How to Sabotage Yourself...in one easy step

I'm beginning to think that my brain hates me. Or perhaps that I'm just my own worst enemy. Thinking, and particularly overthinking, has been the bane of my existence. I've done more to sabotage me than anyone could ever do. The moment I decide on something, there is a tiny voice in the back of my mind that starts to ask questions like, "do you really think that's a good idea", or "do you even know how to do that", or even "why do you think anyone would be interested in that". 

This has affected my social interactions, my writing, my work life, and recently my blogging. I spend so much time thinking about doing something, and whether it's a good idea, that I do nothing. I sit paralyzed, listening to the voices in my head tear down my ideas. A decent story idea suddenly seems hackneyed. Then completely cliche. And then the voice likes to tell me that I'll never have any original ideas. That I'm not a good writer, friend, person. It's a horrible type of paralysis.  

After years of this I understand why so many writers and painters were alcoholics. They are drowning out those little voices. They are keeping them busy. I haven't gone that route yet, don't worry. I've found music instead. If I can listen to music (as I'm doing now) I can keep that little voice busy listening to lyrics while I type away. Of course this doesn't work well for social interactions but I'm working on that. 

I've read hundreds of self-help articles on how to get rid of these voices, or at least how to quiet them. They've suggested meditation, self-hypnosis, segmentation, even the music treatment I use. I've used free writing, self encouragement, and even mantras. One day I will learn a perfect solution to tune them out. Until then I have to do as Nike suggests and "just do it". Just do what you want to do and let time determine if something is good or not. More often then not, a bit of time and distance, makes things look clearer. 

"Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they're deciding, make even more art." --Andy Warhol

Foodscapes

I'm sure you're all tired of seeing food at this point. After the huge feast that is Thanksgiving, there are days and days of leftovers. And dinners with family. And extra pie in the fridge. I'm sure you're thinking that you've seen enough food for a lifetime. Or, if you're like me, you never get tired of food. Particularly not when it is as well presented as these foodscapes.

Carl Warner is a U.K. based photographer who creates landscapes out of food. Almost everything in these scenes is edible. He takes very traditional looking scenes and finds the exact right ingredient to make them out of edibles. According to his website each set takes a couple of days to build and then Warner takes photos of the foreground, background, and the sky separately. Like any organic setting, the food deteriorates quickly so he has to work in stages.

Warner started as a still life photographer and then began to branch out into these arranged landscapes. His work has been used in numerous advertisements and he even came out with a book of his work. I just love the inventiveness of these images. Every part of the picture offers such wonderful detail, which makes for complete images that are creative and simply amazing. The images can be dramatic or serene but they are all wonderful to look at. And all made of food.

Not sure why but this simple scene is my favorite

Talent

This morning a friend sent me a recording of himself playing and singing one of my favorite songs. It's "Delicate" by Damien Rice. He does a fantastic job. The guitar work is nearly perfect. And surprisingly he has a really great voice (only surprising because I've never heard him sing before). It brought a huge smile to my face and put the song in my head all morning. I've listened to it several times already and marveled at all the hidden talent I didn't know this friend had.

This same morning Jeff showed me the finished fingerless glove that he's been working on for a while now. He finished it late last night and it's a beautiful thing. He designed the pattern, worked in the tiniest softest yarn I could imagine. He managed to repair it when he dropped several critical stitches on his last round. He's recreated it several time, always persistent, and has come away with something that's really wonderful.

With both of these things I'm reminded how incredible a thing it is to share talents. I've smiled all day because of two people who were willing to share their talents with me. I tend to be a private, hidden person. I'm generally guarded with my passions and interests. But today I'm seeing how much joy I could offer by sharing more. By offering my services and talents. And maybe I could bring a smile to someone's face.

I Like for Things to be Story-Shaped

This fantastic first line comes from "The Flints of Memory Lane", a short story in Neil Gaiman's book Fragile Things. I get a chill listening to it on audio book. It's a line that rings true for me. I do like things to be story shaped. I like the way books make things so much clearer. There is character and plot and progress. But as Gaiman is quick to point out, reality is very rarely story shaped. Perhaps that is why I read so much. Perhaps that is why I tell stories.

I don't remember when I started telling myself stories. I don't remember anything before five so I'll say then. I know I was in middle school when the thought occurred to me that I should write them down. Sadly that only happens some of the time. But the stories keep coming. In the car I sit at stoplights and talk to myself. At home while folding laundry I create dialogue between characters. I move plots forward at breakneck speeds. All in my head. I've been doing this since I was young. It's not going away anytime soon.

I couldn't sleep last night. It was way too hot for sleep (over 80 all night). And as I lay there in bed I thought about my stories and my non-existent writing and I wondered where the disconnect was. I could have written dozens of novels with the stories I've created. I could have already been published. But I rarely write them down and I thought about why that's the case. And I came to a startling conclusion. I'm ashamed of my stories. I have been for years. For a while I would try to force myself to stop. Tell myself that if I stopped telling these silly stories then I could write those great works of fiction that I knew I had in me. Or I could write those wonderful children's stories that would make children happy. Or I could write anything worthwhile. Instead what I tell myself are silly romance stories, or relationship dramas. I created characters who went about their normal lives and had normal dreams. And those stories have never seemed worthwhile to me. Always more like fluff than good fiction. But I think I'm going to try an experiment. I'm going to try writing the stories that are inside me. Stop waiting for those great works of literature to come and just write my silly little tales and see what happens. See where it goes. "I like for things to be story-shaped". Let's see where that goes.

