Sweet Release

Few things have compared to the astonished delight I felt when I opened the front door to an unexpected ring. A man stood on my front porch clutching a  a Happy 40th Birthday Mylar balloon in the midst of several colorful plain ones. After he determined I was indeed Sharon Lippincott, he confidently stepped into the living room and began singing the Happy Birthday song. Then he handed me the bouquet, bowed, and left. What a sweet surprise! Though the attached card had two names, I knew my sister-in-law had outdone herself, and my gratitude lives on.

The standard balloons were dead within a day or two, but that Mylar one seemed destined to live forever. At first I felt a warm glow every time I saw it. But sentimentality didn’t last much longer than the standard balloons. Soon the glamor of that birthday faded. I’d had such hopes that turning forty would magically bring new levels of respect and success, and it didn’t take long to realize that nothing had changed, nor would it, at least not by the simple passing of days. I plunged into an abyss of despair.

I’d allowed that Mylar balloon free range, and it drifted silently, following air currents from room to room. Soon it took on the aspect of a spirit, suddenly appearing in the corner of my eye. This was disconcerting, and the balloon became the focus of my angst. 

About three weeks after my birthday, I had come to hate that balloon and all it stood for. Then I made a sudden decision. I took the filmy plastic out the door through which it had arrived. I stepped into the middle of the yard, whispered a simple apology to the environment, and … turned it loose! I stood for two or three minutes watching it rise into the warm spring sunshine until it grew too small to see. When I turned to go back into the house, I realized that all my disappointments and darkness had soared away with it. I felt free and happy again.

I’ve never been tempted to buy other balloons to recreate that sense of release. Aside from the litter effect, buying my own would lack the magic of that symbolic surprise. But I have done something else just as effective: I’ve written out all my frustrations and anger and sent them up in flames. Sometimes simply journaling helps. Or writing a story about it. 

Try it. You’ll like it! 

Write now: dredge up some stressful thoughts. Unless you just happen to have a magic balloon floating around, write about those thoughts, using scrap paper. When you have it all out, shred the paper, or tear it to bits. Put it in the fireplace or somewhere safe and burn it. Feel your stress go up in flames along with your words.

Energize Your Words

There are lots of ways to add energy to your prose. One of the simplest is to break your habit of using puny phrases such as “there are.” How can I rephrase that first sentence to add more power to it? Here are a few of many alternatives:

• Would you like to add energy to your prose?
• One of the best ways to add energy to your prose is …
• Your prose will be  more compelling if you …
• Readers won’t be able to tear their eyes away when you energize your prose with these simple techniques.

A more typical example for lifestory and memoir writers describes a living room:

It was painted pale green. There was a sofa along the end wall. It was flanked by end tables.

That description reads like a bullet list Let’s try again:

End tables flanked the sofa set against the end wall in the pale green living room.

I’d like to know more details about the sofa, like it's color and style, but at least this second description artfully combines the bullet-list sentences into a single flowing one. 

Phrases such as it was, there were, or any variations of these are a form of passive writing. They suck the life from your words. Breathe vigor into your stories by rewriting to avoid them. In fact, rewording these sentences gives you the opportunity to use more imaginative description, which further energizes your story. For example,

It was really cold out that day.

might become

The biting cold pierced my lungs like a knife.

Knowing where to look for the leaks is the first step toward energizing your stories. Your imagination will grow stronger as you challenge it to plug those leaks. 

Write now: pull out an old story and look for it was or there were phrases. Reword them to eliminate the phrases, adding relevant description as you edit.

Writing Lesson from Michelangelo

When asked how he went about carving such magnificent statues, Michelangelo is said to have explained that he simply looked at the block of marble, saw the statue within, and chipped away everything that wasn't part of it. 

That parable has a lesson for life writers. Most of us have been accustomed to thinking of the task of writing a story as one of creating something from nothing, or transforming intangible memories into a tangible record. We struggle to find the pieces, to find a way of connecting them … writing is hard work, often intimidating and easy to put off. 

There is another way to look at it: Life itself is a story, and Story is the operating system our brains use. When you sit down to write a story, that story is already complete, whole and perfect. Your task as the writer is to look at the vast chunk of story encasing the one you propose to tell and chip away everything that isn't part of your perfect story. 

The first step in this process is to write an initial draft. This isn't the time to agonize over individual words or thoughts — just dump all those memories onto the page. Spare no detail. Your aim is to overwrite. This draft amounts to making the first cuts that knock large chunks off the block of marble. Your next step is to edit that draft, removing the extra pieces that slow the story down. Chip away all the extra words and material that doesn't fully support the story theme and flow. 

