Boot Camp, Brussels Sprouts, and Writing– oh, my!

CAUTION:
The following blog has way too many metaphors. That’s probably because I have had SUCH A HARD TIME WRITING over the last 5 months. : )

***

I’m in boot camp – climbing up steep hills while carrying artillery, traversing various obstacle courses, and marching until my feet bleed. I do this in sleet, rain, snow, sunshine– no matter the weather. I get up at dawn and work until dusk. I know that the goal of boot camp is survival. That’s it. Nothing else. Just survive. You don’t have to look pretty or smell good. Just get through it–alive.

I have been in boot camp for these last several months, my first semester of the MFA program at Pine Manor College, and am emerging battle weary. But, thankfully, it’s over, and I’m about to attend residency number two to kick start semester two. So, as a send off and farewell to the semester that was, I give you my parting thoughts.

***

Our program is a rigorous study made up of five 10-day residencies (over a 2.5 year period). Upon arrival home from residency, students begin their independent study, which involves turning in five packets of work, spaced out about a month each– 25 pages of creative and about 10 pages of critical writing (literary analysis)– to a mentor, who is a professional author as well as someone who has been through the same rigorous study (with their own MFA).

***

I went into the program looking forward to working on my creative writing . I finally could justify the hours and hours I spent at Starbucks drinking tea and clacking on the keyboard. I could tell my husband, “But I have to write today–it’s homework!” I specifically wanted to focus on a short story collection that I have been kicking around for a few years. Short stories are much harder for me than novels, which I can bang out in a few months. So, I looked forward to having a teacher help me hone my short story writing.

I pictured myself churning out story after story and my mentor giving me life-changing advice. I pictured us simpatico. I also was convinced that everything he or she was going to tell me would be THE THING that changed my writing. That I would grow and expand. That I would be humbled by my own growth and expansion. The skies would part and my writing Savior would arrive in flowing robes with an ethereal glow. As for the critical writing, I figured it would be necessary but not really a lot of fun. That I would, as my five-year-old daughter does with her vegetables, get that over with first and move on to my “just desserts"– my creative writing.

***

However, as life sometimes goes, I did not get my “just desserts”.

What actually happened was with each packet I turned in, I felt more and more depressed about my own writing. Worse though was that my “just desserts” turned out to NOT be my creative work. Working on my creative work was like being forced to eat the most dreaded vegetable ever–Brussels sprouts.

By the second packet, I wanted to just focus on the critical writing. Let me just keep reading other people’s stuff. Let me focus on how they succeed or fail in their story-telling. By the final packet, I actually pondered quitting the program and getting my PHD in English Lit…That would be so much easier than an MFA. Really. I think it would be. What gut-wrenching-muscle-aching effort is it to analyze other people’s work? Hell, I do that for a living anyway. I’m an English teacher by training. Teacher/tutor/coach by trade. Piece of cake. Almost effortless. Like breathing. Actually, I realized by semester’s end, it’s kind of fun, too. Really, it’s so much easier focusing on other people’s shit, right? It’s kind of removed because it’s not about you, so you can kind of relish in the severity of your analysis. Relish in how much you dissected it, relish in the decoding of it all, like you took apart the VCR and actually figured out how to put it back together.

***

It was the feedback.

With each letter of feedback on my writing I struggled. I struggled to figure out what to do with the feedback and how to do whatever it is I needed to do. With each packet, I would work furiously revising and rewriting based on the notes given. But it was like running up Mt. Washington, without sneakers, without water–hell , without clothes. In the rain. Eating Brussels sprouts.

This shocked me. I wanted feedback. That’s why I signed up for an MFA.

So, what happened?

***

Traditionally, in a class, you have your fellow classmates to commiserate with or to at least bounce things off of, you have other people to encourage you when you feel like giving up–someone other than your teacher. In a class, you have other students to talk you off the cliff when the teacher tells you that you got it all wrong and have to start over. Not that my mentor said those words exactly, but, unfortunately, that’s how I heard the words. I kept hearing, “You’re wrong. You’re ideas suck. You’re stories are vapid. You. Suck. A. Lot.” Again, she NEVER SAID THAT. But I heard that in my head. So, while she may have been criticizing my ideas and my writing, she never told me to pack it in. To forget it because I’m a no-talent asshole. But, again, that’s what I heard.

This same psychological phenomenon happens sometimes with my students–particularly when they are new (as I am to the MFA program): I will give some feedback that’s rather critical–not about them as writers or human beings but about their story or essay– and the look on the student’s face says, “You just completely ran me over with a large Mack Truck and now I am barely alive.” Not only will I notice this slack mouth, half-alive, barely able to inhale look but so will the rest of the students in the class. This is their cue to chime in: “Your story is great! You are such an awesome writer! Just a few more tweaks and this draft will sparkle.” Sometimes my students will come right out and say, “Hannah didn’t just tell you that you sucked, okay? She said that you just need to fix a few things.” Also, quite frankly, teachers aren’t perfect. Sometimes they say things in not the most gentle way, and it can hurt. Having other students around can be good for translation purposes.

Being the teacher, even if you are as I am, not on some kind of self-proclaimed pedestal of all-knowingness, you are in a position of authority. Therefore, no matter what you say– good or bad– it really affects the student. Deeply, intensely, and completely. So, to reduce the intensity and the shock of feedback from the teacher, students need one another. Being in a residency program, you don’t get that immediate support from your peers because you are truly on your own with your mentor. I guess I could have reached out to my classmates but that would have been through email, and I’m not sure how it would have been received if I emailed them and said, “I JUST GOT MY LETTER FROM MY MENTOR AND NOW I WANT TO HANG MYSELF. SO HOW ARE YOU?”

Instead, what I did was not say ANYTHING (although my mentor did sense things weren’t going that great with me and my writing). And, if you know me well, you know I can’t do this, at least without causing some severe anxiety and depression. So after I got my letter of feedback, I would just sort of try and do exactly as my mentor advised, without sitting with the feedback and really processing it. Then, I would get frustrated and feel like some of her feedback didn’t resonate. That maybe she wasn’t understanding what I was trying to do, and hell, maybe I wasn’t conveying what I wanted to do to her because maybe I was still evolving my idea…I think, worse of all, I didn’t pick up the phone and call her and tell her how I was feeling. That was truly stupid because see, I wasn’t alone. I did have her. That’s what she was there for, support and encouragement, just as much as she was there to critique.