Poetry Friday and Some Self-Reflection

Did you ever notice how the very thing you need often turns up right when you need it? Okay well that only sometimes works. Normally when I'm not expecting it. I didn't realize that I needed the poem I'm posting today until I read it. I've been reading through Louisa May Alcott's short stories when I'm on my lunch hour. I'm not sure why I chose her stuff but most of the stories have been enjoyable. The one I started yesterday was not. But included in the story was the poem below. And it stopped me in my tracks.

I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty;
I woke, and found that life was Duty.
Was thy dream then a shadowy lie?
Toil on, sad heart, courageously,
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee.

by Ellen Sturgis Hooper

Other than the poor rhyme between Lie and ly, I instantly loved this poem. It is a wonderful reminder that work is its own reward. I often get discouraged with writing. I write a story and the moment I'm finished want to tear it up, claiming that it is no good. I put pressure on myself to write only good publishable stuff and my brain rebels. It shuts down and doesn't write anything. Then I feel bad because I'm not writing.

What gets me is that I used to write constantly. I would spend hours with a pen in my hand. I often wonder what happened. And yesterday I figured it out. What I'd forgotten is it was the simple act of writing that I loved. I've always loved the act of creating, even without the possibility of publishing. I've loved the idea of making up my own stories, of meeting my own characters. So last night I sat down and wrote. A story. And I enjoyed every moment of it. I'll never publish it, heck I'll never show it to anyone. But I wrote and had a good time with it.

Like the quote below from poet Marge Piercy, this poem is one that will sit on my writing desk, reminding me that I can write and create without any reward other than joy.

“The real writer is one who really writes. Talent is an invention like phlogiston after the fact of fire. Work is its own cure. You have to like it better than being loved.”-- Marge Piercy

Unscientific Study

There is nothing scientific about a study I'm conducting. I don't use the scientific method, track my results, or even worry about variables. I'm just trying something to see what the results are.

Two weeks ago I started a news hiatus. I went from reading six or seven different news sources a day to not looking at the news at all. I avoid my news based bookmarks, change the TV channel if the news comes on, and have even avoided watching Jon Stewart all in the name of psychology. And I've discovered a startling revelation. Okay not really startling, but a revelation.

Since I've stopped reading the news, I'm in a much better mood. Even with my not feeling great, I've been much happier. I'm much more relaxed and my anxiety has dropped off dramatically. (heck I'm sleeping without ear plugs) I'm reading a lot more, writing a lot more, and am feeling much more creative in general. I've been scanning art blogs and doing some of my own drawing. I've been starting new short stories and having ideas just randomly pop to mind. I'm in a strangely good place.

I'm not sure how much of this is news related. My odd near death (or at least what felt like near death) experience is certainly playing a part. I'm sure a lot of the creativity is due to my refocusing on writing and drawing with the feeling that time is short. My goal is to have a published work by the time Jeff is out of school. But there are other factors as well. I haven't played WoW at all during these two weeks either, the longest break I've ever taken. Jeff has been very focused on school which keeps the TV in the house off and the WoW playing to a minimum. Even his WoW playing has dropped off dramatically. Not playing gives me tons of time and I'm suddenly interested in everything.

But since this isn't scientific, I have no idea which of these is contributing to my good mood. Eventually I may try to add one in at a time and see what helps or hinders. I may eventually go back to taking time and life for granted. But for right now I'm enjoying the feeling. I'm enjoying my more relaxed feeling. And I'll ride this as long as I can. Not scientific at all, but I'd call the experiment as success.

What Doesn't Kill You...

Only makes you stronger. At least that's the theory.

Things have been weird for me recently although I feel a bit more recharged today. I've been having chest pains for the last couple of days. This is my second bout of this and I'm getting tired of it. It only happens the day after I go walking, leading me to believe that exercise might not actually be good for me. (Or that could be wishful thinking. :-) )

But here's the weird part. I'm in pain with every breath I take but for some reason I've been cranking out stories left and right. I spent a good long period of time writing last night and cranked out three possibly workable stories. My hand was cramping I was writing so much. The only reason I stopped was that Jeff came up to beg me to come to Naxx because they were short. (you owe me honey). But that hasn't diminished today. I'm still in pain but the creativity is still there. I was sketching with breakfast. Right now I'm wondering if anyone would notice if I spent most of my work day writing. (they would, Grrrr)

I know what's causing the chest pain finally and I'm not worried about my heart. But now I'm wondering if I just get out walking just to bring back this creative spirit/pain. My writing and drawing have never been more fluid. Perhaps I just needed a little discomfort to wake me up.