Creative Blocks and Momhood

Grab the moment when you have it. Grab the inspiration when it arrives. If the moment and the inspiration come at the same time, is it really better to do the dishes? It’s easier, that’s for sure. It’s far less scary. You don’t push any boundaries by washing the dishes that have been sitting in the sink. You can stay in the nice, safe territory of “but I’m a mom and I have so much to do and I have no time/energy/opportunity to create.” It’s a lot riskier to sit down and face the demon of the blank page.

I’m stuggling, right now. My urge to create has evaporated with my energy and my concentration. My excuse is that I am pregnant, again, and just recently escaped the first trimester. My last pregnancy, I didn’t write or paint or journal or craft or sing or dance or even listen to music, I just gestated. I sat and gestated—surely a creative act, as is raising a child, but not an artistic one at all. I was like a chicken sitting on her egg. I was broody hen. I was brooding. Am right now.

I can’t bear to lose another nine months of creativity. Nine months and more, if you think about the long months after birth when you have a tiny creature totally dependent upon you, who wakes you up every hour to nurse. The exhaustion nearly made me psychotic. I’m terrified of becoming this exhausted, brooding, non-creative thing. I’m worried about sinking into this new being and losing my old one. But I can’t do it. I need to be creative, both for myself and for my child/children. I need to do it for my relationship with their father, too, because the less I create, the crankier and meaner I get.

These are my issues right now. But anytime you create, you are going to be faced with issues. Come to think of it, these have really always been my issues—exhaustion, feeling ill, getting distracted by other tasks, putting myself and my needs last, procrastination, depression, lack of self confidence. It’s almost like being a mother and being pregnant institutionalizes what once was just my individual bugaboo. Now I’ve got hormones to blame, or a baby who needs my time, or morning sickness, or the energy drain of chasing after a toddler, or needing to keep the house from becoming a permanent pig pen, or making sure everyone gets enough of the right kind of food to keep on chugging. So many “mom” things to do.

And it doesn’t always feel so victorious when I push through my blocks and get creative anyway. What once would feel courageous now feels selish. What once was considered focus now feels like neglect of child and home and partner.

How to reconcile this? Who comes first, the mom-role, or the artist-role? Does it have to be one or the other? One over the other? Can’t a mom carve the time out of the day to be both, to do both?

It seems like it should be possible. The busiest people are often the most productive—I know I’ve always gotten so much done when I had the most on my plate, strangely. Maybe it’s about having the will and determination to do it. Maybe it’s about overcoming your fears and flaws and excuses, just like it is for everyone. Maybe it’s about figuring out what works for you and your family and your work. Maybe it’s about what the sneaker company says. Just do it.

A Lovely Poem by Mary Oliver

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

by Mary Oliver.

Back From Vacation

I’ve been away, off on adventures with Adventure Boy!

We went to Florida to visit Grandma and all the family down there.

It was nice to get out of the city and smell green trees and have the boy meet his uncles and aunts and cousins and get to spend time with his Grandma—whom he loves, of course. He also got to explore grandma’s house, and all the various toys in the shelves. Some were toys actually meant for boys, some were things like books, or newspapers, or dog toys. Adventure Boy! makes no distinction. He did get to hang out with Grandma’s doggie, too, and chase Grandma’s cats.

Adventure Boy! went to the beach and into the ocean for the first time. It was the Gulf of Mexico, and it was so soft and warm and salty and clear. He enjoyed it and even dunked his head which made him sputter, and then laugh, so he did it again—dunk, sputter, laugh. And we went out for food and live music and saw a wild egret come down from the sky and sit next to us at the table. We drove all around and played with a second cousin who was 8months old (who I hadn’t even known existed) and… what else did we do? Oh, so much.

All great fun.

The plane ride was not as much of an adventure for him as you’d think it would be. He prefers people watching. And animal grabbing. And eating.

See more progress on: Go on adventures with Adventure Boy!

Exhausted!

We went to the Central Park Zoo for adventure Thursday, today. We saw penguins and polar bears and harbor seals and little jumpy monkeys. We saw goats and sheep and pigs and a cow that went, “mmmm-ooooo-oooooo!”

Adventure Boy!’s favorites were probably the penguins and harbor seals—oh, I mean aside from the farm animals that he lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-oves. He demands to be put on his feet, and then sticks his hand through the bars so that he can touch the animals, and he laughs hysterically when they lick his fingers. Of course, that’s in the petting zoo. No sticking hand through bars of the polar bear environs.