It’s also vital to the mentoring/critiquing process that the student give the teacher feedback– that there’s a dialogue between teacher and student about the work. Because the work evolves. It isn’t just– poof! There it is. Feedback cannot occur in a vacuum because writing a story is a creative process, which is not formulaic or linear but circular at times. Crafting a story can be confusing, like when you have one of those thin chains that gets tangled up in itself and you have to carefully work out the knots, sometimes with a pin and it takes a while to figure out how exactly to untie the knot. So, if someone is critiquing your story as it is evolving, when it isn’t ready for a critique, a dialogue between writer and critiquer is vital.

***

What I’m figuring out here in this blog is that I wish there had been more time to talk. Talk about the work I was creating or rather the process I was experiencing with the creation of the work. The other problem was at the beginning of the semester my mentor suggested I do a loose outline of my project. So I did, hating every minute of it because I wasn’t quite ready to do that. Did I tell her this? Nope. I just was the good little student and did it. Then, I assumed I had to follow the outline. Except, I didn’t want to, so I really didn’t.

Additionally, there was a story I was working on, and it wasn’t really fully formed in my head, but I had to send her what I was working on, so I would try really hard to “figure it out” so I could answer her very valid questions about it. What I wanted to tell her was… “I’m not sure yet what I want to do with this.” But, again, I didn’t so…I tried to do what I thought she wanted me to do with it and…it turned into a mess and I got very sad. I wanted to dream and write and enjoy this wonderful opportunity to write . Yet, I constantly felt like there was a certain expectation on her part, and I wasn’t hitting it.

There was way too much struggle, and this was new for me. I have never had a struggle like this with my creative writing.

But the thing is…I felt like maybe she wasn’t understanding me, and I wasn’t really understanding her. See, this is all stuff we could have discussed. Should have discussed. But we didn’t. And it’s that that I truly regret.

***

Thus, with all that struggle, I feel sore. Tired. Weary. Like I did boot camp or climbed that frigging mountain. I ignored my feelings/reactions to the feedback letters. I kept telling myself I was too sensitive and had to “get over it”. I felt sad, I hurt, my muscles ached, and I seemed to wake up sore everyday. It felt like one long intense workout with out rest, like a marathon or something. One that just kept going and going.

But, I wasn’t in boot camp with a drill sergeant. I was a mentee in an MFA program that urges the student to communicate with their mentor about how things are going, really going, even if they are going really, bad.

***

So…

I know I have an abundance of metaphors here– see how my writing is suffering now! ? : ) But both metaphors describe what it has been like to do my creative writing this semester. It’s like eating Brussels sprouts while traversing some kind of boot camp obstacle course that involves climbing up a steep mountain, naked.

Gross.

Yet, I do not want to give up. I want to go through this process of intense study and writing. But how do I stop struggling? My muse is not struggle. It’s like how I feel about my study of yoga– “release into the resistance” is what one of my yoga teacher’s tells us. That and “lay down your arms”. Oh and this good one, “trust your process”. I just have to accept these yicky feelings. Stop struggling and accept where I am. Be in the moment and just sit down, one key at a time, and write.

Also, maybe I should try Brussels sprouts one more time?

Thoughts On Teaching Writing

The Work I Do

I teach writing workshops, work as a writing coach and tutor, and also do some career counseling. All of these things come from the same place within me, the desire to look within, build self-trust, self-awareness, all in the vain of reducing anxiety, which is what gets in the way when we try to write or figure out what to do with ourselves, our career.

The process I use is to facilitate and coach people to go deep within, to connect to their core, their emotional truth, and then use that honesty, that pure energy to: create fiction or nonfiction that reverberates their emotional truth (a truth that changes), write their college application essay or research paper, or figure out what they want to do with their career.

I DO NOT psychoanalyze. I am the opposite of psychotherapy. I like to think that I help in the process of “observing” versus “analyzing”. Observing is far less invasive, far more gentle, if you let yourself really just observe.

My Approach

I think the approach I use creates an ease with writing (and with career exploration), because we observe without judgment, without guilt or fear. This process reduces stress and anxiety, which, again, is usually the thing that’s in the way for people who come to see me. My intention with this approach is to create a release, like going to the chiropractor and getting an adjustment or taking power heated yoga, twisting and rinsing out all the crap.

I use this approach, also, because I believe, like with great acting, great writing comes from emotional truth. The thing is that you want people to believe you when you write, whether it’s a college application essay or novel. You need to be rooted in awareness of your intention when you write and awareness involves emotional honesty, otherwise you are writing surface bullshit, and, to me, people can tell in your “voice” and in your words if you are trying to convey something verses really conveying something.

Of course, my role is to help you do that, and, yes, it might sound like therapy but the difference is I am not interested in fixing, solving, or changing you or your “problem”. If that’s what you want or what happens, great, but I am not here to do that. I’m interested in you peering deep within, finding Your Truth, and then writing the hell out of it, because then you will soar and you will really be an artist.

How Do I Do It?

This is hard to explain, but I will try. Overall, I focus on encouraging my students to trust themselves and to trust their process, to try not to worry or anticipate how they will accomplish what they have set out to do (write an essay or book or whatever). I have a bunch of teacher- techniques I use and even assignments, but I think the most effective is how I begin each session/class. I begin with a “warm up”. The point of both is for the student to let go of the world, the stress outside the room, and focus on themselves and their work for the duration of the class/session. With adults, I do a seated meditation and then free write for 20 minuets and then we share, without commenting. With my younger students, they sit in this really comfy chair in my office and just talk out (or free write) what’s going on– sometimes with the assignment we are working on, or other times whatever is on their minds. Most of all, in both cases I listen, I really listen, and I try to get out of the way.

