Vanessa Shields's Blog, page 9

THIS WEEKEND!

“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”

Anaïs Nin

THE WRITER’S ASSEMBLY HAS ITS FIRST GATHERING THIS SUNDAY!

Thanks to the writers who have reached out to say they’re coming to our first writing group session this Sunday. We’re soooo excited to gather and learn and share and write together! We can’t wait to taste life with you!

There’ll be tasty snacks, warm bevvies, and lots of love in the room! Pay on the day!

MORE INFO HERE!

BOOKFEST STARTS TOMORROW! WOOT!

There are loads of exciting panels, discussions and author signings at this year’s BookFest! Get your tickets now! Here’s THE WEBSITE LINK to get more info and purchase tickets!

POETRY AT THE MANOR 2023

Arrive early to get a seat at the next edition of Poetry at the Manor! Book sales and signing and yummy snacks post-reading. Parking on site. 7pm start!

WIFF TICKETS ON SALE NOW!

The Windsor International Film Festival begins on Thursday, October 26 – but the full roster of films and events are available now – so get your tickets! Depraved Mind, a mind-bending thriller, written, directed, produced and filmed in Windsor by the Suede Productions team, is premiering on Friday, October 27th in the big room at St. Clair Centre for the Arts – LET’S SELL THIS BABY OUT!!

For tickets and to watch the trailer, CLICK HERE!

TICKETS ON SALE NOW!

Oh would you join us at our Book Lovers luncheon?! It’ll be a feast of food and words – all for the love of books and a fantastic charity! To learn more about the May Court Club, CLICK HERE.

ANOTHER LITERARY LUNCHEON!

Poet Dorothy Mahoney will read from her new collection of poetry ‘The Inevitable’ after a delicious lunch at the Windsor Yacht Club. Tickets are on sale now. Call 519-945-1863 – and leave a message if no one answers…! Dorothy writes haibun – a form of prose poetry that includes a haiku. It’s a fascinating style that Dorothy has honed!

WhoOOOOO’s amazing? YOU ARE.

GET TICKETS!

My husband’s film is screening at the Windsor International Film Festival!

I’m sooo excited to announce that Suede Productions’ latest film, Depraved Mind, is screening opening weekend at the Windsor International Film festival! The film was directed by my hot and delicious husband, Nick Shields, and produced and filmed by Windsorites in Windsor! The Suede Team did a bang-up job once again! You don’t want to miss the mind-bending thriller!

GET YOUR TICKETS HERE! – and watch the trailer too!

Here’s a CBC Windsor news story on this year’s incredible film festival INCLUDING info about how many films are showing, how much tickets are and more!! Let’s get our movies on!

WIFF 2023

Oops, I did it again

The iconic Britney Spears.

I wish that my ‘oops, I think I did it again’-ing was anything like Spears’ love song. I wish I had the balls to wear that hot red red one-piece suit! No, my oops-ing, as I’m learning, has to do with well…a coping mechanism I taught myself when I was a wee lass. I find myself repeatedly coming back to my 12-year-old self. Let me set the scene:

INT. BEDROOM – DAY

A young girl, with hair squirrel-brown, shoulder length, wears red cords, a New Kids on the Block t-shirt, and striped socks. Bunk beds fill half the room. They’re the kind of bunk beds with the top bunk one way, and the bottom bunk the other; a perpendicular deal. The bed sheets, pillow cases and comforters are the same – white with rainbow-coloured polka dots. There’s a plain wooden dresser painted white, white carpeting, a white blind on the one window, and a small desk and chair. On the walls are posters of the New Kids and Madonna. There is no bedroom door.

The girl’s favourite part of the bedroom is the closet. It’s large. Large enough for her go inside and settle in under the row of hanging clothing. It’s carpeted and quiet, and the girl loves to go into the closet, sit down and read. And write in her journal. There’s a light in the closet and it is bright enough to keep her pages lit.

She’s alone in the room at the moment, standing with her hands on her hips, chin jutted forward, head tilted.

GIRL
So, what are you gonna do now?

