Writing

Back to simplicity

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So I have been suffering from writers’ block. I just cannot seem to get it together. But you know the funny thing is that I was feeling some sort of pressure to write a certain way.

Someone please buy me this from Whiskey River Soap Co

Okay, so I think I have figured out where the block is coming from. You see, I had a conversation with an interesting person at a cafe somewhere in Nairobi about writing. The conversation was pleasant at the time and I had no issues with the exchange we had.

Lately, though, that conversation has become some sort of private hell and replaying it in my mind has been messing with my mojo. Anyway, in the conversation, I was blabbing about my writing process and what it means for my emotional stability. The pleasant stranger stopped me to ask what I write about. I said romance and then they cringed. And I winced in response.

This conversation – cringes and winces included – has been fueling my writers’ block in the way of an accelerant to a fire. Every time I sit down to write, I have a short flash back to that convo. And yes, of course, I cringe.

But I also find myself working very hard to sound intellectual in my writing. I am so obsessed with creating deep, meaningful interactions that I feel that I am killing my own vibe. I don’t know. I like writing romance and making it not so cringe-worthy is really slowing me down. It is also making me want to sit in a corner, hug my knees, and cry… mostly because deep down I am afraid of the fact that I am insecure about loving romance novels. I suppose I feel a bit of shame that I totally eat up nyummy stories about connecting with someone, the excitement of kissing them, the anguish of conflict, and the relief of making up.

My good lord! Sounding intellectual when trying to write about love is exhausting! I have been looking for ways to disappoint my characters so that they are in despair. After all, sadness and heartbreak are a separate category of literature, right? And I am not the queen of plot twists — I confuse myself!

I am not sure why admitting to writing romance bothers me because in the secret places of my being, the magic of romance is enough. And I wish I could just go back to a simple story of lovers meeting, then loving then fighting then loving again. My current book is killing me because I feel as though I am playing to an audience that’s judging me already.

I am so behind on my word count goals that I am thinking of abandoning this book altogether. I want to start afresh and possibly just stick to a simple, sappy love story. Maybe if I do that, I will re-discover my love of storytelling and unlock this block that is costing me word counts and sanity.

Aaaarrrggggg… I could scream!

Scream
— Edvard Munch —

Okay… I must get back to the writing now.

I finally did it

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So I finally published my first book. I feel both terror and relief. Terror because nothing will ever be the same. Relief because I finally fulfilled a promise I made to myself.

I am sitting with this for a while.

My brain is still buzzing.

Life with no regret

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I am feeling an urgency to live the life I have always promised myself. Two of my friends died in the last two weeks, and it’s gotten me looking inward.

If I died today, would I be okay with it? I am not sure.

There’s so still so much I want to do. I have stories I want to write and publish, places I want to travel and see, people I want to love on… the love of my life that I am still holding out hope that I will connect with (sooner rather than later)… a cottage I want to build in the country side… a beach house I want to own and where I want to live when I am a full time writer.

I think death makes me experience my mortality on a very deep level. Losing loved one is not easy but the thought of me dying actually makes me sad. Maybe it’s because I realize that there are no guarantees.

In many ways I feel as though “now or never” is a mantra for this short, fleeting life (to use a common cliche).

One thing is for sure… I don’t want to live a life that will see me carrying my dreams to the grave. I am not sure if the pangs of regret would be with me after death but I’d rather not find out.

I think that’s why I am so grateful for my Pooch. Getting him was the fulfillment of a lifelong desire to have a dog as a pet.

And then my humble attempts at traveling to different places has been in the quest to quench this wanderlust that I have inside me.

I also took up dancing. That is a truly me thing — it is all about connecting with my inner child and self. I feel so liberated when I dance — I didn’t think it would resonate this much with my soul. But this is my indulgence (… well, along with binge watching crime shows on the weekend…). It is one of the few things that I can say is truly about me.

