One Word At A Time

I am slightly obsessed with yarn. I love selecting yarn for new crochet projects, the abundance of colors available. I have an image in my mind of what that skein of yarn will become. While I am looking, I touch each different weight and brand, anticipating the feel of the yarn running through my fingers as I work. However, it usually takes me a few weeks after I have bought the yarn to actually start the project.

Why?

I think sometimes, I get so caught up in the dream and the anticipation, that actually starting a project is overwhelming to me. That beginning chain is next to nothing compared to what the finished project will look like. What if I get halfway through and notice I have made a mistake? What if it is really too hard a pattern? I’m not really as good at it as other people are. I just kind of play at it.  (Yes, I really do think these things sometimes, foolish as it may be.)

I let myself get all worked up about things. Then, I convince myself that it doesn’t matter if my project comes out perfectly. No one is paying me for it. I really am just doing it because I enjoy it.

And how does this relate to writing?

I am also obsessed with notebooks and pens. I have a pile of them on my desk at the moment. When I buy them, I have every intention of filling them with beautiful words. They will one day be journal entries, stories, and novels. I open them and stare at the blank pages. I imagine all the things that they could hold. Then, I read someone else’s work and start to doubt my skill as a writer. There are so many who can say it better. I want to be more serious, but really, am I just playing at this?

And then I have to remind myself. I have something to say, and I am the only one who can say it. These words won’t come out perfectly. There is always room for improvement. I am doing this because I love it and couldn’t imagine my life without it.

I write that first word. Then, I am ending that first sentence. Before I know it, that first string of words becomes something wonderful and more magnificent than that first sentence can ever be on it’s own. It becomes a finished piece, and I start dreaming about the next one.

Hello. My name is Crystal, and I am a procrastinator.

This morning, I found a notebook that I had used as a journal. It was during the time that I was writing in this notebook that I decided that I needed to write again. It took me a while to get started. I still have trouble making time to actually sit down and write something besides a journal. That is where the procrastinating comes in. It would be easy to get discouraged with my shortcomings. So instead, I have decided to post a list of accomplishments from the last year. And maybe set a few goals.

• This will be the tenth blog post in the last year. Which is exactly 10 more than I have posted in the last 10 years.
• I am close to finishing my 11th journal in just over a year. Prior to my decision to really start writing again, I was averaging one journal every year or year and a half.
• I participated in NaNoWriMo and won. I wrote over 50,000 words in the month of November, and true to my procrastinating nature, I wrote most of those words on the last three days. (I had intended to blog about the experience, but yeah, I procrastinated.)
• I don’t feel guilty calling myself a writer.

And now for a few goals.

• Blog more often on both blogs.
• Use the super cute planner I bought earlier this month to block out some time for writing.
• Start rewriting the amazing novel I started in November.
• Start planning a novel for this November.
• Submit at least 5 pieces for possible publication this year.

 

 

A Writer Who Writes

I have a confession to make.

Sometimes, I’m not very nice to myself. In fact, there are days that I am really mean. I never really noticed it. Or, I guess I never thought of it. My feelings have been hurt many times. I like to blame other people. This one doesn’t listen. Another said something that hurt my feelings. I feel left out of things. I can find lots of people to blame for my being unhappy. Sometimes, it is true. Others, not so much. Usually, I am my biggest bully.

Why do I bring this up today?

Because I figure it is time to stand up to myself. It is time to stop a particular lie in its tracks and move on.

You see, I majored in creative writing with the intention of being a writer.  I was going to write books, stories, poems, and I was going to be published. Life was going to be great. And then it wasn’t. And I stopped writing. Or, that’s the way I saw it.

This January, I decided to pick up the pen and try again. I started this blog. I bought new notebooks and pens. I read everything I could about writing. I started calling myself a writer. And here is where the particular bit of lying and bullying comes in.

At the risk of you thinking I am crazy, here is a bit of my inner dialogue.

Me: I am a writer!

Inner critic: hahahaha

Me: What? I am a writer.

Inner critic: Sorry, I can’t catch my breath from laughing so hard. What did you say you were?

Me: (starting to falter a bit) A writer.

Inner critic: That’s what I thought you said. A writer who doesn’t write. Now that’s quite a concept.

Me: I am a writer.

Inner critic: Who doesn’t write.

And so the conversation goes, day after day.  It gets worse on days that I actually don’t write anything.

But today, I was reading a post from a blog I follow, and I realized something quite important.

Drumroll, please…

In the ten years between the time I handed in my last assigned story and the day I intentionally started writing again, I had never really stopped.

What? Never?

Nope. Never.

I have actually written enough journal entries to fill volumes, grocery and to-do lists, letters to friends and emails, notes to coworkers and room mates, Christmas cards and birthday, job applications…

These may not be things that will ever be shared or published, but guess what, Inner Critic? Every single one of them counts. I am a writer who writes. In fact, I can’t seem to stop myself.

 

Beautiful

The blonde lady motioned to me as I finished with the last customer in my line. She was a little hesitant, but something in her eyes said she was determined.

“I need some help.” She spoke quietly, not quite looking at me.

“Okay. What can I help you with?” I walked around the counter toward her with a smile on my face.

“Well, really she needs your help. She needs a new bra.”

As she was speaking, a small, nervous looking lady stepped out from behind the tower of bras.

“I’m so embarrassing.” She spoke quietly and quickly. “I’m so embarrassing,” she repeated.

“Let’s go back here. We’ll have more privacy.” I started toward the fitting room area with both ladies trailing behind me. The blonde chatted on the way back, trying to put her friend a little more at ease.