On the other hand, the other way I get my students to write with ease is to share my own struggles with writing, with school, and with being a student. I relate to their pain, in any way I can. I let them know that while I am the “teacher”, I am human. But this is something I need to really do in the right moments, after trust between the student, and I has been established. I think one of my strengths is my ability to be vulnerable, but my ability to switch from vulnerable to authoritative when needed.

But not all of my approach is to "get out of the way". I do, (all of you who know me well are laughing) have opinions. And, yes, I do tell my students what I think of their writing; after all, that's why they want me to work with them. They do want to know what I think. However, my critique of my students' writing is based in a solid belief in what they are doing and a solid trust between us. I don't bash, throw their work on the board, and point out with a red laser pointer all the grammatical mistakes or holes in their plot. My critique is part inquiry– Is this what you mean? Do you think you could go deeper there? But, also, part direct advice–I think this needs more development or maybe you could try this idea.

I think I am pretty good at what I do. But I don’t think my approach is right for everyone.

The Problem With Teaching Writing…a.k.a no job is perfect, even your dream job.

Nerves can get probed in my writing classes, in writing coaching sessions with me, and 99% of the time, the student or client knows exactly what they are getting into, welcomes the inner reflection and process, and understands it’s all part of the process. They understand that this “stuff” is not meant to be analyzed to death but rather observed. That the point of allowing the stuff to rise up is so that you can either use it in your writing or let it go so you can write. However, sometimes a student or client blames me, that I caused them to bring up their pain or their issues. That their pain is my fault.

I have a thick skin and don’t take it personally when a student gets upset because what they are upset with is the new layer of skin that has appeared raw and sensitive after they have written through some heavy shit, sloughing off the old skin, shedding the way things were and now seeing the way things are. This can be very upsetting and if you are not in a solid place with yourself, it can be unnerving.

I feel the work I do is ultimately good, even necessary to the writing process, even when someone gets upset or disturbed by the things they have uncovered. I also feel like I have no choice but to teach this way. It makes me uncomfortable to ignore when someone has been affected by his or her own writing or by something from class. It’s hard to advise someone to forget it, just stop writing about that and write safely. Yet, on the other hand, I have done this, because that’s the other part of teaching as I do; you have to honor someone’s process. I don’t always know what the Truth is for my students, but I can tell when they are avoiding it. This avoiding does make me feel at a loss, kind of helpless. Yet, I know my job is not to fix their pain or force them to look at their Truth. My job is to show the compassion I feel for them and their pain. If they are not able or ready to look at the pain, it’s not up to me to force them to do so. I offer simple encouragement: “yes you can” or “feel the fear and do it anyway” or just “I’m here for you”. But sometimes, the student can’t or won’t “go there”. I hold on to hope that maybe just by coming to class they will get to where it is they need to be.

My Fears

The thing is I’m afraid of offending my students. Sometimes, when I show/guide them towards looking deeper, and I see/feel/smell resistance, there’s this moment that juts out into the space, and I find myself taking this step back. Their resistance jolts me slightly, and I hesitate or back pedal, and I say things like “Oh, well, actually, you can back off that. You don’t need to go there.“ Inside my brain fires out these self-protective thoughts: What are you, a therapist? What if he/she flips out on you? What if they say ‘it’s all your fault?’ They may run screaming! So, I back off. Sometimes this all happens for a second, and then I will step back in, and gently, carefully, I find the right words to help them gently go deeper. What’s really gratifying is when I step back in, and I help them move into their own resistance, and they relax into it and trust that it’s all going to be okay (like getting into a difficult yoga posture). I can see the relief flood their face and their trust, the I-can-do-this look. Other times, I totally back off, stay off. But when this happens, inside, I chastise myself and say, “Hey this is why they are here, so do your job and step up and teach, dammit!” Ultimately though, if I sense a situation is going into the blame-the-teacher-place, backing off is probably the best thing for everyone all around.

I'm Bad At Bullshit

I take my job seriously. My job is to help you be honest with yourself in your writing. In fact, this is always my job in everything I do. Tutor kids, coach adults, career counsel, edit and critique manuscripts. Even in the classroom, when I was a public school teacher, there was just no place for bullshit. No place for candy-coated bullshit. No matter if I taught Caesar or expository writing. There just wasn’t bullshit. I never got in trouble for being honest. Like when I taught the controversial book The Perks of Being A Wallflower, and we had to discuss the scene about the main character having been molested by his aunt. I answered all the questions honestly and encouraged them to use the literature to question their own lives.

I am an enthusiastic and passionate teacher. I am animated, and I can be a whole show of facial expressions and animations. But I can be quiet and thoughtful too. I worry sometimes how I am being received. Yes, there it is, my age-old problem of SELF CONSCIOUSNESS. I have gotten better about all this. One time an adult student got angry with me after I gave her my honest opinion about her writing. We were in a one-on-one, and she was in the session not just for a free and fun writing time but to figure out what was wrong in her piece. So, I told her, and she called me pushy and aggressive, or something like that. Twisted my words all up and then used them against me. At first, I was very apologetic. Then, I thought, what the hell does that mean? I am the teacher, and my job is to challenge you or make suggestions to improve your writing. If this is perceived a pushy and aggressive, well, I don’t know why you signed up. Furthermore, I make suggestions, never do I scream and yell and insist you do as I say. Come on, free will. We are adults.

Maybe I should keep my mouth shut?

When I taught middle and high school though, it was far worse. Other teachers would often pull me into their classroom to warn me to shut up and stop giving my opinion about things so freely. I think my greatest asset used to be my greatest fault–used to is the operative phrase. Mentors, or so-called, in the past, would again pull me into their office or classroom and point their fingers at me, and sometimes with a kind of I’m-looking-out-for-you tone and other times a direct warning. It was always something like this:

"You gotta learn how to keep your mouth shut."

