Through the Glass Backwards: Fear, Unsaid Words, and Poetry

Heart in throat.
Breathing is a challenge.
This could be a last post. What’ll they all say?
I’ve spent years jumping around blog sites, different platforms.
Even back in the day when we had GeoCities, Angelfire.

I have to breathe.
Heart, get back down into my chest cavity.
Continue to pump the blood through my arteries.
Keep going about your business,

Let me go about mine.

Perhaps it’s the mind’s way of shaming me into stepping down,
Forgetting the authority – authorship – I have over my own life,
The fear does not get to win.

Fear does not get to win.

Recently, I’ve found those words
At the tip of my brain’s proverbial tongue
Heart wanting to remain open
Even when it’s scariest,
Perhaps especially when it’s hardest.

What words want to come out?
What words do I keep back, biting my real life tongue
A gate against all that needs to be said?
This is what keeps me moving,
All the unsaid words.

What is left?
What needs to be let out so there can be movement?
What words are resting, just waiting, for the author to claim them,
To write them into this story,

Into this one precious life?

Join me on a journey: Roundabout to truth telling

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about Beth’s recent post, In which I stop silencing myself and tell you the truth. And I want to write about those thoughts, though I keep finding myself wandering away from writing this e and on to other places (like Facebook and Ravelry).

I know that it’s fear that keeps me from responding, writing my own Truth Telling post. So, let’s take the roundabout way.

I have three days off from my part-time job and from my graduate assistantship, because today, I was slated for jury duty. I had my summons set out, had chosen the book I was going to take with me (Fool Moon by Jim Butcher), my clothes ready for the morning. And then, Sarah reminded me to call in and see if my selection number was needed. Confused, I didn’t understand that, though I got the summons, I might not be called. And when I checked, my number wasn’t one who had to report.

I’d spent all of Monday keeping in mind that the next day or two would be filled with being in the courts, doing my citizenry duty. Now, here I had two full days with nothing planned. (I may have hyperventilated, just a little bit.)

As you know, I’ve been on the go a lot recently. Finishing the semester, working my new job, working as a graduate assistant, having some side work for a professor, cooking, working on putting a publication out there (it was rejected for the second time, but with a really nice “No, thank you” letter). I’ve been struggling to find balance, to find a way to take care of myself and still get everything done, wearing all of the hats currently required of me. There hasn’t been much unplanned time.

Now, I had two days ahead of me with nothing planned. All of the things I had to do – or could then schedule – started vying for my attention. Yet, there was a small part of me whispering, “How about writing? Meditating? Journaling? Reading? Something fun?” Because, to be honest – I’ve been tired. No amount of sleeping has been helping. It’s been a bone deep tired where I’m feeling burnt out and unable to deal with much beyond the required. (Even some of that has fallen to the side.)

So, after a three and a half hour nap this morning, I decided to spend time with my journal – not just writing, but collaging (also known as dreamboarding, except I wasn’t as specific about it – I simply looked for images that spoke to me). I spent time asking questions like “What helps me celebrate yes?” and “What inspires you?”

I looked for what felt rejuvenating and I followed that path. Yesterday, I had wandered a craft store and picked up a few scrapbooking items and a roll of washi tape (I’ve never played with it). Again, I went with whatever seemed appropriate at the time.

It felt refreshing, just to play, not think about what the words were saying or how it all was put together. So it wasn’t perfect… that was okay.

And here’s where the truth hits the screen: There are times the balanced, grateful, all-put-together self just isn’t there. And I don’t like sharing when I’m like that. (Even though I know it’s as much a part of my story as the all-put-together parts. Perhaps, the not-so-put-together self is even more important to share, to remind myself and others that it’s not about perfection or put together. It’s about the life that’s really being lived, in the here and now.)

You all know that I don’t like sharing when I’m there – how much have I really posted the past few weeks? Yeah, part of it is schedule, but the other part of it? Fear, rearing its head. Fear, taking hold and telling me that whatever it is on my mind is not worth sharing. Fear, telling me that it wouldn’t be appropriate.

What would you think of me, if you saw this? What judgment would there be? When things don’t look so put together, when it’s curling edges of journal and ripped pieces of paper? When it’s misused washi tape, regardless of how I felt making it? It wasn’t perfect. What would you think?

I talk about balance, about self-care, about the importance of storytelling. And yet, I can’t/don’t always practice them with ease. So I worry that labels of hypocrite (and worse) will be slung toward me. So I choose to not write. Because I could find time, you know? Rather than letting fear hold tight, I could simply breathe and be real, tell my story as it is happening.

