This is a cautionary tale. Turn away now if you're squeamish.
Do you have one of those travel coffee mugs with a screw-on lid? I do, and I fill it as soon as I get up, with coffee and chocolate milk, and I drink my daily dose on and off for an hour or two. But with that dairy product in there, I don't like to leave the dregs sitting around too long. I wash the mug and the lid out with hot soapy water. I rinse and rinse until it's clean. Or so I thought.
I wiped the inner lip with a paper towel yesterday, because it looked as if some dried chocolate milk had gathered there. A bit of the towel slid under the inner ledge. It came back smudged. I crooked my finger, still covered with the paper towel, under the lip and circled it round. There was actually a deep crevice under there and---turn away now!----my finger came back covered with a half inch of sludge. Yeeech!
How could that have happened? How could I have been drinking toxic waste for some time now and not known? What kind of evil designer puts a hidden ledge into a coffee mug and then sleeps soundly at night?
I'm sitting here, trying to think how coffee sludge can be inspirational. How it could be a metaphor for all the gunk in our heads/hearts that we don't even know is slowing up our writing processes. But---and maybe this is the toxifying effect of drinking sludge for untold weeks now---I can't think of a thing that would make this a worthwhile lesson.
Sometimes, sludge is just sludge. Except that perhaps...and here's where I love being a writer...I'm already thinking that if I need a character to have an interesting occupation in one of my books, travel coffee mug designer wouldn't be too bad. Think of all the work generated by trying to make an attractive mug that will fit comfortably in multiple sizes of cupholders, that won't tip over, that will keep coffee hot all morning, that will appeal to those who walk and those who drive and those who take trains. Think of the conversations this designer mom/dad could have with main character as she/he brings home various test models. It's just the perfect bit of stage business that allows a writer to reveal character while moving the storyline along.
I love my own brain. I really do. It takes sludge and makes an idea out of it. Once upon a time, there was a girl who believed...
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Resolved
Last week, a Target cashier asked me how many days were in December.
"31, I think," I replied.
"Oh, good," she said. "I have four more days to eat chocolate. And drink soda. And eat fast food."
I smiled at her and wished her luck. I tried, sincerely, not to be cynical. I imagined her sleek and svelte and completely fast-food, chocolate, and soda free for all of 2008.
And then, less than a week later, here I am, doubting her. Blogging about her. Holding her up as Every Woman Who Will Fail. Mean, right? (And totally against my blog rules.)
And yet, this is exactly what we do to ourselves. We say that we believe in ourselves. We say we are listening to our dreams. We say that we will never give up. But sooner or later, we're going to be dissing ourselves and our good intentions. We're going to blame our disintegration on "not enough willpower" or "being unrealistic" or "life had other ideas."
So, for every resolution you make, consider this: do you have a plan for failure? What will you do on the day you fail to get up and write 500 words at 4:30 in the morning? What will you do on the afternoon that you eat a whole bag of Oreo cookies? What will you do when two weeks go by and you haven't been to the gym, not even to drive by it?
May I suggest that you make the answer something fun? Failure doesn't have to be miserable. On the day you realize that you haven't walked a mile for several days, give yourself a foot massage. On the morning you sleep in and don't write your word goal for the day, read a poem to yourself. On the day you eat the Oreo cookies, allow yourself to daydream for fifteen minutes. (At least make use of that sugar rush!)
You can even have a Failure Jar. Put in it several slips of paper with failure plans on them. Draw one out as needed. Celebrate. Rejoice. Because failure means that you're pushing hard enough for something else to push back. You've provoked a reaction. You've budged the universe one tiny little bit.
Whatever you plan to do when you fail, think of the cashier at Target. What would you say to her? Be at least as kind to yourself as you would to her.
And now, I'm going to get nerdy and quote an online dictionary.
Resolve:
1. To make a firm decision about.
That's fourteen ways of looking at your Resolve for the New Year. (Isn't the music one cool?)
But I really like #11: " To render parts of (an image) visible and distinct." I can't be something that I'm not. But I can be more of what I am. And everyone, absolutely everyone, can fail with more distinction.
"31, I think," I replied.
"Oh, good," she said. "I have four more days to eat chocolate. And drink soda. And eat fast food."
