30 for 30 has gotten me totally inspired

today is day 11 of 30 days of writing.  it's been so helpful in getting me unstuck. i've been stuck for months and months and months. and for some reason, at the end of September, i was ripe for change. Dustin asked me to go to this "open mic" night at the Hugo House to see him read some of his work. i hadn't seen him in months and i always leave our writing groups with so much excitement and inspiration, i thought it would be good to see him (miss him so much!!) and see what he'd been working on. i needed out of this funk.

it was the exact right time.

i found this note on the table we were sitting at and it hosted a graphic that spoke to me.

i thought it would be a good idea for Dustin to do since he was so good at being regular with his writing (he's totally my hero on this. . .). but a few days later, he emailed me, telling me he had taken a look and maybe we could do it together. i don't even know what possessed me to say yes since the previous three or four months i'd been completely terrified to open up my computer or my notebook.  the thought of writing anything made me want go into a fugue state. so, when i said yes, i think it surprised me more than Dustin.

and so far. . . it hasn't be horrible. the complete opposite (for those of you following this horrible pattern are likely screaming at your screens, "seriously kp. you fucking say this every few months. .. " continue. . . ). it's been great. i've written about Laffy Taffy (a caper at work), what it's like to have to arrange a funeral, the rivers etched into your skin when you take a shower, college reminiscents, parts of a novel i've been desperately trying to rid my mind of, part of a novel in my brain i want to let ruminate in that same brain, and the weird parallels between the global warming conspiracy and when a democrat is in office while the economy appears to be booming. . . all weird, but all good. the two things i wrote related to my novel. . . it's amazing. i'm so excited to finally be actually writing about it. 

i even went to the open mic night on 10/5 to read something from one of the novels. it was liberating! i even auditioned a story for a storytelling night. .. and i cannot wait to edit it if they choose it. and even if they don't, i'll now have a place to send more pitches. 

so. . .not so bad for 11 days. 

oh - and this whole thing is to raise money for the Hugo House.  I don't know if any of you have heard of it, but it's amazing. when i went to my first open mic in September, to listen, it reminded me so much of the play from San Miguel that parroted what it must have been like back when Kerouac and Burroughs had done readings in front of their friends fueled by the alcohol and camaraderie.  it felt like home. i think i looked over at Dustin at some point in the evening and said, "why haven't we done this before??" it was a question asked that seemed so . . . late - i mean, it felt so right to be there with these other people. 

i became a member about a day and a half later, as soon as i had a second to go to their website. and i never want this place to go away. so, if you feel so inclined to help support a community that supports me as a writer, i would be extra grateful (as i am already grateful you are here reading this). many thank yous. i'm hoping that out of this 30 days i'll get something i can submit for publishing. . . or at least something that's fit to post here as a fiction. but nothing has totally taken shape yet. but keep me doing it. which means i'm about to do a weird ask. . . and give. . . 

if you decide you can donate some cash - $20 or more, i'll totally write you a micro fiction of any topic you want. and send it to you. . . really. it may be horrible, but you'll get me writing. holy crap - i'm terrified. . . ready?

set?

go!!!!!

battling the nothing

i keep thinking that it'll just end. the depression. but it sometimes i think it gets better and sometimes i know it gets worse and i have a hard time figuring out what is keeping it from going away. and i ignore myself and even the depression, like it will just get up and walk away from me.

i'm afraid of my computer. i haven't written in two months and it's killing me. i have tons of things going through my brain and a hundred ideas of things that i want to write down, but if i even look at my computer i get a knot in my chest right at the breast plate. i don't blog. i don't post on facebook. i don't write tweets. i don't share. i don't talk. i fall into the hole and i don't even think there is a light up there.

sometimes it's because i have several things i promised i would do and i'm not doing them.  it's not the only thing, nor even the biggest thing, but it is something that makes me fall further down the hole. sometimes it's the fact that i am not talking to important people in my life. . . and i'm not - i'm ignoring them too. . .

do you know how long it took me to write that sentence? 10 minutes. i could lie and say it's because i was distracted by another movie i'm watching, but if i'm being truthful, i don't want it to be true. and why do i not do these things? because getting out of bed is hard. really hard. then making it through the day at work is harder. and then i'm exhausted when i get home. i barely make it to 8:30 when i'm home. barely. . . i go to bed. i sleep. and sleep. and sleep.

sometimes, if i wake in the middle of the night and one of those things i'm not doing comes up in my brain, i spin. out of control. . . and then i don't sleep. i just hate myself. i think of all the ways it could just go away - and these are not good things. they are destructive and . . . final . . . cowardly . . . cowardly in all the ways they could be cowardly.

do you know how embarrassing it is to say any of this? do you know how embarrassing it is to feel any of this? i'm ashamed to feel this. i'm ashamed to not be doing these things. i'm ashamed to admit it to you and, really, i'm ashamed and afraid to admit it to me. but i know if i don't, it will eat me. it will be like the nothing.  do you know the nothing? i learned what it was when i was 10 and felt it the first time when i was 32 and even more now that i'm 38. . .

i know this is weird, but suddenly, i realized how much The NeverEnding Story can help explain this. . . maybe this seems childish - but don't children often speak the truths adults talk around?  so, here is how i feel.

