an avid writer, you know how fast notebooks can fill.

I’ve always struggled with the next step.  A filled notebook.  This treasure. . . where should I put it?

Put it on a shelf. . . or in a box. . . or a drawer. . .

I have been doing some reading lately in a couple of new books on writing.  One book, A Writer’s Book of Days, by Judy Reeves has shifted some thinking in my mind about organizing all these notebooks for actual productivity.

First and most importantly, a writer has to be clear on the kind of writing that the notebook contains.  It could be any of the following:

1.  Journaling

We need to clarify this term.  A journal is a noun, which defines it as a notebook, book or a log.  To journal is a verb, which is defined as to personally record occurrences, experiences, and reflections  on a regular basis.  This is writing that is for self-exploration, self expression and is probably private.  I usually do this kind of writing when I am in deep despair, wrestling with a deeper issue or problem, a catharsis of sorts.  Much of my writing is this.  I start with an issue and answers appear in my writing magically.  No one gets to see this stuff.  I really should burn these notebooks when done purging.  Therapy on a dime.

Journals can also be used as a record keeping device.  My father-in-law has kept journals for years.  He documents daily weather, visits with others, trips, and events of the day.  It amazes me how well the journals can help him remember details from his life.

2.  Morning Pages

I attempt to write every day.  I start where I am and try to fill three pages. I usually do not know where I will start or end up.  I sometimes start with how I have nothing to write about.  The muse almost always shows up and gives me a topic.  Many a day, this writing is blah, blah, blah, just to get writing flowing on a regular practice.  It also helps to diffuse the inner critic.  I don’t care what I write here.  I tell the critic to take a break.  It teaches me to not listen to this gremlin.  I write what I want and see what appears.  Any topic is meat for morning pages.  And, sometimes, morning pages ends up being journaling, although, I try to keep that in separate notebooks now.  Most of my really good ideas come from morning pages.

3.  Writing Practice

This is writing where one tries out a craft or a focused creative writing on a topic.  For me, I love to make captive a powerful sentence and then make it work in my own language with a variety of topics.  Love Love Love mentor sentences.  I think I need to start a menu item of just this.

Writing practice would also include those that like to respond to a prompt and creatively write.  Personally, these feel like fingernails against a chalkboard, but some writers flourish from these.  I’m forcing myself to try them.  All in all, it’s work on craft.

Again, a separate notebook for this.

4.  Project Writing

I typically start a journal just for the collection and writing of a single topic.  All my quotes, thoughts and new understandings about his writing project go into this notebook.  Once I determine a focus for an article, book or idea, I will dump everything to this one place.

5.  And this. . . is the biggie.  Writers notebooks entries.  Beginning writers tend to use the same notebook for everything:   journaling, project writings, writing practice, morning pages – all of it.  That’s okay, at first.  Just getting started writing is a feat in itself.  Applaud yourself if you are writing every day!

However, here is the rub, once you begin focusing on a project or a blog entry later on, and intend on revising and working on craft,  you can never find any snippet of writing that you know you wrote at some previous point in time that would have added that little pizzaz to the writing that you are craving!   I enter this dilemma constantly!

If you have over 25 something notebooks filled with random stuff, including moving quotes, phrases and words to describe a moment, scene or person, you might as well call it a night.  I’m banking that MOST writers don’t magically have this continuous flow of words that stream out of their consciousness like Hemmingway.  Real writers steal.

Seriously.

Read, notice, be astonished, save it for later use.  But tweak it to make it your own.

What to do?

I have decided that I need to have one notebook as my collect-all notebook.   I can capture conversations overheard, like today. . .

I was sitting in the clinic and listening to others sitting in the waiting room.  (I love waiting rooms for this reason.  So much writing material for free.)  This rough looking guy walks by with his jeans all ripped up like has intentions of wearing them that way.  An elderly man sitting next to me, leans over to his wife and says, “Now, what would make a person want to dress like that?” (My dad would say this.)

His wife replies softly, “I don’t know what they’re thinking.” (My mother would say this back.)

I don’t know what I will do with the conversation, but I know that I need to safe-keep it somewhere that is easy to access when I want it.