Once you have the form of the story right, turn to your imagination and thesaurus to polish the words and descriptions. Give the story sparkle by swapping finely honed synonyms for duplicate words appearing in the same paragraph or close proximity. Add zest to descriptions and zing to dialogue. On the latter, I do caution you not to add so much zing that your grandmother comes across as Joan Rivers. You must remain true to your characters, and retain an air of veracity.

These polishing steps definitely reflect your artistry, but  realizing that the story was always there, waiting to be revealed in all its glory may well defuse most of the stress of writing so it can become the joyful, liberating experience you always dreamed it would be. 

Write now: think of a story you've been meaning to write and chip it out of the mass of Story surrounding it.

Photo by Stanislav Traykov, CC-BY-SA-3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

New Years, Old Years

I traded posts with Mari L. McCarthy today. Please visit her site to read mine. — Sharon

As an advisor in journaling, I emphasize journaling for therapy, or what I call Journaling for the Health of It ™. I've discovered the extraordinary truth that journal writing can help you accomplish just about anything you want. As I proudly proclaim on my Create Write Now Facebook page, "Daily Journal Writing Therapy to become whole and healthy both inside and out is just about the coolest thing I can think of!"

Nonetheless, the actual practice of journaling often involves good old memoir-type writing. Not always, by any means, but at times looking back on your past with your pen in hand can be extraordinarily productive.

Since it's the New Year, I'd like to suggest a simple process of reflection that will help you turn again to the future with renewed confidence and faith.

First, flipping back through your past, identify the times that stand out as having been exceptional, better than other times. Choose one single year of this kind on which to focus.

Write "My Best Year" at the top of a new page in your journal, and then, remembering as many details about that year as you can, begin translating them to the page. How old were you? Where were you living? What was environment like? How did you spend your days? What were your involvements? Who were the others in your life at the time? What exactly happened to make it such a good period of time for you?

Stretch your memory to describe one day or incident from that time in as much fine detail as you can recall.

Now read over your journal entry and consider how this special time was formative for you.

Did the conditions and events of the time cause you to change in noticeable ways? How did that wonderful year influence who you have become today? Suppose you could go back to that same happy year. Is there anything you'd do differently the second time around?

For the payoff, bring the story of your best year into your plans for the coming period. What parts of that time past can you bring into your present? 

If you've allowed yourself plenty of time for this exercise, you're likely to be surprised by the possibilities it suggests. Life is cyclical, certainly, but with close attention, we can often raise the overall vibe by intentionally learning from our experiences. And your personal journal is just the tool to make the job delightful!

Mari L. McCarthy owns and blogs at www.CreateWriteNow.com, home of Journaling for the Health of It!™. She guides people in keeping up a Self-Healing Journal Practice, helping them cure their diseases and heal their life. Her most recent publication is Peace of Mind and Body — 27 Days of Journaling to Health & Happiness. Passionate about goals and successful in accomplishing them, Mari is also a singer/songwriter who enjoys raising roses as well as her consciousness.

Photo by Squirrelbrand.

Lessons From a Snow Covered Drive

I look down the length of my snow covered drive and feel tired at the sight. I’m home alone this week, and the job is all mine, to do or ignore. The drive is 100 feet long, steeply sloping and wide. True, there are only three inches of fluffy snow. True, I could let it go, but it will only get worse if it snows more, which it probably will. True, I don’t have to do the whole thing. Even a little will be an improvement. I have no idea where to begin ... .

As you can see from the photo above, I did finish, and in the process, I remembered several important lessons:

Let the project tell you how it wants to be done.

I paused at the bottom of the steps and listened. to my inner sense of things and to the driveway.“First things first,” I heard. “Shovel along the side so you can at least get down to the mailbox.” I did that. Then I heard “Do one scrape across the middle right there.” The next instruction was Now work your way down almost to the street. You can manage that.” Yes. I could manage that. I felt winded just shoveling the steps, but I knew that if I relaxed into it, I could do that much. I’m not that out of shape.

I steadily pushed the snow along, scraping it to the side. If only the paper delivery man had left it near the street instead of gallantly driving it up to the top. His tracks packed hard, sticking to the pavement. I moved to the top again and continued letting the driveway guide the process until I felt overheated and ravenous.

Take breaks when you need them.

I know better than to work to the point of total exhaustion. I came back in for lunch, rested, and returned to finish the job. The second half was easier. My muscles were loosened up, ready for work. I continued to proceed intuitively rather than trying to map out a plan.In a surprisingly short time, I was done.

Chunk it down

I didn't try to do the whole drive in one orderly process. The drive itself told me how to proceed, which parts to do for the biggest immediate impact, “in case I didn't finish.”

Know when to quit.

I started to work on those tracks. I started to clean along the street-side edge. That's nuts! I told myself. This is not a work of art. This is a functional driveway. The drive is not perfectly clear and bare, but I can drive up it with no problem. It works.