We did see two polar bears wrestling underwater. Just about the coolest thing I ever saw. Didn’t realize how big they were. I think they were too big for Adventure Boy! He spent more time watching the big girls watching the polar bears than watching the polar bears themselves.

All of this journey was on my back. No stroller. I carried him in an Ergo carrier, which I love, but didn’t keep me from getting exhausted and achy.

After, we stopped at Barnes & Noble for a coffee and a break from the Ergo carrier. I showed him a book of paintings. That counts as adventure, too.

See more progress on: Go on adventures with Adventure Boy!

Moving along at a steady clip

Writing about a thousand words a day in my novel. Today, I even stopped myself when I could have gone longer… why? Well, I had other things to do. Unfortunately, my full time job is being a stay at home mom—that’s taking care of the munchkin and the house (not that you’d be able to tell I was taking care of the house by the looks of it right now).

It would be nice if writing could be my full time job. It would be nice to write ten pages a day. Shoot. It would be nice to have it part time, even ten pages a day on the weekend would be nice—but, alas, such is not to be.

The baby cries, the cats meow to be fed, the laundry begs washing, the plants wilt with thirst, the dishes moulder in the sink.

And I STILL write. Yeay me.

Not only that, I also did some research online about the publishing business—specifically in the SF field. This is important, because writing is not only an art, but it is also a business. And I think that is a place where I can get hung up. I start thinking no one would want to read my book, let alone buy a copy or want to sign me for a contract or represent my book or what have you.

So, I start my research when I have only 36 pages. (Did I mention I have 36 pages? Weehee!) By the time I am ready to send out my book, I will know how I’m supposed to do it, and to whom I should send it, and what I can expect.

That’s business. Along artistic lines, I was quite amazed today how the story is coming out. Characters come out of nowhere, and after a few pages, they are necessary to the story. Details are added that flesh out a whole world and its laws and politics and history. Someone says one small thing, and the story takes on a whole new, completely logical and utterly necessary spin.

This is what I love about writing a novel, even more than short stories, or poetry, or painting a picture, even—it’s how the world of the piece builds and gets deeper and richer and more real.

It breathes!

See more progress on: write and publish a novel

It's True, I Am a Geek

Just incase anyone was doubting. Here is my evidence.

I Am A: Neutral Good Elf Ranger Bard

Alignment:
Neutral Good characters believe in the power of good above all else. They will work to make the world a better place, and will do whatever is necessary to bring that about, whether it goes for or against whatever is considered 'normal'.

Race:
Elves are the eldest of all races, although they are generally a bit smaller than humans. They are generally well-cultured, artistic, easy-going, and because of their long lives, unconcerned with day-to-day activities that other races frequently concern themselves with. Elves are, effectively, immortal, although they can be killed. After a thousand years or so, they simply pass on to the next plane of existance.

Primary Class:
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.

Secondary Class:
Bards are the entertainers. They sing, dance, and play instruments to make other people happy, and, frequently, make money. They also tend to dabble in magic a bit.

Deity:
Mielikki is the Neutral Good goddess of the forest and autumn. She is also known as the Lady of the Forest, and is the Patron of Rangers. Her followers are devoted to nature, and believe in the positive and outreaching elements of it. They use light armor, and a variety of weapons suitable for hunting, which they are quite skilled at. Mielikki's symbol is a unicorn head.

Find out what D&D character you are. NeppyMan had the plan. http://neppyman.irulethe.net/dndwho/index.html

I miss playing D&D. And I think I really might be a Neutral Good Elf Ranger Bard. I shall name myself Milliandra Scalarion the Gwynedd. And I shall sing for my supper, tra la.

I Think I'm Back

Having a baby and suddenly (nine months in the process, but suddenly, all the same) becoming a mother can be very hard on the self identity.

Who I was, once upon a time, was creative and independent and sexy and hard working and a little bit rockstar and a little bit bohemian poet in a windy garret. And a lot more. It was always fluid, but always up to me to determine.

Being a mother is to be swept away in the tides of humanity—countless others have been there before me. I never realized the strength that biology would hold over me. The whole process of creating a new human being out of my body is still kind of unbelievable to me. I was completely unready for the number that hormones would do on my body, on my emotions, and even on my mind. Then there is the responsibility and time commitment of raising a child. The loss of freedom and the ability to travel light and/or at a moment’s notice. And how I underestimated the toll that sleepless nights would take.

Being a mother kind of swept away who I was.

