I am an artist. I always have been. But I am a timid artist. Showing my art to people is equivalent to peeling open my chest and baring my soul for all the world to see. That has always been the scary part of art to me. The vulnerability.
I tend to show my pieces to only a few of my very close friends. People with whom I know will not poke their grubby little fingers inside my chest and pick apart my soul. Those same people gush about my art and encourage me to sell my work. I want to but the timid part of me says, "No. what if....."
When it comes to my writing, I have shared my work with only two people; my husband, because I am safe with him and my son, because he will not only be brutally honest with me but is an artist himself.
I have met another artist who has taken a warm rag and begun washing the crust from my eyes so that I can open them and see my world for what it is. A tiny, dank, self imposed prison of timidness with strict rules that govern my days to give myself routine. I like routine. Routine gives me discipline and a sense of purpose. It also gives me some semblance of control over my fibromyalgia and CMP.
Not today! Today is a new day. I have begun reading a book that my new friend told me about - her name is Tanya, by the way. I am going to ask her if I may link her blog to mine so that you might get to know her too.
After reading part of the book that Tanya told me about, I can see how restrictive I am with myself. I had stopped writing for all of the wrong reasons - and I love to write. It is my happy place. I have been denying myself that which brings me joy because others might pick apart that most vulnerable part of me. But now I see, who cares what they think of my writing? If it brings me joy and maybe a few other people someday, does it really matter what my critics think? Now is the time to tune out my very worst critic too. That voice in my head that whispers, "You are not good enough. What do you know anyway?" I did just that this morning.
Today I dove headlong back into that deep ocean that is my imagination and I wrote. Then I wrote some more. I wrote so joyously for so long, I lost track of time and forgot that writing again or not, there is still a schedule to keep with my body. I wrote right through eating breakfast and lunch and taking my medicine and doing my stretching exercises. I'm all ready paying for that. I guess that I really do need a schedule in order to care for myself and my family but that schedule does not have to become a self imposed prison.
I have two friends now named Tanya. My close friend Tanya D. has been telling me to write and work on my art for a long time now. So has my friend Amalie. Now I have a new friend also named Tanya whom I believe God sent into my life just as he did Tanya D. and Amalie. I am listening. I am writing and I am rediscovering the pure joy that the act of putting pen to paper brings into my life. The 'scary mountain' that was once writing has shrunk dramatically, telling me that all I needed to do was take that first step. Put that first word on the page.
We were meant to use the gifts that we were born with. Sometimes we allow what others think or say about our gifts to stop us from developing them into something that has the power to bring us untold joy. I am guilty of that. I have decided to forgive myself and use those gifts. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a story to write.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Thursday, May 16, 2013
A Letter To My Daughter
My Sweet Kiradolly,
I wanted this to look pretty with big swirls and curly Q's in my own handwriting so that you would have it to read years from now when you are looking through your scrapbooks, reliving your old memories. I wasn't completely sure what I wanted to say. I just wanted to put pen to paper to tell you how special you are to me. But I had to choose to type this instead and post it here because not only are my hands not cooperating, neither is my printer.
I have been thinking about the hands in our lives and how important they are. Then I realized how weak mine have become over the years. They used to be much stronger than they are today. Over the past 18 years, they have been through more than I ever could have imagined they could have been.
My hands held you close to me when you took your first breaths. They stroked your hair the moment you first opened your eyes. They gave you your first nourishment and your first warmth as they wrapped you in your first soft blanket.
My hands have held you through bad dreams and fevers and snugly hugs. They held you up through your first wobbly steps and learning to ride a bike. My hand held yours on your first day of school. They held you close through heartbreak, tears and lots of laughter. They have been clamped in prayer so tightly that I thought they might break, through every illness and surgery.
Mine are not the only hand that have held you up through all of these years. You have been blessed by many hands that would never see you fall. Your Daddy's hands, Nan and Pap's hands, even the hands of your brother and sister. You are blessed to have so many hands surrounding you.
Today as you graduate, you are stepping out of childhood into adulthood and our hands will be there to help you cross that line. Then my hands will have to find their greatest strength - the strength to let go. To let you take those first steps toward your life. I think that must be the hardest thing these hands have ever had to do.
As I do that, I will propel you back into the hands that placed you in mine all of those years ago. Trust His hands. Take refuge in them. They will never let you fall. Depend on them to guide you to the life that He has waiting for you.
Our hands will still be here when you need them. They will always applaud you, always help you. They may not be as strong as they used to be but they will always be strong enough to love you.
We could not be more proud of you Kiradolly. Now go see what your hands are meant to do.
