See Ya Later, 2019

SEE YA LATER, 2019

Tuesday, December 31, 2019


Once again, the year has rolled on and, as usual, it is time to reflect and reminisce on what has happened, what has been experienced and what has been learnt. It is also time to think ahead to what is desired for the future: What is to be accomplished, discovered, felt and seen.

Somehow, 12 months passed with nary a hiccup. Not to say there weren't hiccups, or thought disruptors swirling through my mind. I am human so, sooner or later, something in life was bound to crop up bringing with it increased stress and anxiety. No hospitalization was required, no broken bones needed mending. Emotional stress can be just as harmful as physical stress. Compared to prior years, however, the load this year was fairly easily managed.

2019 actually began with me writing; something I did little of in the latter half of the year. After receiving a nod from a publisher back in 2018, I took myself to a quiet little cabin for the month of April to try and crank out some chapters. Several large, rubber bins accompanied me: bins that contained notebooks, index cards, books on memoir writing, other people's memoirs, and a stock-pile of family photographs to get me right back into the moment. After 4 weeks in the Blaeberry Valley (I could move there in an instant!), some emotional walls were knocked down, others put up, and three chapters were written.

With the memoir, I always figured it would be a piece of cake to write about the 'good stuff'. There was so much of it. By comparison, the 'bad stuff' would call for much more courage and fortitude. Turns out the exact opposite was true. I had (and still have) no problem writing about the darker sides of my marriage. When it came to the happy and love-filled side, however, the mind emptied. I was completely incapable of taking myself back in time to the first five years of my marriage (when all was blissful and newlywed-ish). I told myself to just keep trying. After two weeks, I finally gave up.

It was then that I realized that even though a memoir will be read in chronological order, it doesn't mean that it has to be written in chronological order! In other words, I gave myself permission to jump ahead onto the next big section of life: sailing.

I have lived a total of 11 years on the ocean, on three different sailboats. I figured the memoir would likely have two chapters covering sailing. After describing the first two weeks of an 11-year span, the sheer amount of information hit like a tsunami. Crashing on top of me was the realization that there was so much to describe. Again, I came to a grinding halt. How can I possibly write all of this? Instead of not knowing what to write (or how to write it), I became overwhelmed with the sheer quantities of useable material. Decisions had to be made as to what to include, and what not include. I simply wasn't in the frame of mind to pick and choose. By this time, my month in the cabin was over and it was time to pack up and move onto the RiverBase for the next 5 months.

Saved by work, not a single word was written between May and October.  It took the first meeting of my writing group since March to actually get me to produce something. And produce something, I did! Going with inspiration and mood, I typed out a pivotal scene between my ex and I. The ladies in my writing group loved it and spurred me on to get back it.

At about the same time, I heard back from a local online literary magazine, Sea To Sky Review. Much to my surprise, and excitement, an email was sent saying they'd like to publish (yes ... PUBLISH!) my submitted piece of prose. The theme for this particular quarterly edition was dangerous seas. A girlfriend, and writing group member, urged me to enter. "If anyone can write about dangerous seas, it's you!". At the very last minute, my piece titled Stormy Waters was sent in. What the heck? Got nothin' to lose!

My biggest accomplishment in 2019 is that I can now claim to be a published author.  Yahoo!

While chatting with a girlfriend last night, the topic of intentions arose. When she inquired into mine, an off-the cuff answer came flying out. "I know what I have to do, it's just a matter of doing it. I know I have to eat better, move more and write. Once I cover these basics, everything else will fall into place."

So, for 2020 I'm keeping it simple. I plan to work hard to stay focused on these simple things so that my life is that much better. Rather than grumbling about my blubber, or my creeky joints, or my lack of chapters, I simply have to admit that without dedicated work, none of these things will get accomplished. I won't get into better shape without watching what I eat and exercising more. I won't get a book written if I don't write!  It's pretty simple, isn't it?

My focus will be put into daily, and minute-by-minute, checks to make sure I'm doing what's right for me in the long run. I've never been a great planner, so maybe it's time to think on a more extended span of time. One step in front of the other ... and I'll get there. I just have to keep taking steps!

I hope you keep taking one step after another, too. Walk straight into 2020, and don't stop.

Happy New Year.

Unplugging

Monday, December 9, 2019

UNPLUGGING

For several weeks, no actually, for several months, I have told myself to exert discipline when it comes to the time spent looking at screens. Can anyone else relate to this? When I think of the accumulated hours wasted, yes wasted, scrolling up, down, back and forth through social media accounts, along with playing ridiculous iPhone/iPad games (Candy Crush and Spider Solitaire), simply shaking my head at myself lacks a certain sense of remorse.

