One day earlier this week I spent the whole day working on my spiritual memoir.
That kind of spaciousness doesn't happen very often. However, this summer I changed my routine and wrote first thing in the morning. Just for a couple hours most days, but sometimes even less. No matter what else was scheduled or whatever else happened during the day, at least I made room for some writing time.
Earlier in the year I declared 2019 to be the "Year of Part II." My memoir is structured into three parts with about eight chapters in each part. Part I is done--until the next phase of revision--and I decided to give myself plenty of time to live within Part II.
To be totally truthful, however, I had hoped to put Part II to rest by the beginning of summer. That definitely did not happen.
The summer was full--aren't they always--and I didn't have the sense I was making lots of progress or being very productive, but amazingly, I revised several chapters and even wrote a brand new chapter. Writing a rough draft is the hardest part of writing for me.
My writing group met infrequently this summer, but each time we met I read a chapter to them, and the feedback I received was helpful and often positive. I admit I was disappointed when they sent me back to my laptop to revise yet again one of the chapters, but they were right. Oh so right! The next time I read that chapter to them, they agreed, "That's it!" Just what a writer wants to hear.
Back to yesterday.
I "finished" the last chapter of Part II. True, I haven't read it to my writing group yet. That will happen later this month. Even if they suggest more work, deeper work, I know the Year of Part II is coming to an end.
What's next? Part III, of course. And my sense is that Part III will require the rest of this year and perhaps all of 2020. I am comfortable with that.
So what have I learned?
Whatever time given to this project is time given to the project and not something else. And no matter how small the increments devoted to writing, eventually there are paragraphs and pages and chapters and whole big sections. Eventually, there will be completed manuscript.
This is not rocket science, but I needed to learn this for myself. In fact, I need to keep relearning it. Would I like to have more days like the one this week when the only task on my list other than making supper and taking a walk and a few important emails was to write? Yes, of course, but I have learned to use the time I have. Some days I have time beyond the initial early morning time--bonus time--and I have learned to dive right in for 30 minutes or an hour or longer, instead of whining that I don't have two or three hours.
I am so grateful for the flow I have in my life right now. I flow between my writing, meeting with spiritual directees, and the volunteer tasks I do for our church, along with space for family and friends, reading time and rest. Each part of this flowing stream nurtures the other parts, and adds to the meaning and pleasures in my life.
I don't question how long this rhythm will be present or possible in my life, but for right now I am enjoying the view.
An Invitation
What project is waiting for you? I would love to know.
I was in a writing slump.
Winter had been productive for me. I had revised several chapters in my memoir and assumed that trend would continue as the snow melted. That was the plan anyway, but, instead, I found all sorts of reasons to stay away from my desk or to do other tasks at my desk.
When I shared my doubts with my writing group about continuing this project, they expressed hopes I wouldn't do that, but also listened to the ambivalence I was feeling.
In the past when I have hit a writing bump, usually because my calendar is too full, I am eager to regain focus and return to a writing routine, but, much to my surprise, that was not the case this time. I was enjoying an easier schedule and lighter days. I even wondered what it would be like to consider myself retired and have more open days.
At the same time I wondered if this slump was an indication that I needed to schedule more writing time, to be more intentional and disciplined about time for writing the memoir. I was aware that revising the next chapters required stretches, rather than snatches, of time.
I decided to schedule a solo writing retreat.
My goal for this retreat was to discern if I should recommit to writing my spiritual memoir or if I should let it go. If I decided to
re-engage with this project, my goal was to dive into the next chapter. I brought with me all the writing materials I thought I would need to dig into that chapter, but I also brought a small stack of books to read, in case I dumped the memoir.
I checked into a quiet cabin right on the shore of one of Minnesota's largest lakes, Gull Lake, mid-afternoon. Bruce and I had stayed at that resort, Grand View, in the past, and I knew I would be comfortable there. I quickly unpacked, set up my laptop and printer and spread my books and other materials on the large coffee table. Much to my surprise, I started working right away, re-reading an earlier draft of the current chapter and making some notes for changes. I had a pleasant evening becoming re-acquainted with myself as a writer.
The next morning sealed the deal.
During the night I heard what sounded like sleet pinging on the windows. When I got up to see what was going on, I couldn't see anything. The windows remained dry, and I didn't see any white stuff coming down in the dark.
The next morning when I opened the blinds on the large picture window facing the lake, I was surprised to see large piles of ice mounded on the shore line, masses of chunky ice crystals. The lake itself looked much the same as the day before --still ice-covered for the most part, but with patches of open water. What had happened?
At breakfast my waitress told me this phenomenon is called "the push." The wind, which had increased during the night, had pushed the melting ice toward the shore. The ice crunching sounded like a collapsing tinker toy creation or one of those chandeliers made of crystal-like capris shells disturbed by a light breeze. Almost a wooden sound.
And "the push" continued all day.
And so did I. I pushed myself through the slump, the blocks, the doubts. I viewed the surface of the chapter with new insights and perspectives. I rearranged the structure, knowing this would not be the final version, but was a necessary step to take me from one season to another. By the time I packed up to return home two days later I had completed the chapter and prepared to work on the next one.
Sometimes a push is necessary to crack the status quo.
An Invitation
Are you in need of a "push"? Or can you recall a time in your life when you were pushed and that made all the difference? I would love to know.
In case anyone is wondering where I am, you can find me at my desk in the garret. The majority of my waking hours these days is focused on working on my manuscript, tentatively titled Finding Home: Steps on a Pilgrimage.
For over two years I have been working on this book, piece by piece, chapter by chapter. Sometimes with enthusiasm. Sometimes driven. Sometimes just because I said I would. Writing is like that.
Finally, I have the draft of a full manuscript, and that means it is time to revise. Revise, revise, revise. Fortunately, I enjoy the process of revision.
Here's the catch. Early in April I will attend a pitch conference. At this conference I will meet with three different agents for eight minutes each and in that time I will "pitch" my book. I have written my pitch and am practicing and refining it daily. So far so good.
What if one of the agents shows an interest in my book? (Be still my heart!) If that happens, I need to be prepared to send them whatever they request: a chapter or two, a book proposal, the full manuscript. Who knows!
That's why I am at my desk all day, everyday.
Of course, life continues, no matter how many more chapters I need to revise.
At the beginning of the year I was drawn to these words, "Sacred Yes. Sacred No." Words of discernment.
When I feel drawn away from my desk, is that distraction or a need for a nurturing break?
How do I balance other demands and interests and connections?
When do I cross the line from commitment to obsession?
When is life in the garret a protection from or excuse for avoiding something I don't want to do?
When is a choice life-enhancing and when is it energy-depleting?
Here's what I am learning. The process of discernment, which is a process of listening to the divine within, doesn't just apply to the big decisions, such as changing jobs or moving to a different location, but we can learn to discern, to listen, whenever a choice, a question, a yearning, big or small, appears in our life.
Do I have lunch with a friend today? Sacred yes? Sacred no?
Do I leave the garret and move into the snug, put up my feet and read? Sacred yes? Sacred no?
Do I start my day with my normal meditation process? Sacred Yes? Sacred No?
Do I make a phone call to my senators supporting their efforts and registering my concerns? Sacred Yes? Sacred No?
You get the idea.
Consider an area of your life needing a decision.
Ask yourself, "What do I know deep inside me
that relates to this decision, even if I can't explain
it? What do I already know about myself and
about the situation I am in that I need to pay
attention to here?"
Nancy Bieber
An Invitation
What needs discernment in your life? I would love to know.