She breaks the fourth wall and looks right at me, right through me.

GIRL
What do you want to say?

She asks me hard questions.

GIRL
What is your story about?

She waits for me to answer, though she doesn’t have the patience to let me answer. And that’s fine because I don’t know the answers most of the time.

GIRL
What book are you reading?

This is one of my favourite questions. I can always answer this one. And sometimes, I’ll crawl in the closet with her and we’ll read together. It is comforting and very safe.

GIRL
What are you gonna do now?

It is this question that I realize I need to answer right now.

***

I’ve been having interactions with my 12-year-old self a lot this year. She showed up in maybe March…in the first quarter of this sabbatical. She was frustrated, sad and curious. She was pacing back and forth in the bedroom at that point, flailing her arms like she was grasping for answers, like they were stuck in the thin air but she couldn’t see them. She kept telling me to read, to write, to just do those two things because they are most important. Read and write, she told me. Like you used to do. Read for the pure pleasure of it, for the escape, for the connection. And write. Write for your soul, from your heart, don’t think, just write and let it all out because it’s how the safety comes.

I did that. And she was quiet. She was with me in the closet. We read together. We wrote together. We smiled in silence at each other. We were safe and connected.

But then…then she started asking me ‘what are you gonna do now?’ And so I started to do things that weren’t reading and writing. To venture out…to look around, to test my body in new or familiar places, in new or familiar situations. And I got that feeling…it’s an urge really, like a hunger growl, but deeper. Like a natural reaction or habit taking shape in my stomach, sort of rolling into a feel-able thing that pushes against my ribs and guts. It comes with a voice. And the voice…

Well, after months of learning and self-discovery, of therapy and listening…of pausing…I realize now that the voice is a Part. Capital P Part of me. She’s a Part of my 12-year-old self as well. Let me set her scene:

INT. APARTMENT – DINING ROOM – AND BEYOND

A seven-year-old little girl curls into the underbelly of a vintage sewing machine. The kind of sewing machine that folds into itself, with a large pedal like a grate underneath. Except, there is no machine in this one, but the grate is there and it’s a great hiding place for a little girl.

The little girl is very afraid, she covers her mouth to keep her self quiet. She listens. She watches. She makes a very important revelation: I do not want to be here, to do the things I’m seeing, to feel the things I’m feeling. When she feels safe, the little girl goes outside to play. Or she goes in the basement to play. Or she joins clubs and sports at school and stays after school. Or she goes to her friend’s house. Or she goes to her grandparent’s house. The little girl teaches herself to be busy.

The little girl likes to please the adults. She likes to do well, to show them that she is a good, smart little girl. To show them that everything is okay in her life. To pretend that everything is okay at home.

***

I realize that the choices I made when I was very, very little as a result of needing to feel safe and wanting approval built a Part of me who did things to stay busy so as not to go home, so as not to feel out of control, so as not to feel incapable of helping those she couldn’t help at home.

I created a natural instinct to take care of things, to gather in a safe place, to find family and friendship by choice. This is a powerful, kind, well-intentioned instinct. This instinct is inside a seven-year-old, inside a 12-year-old girl who told herself that she needed to create a place, a space, and groups of people that/who made her feel like she belonged.

Except that she never really felt like she belonged. She also had a Part who told her the jig would be up soon, they’d all find out that she was a fraud, that her home life was a disaster, that she was a needy baby who cried too much. That she had no value and wasn’t a good writer at all.

***

I’ve been using the language of ‘Parts’ for a long time, but I never really stopped to give them the attention of a writer. Which is what I am. I am a writer. I am a reader. I can say this with all the Parts in unison, proudly. I got really close to the Parts when I worked on my TedX speech about the Original Stories. I laugh out loud at myself now, at the absurdity of that time in my life, of that experience…I was describing my Parts, their origins, and yet, the Parts I needed to speak for me as a whole were on vacation. Well-timed vacation.