I have opinions and have learned how to say them at the better rather than worse time. A bad time was when I spoke my mind at a meeting with our union president and some colleagues. I was unhappy and concerned about something that turned out to be some kind of “secret” we were keeping at our school from the union. Whoops. I am a bad game player, and, so, I didn’t play the game that day. The next year-and-a-half of my life at that school was hell. No one liked me. I lost all of my so-called friends. All over some political bullshit that I wasn’t aware was happening, all because I told the truth of how I felt. What made it a bad time was that I wasn’t grounded first in what I felt. It was like as I spoke, I was figuring out what I felt, and so when people tried to knock me down I wasn’t firm in my feelings.

That’s usually what got me in trouble with my colleagues at the middle and high school. I had a department head who pulled me into a closet (I was in my fourth year of teaching) and pointed her finger at me, telling me she heard I was throwing myself into all kinds of committees. So? God forbid I work with administration to help our school. Well, apparently, this was “bad”. Again, some kind of union politic. Or maybe just her politic. Who knows? It was all so stupid. But again, I wasn’t grounded enough in what I felt and could easily be made to cry and feel wrong.

Oh, HELL no!

When, I had my first child, I said to myself NO MORE. When I decided to work for myself I said OH, HELL, NO MORE. I vowed if anyone tried to make me feel bad for expressing my opinion then I wouldn’t work with them or for them. Period.

I have stuck by that promise. In fact, made a career out of being honest and expressing myself. DO I ever have to bullshit or play games or politic? NO WAY.

Speaking my mind for me is not about putting a student or client down. Speaking my mind about your writing and your writing “practice” in my class is not about putting you down. It’s about my impression, my feedback, my thoughts, my critique. Isn’t that why you are here? If you disagree with me or are having some kind of intense reaction to what I say, then it’s up to you. You, who are adult, to talk to me. Tell what’s going on inside. Don’t interpret me. Don’t guess or assume.

Of course, I, too, am a student, and know how hard it is to speak up sometimes to your teacher...but that's for the next blog entry!

Time, Space, and Commitment

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Two people attended class today.

This current series runs 10 weeks and is designed for any level of writer but specifically for those who are serious about their writing and want to deepen their commitment. Who want to have the “good excuse” and accountability that a class can provide a student for writing.

Eleven people signed up. Eight people have continued beyond the first class.

It’s very hard to make a commitment to a long-term workshop. Life is very busy and demanding for the average person, no matter your age or circumstances. Most of the time, two or three people out of 10 or 11 don’t make it through the series. That’s pretty standard. I don’t take it personally. This is how life is. Sometime it really is too hard to commit to something, even something you really do want to do…

But–

Cut to my point.

I felt a familiar sensation as I looked out at the class and saw only two faces. Don’t get me wrong, these are two beautiful faces and class was still suburb with the small group.

But–

I felt frustrated and even guilty that so many people were out.

These feelings of frustration and guilt are not new. In fact, I have felt these feelings before, many, many times, in my over-10-year career as a teacher.

When students are continually absent, late, or don’t do homework, I feel frustrated as the teacher. You aren’t letting me do my job, my job of teaching you, when you don’t show up/do the work/are late. You miss something and you invalidate the commitment that you want, that you seek, that you signed up for!

Next to this frustration is guilt. What can I do to make you fully committed? What have I not done, or, hell, done wrong to make you not be as committed as I think you can be–even with your life circumstances? Simply put, I tell myself that, somehow, it’s my fault, and I do that because if it’s my fault, then maybe I can change it and change you. Of course as a student of not only writing, but also personal growth and development (a.k.a I have had a LOT of therapy over the years), I know very well that, well, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him write– I mean drink. Also, truthfully, everyone has a process, and it is not always linear. Each person, when they are late or absent or don’t do their homework, usually does have a very good reason. But the problem is, if it happens more often than not, that reason is getting in the way of their commitment to themselves. Yes, it’s normal and happens–shit, happens. I know this. But, I also know that is takes tenacity and commitment to make a dream come true and sometimes you have to say, “Enough with my excuses. Enough!”

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When I taught public school, and would see consecutive red marks in my attendance book, I would want to scream at that continually-absent student (but couldn’t because they weren’t there!), “But you get this for free (sort of)! You don’t pay a thing. Why not just show up? I mean, you don’t have to even do much, just take that first step and show up, and I promise you, that I am that good. So good, that soon you will want to do your homework, you will be dying to do it. If you just show up regularly, your life will change. Promise.”

And similarly, I had this moment standing up there looking out at my two-student class. “Why aren’t you here?” I wanted to ask my absent students and not just those that were not there today, but those over the years, who haven’t come back to class or who stopped coming without ever telling me why. I want to say, “You did pay for this. You do want this. Just show up. I don't care if you just sit there. I don't even care if you are late! Just show up. I promise I will make it worth it.”

In the initial moment of standing up there in front of my two-person class, a whole series of emotions and thoughts flooded me. The irony is, writing about it in the beginning warm up, helped me to let it go and teach the class, and in that, I was reaffirmed that writing is about showing up, showing up and doing the work, being honest, no matter how self-conscious and scary it is, and that I have to help my students continue to do that.

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Analogy time.

Okay, you know how you decide you are going to, let’s say, start taking yoga regularly? You know your schedule is nuts with kids or friends or work or whatever it is, and, yet, something bigger than the guilt you feel about those obligations compels you to sign up and make the commitment¬– at least on paper. So, you force yourself, in a way, to be committed by buying a series of classes, so that way you have paid for it already. So, of course, you’ll go.

But, then, each week– I don’t know– something, your niece’s soccer game, your cousin’s birthday party or your husband or wife gets sick, something something gets in the way, and so that by the end of the series you have only taken two classes.

Or, substitute that analogy with a gym membership or, hell, one of my workshop series. Your intention is to keep the commitment, but along the way and the weeks, it becomes easier NOT to. On the surface you tell yourself you have a good excuse and maybe one or two times you do. But then, it becomes too hard to return, to get back to the commitment. Terry, who was in class today, said it’s like what experts say about being in a marathon. “Do not stop. Never stop. You may slow down to a walk, but do not stop, because once you stop, you will never start again. Your muscles will tightened, and it will hurt too much.”

Do not stop.

And then you do. You stop coming.

Yeah.

Now sit with that for a minute.