Besides the writing thing, I suppose the next thing that I most long for is to find this big love and pour affection into the second love of my life. Some people say that it is this same longing that keeps love away. I often laugh because the yearning comes from somewhere deep inside me and I almost can’t help it. And so, well, my desire for love is no different than the desire I have to fulfill my life’s purpose in crafting stories of love. It might take me longer than most but I will live this truth. I am so sure.

I suppose I just don’t want to run out of time. And when I see my friends and loved ones dying, I feel the clock ticking.

I long, long, long to convince myself that the life I am living is truly full and that it has the meaning that I secretly wish for. That it is not just for show. You know, that it is not just about satisfying the eyes that watch or those for who my ego loves to perform.

To live a life with no regrets and simple pleasures.

Starting over

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So I started my new book project yesterday. Just like that. No pressure and no coaxing. The words just flowed and I kept writing. I am completely at peace with the process and I amazed myself.

Given my angst about real life romance, I suppose there is a lesson to be learned here. If it’s meant to be, it will be. Everything has it’s time. The right thing for you will find you at the right time. What you seek is seeking you. There’s so many common expressions and platitudes about timing and patience and letting things come as they will.

I guess I am so used to working hard and getting shit done that I expect everything to be a hardship and when it is not, I am shocked. I mean, it’s like an event!

But I am beginning to see that life has a rhythm that I only have to tune into… Or maybe it’s just a mindshift that I am experiencing… either way, I am not having as hard a time setting my intentions and following through. It’s really lovely not to struggle. Even better to keep promises to myself especially on word counts!

I am starting over a new book project but it feels like it’s the beginning of everything I have ever wanted to do and be.

Exposed

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I have been trying this honest confessional thing for a few posts now.  I think it is quite refreshing.  But it is also quite bare.

I think, sometimes, that being vulnerable creates the most beautiful and relatable art. I suppose my world view has been colored by watching many hours of America’s Got Talent and perhaps The Voice.  But I think this view is largely true. Beyond just being relatable, I feel like being open brings me closer to myself.

I don’t know when this happened but I got it in my overthinking head that I needed to be this perfect person — and that I could only be good or worthy if I maintained certain standards of propriety. So on the outside there’s this little Proper Miss of myself that parades herself, seeking everyone’s approval and relishing in receiving it.  Then deep inside me is a more open and free-spirited version of Proper Miss who sits waiting for the day when she’ll be let out to play — because she’s the embodiment of every longing, dream, and being that Proper Miss wishes she had.  Hidden Miss holds the dreams, inner fulfillment, wisdom, innocence, enchantment, and essence that would make life that much lived. Hidden Miss believes in magic and kismet and the importance of softer things. Proper Miss believes too but she’s a realist and her priorities are pragmatic. Proper Miss has little patience for unfolding and letting things that’ll be, be. Hidden Miss holds life in wonderment and enjoys every morsel of life’s simple joys. Hidden Miss wouldn’t think twice about jumping off a cliff to dive into crystal blue waters or taking a walking tour in a foreign country to discover a writers’ cafe — she is all about adventure.

I am not naive. I understand that I can’t walk these streets as Hidden Miss all the time.  I would be chewed up and spat out before I could say, “YOLO” … no matter how important it is to create a life that is true and “authentic”.

Besides, Proper Miss has accumulated experiences and skills that have been equally enriching and useful in navigating through this ride. Proper Miss is a winner but also knows how to wear the scars of defeat with the grace of a warrior.

So in a way, the best version of me is both Hidden Miss and Proper Miss.

I have also found that these two versions of myself couldn’t be farther apart from each other. And what’s more, some of my most miserable life experiences have been because I was trying too hard to be one or the other.

This also affects how I write. Proper is about technical ability and getting it right from a craft perspective. Hidden is about telling the story because it is crying out from within my soul. I think it’s clear that both have a place and a purpose.