So here I am now. Forty-five, but also seven and twelve. And I’m facing the word and the feelings in Busy. I’m excavating Busy and realizing that sometimes being Busy is me taking cover, is me hiding in the sewing machine, is me hiding in the closet. If I’m busy, I’m not…well, I could NOT be doing a lot of things, like paying attention to my soul, like dealing with my anger and other Emotions I’ve Told Myself I’m Not Allowed to Feel ( now there’s a Part if I ever saw one!), like working on The One Writing Project that I know is part of my Purpose as a creator, a writer, a mother.

There is gold in being Busy. Busy does not have to be a bad word. But it’s important, for me, to pay attention to what Parts are motivating the busy-ness. And it’s important, for me, to learn how to do things as forty-five-year-old me – safe, strong, sensitive, intuitive, focused – a person of value with love to share, with a heart to receive love.

I can reach under the sewing machine and pick up little me, hold her, tell her she’s safe. I can bring her into the bedroom closet and me and my 12-year-old self can read to her.

I can answer the questions: what are gonna do now? With pause. With reflection. With awareness. With choices that are made with integrity. I can also say: Nothing. I’m going to do nothing. And that is perfectly acceptable. I can update (thank you, Erinn!) my little selves and remind them that I’m a grown-up who’s safe. And I can stop being afraid of being a grown-up like it’s some monster who’s gonna crush me. Nah. There are enough monsters in real life, I don’t have to make one a Part of me.

I can blast Britney’s ‘Oops, I did it again’ when I’ve caught myself doing it again – forgetting that I’m a Parts excavator. I can update my OG Parts and their very real, very natural-feeling stories, and edit them to my Here and Now. I can be Busy and not feel guilty about being Busy. I don’t have to keep apologizing. I can be great at being Busy. But I can be great at doing less, writing more, loving more. I can be my best when I’m doing the things, leading the things, participating in the things…and I can keep learning how to belong because I choose it, because I am a grown-up human made up of Parts who are learning how to work together.

***

In other news…I’m working at Palimpsest Press! Yaya! It’s a dream gig working with the amazing Aimee, publisher extraordinaire. It’s a part-time job but full-time awesome!

And…I’ve been accepted into the Humber School for Writers Creative Writing – Fiction, Creative Non-Fiction, Poetry graduate certificate program beginning in January 2024. Oh boy, mama’s going back to school! It’s on-line, but that counts! For now, I’m writing my little heart out to get my first draft of a *new novel* completed. Yes, it will include pieces form what I’ve written over this year, and it is totally inspired by all the changes I’ve experienced. I’m very excited! More to come on this front…

These are the Busy-s I’m choosing to thrive in!

Wanna Get Busy With Me?

I’ve started a writer’s group! Three hours once a month where we gather to learn, share and write! Our first gathering is Sunday, October 15th from 1pm – 4pm. No registration is necessary…for now! Bring your writing tools and your writing heart!

For more info, CLICK HERE!

TICKETS ARE ON SALE NOW! Join us as we celebrate our love for books with the May Court Club family. We’ll feast and enjoy readings by local authors, myself included!

I’m participating in National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo) this November. I’ll be hosting two write-ins at the Lodge at Lakeshore, a gorgeous, giant log cabin perfect for writing your masterpiece! Whether you’re doing NaNo or not, you’re more than welcome to come and write!

Beautiful view of Montmartre in Paris….HAPPY GIVING OF THANKS!

FALL EQUINOX

“So how am I? Where am I? Dear, love…I feel a kind of quiet, layered between nerves and guilt and curiosity…and hope…”

from journal, September 5, 2022

So how am I? Where am I? Dear, love…Today, I feel a similar quiet, peaceful in my deeps, hopeful in my heart beats. Autumn is showing her strength with cool evenings and crisp mornings. Change is happening. Isn’t it always? 

Summer…it went by so quickly, didn’t it? Doesn’t it always…and I am always so surprised! You too? And I always promise myself that I will NOT crave the fall any sooner than she arrives…and yet, as soon as there’s one cool night or morning, I hunt for my candles and poke around for my sweaters. And, in my mind, I compile a list of my favourite fall films and I enjoy wondering which one I’ll watch first. It was ‘Mona Lisa Smile’… after everyone was nestled in bed and I had the sofa to myself (well, the dogs will be with me!). 