The thing is that it’s true. The more often you stop attending the class (any class, not just mine), the more likely it is that you will continue to stop, that the thought of going– the effort, the aggravation (or perceived aggravation)– will hurt too much, and you will become so sore and tight, well, forget it, you aren’t running again.

In my workshops, I warn people mid-way through the semester: “Guys you are going to want an excuse (unconsciously) to not come to class. Life is going to get in the way, if you let it.”

“Oh, no way!” everyone says, “This is so great! It’s so much fun…”

Uh, no it’s not. At least not all the time.

Writing is a craft and requires effort and exertion and it’s tough. It forces you to go within and observe. It forces you to be honest about your feelings and your life. And, if you want to get better, write more, not be blocked, you gotta show up¬– a lot. Butt in seat and WRITE.

Now, who the hell thinks that’s always fun or easy? No one. That’s why every workshop series, when life begins to interfere, and you stop attending class regularly, you start to avoid coming back because you stopped, and you got out of practice and your muscles tightened and now it hurts too much.

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I remember when one of my long-time– and truly brilliant might I add– students lost her partner of over 20 years. He actually passed away the night of one of our classes. She continued to come to class in those weeks after he died. She showed up because she knew what she needed was time and space to write. She just showed up, and I believe that even though most of the time she didn’t write and couldn’t write, she was more afraid of what might happen if she stopped. That if she stopped completely, she would tighten and then when she was ready to return, it might hurt way too much.

I thought about her today while I stood up in front of my students. About her commitment, which goes beyond not only that time in her life, but even now, as she is trying to figure out a new career and a new place to live. She still shows up. She still comes to class.

I also think of Shakay, who, today, told me proudly that each week when another obligation comes up on the day of our class (a Saturday), she boldly tells her loved ones, “Nope, I can’t. I gotta go to my class.” Because it matters. It matters more than someone’s BBQ or another person’s favor they need. It matters more than anything to this student.

The truth is this. What will work, what will bring release and contentment to yourself, is making the time and space and commitment to study writing and to do your writing.

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As I write this, during warm up today in class, I stopped at this point because, to the left of me, one of my two students, Terry, dropped his pen and pushed his chair back with a self-satisfied smile. He stopped writing in the middle of the writing portion of the warm up. I didn’t say to stop, but he did. Drank his coffee and then folded his arms.

Oh, hell, no. I mean, Terry is that good of a writer, and later, when he shared his piece– oh, it was brilliant. But the point of class is NOT to stop, but to keep going and going.

THIS IS WHAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR. WHAT YOU PAID FOR. THE EXCUSE TIME, SPACE, AND FREEDOM TO WRITE, AND YOU ARE CHOOSING NOT TO. WHAT THE FLYING FIG IS WRONG WITH YOU?

I didn’t say any of that to Terry. Instead, I whispered, “Keep going.” And he did.

-----

But I’ll admit. I feel frustrated. I sit in this room, this beloved room where I have been teaching you all for the past three years, and I look around, and I think about all the people who have stopped coming to class over the years and all the excuses and reasons they have given. I think about those things, not to judge the reasons and excuses, just observing. I think about current students who didn’t come today and their reasons and excuses. I think about the people, over the years, who have signed up for an eight-week class and only come to two.

I think about one of my professors at school (MFA program at Pine Manor College), how he told me, “Watch. We are going to lose people in this program. More people will drop out than graduate.” That depressed me, although it’s something I know well.

I think of one of my yoga teachers who often asks, if not now, when?

So I ask you all, if not now, when?

-------

Even now Terry stops again. Drinks his coffee and folds his arms again. He is wasting this precious time NOT writing. Damn it, Terry! This is your writing time, and you are stopping. You aren’t writing. Why? Why is just a little enough?

“Keep writing, Terry,” I whisper, and he, reluctantly, with a soft chuckle, does.

----

Isn’t this what you want when you take class from me? Sometimes I am afraid to say these things because I don’t want to scare or offend you. But, I realize, now, just having pushed Terry, that– so what? My intention is NOT to offend or scare you, but to get you to write. That's my job. My job isn’t to help you with your excuses to not write. My job is to help you overcome those excuses. Overcome those stresses and fears that prevent you from following through on your commitment to write, on your commitment to class, to show up.

So I will tell you all. Start attending every single class that remains in this series (there’s only three more). And try to show up on time. Try to do your homework. Show yourself, me, and the craft, the respect and the commitment you seek. When you continually show up late or miss class, it just reiterates the part of you that says, “I can’t.” That part is wrong. YOU can.

And, tell the people in your life, even if you feel guilty, even if they are more important than writing, that you need this one time and space of the week for you, for your writing. Make them get it. And if they don’t, come to class any way. (Easier said than done. I know.)

Also, I know very well that, as Terry said to me in class, “I can push you. I can pull you. But, I can not carry you.”

But, I can try.

Deep Journaling

The following is an example of an assignment from the current Releasing The Writer Within class, THE MASTER CLASS. The task was to journal and then go back into the entry and pull out a line that, by itself, inspires the writer to go deeper. Then pull that out and rewrite it into a new entry. This technique is called using a “jump off line”, something we practice in class to really stretch our minds in new directions to cultivate new ideas for writing.

Chris was inspired by another journal entry from class for the first two entries below. Then he took a quote from class for the third, but in the fourth, he takes on from the previous entry, which is really the way to “deep journal”, another technique we practice in class. Allow previous entries to inspire new entries to create a kind of cohesiveness within your journal.

Notice where this type of journaling takes Chris. He goes in a direction that is unplanned and uncharted.


1st Entry: (This was off of my warm-up in class) People don't get me, and it's not my problem. I say things that are perfectly clear to me, and people look at me with a wide range of facial expressions; from a glazed-over, blank retarded look, like Homer Simpson thinking about donuts, to looks of complete disdain, as if I had just flatulated ferociously in the elevator. It used to bother me tremendously. I spent years wasting energy, worried what people thought of me. I still have moments of weakness when a brief sense of self insecurity steals my confidence. At times like this, I simply remind myself that sometimes some people don't get me, but its not my problem.

