In which I warm-up for my writing retreat.

scene from today's walk (iphone)

This is me writing a blog post as a warm-up exercise. I'm in Vermont for a few days, squirreled away in a friend's garret for a bit of a writing retreat.

This is me wondering if the Twitter/Facebook update I wrote earlier today counts as writing.

This is me looking out the tall arched window at the bare tree branches, the green hill beyond them, and the line of staunch evergreens on the hill beyond that.

This is me putting one letter in front of another. Earlier today I took a walk in the woods, one foot in front of the other, crunching and bustling the fallen leaves with every step. It was so quiet out there that when I  stopped and stood still, I could hear the carpet of leaves shifting back into position, rebounding from where I had trod. They sounded like Rice Krispies in milk.

This is me wondering if writing retreats are a bad idea. There's too much pressure. But then I remember that I supposedly work well under pressure. Maybe I need to set a specific goal, such as to write a certain number of pages. Then the pressure, I mean the goal, would be measurable and achievable.

This is me thinking about an essay I've been trying to write. It involves a shaman, a Nashville youth pastor with pink hair, and an Eastern Orthodox nun. (I know that sounds like the beginning of a joke.)

This is me noticing that the blue sky beyond the hill of evergreens is deepening to royal denim blue as dusk settles in.

This is me hearing a lamp buzz at regular intervals.

This is me thinking about how lovely the end-of-day words are: dusk, twilight, gloaming.

This me pretending to write. (Am I fooling anyone yet?)

This is me looking at a stack of books and knowing that as important as the practice of reading is to the practice of writing, I can't let myself fall back on it all week long.  Maybe a bargain with myself? For every page I write I can read for 20 minutes?

This is me thinking about dinner. I heard there's going to be pesto. I love pesto.

This is me opening a file and typing, "A shaman, a nun, and a youth pastor walk into a bar."

This is me thinking about the horse riding lesson my friend will give me tomorrow morning. It will be my second time ever on a horse.

This is reminding myself that the writing doesn't have to be any good yet. It just needs to come into existence. One letter in front of another.

This is me hearing a dog bark.

This is me breathing.

This is me hitting publish and setting a level of measurable pressure with a tangible reward: three pages of the shaman/nun/pastor essay, to be written after dinner. And then I can read for an hour.

A World with Octobers

October was a beautiful month at Green Gables, when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on the loveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green, while the fields sunned themselves in aftermaths.

Anne reveled in the world of color about her.

"Oh, Marilla," she exclaimed one Saturday morning, coming dancing in with her arms full of gorgeous boughs" 'I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it? Look at these maple branches. Don't they give you a thrill--several thrills? I'm going to decorate my room with them."

"Messy things," said Marilla, whose aesthetic sense was not noticeably developed. "You clutter up your room entirely too much with out-of-doors stuff, Anne. Bedrooms were made to sleep in."

"Oh, and dream in too, Marilla. And you know one can dream so much better in a room where there are pretty things. I'm going to put these boughs in the old blue jug and set them on my table."

~Anne of Green Gables, L. M. Montgomery

I'm rereading the Anne of Green Gables series for the first time in decades. I'm only a wee bit of the way into the first book, but already I feel like I'm visiting old friends whom I haven't seen in years (but who've never been far from me).

When I dig down into my core values and think about the way I want to be in this world, I always come back to two little words: joy and wonder. I think of Anne as my role model and kindred spirit in this regard.

October is my favorite month, despite the early darkening of the evenings and the need to start wearing socks. This month I'm filling myself up with the color and mystery of the delightful days that separate September from November.

Worky Work Week Sanity Saver (Day 6): Poetry

This poem, "Meditation at Five Islands" by Dave Lucas, feels perfect to me. I keep reading it, wishing I had written it and feeling, in a strange way, like I did. The best writing does that: kicks up a spark of recognition inside of you and then spreads out in a warm glow of knowing. I think the best poetry (and prose) feels familiar and fresh at the same time. Lucas's poem was published in the September/October 2012 issue of Orion magazine, which is a beautiful publication with the mission "to inform, inspire, and engage individuals and grassroots organizations in becoming a significant cultural force for healing nature and community."

Meditation at Five Islands

There is no help for it after all,
nothing to keep one's unlived lives
from dragging their heavy chains
along the bottom of the sea,
full fathom five and so forth.
The heart wants what it wants,
which is everything....

[read the whole poem here]

What's with the "worky work week sanity saver" posts? Find out here.

Worky Work Week Sanity Saver (Day 5): Tranquility

twin lakes park, summer 2012 (iphone; instagram)

 
What's with the "worky work week sanity saver" posts? Find out here.

Worky Work Week Sanity Saver (Day 4): Over the Rhine

Everything about this mini-film of Over the Rhine is gorgeous, from the production to the scenery to the ideas expressed in it to (of course) the music. I've loved Karin Bergquist and Linford Detweiler and all things OTR for the last 17 years, and I still adore their music, which always makes me feel more alive, less alone, and more at home. This video (part concert, part documentary, part interview, part inspiration) is one of a series called "The Song That Changed My Life" from BYUtv. Even if you don't know OTR's music, this 25-minute morsel is well worth watching for its beauty and thoughtfulness. (The series also features a handful of other amazing musicians, including Dar Williams and Sixpence None the Richer.)

What's with the "worky work week sanity saver" posts? Find out here.