I think the best way to recap the summer is to go by the month. I know I said I’d write each seasonal marking, and then I promptly skipped Summer Solstice! I was…in it. Living it. And I really dipped and skipped around social media much of the time. I wasn’t feeling it…and let myself go with my sharing flow this summer…turns out, privacy was more the mode than not.

MAY

The second week of May began a disciplined writing schedule that I created in order to write as much as I could before the Pelee Island Residency I was invited to beginning July 3rd. I committed to writing at least 500 words a day, every Monday to Friday (writing on the weekend was optional, and I often wrote on Sundays as well). I fulfilled this commitment to write an average of about 1000 words per day. I think I only took two days off, but then wrote extra on the weekends to catch up.

I turned 45 and had a good, hard, peri-menopausal cry at the audacity of my life to be this deep in.

Jett turned 17 and I had a good, hard, how-is-this-possible mom cry at the audacity of his age to be 17!

JUNE

June is always a flurry. Between visits, doc appointments, end-of-the-year school events including exams, it really does zoom by. And it’s a good zoom because after June comes July and August – the summer months! I continued writing and meeting my daily goals which helped me actually stay more on top of everything in my life, if that makes sense. Working around the ‘work’ of writing can be a very positive experience.

I went to Toronto for a doctor’s appointment (a five-hour ordeal) that was very intense, but in the end, resulted in being able to stop taking prednisone. What a giant relief! I took two sewing classes and learned some new skills as well as refreshed others. I spent many hours making a load of pillows which are now for sale at Bunch, a lovely gift shop in Ford City.

FUNKY PILLOWGARDEN BOUNTYJULY & AUGUST

Nick and I had our twentieth wedding anniversary in early July. I wanted us to do something spectacular to celebrate, so after a load of research online, we decided to take a trip overseas to London and Liverpool in England – the whole fam-damily! Super thanks to Chantak Kosnik at Travel Excellence for helping us create our dream vacation! In between driving the kids to work, to social events and visits with friends and family, we made a detailed itinerary, and got all the necessary travel musts done before we flew out of Toronto late July.

It had been a long time since we’d had a family trip, and going overseas as a family was a first! Thankfully, all of our travel experiences were safe and smooth! That included in the air and on the ground. We took trains, tubes and walked a million miles a day! The food was great, especially the desserts. The architecture and history and big-city-ness of London and Liverpool was incredible! Bloomsbury Square, a well-known writer’s haunt, was a sad state…and I didn’t get a chance to see any of Virginia Woolf’s homes/writing places…so I definitely have to go back and take an official literary tour! (Anyone else wanna join me?!) It was a lovely and loving time! 

FANCY LAMPPARLIAMENT BUILDINGSSHOES ON THE STREETSHOES ON THE TUBECOOL HOTEL

Life picked up with a wild speed upon our return. Where did August go?! I did my best to write and work on my project, but it was hard. I was distracted by sun and shine! And each week brought little day trips to cool places in and around town. I went to Lungo Vita with Mariette. It was my first time there, and I’ll for sure go back! We had a beautiful day reading by the pool, sweating in the sauna, and picnic-ing on the lush grass. 

WILD TREE IN WARKWORTH,ONBEACH WRITELADY BUG JOYLUNGO VITA

I was invited to join a horror book club, which I happily accepted, so I’ve been reading a genre I haven’t read in years…and really only Stephen King! I’m enjoying getting educated on the genre and also, getting scared when I read. Okay, it’s not always enjoyable…but it’s definitely exciting! We are currently reading Frankenstein, which I’ll admit I haven’t read yet. So far it’s pretty damn great. 

I’ve been managing to keep connected with writers a couple times a week. We meet at various locations and catch up, talk shop, then get to writing. It’s very special and inspiring, and it keeps us all writing/staying on top of our projects. 