Thank goodness (yet, again) for girlfriends. The other evening, four of us ladies gathered around a fifth's kitchen table, chatting, laughing and clipping out inspiring pictures, ideas and notions for 2020 vision boards. Friday evening's gathering produced in me a new sense of dedication. Vocalizing one's own fears/insecurities/desires (especially with those meeting for the first time) really does help! Being in a safe setting (i.e. a girlfriend's kitchen) removes all sense of shame. Telling a stranger some of your worst habits has quite a cleansing effect. Not only are alternatives pointed out, but you learn of how others deal with the exact same problem. As I so appreciatively learned five years ago, it is such a relief to know you are not alone with a particular experience.

My cure for incessant screen time and scrolling presented itself: leave technology in the living room at the end of the day. Plug it in, charge it up and put it to sleep for the night ... somewhere other than where I sleep. Whether the device is completely turned off, or silenced, or put into airplane mode depends upon how badly I need to keep the connection with my children available for those 8 hours. I suppose turning off Wifi and shutting down data would stop everything except telephone calls coming in. It is a phone after all, and my children should be able to call their mother any time of the day or night.

Last night, I put the plan into action. The iPhone went into airplane mode and sat quietly all night on the hallway table. All computers were shut down, too. I do admit to having to set my alarm on my iPad, but had first turned off Wifi and deleted all possible distractions (Facebook, Instagram and games). Today I should pop down to the thrift shop to find a good, old-fashioned alarm clock.  Afterwards, I read a couple of chapters of a new book, spurring thoughts for my own memoir draft at the same time. How wonderfully relaxing and thought-provoking (which is really the definition of reading in the first place, isn't it?).

This morning, after rising from a solid night's sleep, I jogged in the darkness because I didn't waste an hour in bed catching up with my screen. I got up, got dressed and got out the door. Sitting at the table having breakfast, after getting showered and dressed, I allowed myself the time to open up the iPhone and see what the digital world around me has been up to in my absence.  Besides a notice for someone who wants to check out a jacket I'm selling (from a notice posted on FB), I haven't missed a thing. More time was actually spent scrutinizing my Christmas gift plan and what is still left to do.

Tonight will, most definitely, be a repeat of last night. There is, after all, so much more to enjoy in life than time in front of the screen.

Happy Monday, everyone.

Gosh, It Has Been A While

Saturday, November 16, 2019

GOSH, IT HAS BEEN A WHILE

Sitting at my desk, on a rainy Saturday afternoon, I can only shake my head at the lack of writing accomplished over the past months.  Two years ago the first draft of my memoir was completed and with great gusto and determination I attended the Whistler Writers Festival. The goal was to find a publisher. Little did I realize at that time all the writing and revision still required in order to turn the rough first draft into a stellar story of woman claiming her own ground.

One year ago, again at the Whistler Writers Festival, and to my utter amazement, I received a nod from a publisher. Someone was actually interested in my story! What joy, what bliss. My dream of becoming a published author may not be just a dream, after all.

Back to square one became my motto.  Time was taken not to write, but learn the craft of writing. Connections were made with other memoir authors; books to read about writing were recommended and either checked out of the library or ordered on Amazon (sorry, independent book sellers). Before I could write a riveting memoir, I first had to learn how to write a riveting memoir. Terms such as 'voice' and 'narrative arc' set my mind awhirl, confusing and confounding me. These were not terms I remembered from high school. After weeks of torment, and asking lots of questions to anyone connected in the slightest degree to the world of writing, I finally understood. I found my voice (or, voices, as the case may be) and de-mystified the meaning of narrative arc.

When not reading about writing, I was reading other peoples' memoirs, learning how each one wrote his or her personal story. How details were divulged and described, and how much detail at that. Many books are marked in the margins or tagged with post-it notes at the top. What's the saying?  To be a good writer one must be a good reader.

Then it was time to tear the original draft apart, in good old cut and paste fashion. The story had to be told in chronological order, rather than jumping back and forth between events and insights. There is an interesting sense of orderliness and satisfaction when taking scissors to the pages of your draft, and re-arranging paragraphs into time-relevant piles on the living room rug (with a glass of red wine nearby).

Even then, the flow of words escaped me. I learned from another publisher at the festival, that memoirs require a 'thread', a common element that flows throughout the story and pulls all these life-shaping events together. 

As in "H Is For Hawk", it took many, many months for me to find my 'hawk'. It took all of last winter, and the spring and summer of 2019, until I finally came upon this highly needed and highly elusive element. While driving home with a girlfriend from a day-long hike near Pemberton a few weeks ago, I mentioned my current conundrum. It should not have surprised me that she was able to quickly, and correctly, hit the nail on the head.  By the time she dropped me off at my front door, I had my 'hawk'!  (And, no, I will not say what it is ... you'll just have to wait until my memoir is published). It made such complete sense and put my mind at ease instantly. I understood how the story is now to unfold, and what the common element will be throughout the various chapters. Yee Haw!