Because isn’t that what being visible and real is about? Giving “shape to the face / That twists inside both you and me”?

That face isn’t always perfectly put together. And that’s okay. This is life.

This is life, lived. Full of imperfection and uncertainty and doubt.

Guest Post: Sometimes I Notice I’ve Run Away

I have the pleasure of sharing another guest post today!

Much as it was a surprise to think about how long M. Fenn and I have known each other, it was a “Wow!” moment when I realized that Erika and I have known each other for over 10 years. We met while both in undergrad at a small liberal arts college. Throughout the time I’ve known Erika, I truly appreciate her curiosity and the gentle and clear ways she understands her world. She brings that same voice to Visible and Real today, talking about practice. A dancer, yarn and cat wrangler, professor, and all around wonderful soul, you can also find her writing over at her account on Dreamwidth.

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I’ve been away from the dance floor for a little while, and it is starting to show.

I have had good reasons – company visiting, and sickness, and car trouble, and choosing to get enough sleep before sliding into another week of teaching.

I have been juggling that list of things that are all, somehow, my very top priority. There is class prep and grading and showing up for my students. There’s hitting the pattern of medication, sleep, eating well, and moving to take good care of my body. There is time carved out for myself, to be by myself, with books and cat and yarn and music and TV and silence, so I don’t become completely unhinged. There is work that is professional but longer term, pulling papers together, and getting ready for the job market again. And there is dance.

I have been several different kinds of dancer over the years. I took tap and ballet in elementary school. I dance at rock concerts and dances. I started to belly dance in graduate school as a refuge – an hour a week where bodies were important, instead of just brains – and eventually found myself performing. And then I found the 5Rhythms practice, where we dance (in part) because our bodies have things to say, and movement is their language.

I dance to check in with myself. To see where my body is – energetic, in pain, tentative, balanced, lost. To find out what my body needs to tell me. To really be who I am right in the moment. To witness the story that only I can tell, even if I don’t really have the words. When I am practicing regularly, when I manage to get myself on the dance floor reasonably often, it feels like home. It is a deep sigh of relief to take off my shoes, hear the music, feel my feet, and move.

But I’ve been away from the dance floor for a little while. An empty, quiet dance studio is a lot like a blank page, and all the empty space there is intimidating. I never know what I’m going to find in the dance, and right now that’s scary, rather than an invitation to go find out. How will I move when I haven’t for so long? What if in the month I haven’t been showing up, I’ve forgotten how to move? What will come out of my dance? When I’m out of practice, how will I handle what’s there? How can I pile something possibly overwhelming onto an already tall pile of too much?

There’s inertia, too. I’ve survived this past month without dancing. I even made good choices about choosing not to dance in the face of other things, and had good days, doing things that weren’t dancing. So maybe I’m too busy this Sunday, too. Maybe I need that time for other things. Brains are tricksy and sly.

But I’ve been here before. And I know that my body is worthy of the trust I give it when I step onto the dance floor. That my feet have taken me incredible places, but they’ve never taken me too far too fast. That movement is what bodies do when we give them permission; that there’s nothing to forget. That if I give my body space to speak, it will use gentle words and tell me things that are worth knowing. I know that dancing makes me more whole, more centered, more capable. I know that there are ways to be that are better than survival.

And so I start to persuade myself back onto the dance floor. The semester is coming to a close, but it’s not ending NOW. I’ll set the alarm for Sunday morning, and will try not to turn it off. Maybe I’ll usher myself into bed at a sane time Saturday night. And maybe, this week, I’ll find myself moving on a dance floor by the ocean. And if not this week, almost certainly the next. Because my practice is big – and maybe part of what I learn is that it’s flexible enough to let me live all of my life, and will be there, again, when the cracks start to show.

Guest Post: Process, Practice, and Learning

Today, I have the joy of introducing you to another guest blogger! (If you’re interested, it’s not too late!)

I’ve had the pleasure of knowing M. Fenn for almost exactly eight years. We met through a mutual friend over a comment regarding a joint interest in Stephen King’s The Dark Tower series. It has been friendship every since, including nearly-weekly writing dates. She is not only a published author, but a lover of music, movies, and thoughtful conversation. You can also find her over at skinnier than it is wide, blogging about (you guessed it) writing, music, movies, and engaging in thoughtful dialogue.

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Steph’s call for guest posts caught my interest right away. Why? Because I love her and her blog. But when it came down to writing something, I wasn’t sure what to do. Steph told me she was curious about how I describe myself on Twitter (@MFennVT) and wanted to know more.