I stored that tidbit in my main writers notebook.  The “stealth” notebook as Howard Junker, editor of the literary journal ZYZZYVA, calls it.  This notebook will go everywhere with me, so I can capture all those secret bits of ideas, language and noticings and house them for safekeeping.

Later this month, I will do some re-sorting.  I’ll pull out the snatches of words from this main notebook and catagorize them into different notebooks.   I might have  notebook for these catagories:

*ideas for writing (books, articles, blog entries, etc.)

*poetry

*character development (this would include the dialogue snippets and character descriptions)

*five senses notebook organized by the senses (I would capture vivid descriptions here)

*quotes (not sure how I would organize these)

*sentence study (I love to collect cool sentences just because I love how they sound.  Then I try to replicate them using my own content and language.  Way fun. I know, I’m weird.)

I’m not sure what other categories will evolve. This will be a constant work in progress, but my hope is to be able to actually FIND some of the stuff I tuck into my notebooks. Yes, I’ll have notebooks galore, but I do anyway!  At least now, I’m a little more organized and focused on more purposeful writing

I’ll let you know how it goes.  Maybe I’m just dreaming.

So, I’m curious.  What kind of writing do you do?  What kind of notebooks do you use? I’d love to hear! 🙂

Shari 🙂

Why Aren’t I Writing? I Have Some Issues. . .

| Shari Daniels

The first winter storm of the season has arrived to northern Minnesota with a welcoming sense of relief.  The blazing fires just north of us  subsided just yesterday, and the war zone-ish land along with charred buildings and trees can at least be hidden by snow, if only for a brief time, till some of the pain subsides.

School is cancelled.  Inner joy day for me.  This means I have a day to “catch up” at home.  Laundry piled high, dirty bathrooms and a good day for baking. . . but deep down in my core, I’m mostly being called to write.

I have not written on my blog for almost a month.  School started.  Whether a teacher or a literacy coach, the profession is all-consuming.  I vowed not to let this happen, yet I did.

But, today, I have to write.  I’m being given this day.

I’m going to write, I tell myself.

The house quiet, the snow falling.  My notebooks overflowing with some nuggets of gold in there, each screaming to be chosen by me to write about today.

Being given the perfect conditions for a writing day, I am still not writing.

Why, I wonder,  aren’t I writing?  What’s holding me back?

What really IS my problem???

As I ponder this, I’m recognizing the issues.  Several blockades are getting in my way.  The most prominent of these is being a highly sensitive person, not just in an emotional sense, but in all my senses.

First and foremost, a  prerequisite to all of my happiness. . . is heat.  This nosedive to 34 degrees (from 84, just 4 days ago) is a shock to my poptarts.  I gather my belongings (notebooks, books, laptop, tea)  and decide to climb into my warm bed.  I’ll do my writing here.  Getting snuggled in so that napping does not seem more pleasurable than writing is tricky here.  However, I’ve spent many a day writing in bed before, I know it can be done.  A nap later on will probably be necessary from all the hard writing I’m going to be doing.

Set up takes some time. Pillows need to be positioned appropriately.  Is the flat pillow best under my laptop, or none?  If my wrists get sore because they are up too high, I’ll get cranky and stop writing.  I debate. I pull the pillow out.

I need a softer blanket.  This one that covers myself, to keep warm, is stiff and kinda scratchy.  I get up to search for the log cabin quilt that my mother and I made.  The flannel strips, cut from work shirts of my dad’s and my husband’s bring me warmth, comfort and safeness as I cover my lap.  I smile.  K, I’m ready.

Type away, baby!

Let ‘er rip!

Tell that story!

Geez, what IS that smell?

My hyper sensitive nose is a gift, but also a curse.  It can always sense what’s been going on while I’ve been away (gun cleaning on the dining room table, fish cleaning in the kitchen) or not been done (dirty dish rag buried under mountains of dirty dishes, a toilet that needs unplugging).  But, usually, it distracts me from getting things done as when my nose knows there is an issue, it must be solved before I am able to move on to my task at hand.