I love you more than there are stars in the sky my baby. Love, Mom
I wanted this to look pretty with big swirls and curly Q's in my own handwriting so that you would have it to read years from now when you are looking through your scrapbooks, reliving your old memories. I wasn't completely sure what I wanted to say. I just wanted to put pen to paper to tell you how special you are to me. But I had to choose to type this instead and post it here because not only are my hands not cooperating, neither is my printer.
I have been thinking about the hands in our lives and how important they are. Then I realized how weak mine have become over the years. They used to be much stronger than they are today. Over the past 18 years, they have been through more than I ever could have imagined they could have been.
My hands held you close to me when you took your first breaths. They stroked your hair the moment you first opened your eyes. They gave you your first nourishment and your first warmth as they wrapped you in your first soft blanket.
My hands have held you through bad dreams and fevers and snugly hugs. They held you up through your first wobbly steps and learning to ride a bike. My hand held yours on your first day of school. They held you close through heartbreak, tears and lots of laughter. They have been clamped in prayer so tightly that I thought they might break, through every illness and surgery.
Mine are not the only hand that have held you up through all of these years. You have been blessed by many hands that would never see you fall. Your Daddy's hands, Nan and Pap's hands, even the hands of your brother and sister. You are blessed to have so many hands surrounding you.
Today as you graduate, you are stepping out of childhood into adulthood and our hands will be there to help you cross that line. Then my hands will have to find their greatest strength - the strength to let go. To let you take those first steps toward your life. I think that must be the hardest thing these hands have ever had to do.
As I do that, I will propel you back into the hands that placed you in mine all of those years ago. Trust His hands. Take refuge in them. They will never let you fall. Depend on them to guide you to the life that He has waiting for you.
Our hands will still be here when you need them. They will always applaud you, always help you. They may not be as strong as they used to be but they will always be strong enough to love you.
We could not be more proud of you Kiradolly. Now go see what your hands are meant to do.
I love you more than there are stars in the sky my baby. Love, Mom
Friday, May 10, 2013
Craving the rose
Anne Bronte wrote; But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.
I have grasped many a thorn in my life. The one rose that I really want, I have not grasped because I have allowed the opinion of others and the 'what ifs' to become too thorny.
I sat down with my husband last night and listed all of the reasons that I have not picked up my writing. The very same reasons that I listed in my last post. He sat quietly listening and when I was finished, he sat there for a few minutes not saying anything. Now, I'm not sure what he was thinking in those moments but it seemed as though he was trying to choose his words carefully. I just stayed quiet because my husband is not much of a conversationalist to begin with. If he has something to say, I listen simply because he doesn't speak unless it's something he wants to be heard. Otherwise, I mostly carry on conversations with myself while he claims that he's 'just listening' while I know he's off in his own head thinking of the next job he needs to get done. Occasionally he'll nod or grunt so I'll think he's listening to me. Last night, he was listening.
When he did finally speak, the first thing he said was 'Don't get mad.' Not a good start. I told him that he could say what ever he wanted to and I would sit there quietly and listen without getting my feelings hurt. 'Good' he says, 'Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.' Well that surprised me.
He told me that if I allow what his Mother thinks to stop me from writing then I must have changed because he- "has seen time and again, when you decide to do something, you do it and you don't care who likes it. You just get it done." Then he said something that I did not know and made me tear up. He said, "I have always admired that about you."
He said that what ever happens once I have a manuscript or two out there, we would deal with it. Just write.
My new friend, Tanya, (now I have two friends named Tanya, both good ladies!) sent me a message this morning and in that message she said, 'Just write!'
I had read a blog post in which the author had to give herself permission to take a nap. (I want to say it was Tanya's blog but I have read so many lately and I'm dealing with fibro fog, I don't want to get that wrong.) I realized, I was waiting for someone to give me permission to use a God given talent. I was so concerned with what the repercussions would be that I put down something that I love and walked away. Not only was I waiting for my husband to say 'ignore my mother' I was waiting for ME to give myself permission to be myself! Good Lord I am a clueless dork sometimes!
I have given myself permission. I am dusting off the manuscripts and trying to decide which one to start with. I have spent the afternoon kicking around story lines and kicking some out. I am finally excited instead of nervous.
My husband is right, I have made the decision and now I will plow ahead until I am holding my book in my hands. I am off to grasp the thorns!
I have grasped many a thorn in my life. The one rose that I really want, I have not grasped because I have allowed the opinion of others and the 'what ifs' to become too thorny.
I sat down with my husband last night and listed all of the reasons that I have not picked up my writing. The very same reasons that I listed in my last post. He sat quietly listening and when I was finished, he sat there for a few minutes not saying anything. Now, I'm not sure what he was thinking in those moments but it seemed as though he was trying to choose his words carefully. I just stayed quiet because my husband is not much of a conversationalist to begin with. If he has something to say, I listen simply because he doesn't speak unless it's something he wants to be heard. Otherwise, I mostly carry on conversations with myself while he claims that he's 'just listening' while I know he's off in his own head thinking of the next job he needs to get done. Occasionally he'll nod or grunt so I'll think he's listening to me. Last night, he was listening.