* * * * *

I think of my big writing projects, and how similar they are to shoveling the driveway. Any big project is. I never know exactly where to start, even if it's like a dozen others I've done. “Just start somewhere. Write something. And “let the project or story tell you how it wants to be written.” ”Strange as it sounds, that always works. 

I chunk them into sections, break them down. I write a paragraph, write a page. I do what I can today, and take breaks when I tire. The vision of the end result always pulls me forward, no matter how huge the project. Most importantly, I know that no project is ever perfect. I have to know when I've given my best and it's time to move on. 

The drive is cleared, scrape by scrape.

The book is written word by word.

The project will quickly be in shape

If that inner voice is gently heard.

This approach works for me, but it may not be perfect for you. The only right way to manage a creative project whether shoveling a drive, cleaning a closet or writing a book, is the one that works for you.

Write now: think of a big project you've undertaken. Write a few notes or an essay about the process. How did you go about it? Was it typical or different from other projects? What did you learn from it that will help you in the future? How can those lessons help you with your writing?

News Flash

Flash #1
A few weeks ago on her Writing Through Life blog Amber Starfire invited readers to join her in an experiment beginning TODAY. She’s asking people to journal for one week on the computer, one week by hand, and one week both ways. We’ll report back on our experiences, and why we prefer one way or the other.

Click here to read more about it and sign up, and subscribe to her blog to stay tuned for reports on this research along with totally terrific tips on journaling.

Flash #2
I am offering Writing for the Health of It as a teleclass, beginning on January 18. This class is sponsored by Story Circle Network. Sign up and learn about exciting research results showing how five main modes of life writing work together to improve both physical and emotional health. Details are here. If you’re interested, don’t delay — only a couple of spots remain.

Story Circle classes are open only to women. I’ll be posting information about future dates and study options on my main website shortly. Some resource material is already available. Send me an e-mail if you want more information.

The Story of Every Thing

In a frenzy of activity to clear my space for the New Year, I whip out my dust rag and go to work in the living room. How I'd like to get rid of this clutter, I think, dusting away. For a moment I seriously entertain the thought of getting a big box from the garage and … what?

That thought stymies me. What could I do with this stuff? I ponder the hand thrown pottery vase. Mother gave me that for my birthday one year. It's gorgeous. It's exactly the kind of pottery I most love, natural earth colors. I feel the potter's love each time I glance at it. I feel connected to earth and to Mother. She's long gone, but her spirit lingers in that vase.

Likewise with the pewter-washed copper candelabra next to it. It's a cunningly crafted item, old, hand-worked, slightly off-balance. I don't even remember when I got that. Did she give it to me, or was it part of the loot I scored when Daddy cleared out her stuff? I recall that trip, packing boxes, stabbed with the knife of sorrow, knowing she'd never be home again, that life had turned one of those irreversible bends,

Seashells? They nestle so nicely on the small shelf in the bookcase Hubby built when we moved into our first house. My mind wanders off to that long-ago day when we were young and getting acquainted with life as parents and contributing members of society. Ah, the stories.

The Japanese tea set, a gift from Mitsui when Hubby visited his home in Japan all those years ago. It's such a thing of beauty, deep cobalt blue. What about the Gurkha knife, the Buddhist prayer wheel,  remnants of Hubby's trek in Nepal, or the soapstone cats from our trip to Egypt or the grandfather clock and family Bible and tree. Our roots are in this room.

I look around the room, recalling the trips to Pendleton to order the custom-built sofa and loveseat and a later trip to the Fabric District in Philadelphia for new upholstery. I remember sitting in the dark chair with nursing babies, which reminds me of the time Phyllis came to visit after Susan was born and how she seemed to freak out when I handed her that tiny person to hold for “just a minute.”

Each of the lamps has a story, especially the one I found in Seattle — another hand-thrown pottery piece in earthen tones. Aside from books, every item in this room is hand-crafted or customized. Each item has a story, and its acquisition is part of my story. This room documents much of my life.

My thoughts turn back to Stuff. I don't want to get rid of this clutter. It's part of me. It connects me to my Story. If someone else wants this stuff someday, it will become part of their story. A fragment of mine may be woven into it, as a fragment of Mother is part of a few objects in here. Hubby's mom is here too, and his ancestors.

I feel connected to family, to continuity, to the world in this house, and most of all to Story. I live in the midst of deep, ongoing Story. The Story of Every Thing. Simply walking into this room connects me with my Story and I'm grateful for that. I celebrate my stuff!

Write now: look around a room in your house. Jot down story ideas that come to mind as you eye moves from one item to another. Notice how one story links to another. Consider the effect of telling the story of one item compared to telling about the whole collection of objects. What is your connection with the object? Let your mind run wild and write about your thoughts. How are you connected to your Stuff?