Turns out, I do, too. My tagline over there is: A speculative fiction writer who’s always learning, always practicing. The “speculative fiction writer” part is fairly self-explanatory. I write stories that wonder about things: science fiction, alternate history, horror, stuff like that. It’s fun… when all the voices in my head behave.

The “always learning, always practicing” part, though. Hmm. Besides that it sounds good? That I’m still figuring out. And it’s funny (to me, anyway); I was flummoxed by this post for the bulk of last week. It’s always a challenge for me to sit down and write about process. I think the reasons are multiple. Partly, I’m afraid that it will just be incredibly boring for other folks to read about. Also, there’s something in me that thinks if I point and say, “There,” with regard to what learning and practicing mean to me, it will be like pinning a beautiful insect to a board and all the life will go out of it. The process will die because I shone a light on it.

What’s popped into my head today is that the writing process may not be what I’m talking about, at least not in total. Let me tell you a story.

I grew up in a dysfunctional family with an emotionally abusive, alcoholic father and a long-suffering mom. My dad was also a smart, witty guy who didn’t like to lose an argument, so getting into one with him was a serious matter. I had to know everything, so I could defeat him. There was no room for error, no room for vacillation. Weakness was pounced upon. And that was a habit I took out into the world with me.

What a big surprise to discover that not everybody worked that way and that it was a lot easier to learn (and to stay sane) without that wall of defensiveness. I learned that knowledge wasn’t a zero-sum game. I didn’t have to know everything to stay safe; there was plenty for everybody, and it was even fun to share!

So, the practicing that I do is to keep that communal sense of learning open, to not succumb to my old habits of survival. Old habits die hard, and sometimes they never do, they just linger in the background, convinced they’ll be needed again someday. It’s not always easy to keep them quiet either, because there are a lot of folks out there who do play that game and it’s easy to get sucked in, even now, thirty-one years after my father died.

What does all this have to with my writing? I think it’s that my desire to share what I write combines both sides of this metaphorical coin. I want my stories to be as perfect as I can make them: accurate history, accurate tech, every set-up paying off. All that and more.

Also important, though, is the relief that I don’t have to know it all. Every story of mine is a better tale because of the other people who have touched them, sharing what they know with me. There is arguing at times, certainly (with them and with myself), but there is no defeat.

Weekend Treats

The weekend continued as busily as the week… so, here are a few links to whet your appetite until next Friday!

Links of the Week

Muddy waters from Canffirmations
So many times, I think that this is what stops me from writing – here, the stories that long to be told, even sometimes emails.

Hand in Hand from Shared Worlds (via Neil Gaiman’s blog post)
A really neat look at some writing advice from writers, via their hands. (And Neil Gaiman’s blog post is also quite lovely, talking about voice and writing.)

The Domino Effect from Blog of Impossible Things
Oh, I love the message behind this – how we do what we need to do and become a domino. :) (There’s more to it than that. Promise.)

The man in black fled… from Flickr user Jameson42
Saw this in Zemanta as I was writing a post for M. Fenn for this coming week. LOVED IT!

Women Learn to Be Women series from M. Fenn
So, M. Fenn is a huge music lover. She’s working through a series (two posts so far) about the evolution of all-women rock bands. Really fascinating look, with great videos!

Weekend Prompting

Also inspired by this week’s busyness:

What do you need most in this moment?

Storytelling

This evening, I am guest posting over at Canffirmations. I revisit my favourite topic – storytelling – in a slightly different form.

Can’t wait to see you there!

Weekend Treats

Links of the Week

The Art of Asking: For Writers and Storytellers from Terrible Minds (via Thousand Shades of Gray)
Chuck Wendig talks about Amanda Palmer’s Art of Asking video and what it means for him.

Writing Thoughts: Dwelling on Process from Cat Rambo
A really clear look at writing process – and the act of looking at said process.

How to Be a Writer and Not Go Insane from Z. Egloff (guest post at Women and Words)
A look into one author’s writing process, and the roller coaster it can be. (And? How to get off of that ride.)

Word Choice – It Matters from the Jotter’s Joint
Gail at the Jotter’s Joint talks about finding one’s writer voice – including the vocabulary we use.

The Big Scary Thing I Do Every Week from Z. Egloff
A great look at being versus doing. And the challenge of the former.

Pixar’s 22 Rules of Storytelling from Boing Boing
#11 keeps running through my head, pounding the doors, and saying, “See!”