This past year has been quite interesting because I have been experimenting with trying as much as possible to be honest with myself and make decisions where truth rings internally. I have found that this exercise of being honest with myself has narrowed the distance between Proper Miss and Hidden Miss.  I have felt rewarded in my soul. I have felt incredible peace about some of the most difficult decisions I’ve had to make this year. My sister insists I am a much nicer person to know. I think my compassion for others has increased.

The exercise of being honest with myself requires more reflection than I thought. I process a lot through writing — and documentation can be jarring. I feel exposed and uncomfortable in the moment when I feel I have hit an especially difficult truth. But I feel rewarded when I think I am one step closer to bringing Proper and Hidden together.

Gawd I hope the lesson is mastered now. I want the next phases of my life to be less miserable and more peaceful. Is this what they call “finding yourself?” — that shit ain’t for kids.

Pull of the past

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So I wrote this whole post about the pull of the past but I lost it somehow.

Anyway, I was musing as usual about how I feel the pull of the past.  I am nearly done with my first book project – the short stories – which I think are coming along nicely.  I don’t think I am this great literary but I love to tell the stories… hopefully some people will agree with me.  But as I near the end, I am feeling a little sad that the mad rush is over… next is the phase of other tedious tasks – editing, graphics and layout, and then at last publishing.  I am proud of myself for getting this far but it’s got me thinking about my next project.

Lately, I have been fantasizing about writing a historical romance.  There is something about being able to place myself in the time of two lovers who wished their story could be told that is quite appealing to me.  And it sounds romantic doesn’t it, to write about 11th century Malindi and maybe two young lovers indulging in a forbidden affair.  But of course, I worry about the authenticity of the writing – will I be true to how love was conducted in the time… how did they love? How did they woo? How did they express their longing for freedom to be who they are and to celebrate who they are?

My fantasy tells me that I would enjoy immersing myself in the time and the culture.  Learning little known facts, revealing them slowly, and savoring the outcome.  I can nearly see it.  Sneaking love notes on a wall – tucked into some nook.  Moving quickly past each other so that no one can fault them for familiarity and knowing.  Solitude and longing.  And maybe I could salvage a little of what’s lost about the Swahili coast and the living that was to be had there.

I wonder if it is bad luck to think this long about a story — but I will write it.  And I am hoping some two lovers, across time, will reach me and tell me how to tell their story.

Adventure

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Creating adventure.  I want to be one of those people that embrace adventures – right to the point of pursuing them relentlessly.  I think having adventure can help my writing process even as it helps me to live a little.

Sometimes I am extremely disappointed with myself.  I am a typical hermit.  I love being home.  I love sitting on the couch and watching a good show.  I love reading a good book and just chilling.  Writing and the hermit are a match made in heaven.  But I also feel like the hermit is missing out on things — not sure what but I just feel like there is a whole world out there and the hermit is not there.

I wasn’t always the hermit, you know and there’s a part of me that used to enjoy finding new things to do. I believe adventure fuels imagination — and imagination crafts good stories.  Writing and adventure could be a match made in heaven as well.

So I think as I craft a new collectible hobby, I will also write the new adventures I want to take on.  I want to scuba dive.  Maybe do a zip line.  I want to take Pooch to the beach.  I want to see if skydiving is compatible with the hermit.  I want to do a hot air balloon ride. I want to go abroad with Pooch to a dog friendly country. I want to paint on canvas in an artists’ commune.  Maybe learn how to ride a motorcycle.  I want to ride at ATV across some sand dunes.  Camp in the wild. I want to bathe in a river.  Ohhh skinny dip in some warm, natural swimming pool. I want to get lost in a corn maze at Halloween. Prayerfully walk a labyrinth. Maybe read some badly written poetry on an open mic night.  I want to join some random music band’s jam session.  And bring along my dog to make people both uncomfortable and happy.  I would love to be a storyteller — finally do the performance I have crafted. Buy an old gramophone, play some records in the night, listen to this music, and drink champagne while seated on a blanket.  I want to write for four, five, six days at a time… really give myself over to this process of writing and writing and writing.