2nd Entry: (This was also off the same warm up) It feels normal to be misunderstood. I've been called weird since I was a kid. I guess I have a unique way of expressing myself.

3rd Entry: (The Shakespeare quote from class) There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. Imagine eating your favorite food, without thought of it, as if the brain has shut down. You wouldn't be able to discern the taste and therefore wouldn't be able to determine an opinion on it. Without individual thought, individual opinion doesn't exist. And if there is no individual thought, there is no societal thought. Without societal thought there are no social ethics. Without social ethics, we'd all be fornicating and killing in a primitive sense. Like great white sharks; never stopping, never knowing good or bad, pleasure or pain. Simply eating and procreating. So without thought, we are nothing but primitive animals, knowing nothing. I guess that's obvious.


4th Entry: Without thought, we are nothing but primitive animals. When did the crossover take place? When did we jump the boundary between thoughtless primitive animal to thinking being? Not only when, but why? Did a sudden phase transition occur? A single moment of pain or pleasure that eventually evolved into the society we have today. Perhaps it was a seed of spirit that was momentarily given to our species by some higher being. A being that wanted to learn from our experiences and senses, not to get involved but solely watch. My guess is it's the former. But, then again, all mammals think, feel pain, probably feel pleasure. But do they know good and bad? My dog seems to when he hangs his head and looks up at me after I admonish him for one infraction or another. So what separates us from animals? Altruism? Nope, even ants exhibit altruistic behaviors. At some point we split from the animals. Our opposable thumbs? I doubt it, most other primates have four. We really should, by that theory, be a planet of apes.

5th Entry: A single moment of pain or pleasure that eventually evolved into the society we have today. And once you feel pain or pleasure, you are able to feel the other. Because they are hand in hand. Like smell and taste, so intimate in their relationship that one cannot be without the other. A moment of pain for the ability to feel pleasure or a moment of pleasure to feel pain. It's cliché, I know. You can't have the highs without the lows because you need the high to know the low. Back to that single moment. Could it just happen, or did there need to be some higher influence? Can a ball start rolling on it's own, on a flat surface, no wind, no push, just resting in one place? Can it just start moving on it's own? Quantum physics say the possibility exists for this to happen, however probability is so small that it would take longer than the life of our universe for this improbability to happen. So what does that leave us with? An outside influence, outside the scope of the universe? I hope so!

Bites From Today's Class

The following lines were written today in my class that I am teaching in Warren called Releasing The Writer Within: The Master Class. This is the 3rd class in this series, which began on March 14th, 2009. If you read this blog, have never taken one of my classes, and become interested in sampling a class, all you have to do is email me and say, “I read your blog. Can I check out your class?” And you can try one class in this series for free!

These lines were pulled out from larger pieces that were written during our warm-up. I call these little nuggets "genius lines"– they just show up in spontaneous writing, surprising the writer and reader in their wisdom.

Terry
Each worry is a bite out of our spirit.

Linda
I’m planning my next sentence.

Joanne
I’d like to meet the person who said 'life sucks and then you die' and ask him or her how do you know?

Tricia
I need to have the perfect level of angst to write.

Nancy
F-ck it. I’m late.

Deb
What does my brain want to do? Shut down.

Hannah
My disjointedness is my wholeness

And from last week...

Chris
It feels normal to be misunderstood.

Joy
He misunderstands my silence.

Yet, Another Blog On The Struggle To Accept And Trust Myself.

Last week I had one of those moments…You know, those moments where you are going along in your life, making decisions about things both big and small–"I’m gonna self publish again" and "I’m gonna buy myself a new pair of over priced jeans"– feeling confident, feeling like, "yeah, man, I know what I am doing."

You are going about your life, doing things that on a PMS-feeling-fat-and-ugly-day you might obsess over or question yourself on, but not on this day. On this day, you are sailing. You are in charge. You know what’s right and ain’t nobody gonna bring you down and then–

BAM.

You get an email or phone call, or maybe it’s an actual in-person encounter, but whatever IT is, it’s that small moment, a little tiny patch of words spoken or flashing on the screen that takes you down a notch. Words that you didn’t expect to read/hear. Words that you didn't expect to HIT you so HARD.

Well, THAT happened to me last week.

First, I should back up and tell you that I decided to go ahead and start the process of self-publishing the third Maddie book. It wasn’t just one thing that made me decide to move forward. It was several:

• An invitation to participate in the 1st RI Self Published Authors Fair (a sign to me that we have a chance at being legitimized).
• The outpouring support of Facebook Friends for my work (reviving interest and sales in a book that is now 5 years old).
• A phone call from Barnes and Nobles in Smithfield asking me to be part of their local authors’ fair in May.
• An invitation to be part of 5 Awesome YA Fans book of the month club in August (You should check out their site. They rock!)
• A no-response from yet another agent who has already rejected one book and then requested another but hasn’t given me word one about its status.
• The manuscript has been edited and copy edited since September, sitting, collecting dust, ready to go.
• My first residency experince in January at Pine Manor College, where I realized that I can focus on craft, writing new things, and still self-publish this next book, that my self-publishing doesn’t matter, doesn’t define who I am as a writer.

These signs hammered the nail on my decision to self-publish again. I have come to realize that I’ve been waiting 3 years (a total of 10) for a publisher to pick up my series, and I can’t wait any more. I was patient. I have done all the “right things”. Click here for the list. So, these were signs to me that, okay, the bottom line is, your book, your writing– some people want it, and so it’s now your job to get it to them, and since you can’t get a publisher to do it, you gotta do it yourself. Focus on who wants you, not who doesn’t. Let go of all these struggles, of trying to break into mainstream publishing, and accept where you are, which is without a prospect for a book deal and with the possibility of self-publishing.

Of course, there’s a real problem when you make a decision to do something based on someone, anyone, other than yourself. If the deciding comes from the outside verses the in, it’s actually a very thinly-made decision. It’s this subtle affirmation and validation to yourself that you, in fact, don’t matter as much as other people and what other people think. So even if I make this decision for those “who want me” as opposed to “those who don’t”–it’s still based on the flimsy validation of other people. I don’t mean flimsy to insult, but more on the reality that at the end of the day, it’s you who you see in the mirror, and you who you gotta wake up to every morning. Feel me?