Story time from Canffirmations
A reminder of why I continue to tell my story, why it is important for me to do so.

My [Writing] Identity Crisis from Beth Morey
An honest and open look at writing identity and the complications and challenges that may arise.

Letting the light in from Canffirmations
Just reminds me of the quote “In our brokenness, we are blessed.”

Quote of the Week

“I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.”
–Joan Didion, Slouching Toward Bethlehem

Weekend Prompting

Definitely inspired by the links of the week and my own thoughts as of late…

What story is aching to be told? What would support you best in the telling?

Storytelling, Sins of Omission, and Owning Up

Where does it lead?

Confession: I’ve been thinking a lot about storytelling recently. And fighting it, tooth and nail.

See, I’ve been avoiding writing practice, and really haven’t been writing much in general. It’s easy for me to say that I just don’t have the time. Yet, the last three days, I’ve actively made time to do a short writing practice and have been surprised at what has come up. Especially today.

I’ve been using The Writer’s Book of Days for prompts the last two days, and today’s?

These are the seductive voices of the night (after Franz Kafka)

Okay. I’ll work with it.

At some point during the writing, I realized that I felt the need to be forgiven for not writing – and for beating myself up so very much for it. And, it came up that there is this fear crawling through my words that I will not be able to tell the story that I need to – the way it is in my head and my heart, and that somehow, it’s better to not tell it, because I can’t get it Just So.

And yet… I can’t not tell stories. I keep running from them, saying I’m not a storyteller, that my stories look different, and while I’ve been ticking off the reasons why I can’t, won’t, shouldn’t tell stories, they still sing in my blood, they still spill from my pen. There’s one character that I’ve all but abandoned, but … it’s still there, lingering.

So, where does this take me?

I honestly have no idea. It’s like the open alleyway. It’s dark and kind of scary, but to get to the answer, to get to the place where it might be interesting, I have to write. I keep thinking about Rule #11 of Pixar’s 22 Rules of Storytelling, coupled with NCIS’ Gibb’s Rules, #5. (They are “Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you’ll never share it with anyone” and “You don’t waste good,” respectively.)

While I don’t know if they’re good, I do know that storytelling is too important to waste.

Through the Glass Backwards: Looking in the eyes

Clean clothes = good

Almost every Monday, I swing our white laundry basket into the car, soap and dryer sheets ready to slip out the side. I drive to a larger laundromat, to ensure that I won’t have to wait.

What this also means is that there are all types of people who go here, too.

In this microcosm, I realize how little I look people in the eye. There is something full of vulnerability when we actually see people for who they are, for what they bring to this earth. It’s also hard to be seen that way by others, especially when you don’t know them.

And yet, we are all precious to someone in our lives. There are people who see us, in different ways and in different circumstances.

I remember one weekend retreat that I went to – this was one of the exercises we did. I felt itchy and uncomfortable throughout it, the need to shut down a clear reminder of how much I try to stay hidden.

How do we allow ourselves to be seen? How do we open to others being seen by us? How can we create more space for openness? How do we begin to value it?

Weekend Treats

Since this is my blog, I wanted to take a few minutes to thank everyone for reading and sharing and commenting on yesterday’s post. While there was some anxiety on my part about writing and publishing the post, the response (both online and off) made it worth it. And, again, the power of storytelling to reach others and to become more of ourselves is strengthened in my heart. Thank you for allowing this storytelling.

Now, on to the treats!

Links of the Week

Broken Mirror that Keeps Giving from The Love Yourself Challenge!
Such an amazing message.

Where do you come from as a writer? from Zara ~ a writing story
A great question starts the post and the blogger answers. A really neat read (and question I may answer soon!)

You Already Have Permission from Seth Godin
I think I need this tattooed on my forehead (backwards … so I can read it in the mirror).

Creative Resistance + Practicing Gentleness from Beth Morey
As always, I appreciate Beth’s honesty about her in the moment experience of creation.

Stories of Suffering/Stories of Joy from Inside Space
I can really relate to this reminder that our stories are important – all of them. The suffering AND the joy.

Winter Well Giveaway from M. Fenn
Huge congrats to M. Fenn, who has a new story coming out in an anthology in May. And there’s an advanced reader copy giveaway she points you toward!

Walk a Mile from This Side of the Mirror
A great reminder that our stories need safe places and open hearts to hear.

Weekend Prompting

Inspired by yesterday’s post, ticklings in the back of my brain, and a week of spring break where I don’t want to work the whole time, I bring you this weekend’s prompt…

What story is in you that needs to be told? That is aching to be birthed into this world?