The Next Impossible Thing

It seems impossible, doesn't it?  50,000 words in 30 days.  Where will I find the time? What will I do when I don't have any good ideas? Who will clean the kitchen?  How will I do this when I have work, kids, dogs, friends, a house, company coming for Thanksgiving, sick parents, a cold?

But like all impossible things, this impossible thing begins with the next right step.  Tomorrow, I will sit down and write.  I have four hours blocked out on my calendar.  I could go shopping (in Thailand, where I am currently for work, they do love to shop).  I could go work out (the pool is lovely). I could have dinner with friends.  But I have blocked out 4 pm to 8 pm for writing.  I will put my butt in the chair.  I will put words on the page.

They may not be good words.  But it's a draft, so that doesn't matter.

I will aim to write 4,000 words tomorrow.  Why twice the amount I need to? Because I know myself.  I like to win, and I like to have a little space for the days when the writing is difficult.  The beginning is easy.  Four thousand words is cake at the start.  But no matter how many words I end up with, I will sit, butt in chair (for at least 45 minutes out of each hour, I use the Pomodoro method), and I will write.

And then on Sunday, Nov. 2,  I will do the same thing.  On my calendar, from now until Nov. 9 when I will spend 24 hours traveling home from Thailand, I have marked out at least 1 1/2 hours each day for writing.  There's time for yoga, time for the full-time work I do when I'm traveling.  Time for a little more shopping, a little more food, but there is time, every day, for writing.

I don't have to find the time.  I've already made time.  Since I've done this for four years, I know I can do it.  It still seems impossible, even though I already spend at least 1 1/2 hours a day writing nearly every day.

But I have already done so many things this year that have seemed impossible.  50,000 words in November is just one more impossible thing to add to my list.

I hope you'll join me in doing the impossible.  Find encouragement and support at www.nanowrimo.org and become my buddy (I'm gravllo).  Join me and my writing tribe at Yellow Springs Write In's (see the calendar in Ohio: Elsewhere). Let's see what's possible.

Permission Granted

The first year I participated in NaNoWriMo, 2009, my personal life was in chaos.  I was looking out at the rest of my life and trying to remember what it was I wanted to do. 

Even then, I took time to write here and there every week, but it wasn’t enough to support the career I wanted for myself.  It wasn’t enough to finish the story I wanted to tell.  I’d heard about National Novel Writing Month, and it seemed a good way to give myself permission to write.  It also gave me an excuse to tell my family, “Hey, I’m writing a novel this month, get take out” or “No time to vacuum, I’m writing a novel.”

It worked.  I didn’t finish my novel that month.  I didn’t meet my word goal.  The chaos sucked me in, but I did give myself permission to write more often.  I gave myself permission to go out at night and sit in a café and let my family fend for themselves. 

And I continued, even after that first November, to make time for my writing.  The next year, and for every year since, I have completed my 50,000 words.  Signing up on the website, going to write-ins, and watching my words stack up on the word chart help keep me motivated. 

I have given myself permission to work towards what I want.  I don’t write 1,667 words every day of the year, but I do write most days.  I saved money and paid for an amazing manuscript consult this year.  I’ve taken research trips for the novels I’m revising.  I’ve learned how to travel the world for work and still keep my writing practice (I’m writing this note to you from Bangkok, Thailand). 

My life has changed in amazing ways.  The seed of that change was in the permission I gave myself six years ago to write every day, to let the people I love fend for themselves for a little while, to take care of myself in the same way I’d cared for other people for so long. 

My wish for you this November is that you give yourself permission to take the time to write every day.  Tell the people you care for what you are doing.  Schedule time for your writing, and let your family/friends/coworkers take care of some of their own needs, just for November. 

They may pout, they may whine, they may make you feel as if you are the worst person in the world for taking care of your needs.  That’s okay.  That’s about them not you. 

Give yourself permission to do for yourself what you would do for other people.  After all, it’s just for November, right?

Haiku, You?

Haiku is a traditional Japanese poetic form.  The essence of haiku is attention to the everyday and the finding of some new understanding because of the attention. 

I’ve been writing a haiku a day for the past two months, but even before that, I’ve used the form.  Most of the poems in Come to the Garden, are haiku-like in their form and intent.  