And… I could go on and on… I want to create adventure and then write about it.  I want to live.

Ventilating issues

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I love confessions.  I often feel like writing things out makes me feel better.

I am working on another project (day job) and one of my colleagues likes to use the phrase “ventilate issues” when we need to have difficult discussions.  I just love that phrase.  So now I want to ventiliate one of my writing issues.

I am doing a re-draft of my short stories.  I am committed to putting something out there soon.  But I am having a hard time silencing my inner critic.  There are some stories that I can’t even bring myself to open up on Scrivener. I am trying all sorts of jedi mind tricks to get myself into it and it’s just hard.

I have always said that I am a better editor than I am a drafter but it looks like my mind wants to show me that it’s not so. I understand that if I re-draft I will feel better about the project.  I know that getting closer to publishing gets me closer to my dream.

I think I am afraid.  Afraid that I cannot produce more than what was in the first draft.  I am afraid that I will piss off my muse and we can’t work.

And then I am struggling with the idea of going pro.  I read somewhere that good writers are born when they decide to go pro.  The whole idea being that when you decide to be professional about your writing, when you cultivate the discipline, then you begin to make big strides.  It seems to me that deciding is not enough.  There’s still a lot more to be done beyond the affirmation. There’s the doing thing… man, I have twisted myself up in knots.

Anyway. I thought if I confess then I will be able to write more.

Ok. There. Issues ventilated.

Changing direction

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So there are many life defining moments that a writer like me would bookmark.  The first time I read a book and was so moved by the emotions that little butterflies roamed my tummy and I had to catch my breathe.  The first time I felt emotions of love and adoration. The first time I was told that I was loved.  You get my drift…

But there are other firsts which are so significant that they change how you experience life and therefore how you express yourself.  I think I had one of those “Damascus” moments this year.  I want to write differently after this experience (no doubt will be a confessional post one of these days) and the only regret I have is that I hadn’t been writing consistently so that I could see the change.  I’m guessing it would have been awesome to see.

Nevertheless, I think because I have changed how I see life and a lot of my core beliefs have been challenged, my writing will change and indeed has changed.  I feel bolder and find it easier to access my voice.  And I had been searching for an authentic expression of myself for a while – so that’s a relief.

Anyway, I am happy that I am evolving.  Let’s see how it changes my stories.

New habits and hobbies

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I wrote in one of my other confessionals about the need to go beyond my own experiences in order to write about compelling and interesting characters.  Along with understanding my own limitations as a writer, this process of trying to expand my world view has actually prompted me to seek out new experiences.

I want to have new hobbies.  Of course music and reading and indie movies are at the top of my lovely things to do… but I am feeling like I need to get a hobby that promotes physical well being.  I am lazy dog owner which means that I outsource majority of my dog walking responsibilities.  But I would really love to do more with my dog.  So my big goal is to start walking with Pooch.  (You can meet my imaginary version of Pooch on this page – check out Today’s Special). I also feel like it will help me with health goals.

Then I want to explore a new take on music and create a collection of sorts.  And so I am thinking of getting a vinyl habit. I am still stewing on this because I need to have a plan for storage, care, and use.  I love my books and they have a system… I will need a system for the vinyls… but I am so excited to get started.

Then.  I have a secret wish to do roller skating.  Now I am a bit scared with this one but oh! how happy it would make me.  Just thinking about it makes my insides soar! I can see myself moving around and around – such graceful movements. If I was super aggressive, which I assure you I am not at all, I would be especially thrilled to seek out and join a roller derby team.

Maybe this exploration into new bits of me will give me new ways of seeing people and how they view the world.  Certainly how they see it all. By expanding my view of me, I could possibly discover others who I can draw into my world of writing.