A good portion of the writing process is not writing at all. Thinking about what is to be written takes much more time. Ideas percolate and swirl for days, weeks, months before 'eureka' is exclaimed and another hurdle is safely cleared.

I think I can safely say that many technical hurdles have been cleared. Emotional hurdles still appear on the horizon. Frustrating me greatly was the fact that what I thought would be easy to write about, turned out to be excruciating; and what I feared would be hard to write flowed without hiccup. That took me by complete surprise. I could not find the words to describe the good times; while the bad times were a piece of cake.

Last month I attended, for the third year in a row, the Whistler Writers Festival. Lots of familiar faces were seen, hugs and laughter shared. Inspiration took hold once again after being amongst writers and people who have been a part of my writing world. I came home at the end of the four days, knowing it is time to get on with this project and get 'er done!

The other night, the writing group I belong to met at my place to catch up, celebrate and talk about our personal projects. It was good to be back in their company, and to hear their comments and encouragement. Their questions even made me realize something incredibly fundamental to a certain point of time. Who knew how therapeutic a ladies' writing group can be?!

Beside me, in a large blue rubber storage bin, sits all my notes, index cards, journals, drafts and writing memorabilia. It has been in this tub since the beginning of May! I think I'm ready to unpack the bin, and unpack my memories and reflections. There's nothing to be afraid of.  It's only writing. As the photograph above indicates, I am a writer.

More Layers Peeled Back

MORE LAYERS PEELED BACK

Friday, February 22, 2019

I just had an amazing walk in the forest!

A massive, MASSIVE breakthrough was experienced as I walked the snow-covered trails in the forest.

It was the falling snow that prompted me to get out, not a need to take it to the forest (my personal motto when emotions and thoughts tumble around in my mind and need sorting out).  I love walking in the snow.  So out into the snow I went.

As is usual on the BC coast, the snow today was quite wet.  Huge flakes were falling; more like clumps of snow rather than individual flakes.  Every minute or so (seriously) I had to brush the snow off my jacket.  It accumulated that quickly!

The first portion of the walk was straight down a street to the very end (it's a fairly long and level street) to one of many, many, many trailheads in the area.  No major thoughts churned about in my mind at this point.  I was simply enjoying the peacefulness that comes with a blanketing of snow.  The sidewalk and street were just as I like them:  unploughed.  There is something very satisfying walking in untouched snow.

Once on the actual trail, there was instant elevation.  Winding through the trees I stopped regularly to look up and really see the forest (and catch my breath).  It is so easy to keep one's eyes downcast, and watch where your feet go.  I love stopping and looking up.  There is a world of beauty up there, so look at it!  With trees and trail draped with a couple of inches of snow, it was definitely a winter wonderland scene.

As the trail levelled out and widened, and I no longer needed to pay attention to where my feet were, the usual thing happened.  I started talking to myself!  An imaginary interview was being conducted (upon publication of my memoir, of course) and I was chatting about how I reconciled airing my family's dirty laundry, so to speak.  This has been quite an obstacle for me lately, so talking out loud about it, in the forest, was the equivalent of a therapist's couch, or an evening with girlfriends.

My discussion carried on for quite a while along the trail; no one else was around.  Suddenly, as if the blinds in a darkened room sprang up without warning, my world instantly became lighter and brighter.

I had always given credit to my former husband for the successes of our family.  That I played only a supporting role, following his lead on everything.  While walking in the forest this morning, and talking out loud to the trees, I (finally) acknowledged that I did not merely 'follow', but that I was a full-blown, 100% participant in the success of my family.  Yes, many of our family initiatives were because of his vision.  That is undisputed.  Up until an hour ago, I was always hesitant to claim any credit for all the wonderful things we did and experienced.  What happened in the forest, with no warning whatsoever, was me giving myself the acknowledgement I was hesitant to give.

Because of this epiphany, I now see my past roles as wife and mother as a full partner, rather than merely as a sidekick.

My family was not the successful family it was because of him.  It was successful because of us.  The two of us, together, created this incredible family.  I did play just as important a role as he did.  And, I will never doubt that again.

The continued success of my family since July 18, 2014 has been solely due to me.  I have never questioned that fact.  But it sure is a relief to be able to say that we equally created everything in our life, together.  He was no more important than I.  That those adventures he led us on were my adventures, too; not just something I watched from the sidelines.

Ownership of the part I played in my marriage has now been realized.

Holy smokes.  That's HUGE!

As soon as this revelation hit me, I hugged the nearest tree.  I took that moment in as I needed to.

When I set out from my front door on the morning walk, I had no inkling that there was an underlying need to take something to the forest.  Thanks to that forest, I feel so much lighter, so much more focused, and so much more proud of myself than I have felt in a while.

Yay for me!

#TakeItToTheForest

Happy Friday, everyone.