When he did finally speak, the first thing he said was 'Don't get mad.' Not a good start. I told him that he could say what ever he wanted to and I would sit there quietly and listen without getting my feelings hurt. 'Good' he says, 'Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.' Well that surprised me.
He told me that if I allow what his Mother thinks to stop me from writing then I must have changed because he- "has seen time and again, when you decide to do something, you do it and you don't care who likes it. You just get it done." Then he said something that I did not know and made me tear up. He said, "I have always admired that about you."
He said that what ever happens once I have a manuscript or two out there, we would deal with it. Just write.
My new friend, Tanya, (now I have two friends named Tanya, both good ladies!) sent me a message this morning and in that message she said, 'Just write!'
I had read a blog post in which the author had to give herself permission to take a nap. (I want to say it was Tanya's blog but I have read so many lately and I'm dealing with fibro fog, I don't want to get that wrong.) I realized, I was waiting for someone to give me permission to use a God given talent. I was so concerned with what the repercussions would be that I put down something that I love and walked away. Not only was I waiting for my husband to say 'ignore my mother' I was waiting for ME to give myself permission to be myself! Good Lord I am a clueless dork sometimes!
I have given myself permission. I am dusting off the manuscripts and trying to decide which one to start with. I have spent the afternoon kicking around story lines and kicking some out. I am finally excited instead of nervous.
My husband is right, I have made the decision and now I will plow ahead until I am holding my book in my hands. I am off to grasp the thorns!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Hermit, yes. Antisocial, no
I have not posted in a month. I have no excuse really. I think about it but then I bury myself in research or house work and do not log in long enough to do what I am supposed to do , which is to maintain this blog. I apologize to my readers, if there are any left. I will now be held accountable for posting at least a couple of times a week. My husband has agreed to nag, ahem, remind me to keep writing. I think he is looking forward to it.
I have become a hermit by choice. My autoimmune diseases make getting out very often unpleasant. I do walk with my daughter and I enjoy it. I run errands when I absolutely have no other choice but other than that, I choose to stay at home.
Over the past several years, I have gotten to know myself very well and I like me. What I did not like, I changed and what I did like, I nurtured. That statement, by no means, is to be taken as 'she thinks she's perfect.' Not at all. But I have learned to recognize my faults and since I spend so much time alone with me, I have the time to work on those things.
Now I am going to start working on the things that I have been afraid of. I am an artist at heart and as a means of earning part of our income. Part of my creative side includes writing. I have many stories collecting dust on the shelf. Do you know why I haven't done anything with them? Fear. Plain and simple.
A good chunk of my existence was a horror story come to life so I am drawn to the mystery/horror genre. I'm good at it. I'm not even going to apologize for that last sentence and feign modesty. I am good at it.
I have allowed three people to proof read two of my manuscripts, all three had nightmares - which made me proud as punch! I do not write to frighten people. I write to conquer the fear at the end of the story. I enjoy writing if no one knows that I am doing it. Then I am just writing a story for pure enjoyment and to get it out of my head. When other people find out I am writing, it becomes a whole other animal and I don't like that beast!
My husband loves that I write. Not because he reads so much but because he sees dollar signs. That puts pressure on me to produce and takes the enjoyment right out of the process. He can't help it, I think. He has seen my work and he gets these big ideas - she's gonna sell a million books! They will turn it into a movie! - Pshh! I have explained to him that less than 1% of manuscripts go that distance. He is still hopeful. It's nice that he has confidence in me but again, sucks the fun right out of it.
Problem #2. My Mother in-law. This is a woman who has never read a word that I have written but because of the genre, she loves to tell me how writing 'those things' goes against my being a Christian and could invite spiritual things into my home that do not belong here. (If I roll my eyes any harder, they may roll out of my head!) Point is, it causes me to feel as though I should write under an alias so she won't know what I'm doing, rather than write under my own name, which I happen to be proud of. It's a conundrum. She's a busy body and IF I am published under my own name, I'll never hear the end of it.
Problem #3 - Fear of success. I let a new friend know earlier today that I have this problem. I thought it might be a fear of failure. But no. I can handle that. If I am successful, that has the potential to open a can of worms too. I'm not talking fame and fortune. I'm talking about people that I dislike suddenly wanting to be my best friend. If I am a success, that will happen. Count on it.
Problem #4 - Getting over problems 1 - 3 and doing what I love for me. That is what I am working on now. It's a process. Over coming fear is a hill to climb but I am ready to climb it.