Of course, I didn’t realize any of this until last week, when I saw those words in that email.

“Maybe you should wait to self-publish.” This was followed by a few reasons, none of which really matter to this blog (but I will talk about those VERY GOOD reasons in my next blog) The reasons aren’t the point; it’s how these words all hit me, that’s the point.

So, I read those words, and instead of taking a deep breath and reminding myself that I totally understood and knew that this person was just giving his/her opinion and from a very caring place, that I should listen and consider these reasons even if I do go ahead and decide to self-publish now, instead of doing that, I freaked.

My head and emotions will do what they do…So, I took his/her comments, spun them into “s/he doesn’t support me, s/he’s talking down to me, oh-my-god everyone is going to be mad at me. They are going to kick me out school…

Yeah, I lost my mind. Totally.

In making the decision to self-publish, I didn’t do something that’s very crucial to the process of making a good decision, a solid decision. I didn’t “ground myself in my feelings” as my husband always advises me to do before I do anything that I feel insecure about. Before you do it, just sit with yourself and get grounded in exactly what you feel. Make sure that what ever you decide to do, ultimately, that decision comes from you and not a desire to please someone else or guilt over someone else. Translation: if you are gonna do something, do it for you and not for anyone else and be prepared that some people will not like what you do, but if you are solid and grounded in you, it won’t matter. In fact, you will hear that person’s opinion, and it won’t even bother you because you are so grounded.

Recently, and I will get back to my story in a minute, but you know that I had to mention my father in all this because, of course, in the middle of all this lingers the ghost of my “Daddy issues”, which, I know are where all this looking outside myself for approval came from. Well, in the last two weeks, as I was preparing to self-publish, my father and I got onto a battle royal that resulted in me making a huge decision to let him go, officially. I got grounded in this decision before I made it. I wrote a well thought-out caring letter that said, “ I need to say goodbye for now because this relationship does nothing but make me feel bad.” Then, of course, he responded, and I was thrown, off course. Started to second-guess myself and my decision, etc.

So, as you can see, I’m kind of sensitive, anyway, right now. My dad has a way of making me feel wrong about myself, untrusting of myself so this email, those words, to me, implied that my decision to self-publish was wrong.

Now, back to today to the email.

As I said, I started the process of self-publishing book 3 and going into this experience, this time around, I made a decision that I thought I was grounded in. My decision was to do this in a really no-frills, no-stress way. That is, not run around begging for endorsements to put in the book, not send out a press release way in advance. This time I was going to publish it, and do mainly things on-line and kind of let things happen, you know. Make it fun and organic. Realistically, I have to consider this time around that I have less time and money to spend on pre-publishing publicity. I decided to rely on my online presence and my already established fan base (as small as it is). Let things happen. After all, I wasn’t publishing for profit or fame but for the sake of sharing with people.

However, I thought about contacting this one particular person (who sent me this email), not to get approval for doing this but to see if s/he would maybe want to read it and give me a quote. Something I might put on the cover or website. I made sure to stress that he/she totally had an out, and I wouldn’t be insulted if s/he said no. I chose this person because I thought that s/he understood me as a writer, as an author, understood this long journey I have been on.

Here’s what happened:

Instead of a “yay” or “nay” or “go get ‘um tiger but I don’t know if I have time to read it”, instead of any variation of those responses I got:

Wait. Maybe you are rushing into this.

Which, in and of itself, is not a bad or negative response. I mean it's not what I expected. Only because I hadn't asked what this person thought about me self-publishing, but that's okay. I welcome input.

But… suddenly (thanks to daddy issues circulating my emotional stratosphere) I was zoomed back to a terrible experience I had with an author on a message board who told me I should “stop all this self-publishing and work on being a better writer so you can get a real book deal and be legitimate.” I won’t out her here, but she is a very famous author. She spent several postings ripping me– publicly– a new one. I gently invited her to read my work before she called it “not legitimate” and she never responded. Other people on the list who had read my work told her that I was, in fact, a very good, if not better writer than a lot of regularly published authors. Well, I left the message board and left them all to debate me and my legitimacy.

That was 4 years ago.

This week, staring at these words and those reasons why I shouldn’t self-publish, I felt just like I did four years ago. I felt not legitimate. I felt wrong. I felt stupid.

Just when I got my groove back, my self-published author mojo, someone who I thought supported and understood why I would go back and self-publish again, just– BAM– knocked me out of orbit.

But can I blame the person who wrote this email? Just like with Dad. Can I blame anyone for my mind going a-flutter? For my own lack of self-trust? No. I can’t. I can’t blame anyone when I have a sudden second-guessing moment. Well, I can blame someone.

ME.

This is all about me, as per usual.

When I hear something about myself–an opinion of someone about me and what I am doing–I typically jump to “oh, they must be right”. Up until I was 30, I believed those people (okay, my father) who told me I was wrong. Wrong about my career path. Wrong about my decision to work from home and be with my children. Wrong about self-publishing. As a child, I often felt like I was such a mess that I couldn’t be trusted to make a good decision. After all, I am too “impulsive”, too “talkative”, too “emotional” and too “expressive”.

But I am 33.75 now and truly don’t believe any of the above, but I’m still insecure and some times it still can take very little to shake my foundation. Considering my vulnerable state last week thanks to “daddy issues”, my foundation was a little shaken by those words.

So, shake it, these words did. However, those words didn’t break it.

The thing is, I want to self-publish and don’t see what difference it makes to my work at school or to anyone. Really, isn’t self-publishing about me?

Isn’t it?

But another thing for me to consider, to understand, to chill out about is, people are going to tell you what they think, and most of the time, as in this particular time, it is out of caring for you, not putting you down or telling you what to do. The only reason why I, we, anyone gets nuts when stuff like this happens, is because we are not fully grounded in our selves and part of us, a large part needs/wants the validation of others. But, truthfully, others don't matter as much as yourself and what you feel and know to be right for you.