Summer days often felt…limitless. With all the incredible festivals in Windsor and Essex county, the great lake beaches, long walks, meals with friends and, of course, family movie nights, summer really felt like summer! It’s good when that happens because some summers don’t feel like summers at all…I am very grateful that we get to experience actual seasons here. I think it helps with my ability to savour time…and to remind myself that change is necessary and constant…and beautiful in all its different iterations! 

SEPTEMBER

I can’t really believe that it’s been a year, nearly to the day, when I woke up and my eye was broken, and I resigned as poet laureate. So much has happened. So much has changed. So much has closed. So much has opened. Endings and beginnings, and all that lives in between, continue to affect me deeply, continue to show me how to learn, trust and love. 

The kids are back in school. Jett is in grade twelve with possibilities for university fluttering just in front of him like monarchs in flight…It is an important time for me as a parent. Not enough of us talk about this time in our lives…when our kids are close to living outside of us, our home, our everydays…It is heartbreaking. I’m meditating and praying and writing on this a lot to help me keep hopeful and…breathing! 

HEALTH

I’m off prednisone! Yay! I am happy to announce that I am officially off the steroids and I’m feeling much, much better in body and mind because of it. I went to Toronto to see a specialist for my ocular myasthenia gravis, and the first thing he said was that I no longer need to be on steroids. What a relief that was to hear! My eye has been feeling great, with no issues to my vision. Sometimes my eyelid feels a little heavy, but it goes away, and it’s nothing that’s making me worry. Though I am off the steroids, I am on an immunotherapy drug to keep my immune system in check. The side effects are minimal, and nothing like the damaging side effects of the steroids. 

My brain feels much calmer. My appetite has gone from ferocious to gentle. I don’t feel anxiety clawing at me in rages, and my face has lost its moon shape. I am so grateful to be on the other side of this scary experience, and I have full confidence in my body that my immune system will get back to its healthy state sooner than later. 

My perimenopausal symptoms are more prevalent, but I think it’s because the steroids masked them. I am very aware of what they are so when I get a hot flash or feel wildly emotional for no apparent reason, I am quick to do a little ‘symptom check’ and relieve myself of the fear I’ve lost my mind. 

I’m eating well and exercising. This is making a huge difference. I can feel my body changing, strengthening and excavating into the treasure I know it is. It’s like, there’s a ‘me’ in this body that looks and feels a certain way, and I haven’t felt this ‘me’ in over a year. I couldn’t feel it whilst on the steroids. It’s like my connection to my healthy self was numb. But, the numbness is loosening, and I can ‘me’ getting stronger on a cellular level. 

WRITING

Summer has been an incredible season for my writing. From July 3rd to the 9th, I was on Pelee Island for an artist residency through the Stone & Sky Music & Art Series. I moved between a beautiful bed and breakfast and the delightful cabins in the Stone & Sky residency forest/campground to write, write, write and read. 

I had committed to writing at least 500 words a day (Monday-Friday) beginning May 1st, knowing that I would be on the island for a full week to work on whatever manuscript was created by July 3rd. (Thank you to Christian for his accountability support in this endeavour!) I kept to my commitment of word count, and actually averaged about 1,000 words a day of writing. Before I left for Pelee, I had about 40,000 words written. I printed out all the pages with the intention of reading each one, doing a minor edit, and figuring out how to organize it. Other intentions included: creating a working title, figuring out the genre, and deciding whether or not I wanted to continue working on the project at all. 

This was a big deal for me because it would mean being away from my husband and kids and dogs for seven days. I was nervous to leave…anxious and sad, but I knew that it was a necessary endeavour for my writing project. The week took its time passing. Each day I awoke around 8am to get downstairs for a delicious breakfast, and by 9am I was writing. I wrote in the bed and breakfast I was staying at for a good three hours each day. It was very, very hot that week so venturing out to write anywhere else was challenging. But, I did make sure to head to the Stone & Sky artist residency cottages and campground to write as well. It was intense walking through the gorgeous forest, dodging bugs and spiders as I lugged my gear to the cottage. It made me feel earth-connected, rooted and inspired by the sounds and sights around me. Writing outside, writing in a forest, writing in a cottage in a forest is truly a dynamic and somewhat metaphysical experience. It’s no wonder that those writers before us, known for their poetry and prose about nature, were so damn great at it. I’m thinking of Thoreau and Walden Pond. I’m thinking of all the walking the folks in the Bronte books do. I’m thinking of Emily Dickinson’s poetry on flowers and trees. There is much for us to glean from our friend Mother Nature and what she has to show us. Also, it is good for sweating, for release. I’m pretty sure I lost a few pounds from the amount of sweating I did in the cottage! 