But I think I have figured out a way back. It’s about asking for the things I need. It’s about taking time away from household duties and even mothering in order to take care of my duties to myself and my writing and my creativity. It’s about joining a community of other mothers, even if we don’t know each other that well yet. It’s about keeping track of where my life is going and remembering the goals that I want to reach down the road. It’s not easy, really, but it’s not all that complicated either—simple to comprehend, hard to do.

I can’t say that everything, or even anything is perfect. I’m still working on it all. I’m still learning how it works. But, at least I am back to who I am.

See more progress on: Get back to my soul

Chapter 1

I think I’ve finished chapter one of my novel.

Hm.

I thought it would take longer, at least a week. But writing a novel is a game of inches. It’s the inches that add up to the miles long journey.

Oh, don’t get me wrong… it’s not “done” done. But I see the beginning and I see the ending. Needs some filling in, but it’s there.

I have been struggling for the last few days.

It’s funny how well the writing can be going and then all of a sudden, it’s a strain, and painful… yes… it’s constipated. I don’t want to sit down and write and when I do I’m confused and uninspired and dissatisfied. It seems as if it comes out of nowhere, but maybe it doesn’t.

I think you might be able to find my difficulty with writing coincided with G’s difficulty with sleeping.

He’s still having difficulty getting to sleep, but atleast he’s staying asleep once he cries himself out. And maybe I am getting used to the tension of a not-sleeping baby.

But here’s the question, do I keep going with my writing, and start on chapter two, or do I go back and start revising what I already have???

I think I should just keep moving forward. See what happens.

Besides, when I go to visit my mom, I should have time to revise what I already have. (chapter one! woo hoo!)

See more progress on: write and publish a novel

Brain Movement

As I sit here, the baby is crying in the other room, refusing to go to sleep.

Yes, my good-sleeping boy has become a don't-wanna-go-to-sleep-I-want-to-stay-up-all-night-and-hang-out-but-if-I-do-have-to-go-to-sleep-I-wanna-go-to-sleep-on-top-of-mama-boy. It's been a couple of days of this.

I hardly know what to do. He's been fed, nursed, changed, rocked, held, petted. He has his pacifier, his doggie-blanket, his Bob Marley playing on the cd player, and a fan to keep the room cool. He's so tired that he has already fallen asleep and woken up five times. Of course he woke up the minute I left the room. He has everything he needs to go to sleep, he just won't do it. He is so tired.

I just need to leave him in his room and let him sort it out for himself.

What I have to do is block out his whimpering and complaining and stop holding all this tension in my shoulders. Breathe and relax and move forward. Just get to work.

Hmmph. That's interesting. I just realized that there is a connection between an over tired boy who refuses sleep and a woman who is desperate to be creative and productive and mentally stimulated, but is resisting doing what she needs to do.

But why? Why does Gabriel resist sleep? Why do I resist writing?

I suppose switching gears can be really difficult... especially when sleep or writing is so over due. Going from being awake to asleep, or non-creative to creative is hard. And scary, too. There's always the possibility that we won't be able to sleep. Or the writing just won't come, or maybe it'll just never be any good.

And as someone who has experienced occassional insomnia, I also know that the stress of not being able to sleep, watching the night pass and wondering if you will ever be able to get to sleep, is incredibly stressful. If you just chill out and relax about whether it will or not or when will it or how hard it will be or will I be rested in the morning-- well, chances are you'd fall asleep much easier. And the same goes for being creative.

I swear, I did not start writing this post with the intention to say this. It just came to me as I wrote, an epiphany, of sorts.

It came through the writing.

See, Rowena, if you write, there will be brain movement.

And, by the way, by the time I finished writing this post, Gabriel stopped crying and just went to sleep.

Ahhhhhhhh.......

To Do or Not to Do

I’m finding that I am resisting my productivity.

At least I am today. I don’t want to open up the files for my novel. I don’t want to wash the dishes. I don’t want to sort through the piles of clothes waiting in the bedroom. I don’t want to turn off the tv and MAKE myself face the things I have to do.

I know if I sat down and tried to get my brain working again, it would start to work. The ideas would begin to flow and thoughts would trickle back and logic would click into place.

Instead, I find myself digging my heels into the ground and hanging onto the towel bar, screaming, “I won’t grow up!”

Of course, not literally. But this is what I am realizing is going on. I’m not “too tired,” or “too busy” or “too sick,” or even “too lazy.” I am afraid and do not want to take responsibility for my own life.

Why? Why not? Why not take chances and step on out into the real world? Why not try to make my wishes a reality? Why not DO instead of daydream????

Ay dios!

Is it really that hard to take control of life, instead of waiting for it to happen to me?

I’ll get back to you on the answer to that.

See more progress on: be more productive