For me, writing haiku is a natural outgrowth of my meditation practice.  It allows me to take the focused attention of the meditation cushion and turn it to the world. 

One of the most famous writers of haiku is the poet Basho.  He wrote poems in Japan four-hundred years ago.  Here are a few of his haiku. 

Wrapping dumplings in 

bamboo leaves, with one finger  

she tidies her hair

In the moonlight a worm

silently

drills through a chestnut

Under the image of Buddha

All these spring flowers

Seem a little tiresome.

Many traditional haiku contain a kigo, or a seasonal word that lets the reader know the time of  year.  

Traditional haiku can also have a cut, some grammatical or spatial element that indicates a shift of attention in the poem from one object to another or one focal point to another.  In the first poem above, we see the cut at the comma when Basho turns his attention from the dumplings to the woman wrapping them.  In the second, the second line, with its single word, serves as the cut.  Finally, the line break from the first to second line in the third poem shows the cut as the focus turns from Buddha to the spring flowers. 

You’ll notice that the translated poems by Basho don’t use the five, seven, five syllable form.  But the poems remain simple and direct, and, in this case, remain three lines.  Some haiku in English are a single line, some are four or more lines.  It’s the directness and simplicity of the words and the focused attention that define the haiku in English more than the counting of syllables.  

According to RH Blyth in The Genius of Haiku, “Haiku does not aim at beauty…. it aims at significance, and some special kind of beauty is found hovering near.”

Since I also practice contemplative photography, I find that sometimes my poems and images align.  I share some of those poems and images in earlier blog posts.  Those poems are traditional haiku, following the 5/7/5 syllabic form.  

This poem, from my children's poetry collection, In the Garden, uses a haiku form without exact syllabification. 

Daisies

Stars in the garden, their white petals sparkle. 

Or are they suns?  Bright yellow centers

igniting the other flowers, making even sunflowers bow their heads.

Read more at Ryukokyu University http://www.ryukoku.ac.jp/haiku/haiku_en.html

Matsuo Basho at Poem Hunter http://www.poemhunter.com/matsuo-basho/poems/

There's also a lovely discussion of meter in haiku here at Prolific Press.

Paris History: Village St. Paul

Across from the large section of Phillipe Auguste’s wall on the right bank, near where the Hotel St. Pol, Charles V’s final royal residence in Paris stood, rests a charming little enclave of antique and art shoppes called the Village St. Paul.

I first happened on these shops during the day, when each connected courtyard was full of antique plates, vintage clothes, and funky home furnishings.  The sight was enchanting--piles of silver napkin rings, jet-beaded dresses, and antique fans. I spent time but no money (I bought too many books to buy trinkets as well).

Though there are a number of shops open during the day, I found this little market much less overwhelming than Marches aux Puces. It’s also a bit more focused and neighborly.  It’s a neighborhood market rather than a tourist trap, and the community feel of the park across the street where boys kick soccer balls against the 800-year-old wall enhances the local appeal. Lovely restaurants sit next to wine merchants.  The people seemed to know each other, and unlike most other places in Paris, no one spoke English back to me when I asked questions. 

Later in the week, I came back to the Village St. Paul in the evening when the shops had closed and was better able to explore the remnants of medieval construction and the space that was said to contain what was once the famed gardens of Charles the Wise.

I was able to stroll from courtyard to courtyard, appreciating the construction and the remnants of wood and stone that still supported the three and four story houses that lined the courtyards. 

In the middle ages, during Charles V's reign, the gardens that were said to be located here housed a cherry orchard, lions in cages, and vast kitchen and herb gardens.  Several sources also claim that Charles V's head gardener was a woman.  I use these facts (or rumors ;-) to create tension in the first Christine mystery Bed of Bones. 

Walking here, where the beams for the buildings were harvested from forests that stood eight-hundred years ago and were dragged back by horses into the city and where the stones were likely mined from underneath the city itself, I felt again the immense history of Paris.  Now the forests are gone. Where the trees grew is only a short car ride away. The old quarries where stones were pulled up through holes in the ground have been blocked off, cellar openings nailed or locked shut (though an entire cottage industry has grown up in Paris to help tourists explore these illegal underground ruins).  But the old walls and timbers remain and the sense of community remains as well here in Village St. Paul.