Because I am a self imposed hermit, some people believe that I am antisocial. Not true. I am very social. Online. I do not think that I have to be in your presence to let you know that you are someone that I care for and am interested in. When I have the rare day that straying too far from home isn't going to cause major discomfort, I'm happy to go visit my friends. Otherwise, I do most of my socializing online. Like now, for instance. I am talking to you. No, we are not face to face but I am talking to you and I want you to know that I care about you. Who ever you are, where ever you are, you are an important person. Not because you are reading this blog but because you are a human being who deserves good things. It's just that simple.
Many of my friends are in the same boat that I am in with different life altering ailments. Some of my friends have fibro, others MS, others are diabetic or have epilepsy and we have all learned that spending time with ourselves isn't such a bad thing after all. And that is the beauty of the internet and writing. Without these two things, most of us would never have met and we could be desperately alone right now. I believe everything happens for a reason. Now I have good friends who, like me, are not going to let their illnesses beat them. I keep seeing how blessed I am. :)
So, back to problems 1 - 3, it's time for me to figure this out. Suggestions would be appreciated.
I love ya'll! Have a great night!
I have become a hermit by choice. My autoimmune diseases make getting out very often unpleasant. I do walk with my daughter and I enjoy it. I run errands when I absolutely have no other choice but other than that, I choose to stay at home.
Over the past several years, I have gotten to know myself very well and I like me. What I did not like, I changed and what I did like, I nurtured. That statement, by no means, is to be taken as 'she thinks she's perfect.' Not at all. But I have learned to recognize my faults and since I spend so much time alone with me, I have the time to work on those things.
Now I am going to start working on the things that I have been afraid of. I am an artist at heart and as a means of earning part of our income. Part of my creative side includes writing. I have many stories collecting dust on the shelf. Do you know why I haven't done anything with them? Fear. Plain and simple.
A good chunk of my existence was a horror story come to life so I am drawn to the mystery/horror genre. I'm good at it. I'm not even going to apologize for that last sentence and feign modesty. I am good at it.
I have allowed three people to proof read two of my manuscripts, all three had nightmares - which made me proud as punch! I do not write to frighten people. I write to conquer the fear at the end of the story. I enjoy writing if no one knows that I am doing it. Then I am just writing a story for pure enjoyment and to get it out of my head. When other people find out I am writing, it becomes a whole other animal and I don't like that beast!
My husband loves that I write. Not because he reads so much but because he sees dollar signs. That puts pressure on me to produce and takes the enjoyment right out of the process. He can't help it, I think. He has seen my work and he gets these big ideas - she's gonna sell a million books! They will turn it into a movie! - Pshh! I have explained to him that less than 1% of manuscripts go that distance. He is still hopeful. It's nice that he has confidence in me but again, sucks the fun right out of it.
Problem #2. My Mother in-law. This is a woman who has never read a word that I have written but because of the genre, she loves to tell me how writing 'those things' goes against my being a Christian and could invite spiritual things into my home that do not belong here. (If I roll my eyes any harder, they may roll out of my head!) Point is, it causes me to feel as though I should write under an alias so she won't know what I'm doing, rather than write under my own name, which I happen to be proud of. It's a conundrum. She's a busy body and IF I am published under my own name, I'll never hear the end of it.
Problem #3 - Fear of success. I let a new friend know earlier today that I have this problem. I thought it might be a fear of failure. But no. I can handle that. If I am successful, that has the potential to open a can of worms too. I'm not talking fame and fortune. I'm talking about people that I dislike suddenly wanting to be my best friend. If I am a success, that will happen. Count on it.
Problem #4 - Getting over problems 1 - 3 and doing what I love for me. That is what I am working on now. It's a process. Over coming fear is a hill to climb but I am ready to climb it.
Because I am a self imposed hermit, some people believe that I am antisocial. Not true. I am very social. Online. I do not think that I have to be in your presence to let you know that you are someone that I care for and am interested in. When I have the rare day that straying too far from home isn't going to cause major discomfort, I'm happy to go visit my friends. Otherwise, I do most of my socializing online. Like now, for instance. I am talking to you. No, we are not face to face but I am talking to you and I want you to know that I care about you. Who ever you are, where ever you are, you are an important person. Not because you are reading this blog but because you are a human being who deserves good things. It's just that simple.
Many of my friends are in the same boat that I am in with different life altering ailments. Some of my friends have fibro, others MS, others are diabetic or have epilepsy and we have all learned that spending time with ourselves isn't such a bad thing after all. And that is the beauty of the internet and writing. Without these two things, most of us would never have met and we could be desperately alone right now. I believe everything happens for a reason. Now I have good friends who, like me, are not going to let their illnesses beat them. I keep seeing how blessed I am. :)
So, back to problems 1 - 3, it's time for me to figure this out. Suggestions would be appreciated.
I love ya'll! Have a great night!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)