Atreyu: But why is Fantasia dying, then?

G'mork: Because people have begun to lose their hopes and forget their dreams. So the Nothing grows stronger.

Atreyu: What is the Nothing?

G'mork: It's the emptiness that's left. It's like a despair, destroying this world. And I have been trying to help it.

Atreyu: But why?

G'mork: Because people who have no hopes are easy to control; and whoever has the control... has the power!

my world was dying, i was dying - i was forgetting my hopes and dreams and the things i wanted to do and be and getting out of bed was harder and harder and harder. the nothing had control. and it was so dark. 

and then. . . 

Bastian: Why is it so dark?

The Childlike Empress: In the beginning, it is always dark.

i asked for help. . . and i was afraid . . . but then, there were these people that care about me. people that tell me how much i mean to them and how much i've helped them and affected them. people that want to help me - they were patient. . .

Atreyu: What will happen if he doesn't appear?

The Childlike Empress: Then our world will disappear - and so will I.

Atreyu: How could he let that happen?

The Childlike Empress: He doesn't understand that he's the one who has the power to stop it. He simply can't imagine that one little boy could be that important.

Bastian: Is it really me?

Atreyu: Maybe he doesn't know what he has to do!

Bastian:  What DO I have to do?

in the same way i cared about them, they helped me see that i needed to care about me. and talk to them. and ask for more help. and not be ashamed. this part is hard - i am often ruled by shame. so much so, that i've had a lot of time to think about that word, shame. what does it mean? why do i feel it? why can it control me?

At the end of The NeverEnding Story (for those of you who have not seen it), Bastian starts making wishes - wishes for himself, wishes for his friends, wishes for a better world.

I don't know if I'm making wishes, but I AM doing things.  I'm getting up. I'm talking to my friends. I'm sharing with you. I'm walking. I'm writing.  I'm slowing doing the things I haven't been doing. These seem to be like Bastian's wishes. So - the light is brighter the closer I get to the top. And I don't feel so empty or awful or as ashamed (I'm still working on that one).

I wish I had words for the people that have helped, but I'm not sure I do - if I could take the feeling in my heart for them and give it to you so you can feel it too - that would be easier than trying to explain. I've said things to them like, "my heart has grown three sizes," or  "fuck yes - this," or "wow, thank you." I've cried to and with them, I've tried to give them gifts that explain how big my heart is and how grateful I feel for them.  I don't know if any of these things are adequate - but I will keep trying. I know they would all say that I do not need to, but the good thing about having control is that I get to decide.  I get to decide to never forget how wonderful the people in my life are. I get to decide to get up tomorrow and say - YES - and maybe I'll even get to ride a dragon. . . 

a magical universe

I've been avoiding writing all day.  Pretty successfully, if I don't say so myself.  I've been actually avoiding writing for about a week (or more).

If I were a new mother, it's like I have Mastitis and until the blockage is removed, my boob is gonna really hurt. If I were at work, it's like there is a backlog of messages waiting to clear but can't until I move the file in error.  If I were Dr. Sheldon Cooper and didn't think through my friend formula, I'm stuck in an infinite loop until Howard gives me a counter for my looping structure.  If I'm opening a show, it's like tech week. . . until  opening night.

And today the universe was magic - it's a bit long, but I think it'll make sense and this fulfills a promise I've made to tell you about why I'm writing.

I have written in journals for a large portion of my life, but really only in journals.  You have recently seen that I'm branching out and writing fiction.  I've wanted to be a writer my whole life (my journals tell me so and I'll explain more on that later) but I guess I took a different path.  Then this whole internet thing happened and I started reading blogs - lots of them.  It made me think - hey, I can do that.

sampling of some of my journals (some purchased, some gifted)

So, I originally started this blog to write, but more importantly tell my friends and family back in Wisconsin what Alistair and I were up to. It was fun.  I wrote about our "escapades" - our outings to the mountains, the Blue Angels scaring the cats, letting my sister know how her daughter was doing while she was out here, Alistair's cancer scare, you know - life.  As I go back through the posts from back then, it's clear I was "journaling", but instead of doing it in a book, I was doing it online.  I wasn't really forming thoughts or arguments or doing anything really creatively significant.  It was more just facts.  But I was writing!

Then Alistair died.  The last post before that happened is actually of the last Sunday I ever saw him; he went back to school the next week. It was actually almost the last time I wrote for a year. I wrote two more times before I stopped.  Here are pictures from that last time - I think it helps you understand why I didn't write for a year.

This first one is from 9/7/2007 - It's what I had to write down to know what to do when I got to Montana - I wrote it on the plane.  It's the only thing I wrote until the night before planning the funeral.