“We’ll go in here.” I grabbed the tape measure and opened a fitting room door, leaving room for her to go in ahead of me.

“I’m so embarrassing,” she repeated for the third time and started to remover her shirt.

“No, it’s ok. I’ll measure over your shirt.” She looked at me for the first time. Relieved, yet a little ashamed, she lifted her breasts so I would touch her as little as possible. I measured quickly, asking questions about where she lived and commenting on the beautiful day to distract her and put her at ease.

The whole time I was working with her I smiled, encouraged, asked questions, talked with her family. She found something she liked, they paid and left.

There are times when I look back at that moment and wish it had ended differently. Maybe I would have looked her in the eye and simply said, “You are not embarrassing. You are beautiful.” I can’t change anything about that moment. She will probably never know how much that encounter changed the way I look at the people around me.

So, in case you haven’t heard it today, I just want you to know that you are beautiful.

Standing at the Edge

On the way here,

I was sure I was ready to jump in.

Couldn’t wait.

The water is cold

Having second thoughts.

Can I do this?

The pain only lasts a moment.

Further in

My toes are tingling

Can I?

The water is calling my name

It isn’t giving me a choice

Deeper

To my knees now

Diving.

Adjusting.

Home.

A call from the shore.

“Cold?”

Come on in

The water is fine.

Judge Not

Judge not lest ye be judged….

God uses the weak and foolish things of the world to confound the wise…

These are the phrases that popped into my head while I was driving to work one day last week. They are paraphrases of Matthew 7:1  and 1 Corinthians 1:27. Now, this topic couldn’t have been further from my mind at that moment. I was enjoying the blue skies and warm sun on my face and thinking about the characters that seemed to just introduce themselves to me in the past couple of weeks.

Who was I judging?

My first thought was for fellow writers. Especially those who have been published in the Christian Fiction genre. I had to cringe as I thought of some of the judgements I have passed on them. Not all, but really, very few have escaped my scathing comments. There have been others, too, but these particular authors have probably had the most scorn heaped upon them.

But really, who was I judging? I realized that in my harsh judgement of fellow writers (who were actually writing and not avoiding the blank page), I was really being my own harsh judge. I often discount the messages because the vehicles I would use to deliver them are not perfect. Though I know it is completely unrealistic, I do tend to expect brain to page perfection first time around.

I am moving past this. Not quickly. I seem to be fighting this “creative recovery” as much as I am embracing it.   Stay tuned…

Ten Reasons

Top Ten Reasons I Never Considered Writing a Blog:

1. Everyone is doing it.
2. I have a journal.
3. I am a private person.
4. I’m not that interesting.
5. It’s not my thing.
6. I’m not any good.
7. People might read it.
8. Then they would see that I really can’t write.
9. I don’t have time.
10. I might enjoy it.

Originally, I intended this space to be for sharing creative things that I intend to write at some time in the future. I never intended this to be somewhere that I share things that I might write in a journal, or discuss with friends in various situations (which rarely happens because I have a journal for this type of thing and various other excuses for not joining in my own life).  But this is exactly what is happening in this space today. And before anyone starts, I am NOT putting myself down or anything close to that. I am simply trying to figure things out, and sometimes this is not a pretty process.

For the past year I have flirted with the idea of writing again.  Just flirting. Mostly wishful thinking. Until a couple weeks ago. It became imperative. So, I made myself start a blog. I bought notebooks for purposes other than journaling or taking notes in church. I got online. Read lots of blogs. Talked myself out of posting. Looked at my blank notebooks. Bought new pens. Read more blogs. Read books. You get the picture. I was doing everything except writing.

So I bought another book. And through some of the exercises I am beginning to realize what the big deal has been for me. My biggest fear has been that people would see who I really am, and…(insert really horrible, life ending things here). Irrational, I know, but real for me.

So I am testing the water.

Creating Space

Lately, I have been obsessed about having my own space. A part of it is that I need a place where I can be comfortable. A place where I can write, or just create things in general. I love making things. Today, I made coffee, breakfast, and homemade valentines. I wrote my morning pages. I took a picture of me holding my puppy. All of this while sitting at the kitchen table. Because even in my room, I have not made space for myself.

It is not always about having physical space. Throughout my life, I have worked hard to make myself as small as possible. Always seeing others as better or more important than myself, and my goal is to always see them succeed. Noble, right? Not so much. It’s more like this: There is nothing good in me, so I will make sure that everyone sees what you have to offer. Don’t look at me. I am invisible. If you can’t see me, maybe you won’t discover how (insert negative thought here) i really am.

There are things I want. I still choose not to obtain them at the expense of someone else. I genuinely do want to see the people around me succeed and be everything that they are meant to be. I want to see good things happen for them. But, at this moment, I am rejoining the human race. I am declaring that I exist. This is my moment.

Distractions

It’s really hard to be serious about writing when you have a large black lab trying to push the computer off your lap so she can sit on it. And even harder to be serious when you have a chihuahua and 2 kittens who have no other aim in life than to distract you from whatever it is that you are trying to do. But no excuses, right?

Hello world!

At 8 years old I knew two things.

1. Nothing compared to the feeling of opening a new book.

2. I was going to write one.

Fast forward twenty-something years.

1. A library/bookstore is my idea of heaven on earth.

2. I still long to search the shelves to find at least one with my name on it.

The problem?

I am a writer who has not written (besides journals) in the last 10 years.

And this begins a new journey.