I smiled at her and wished her luck. I tried, sincerely, not to be cynical. I imagined her sleek and svelte and completely fast-food, chocolate, and soda free for all of 2008.
And then, less than a week later, here I am, doubting her. Blogging about her. Holding her up as Every Woman Who Will Fail. Mean, right? (And totally against my blog rules.)
And yet, this is exactly what we do to ourselves. We say that we believe in ourselves. We say we are listening to our dreams. We say that we will never give up. But sooner or later, we're going to be dissing ourselves and our good intentions. We're going to blame our disintegration on "not enough willpower" or "being unrealistic" or "life had other ideas."
So, for every resolution you make, consider this: do you have a plan for failure? What will you do on the day you fail to get up and write 500 words at 4:30 in the morning? What will you do on the afternoon that you eat a whole bag of Oreo cookies? What will you do when two weeks go by and you haven't been to the gym, not even to drive by it?
May I suggest that you make the answer something fun? Failure doesn't have to be miserable. On the day you realize that you haven't walked a mile for several days, give yourself a foot massage. On the morning you sleep in and don't write your word goal for the day, read a poem to yourself. On the day you eat the Oreo cookies, allow yourself to daydream for fifteen minutes. (At least make use of that sugar rush!)
You can even have a Failure Jar. Put in it several slips of paper with failure plans on them. Draw one out as needed. Celebrate. Rejoice. Because failure means that you're pushing hard enough for something else to push back. You've provoked a reaction. You've budged the universe one tiny little bit.
Whatever you plan to do when you fail, think of the cashier at Target. What would you say to her? Be at least as kind to yourself as you would to her.
And now, I'm going to get nerdy and quote an online dictionary.
Resolve:
1. To make a firm decision about.
2. To cause (a person) to reach a decision. See Synonyms at decide.
3. To decide or express by formal vote.
4. To change or convert: My resentment resolved itself into resignation.
5. To find a solution to; solve. See Synonyms at solve.
6. To remove or dispel (doubts).
7. To bring to a usually successful conclusion: resolve a conflict.
8. Medicine To cause reduction of (an inflammation, for example).
9. Music To cause (a tone or chord) to progress from dissonance to consonance.
10. Chemistry To separate (an optically inactive compound or mixture) into its optically active constituents.
11. To render parts of (an image) visible and distinct.
12. Mathematics To separate (a vector, for example) into coordinate components.
13. To melt or dissolve (something).
14. Archaic To separate (something) into constituent parts.
That's fourteen ways of looking at your Resolve for the New Year. (Isn't the music one cool?)
But I really like #11: " To render parts of (an image) visible and distinct." I can't be something that I'm not. But I can be more of what I am. And everyone, absolutely everyone, can fail with more distinction.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Once
New Year's resolutions? Old school. This year, everyone has a theme.
Laura Salas has declared it the Year of Losing Control. Robin Brande says it's the Year of Independent Thinking. Donna Koppleman decrees it to be the Year of Uncommon Effort.
As for me, I hereby pronounce 2008 to be
Laura Salas has declared it the Year of Losing Control. Robin Brande says it's the Year of Independent Thinking. Donna Koppleman decrees it to be the Year of Uncommon Effort.
As for me, I hereby pronounce 2008 to be
The Year of Once (Upon a Time)
This year, I want to believe in the magic of words on paper. I want to believe in love that transforms, and art that heals. I want to believe in journeys that change you, in spells that are broken, and in rough stones (even me) that become gems.
This year, before saying "no" to something I'm afraid of, I'll say: "Once. I'll try it once."
This year, before saying "yes" to something that beckons to me, I'll say: "Is it part of the story I want my life to tell?"
This year, each day, every day, I'll begin with: "Once upon a time, there was a girl who believed..."
What would you do if it were "once upon a time" every day?
This year, before saying "no" to something I'm afraid of, I'll say: "Once. I'll try it once."
This year, before saying "yes" to something that beckons to me, I'll say: "Is it part of the story I want my life to tell?"
This year, each day, every day, I'll begin with: "Once upon a time, there was a girl who believed..."
What would you do if it were "once upon a time" every day?
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