That night, I woke up at about 2am and had a terrible physical reaction.  I locked myself in the bathroom with Alistair's iPod (the police gave it to me that day) and started writing feverishly.  What I was writing came directly from Alistair's iPod.  I was writing every song from the 25 most played songs  on the iPod and the 25 most recently played songs. I was terrified that I was going to lose what he had been listening to and writing it down was the only thing that could make it real and make it so no one could take it from me.

This last picture is of the rest of the journal.  It's empty. I stopped writing.

A year later, I wrote two entries on the blog.  One was of me just missing Alistair, and the other was about how I was avoiding thinking about Alistair.  But at least I wrote something.  There are no other journal entries or writings of any other kind anywhere during that time.  It took me about 6 more months before I wrote again.  And then I just slowly started.

I wasn't writing to be a writer at that point.  I was writing to . . . connect . . . to work through my stuff. . . to feel.  And that's sort of where the journey of being a writer emerged.

Through the course of writing about my struggles, I started sharing it with people that were having some of the same struggles - mostly physical struggles (I was having neck and back problems).  I shared my neck and back pain writing with someone from work.  She ended up reading the whole blog.

One day, she came to me after a meeting and told me the stories I shared had touched her deeply and that I was a good writer and should consider doing it professionally. It meant the world to me for two reasons.  1) It was the first time anyone had said that to me in my adult life and 2) She is a deeply private person and isn't the type to share how affected she is by their personal stories.  Her compliment hit and sank into a place I had never really allowed myself access.

I didn't do anything about it for another year other than continue to post.

That's when the universe became magically connected (as it is wont to do).

If you spend any time with me or spend any time reading my Facebook or twitter feeds, you'll know I'm unnaturally obsessed with Amanda Palmer.  But everything about her - her music, her blog, her art, her words - moved me.  She said the things I had been trying to express.  Her unabashed openness, vulnerability, and talent pushed me to ask myself, "what are you afraid of?" She taught me to not be afraid.  She just did a TEDtalk about The Art of Asking - watch it, she talks about vulnerability and what it can do.

At the same time, Terri Weagant and Jesse McNeece and I were working on Cabaret in 2012 and we spent a lot of time together - working, talking, drinking, inspiring.  Jesse said to me (and I'll paraphrase because my memory isn't that good, but the sentiment is exactly what he meant), "doing art isn't hard, you just have to be brave enough to just make a decision and start."

Terri and I kept talking about doing a project together and we had many nights where we talked about what that would be.  I shared with her my passion for writing and she introduced me to the Artist's way which unblocked a huge damn in me.  And then she made a crazy suggestion.  She asked me to go back and read my journals - the early ones - the ones from when I was in middle school or high school.

my The Artist's Way book

It was FASCINATING.  And completely hilarious. But it told me something very important - I had wanted to be a writer since I started writing in journals.

So armed with Amanda's permission (well, really mine that she helped me see), Jesse's quote and Terri's nudge, I made a decision to start - and just wrote.  and wrote. and wrote.  Not all of it was posted, some of it was.

While I was in Turkey with Mikal, I started thinking about taking a writing class.  Very seriously thinking about taking a writing class - so seriously that I asked my best friend, Ciara, if she thought it was a good idea.  I also asked if we could ride together for class (she teaches at University).  She was hugely supportive of the idea and helped me write my admission letter AND I don't think I could have gone to that first class without her being there on the way.  She also has been sharing ridiculous resources with me (she's defending her PhD this year in Comparative Literature - so SCORE!).

And then there is my mom.  When I told her about this, she sent me a book about writing.  Her inscription made me cry (I'm not sharing that because I'm keeping it for me when I need it). But to know she supported this endeavor filled up my soul.  She's always been supportive, but this one was different for me.

a magical inscription that brings me strengths lies within

And so - now I write fictional stories.  I've shared one of those stories and people have been very encouraging.  I'm still terrified that I'm not good, so there are many that I haven't shared.

Brittany and Nate have also played key roles in my success in this journey.  They read my stories.  They love them all (however undeserving that may be) AND they give me feedback to make them great.

And Jen brings me smiles when I'm stuck.  I demand pictures for my soul and she delivers (like today).  She and her family are a respite from my real life (both work and writing) and there are several free write pieces I've written about their bundle of joy.  He makes me smile and unlocks my playfulness (which I need because a lot of my pieces are pretty dark).

And then, this morning I was having a conversation with Mikal and it went something like this:

Mikal: what's wrong?

me: I am avoiding writing and it's hard to do anything because I'm so scared I'm writing the wrong thing and then I'm just scared I'm not doing any writing.

Mikal: Sometimes just starting is the hardest thing.

He's wise, my husband.  And a huge supporter of my writing. Without him, I wouldn't have even asked Ciara if it was a good idea.  He listens when I need to read out loud.  He gives me his opinion and allows me to ignore it.

Crazy universe.  I love that you are magically connected.

So, I'm now unblocked, I've moved the file in error, I'm not stuck in an infinite loop, and the show has opened.

me at an AFP concert with Ciara: photo credit Terri Weagant

thank you magical universe