I decide to get a candle from way upstairs above the garage in my studio.  Citron Basil.  I search for matches and once lit, I gently arrange a spot for it on my night stand.  (First, I am distraught by the newly piled clutter on my nightstand, so I have to clean this off.)  I grab the lavender linen spray and pump a couple of squirts over my bedding.  Both of these, a band-aid approach to the smell, I know.  But, I’m hoping it will detour my nose until my writing is done.

There, now let’s write.  I’m thinking about topic choice today and had planned on writing about the transition from fall to a sudden winter.  Let’s go with that.

It’s really blowing out there now. . . the wind is just a howlin. . .

My stomach growls.  Geez, I just ate a couple of hours ago, and I’m already hungry. This is a problem with being at home.  You can satisfy these callings quite easily with a kitchen at hand.  I climb out of bed, hike off to scrounge up some food and settle on a couple of slices of toast with some sensuous farmer’s market orange rhubarb jam.  Mmm. . . better get some more tea, too, while I’m here.  Save time.  I can’t be wasting time, you know.

I settle back into bed and am a little perturbed that this annoying scent is back.  It smells of someone who hasn’t taken a bath for quite some time.  It’s gotta be my sheets.  I get up and strip the bed.  Take all the pillow cases off the pillows (all 7 of them, yes, I sleep with 4, husband with 3, that’s another story).  I dig for new sheets and cases and make the bed so all is fresh.  Quilts back on.  Perfect.  Gotta love fresh bedding.

Now, where the heck was I?  For Pete’s Sake.  It’s already 9:30.

The front door slams out front.  My 19-year-old daughter enters from her 5:30 shift as a waitress.  She is giddy with glee because of the snow.  She allows Sandy in and they are both gallivanting throughout the house like a houseful of children at a birthday party.  After a small tornado in the kitchen, from her breakfast creations, she barrels into my bedroom to voice that she is NOT happy because the college has decided NOT to cancel classes and my school has.

“I can’t help that, hon,” I say.

“Well, it’s not fair!”

She packs up her backpack and hikes off to her politics class.

I shoo Sandy back outside.

All I can think is, “Thank the Universe for not canceling college today.”

Back to writing.  Now, you’d think I’d be giving up by now, but no.  I have all day.  I carry on.  I’m just not a quitter, you know.

It’s still quite chilly in my bedroom and my fingers begin that numbing whine of, “I can’t do this anymore until you get me some heat.”  Ughh.  I check the thermostat and notice it was turned down to 67.  67!  Now, this can only be the work of my husband who is highly conservative when it comes to heat.  I decide to crank it up.  Just for a while.

Up in my studio above the garage is also a little space heater.  I decide this is a necessary device for my bedroom this morning just to give it a little head start since the heat will take a little while to kick in.  I also change my socks.  I figured that it’s time to dig out my Smart wool.  My ankles were a little frosty.

It’s toasty now.  My fingers will be happy.  I won’t be, though, if they don’t produce something here.

I carry on, but more of the same ensues.

The front door slams again and Gracie barges back into my bedroom.

“Class was cancelled!”

“Haha.” I chuckle.

“There was a sign on the classroom door.  I don’t know why she couldn’t have emailed us!  Oh well, I’m gonna clean my room today, and Sandy’s gonna help and then I’m gonna make Pumpkin Spice cookies and decorate them with orange cream cheese frosting!”

Off she skips.

Oh my.  Expect kitchen clean up later.

And on it continues. . .

A large oak tree branch from a dead tree falls on the roof with a crash.  I have to get up and seek out the damage.  Squirrels outside my window are digging ferociously for acorns now buried under the new blanket of snow.  I watch this for a while and wonder when they will have enough stored up.  Music is now blaring from Gracie’s room.

I really need to get some decent writing done.

My fingers are just weeping at what is coming out.

Maybe it will quiet down around here later on.

Maybe I should do laundry.

Then. . . the power goes out.

I take a nap.  It’s a good day for a nap.

Maybe I’m not supposed to write today.

Ann Cameron calls this procrastination.  Steven Pressfield says it’s resistance.  Nancy Slonim Aronic:  lack of discipline.  I say it’s all of the above, with a touch of ADD.

All I know is that I had most of my day to write, and I didn’t write much.

Well, I did write this post.  I guess that’s something.

Again, my fingers weep at what comes out.