Thank You Notes

My mom used to be very persnickety about thank you notes. Every year, my brother, sisters and I wrote to thank our aunts for sending us holiday trinkets, and we thanked grandparents for enclosing treats in our birthday cards. Though we often grumbled at having to execute this task, as adults, we see the point.

I confess I still write thank you notes to people who do kind things for me. And when I read something that blows me away, or if I see some amazing art installation, or hear music that takes me somewhere unexpected, I feel drawn to scratch out some sort of thank you note to each artist-- usually in the form of an email. Most people write me back quickly, and thank me for taking the time to say those few words.

 

So maybe you'd consider writing to thank someone for something they created, or a kind gesture they offered you? You'll likely surprise them with your note, and also brighten their day.

 

New Clothes

Recently I went to a thrift store and bought three summery blouses for five dollars a piece. They were soft and well-made. I met some nice people, got a little exercise and donated a few cents to a charity. Strangely freeing.

When working with stories, I sometimes resist trying on new things: different voices, points of view, characters. Shifting can feel temporarily uncomfortable. But when I return to the story some time later, I see how even micro-adjustments can produce big benefits.

I'm reading a little book about this topic: One Small Step Can Change Your Life by Robert Maurer. Simple concept. Gentle change. And fun!

What metaphorical clothing might you want to try on today? What happens to when you choose a direction, suspend questioning, and just go?

Practice

During high school and college, I spent many hours in swimming pools. Swim practice was a place mostly to learn things. To contract or lengthen muscles. Where vulnerability and bucking-up led to strength-gathering, and certain achievements.

I have since added other forms of practice to my life. In yoga, I sit still, or move through poses. The ideal is to not think, but to be. A similar experience occurs when I write: the active mind steps back, the subconscious takes over. Writing practice means making space for the words to appear.

Sometimes when I shut my eyes and type the beginnings of piece-- with no intentions other than practice-- usable material appears. Even when I journal random thoughts, some higher shelf in my consciousness presents for me the occasional good idea. I don’t know how it happens.

My guess is that every form of practice is like exercising muscle. Maybe not so glamorous-looking, but capable of producing positive things. For me that means stories, flexibility in my shoulders, and less fear.

What seems silly to me is that, despite my occasional grumblings, these benefits are always out there, as though reminding me, See what happens when you just keep practicing?

I'd love to know about the gifts you've gleaned from practice. Let me know...

The One-Minute Poem

To honor National Poetry Month, I offer you a smidgen of spontaneity: the one-minute poem.

A high school friend and I sometimes wrote these poems (or 5-minute stories) on stagnant summer afternoons when we were tired of swimming, or wandering the aisles of Tower Records. The poem-writing filled little gaps of time where we laughed, amazed each other, and were nudged beyond our normal ways of thinking. Here's how you can do it:

1) Gather a friend or two.
2) Locate things to write with.
3) Find a timer. Set it for 1 minute.
4) Write.
5) Don't think.
6) Stop writing when the minute ends.
7) Read your poems aloud. Just enjoy hearing how they sound.
8) Repeat.

I'm always surprised by the writing that happens when I take away the rules, the criticism. My editor's left brain takes a break, and my right brain gets to float around, happy.

In what ways do you succeed when you leap instead of plan?

Art Teachers

It's Saturday morning and the blog calls to me. Do I want things a different color? Do the textures jive? This interest in graphic design began for me in college.

Here's a page from a book I constructed during my junior year in England, where I studied graphics and photography at a small art college in Bristol. Old black and white family photos intrigued me. I loved their nostalgic character and technical clarity. By inserting short lines of text with my own images, I hoped to present a multitude of possible interpretations.

What did you create years ago? How do you view your art now?

On Journaling

Have you ever wondered why you feel lighter after putting thoughts, ideas, ramblings and images on paper?

If you're wanting a little motivation to get scrawling, Sue Meyn and her goodie bag of journaling ideas will help you get started. I still have my deck of JournalCards from 2005, and they're dog-eared and well-loved, and capable of providing lots of sparkly enlightenment.

Here's to the magic of paper and pens and broad cafe tables everywhere...

Happy Morning

Janice, cat friend

This morning I got up before the dawn thought about cracking. Drank my very tall glass of water. Relocated Janice (17 years old) to my desk. Wrote email notes to kind friends. Read various odds and ends though I knew my journal was calling me. (I got to the journal and the essay and story-revising eventually.)

Sweet teeth, June 2000

What were you doing while I was doing plain stuff? Maybe you weren't writing in your journal either. Maybe you were getting ready for your birthday.

This one's from a birthday a few years ago. Guess who ate all that cake?

May your early mornings and birthdays go splendidly...