On Writing, Painting, Permissions to Create

This feels like practice, keeping a blog. It is utterly public, though not many people stop in to read ... for now. (Thank you to my follower!) I have wondered for many years whether my small life would warrant a book and, of course, many of us tend to think that our own life story should somehow be read by the world. I don't know whether I have the ability to draw the larger themes in a small, but fairly dramatic life. If there isn't something to be learned beyond the incidents, beyond the "Gee, she had some hard times and lived," I don't think it warrants a book. Yet I write. I am drawn to writing as an addict is drawn to her drug — but this is more fun.

Keeping a blog, to my surprise, is helping me be more disciplined. I practice here and broaden my range. I never wrote about my love of flower gardening before, except as it related to my mom. Taking the time to laugh at myself and my aversion to all things practical is fun; it also makes me write a little differently. It makes me think before I post. A little bit different from forums and twittering and such. Books on writing help, too. I have many books on writing, written by published authors of fiction and nonfiction. They offer inspiration and that sense that I'm not alone when I flounder.

I want to plug someone here, and her book. I took a workshop last year that inspired me in ways I cannot articulate, by Connie Griffin, faculty member at Amherst. She has a new book, TO TELL THE TRUTH: Practice and Craft in Narrative Nonfiction. Her love of writing was infectious as our workshop guide, and now I can build on the experience with this book. The exercises, the selected readings--these things speak to anyone, I think, who wants to write, but is scared. Scared of success, of failure, of being judged, of being ignored. Scared that our lives are too boring, too depressing, too off the wall. Simply scared.

In this one book are nuggets written by writers who've shared every concern and found ways around it. This is relevant to any sort of writing. On the most practical levels, too, it is a user-friendly text--well indexed and with the most detailed Table of Contents I've seen. Writing's a lonely pursuit sometimes and great books can be great friends, frankly.

Enough of selling a book and a person, but her work and my being part of a workshop have moved me toward starting this blog, and to trying to understand how this may move my life forward. I think that if I try to write from my heart, tempered only by the desire, as a writer, to resonate in a productive or supportive or simply humorous way with someone out there--if I keep these things in mind before I hit "publish post," this may prove to be a good training ground for me. This may be the writing practice that will move me toward being brave enough to publish less anonymously, and disciplined enough to move beyond just self-absorbed "navel examination," as my dad used to call a certain kind of introspection.

Where I write doesn't necessarily matter as much as that I write.

For now though, I'm going to go downstairs to my brand new studio. At 57 years old, I've finally given myself permission to have one in my home. I seemed to need to find a way to make a living USING it to do that, but whatever works. I'm going to step away from words for today, go downstairs, and finish a large watercolor collage piece. I started it three summers ago, when I stayed at an artist's house and had ROOM to spread out. I've not had the space--literal or emotional--to finish it. So, before my closing on the refinance of my home, when there is a world of "practical" concerns on my plate, I'm going to finish my painting.

I will lose myself in painting the view of childhood from the top of an island, from atop my daddy's shoulders, looking down through a cacophony of spring-blooming trees, to the Lake I have loved all my life.

Life is good.