And now that I have gotten my baggage out of the way, I can really hear what this person who sent me that email has to say because what they have to say does matter.

It really does.

But, I'm still gonna self-publish.

And it's all okay.

Guest Blogger!

Once in awhile, someone in my life will write something, and I will feel compelled to have it published because I think what they are writing about needs to be heard. So, I offer you the following piece, which needs no introduction.

INAUGURAL MUSINGS
Guest Blogger
L.G.

What should have been a soaring, uplifting, memorable occasion was instead a time of divisiveness and pettiness. The inauguration of Barack Obama was marred for me by the unconscious actions of a group of children and the very conscious actions of many adults.

As I walked down the hallways of my school, I felt the hair on my arms stand up with the thrill of hearing nothing but the sound of the festivities in Washington pouring out of doorways from the televisions in each classroom. No normal “school” sounds - the cries of children coming in from recess, the excited rush of footsteps up and down the halls, the sonic bits and pieces of what every school day brings. Only the words and music of one of the greatest days in our country’s history – the inauguration of our first president of color. Our students were rapt with attention, from cynical middle school adolescents to wide-eyed first-graders. I took my place in one of the fifth grade classrooms and settled in to watch our collective moment of triumph. As each dignitary appeared on screen, one of the teachers questioned the students as to their identity, gently instructing on unfamiliar faces and titles. Sasha and Malia Obama appeared to tremendous cheers, both on the great Mall and in our tiny classroom. How wonderful, I thought, for our students to have children in the White House to whom they can relate for the first time in a long time. The mood of the room quickly turned sour when the president of the United States was announced. The raucous and extensive booing and hissing that accompanied the arrival of George W. Bush on the television screen by a group of fifth graders shocked me. It spoiled what had been a joyful, reflective moment where I was, for the first time in a while, so proud to call myself an American. The sight of tens of thousands of people gathered in spite of the bitter cold, and the thought of so many hundreds of thousands more, both in this country and around the world, watching on television, was incredibly stirring and emotional. Yet I was reminded yet again of how far we have to go as I sat there that day. Those fifth graders, most likely just aping the opinions and actions of their parents and the other adults around them, were merely a reflection of the behavior of those in our society. The incivility and disrespect that seem to pervade the political arena in this country from both sides were very real and very present in the actions of these children. What was even more disturbing was the reaction of the adults around them. Or perhaps I should say the lack of reaction. Not one adult spoke up to quell the boisterous disrespect that arose in the room. I finally had to raise my voice to be heard over the din and ask for quiet and respect, for the office if not for the man. The unspoken support for such crude and uncivil behavior was tacitly obvious. I should not have been surprised, for it was merely a continuation of attitudes and behavior that had been present throughout the presidential campaign, indeed, which seems omnipresent in this place at all times of the year.

It’s hard to see both sides of the story here. There is one overwhelming viewpoint and no other is tolerated. Oh sure, they all pay lip service to supporting all points of view, but everyone knows what is REALLY the proper way to believe. It is eerily similar to the overweening and judgmental attitude of those in the far right conservative Christian circles, that which says, “we are the ONLY true believers, our way is the right way, everyone else is a-goin’ ta hell!” No one seems to see that intolerance is intolerance, whether displayed by the right or the left. I am continually amazed by the complete blindness of those who so vehemently condemn others for the very narrow-mindedness and intolerance that they themselves display. Dare not to speak even a word of moderation, to question even faintly the party line of the far left liberal elite, or one is called intolerant, ignorant, unenlightened, and yes, racist. Children in classrooms, hallways and playground called “racist” if they were not Obama supporters. It’s such a potent, heavy word, the word “racist.” Yet we fling it around as if it were inconsequential, devoid of meaning, an insult to be hurled in any circumstance, at any occasion, without thought for where it lands and for whom it wounds. Our students are really only following our lead, but being children, they are not inhibited or careful in how they express themselves. They have not yet learned the subtle nuances of adult-speak, how to judge and wound without really saying the actual words. Children speak the absolute truth of what they see and hear around them, and we need to pay careful heed to what they say when they are unguarded, for they are only a reflection of those of us in charge.

As one of “those in charge,” it is difficult to admit that I am angry and offended so much of the time here. To have all of my words and actions judged by the color of my skin and my position in society, no matter what those words might actually be, is a startling epiphany. It is a lesson in racism that I have learned well over the past six years. To be on the other side is at the same time enlightening and painful. White privilege does indeed exist. I am not proud of it, nor do I seek it out, yet it is there whether I want it to be or not. Everything I say and do is filtered by the perception of privilege, and it is frustrating and hurtful. Yet I can’t help but think that this is everything Barack Obama has spoken out against in his ongoing message of hope. It is one of the many reasons I came to support his candidacy with such conviction and optimism, even after my disappointment in watching my long-held hope of a woman president crushed. Obama spoke so eloquently of mending the hurts, of crossing the divide that splits this country. I think that is why he resonated with so many, both white and black. I am tired of the division, of the grudging misconceptions that we hold about each other. This school is supposed to be a place of openness, of acceptance, an oasis in the desert of our divided existence. It is so very much not that, and the realization is depressing. This place is still very much US vs. THEM, and I am, apparently, one of THEM. Not by design, not by desire, not even really by philosophy. But merely because I dare to question, to be politically incorrect, to rage against the machine which stifles all dissent. To speak out for the cause of tolerance and open-mindedness, from ALL quarters.

To ultimately, silently, die a little inside each time I am condemned with a look, a not-so-casual remark, intimating that I am that which I abhor – a racist. All because I was so imprudent as to say what I really felt, to express my deepest longings for a connection with those who seem so different from me. Only expressed with the hope that we may one day “speak the truth in love” to each other, without fear of hurtful labels and unspoken perceptions about who others think we are and not who we really are. If there is anything that will finally drive me away from this place, it is that knowledge that what I think, what I feel, only counts if it lines up with the party line. To believe that anything I could say or do would change the perception of who I am, and really make a difference here, is naïve and hopelessly quixotic, and ultimately an exercise in futility.