The isolation was both invigorating and exhausting. I felt myself feeling a kind of freedom with time, as each day stretched out before me like a great lake, with only concerns for my writing, my body, my mind to consider. Guilt did a good job of attempting to climb into my thoughts and heart, but I did my best to speak nicely to her and remind her that it’s okay to once in a while just take care of my own creative spirit and writing. 

One day, I think it was the Thursday, I wrote 12,000. In.One.Day. That was a record for me. My fingers and wrists were buzzing and cramping by the end of it, but it was a magnificent experience. That was the day I wrote out The Thing That Happened. The details of my poet laureate experience, my wild auto-immune disorder experience, the choice to close the writing room, and to take a year sabbatical. Clearly, my mind and body needed to release the story, and do it all in one huge liberating release. 

I think the act of writing out our narratives, how they relate to one another, how we craft them as they are filtered by our values, beliefs and understandings of the situation is a key element in healing trauma, in making choices moving forward, in solidifying our truths so we can continue our creative work in a peaceful, soulful, intuitive and dignified way. Even if no one sees it but the one who wrote it – you, your soul. In this case, the writing was for me as a commitment to my own personal narrative and who I was and am now having gone through the experiences. 

On the Sunday, I did a short presentation about my creative process, in the quarry as part of the Stone and Sky artist series. It was a beautiful day! And the crowd was big and supportive. I felt safe and comfortable, of course a little nervous (I always get nervous!), and motivated to share what I’d accomplished and learned during the week. And, after I shared, the Windsor Classic Chorale sang such beautiful songs, I was moved to tears and had to scoot into the arms of a dear friend and sob for all the emotions that were coming out of me. It was a profound experience I am extremely grateful for! 

INSIDE THE CABINWRITING TOOLSSTONE & SKY CAMPGROUNDMORE TOOLSSAGE FOR BALANCEBOOTS FOR MUD (THANK YOU PATRICIA!)INSIDE THE CABIN THE MAGNIFICENT QUARRYON THE LAWN AT THE B&BTHE MEGA BOARD IN THE CABINFELINE INSPIRATIONS

Here’s a link to a video shot and edited by Collette Broeders, tech guru in the Stone & Sky family. (It’s a facebook link…I don’t how to share it otherwise!)

https://www.facebook.com/pelee.quarry/videos/244225718380753

Once back on the mainland, it took a few days to settle back into time off the island, to remember that waving at every driver who passed me wasn’t a thing here in Windsor (!), and that my writing would take a bit of a back seat as the rest of the summer was swinging at full height. 

I read all these books!

SEPTEMBER

I can’t really believe that it’s been a year, nearly to the day, when I woke up and my eye was broken, and I resigned as poet laureate. So much has happened. So much has changed. So much has closed. So much has opened. Endings and beginnings, and all that spaces in between, continue to affect me deeply, continue to show me how to learn, trust and love. 

The kids are back in school. Jett is in grade twelve with possibilities for university fluttering just in front of him like monarchs in flight…It is an important time for me as a parent. Not enough of us talk about this time in our lives…when our kids are close to living outside of us, our home, our everydays…It is heartbreaking. I’m meditating and praying and writing on this a lot to help me keep hopeful and…breathing! It is an extraordinary miracle witnessing my kids grow inside and out. Utterly extraordinary.

My hair is growing! I want it to be so long it covers my boobs. It’s got quite a ways to go, but I’m keeping patience. And, I dyed it dark again…The grey wasn’t working for me…but I kept a bit of it…

ME!

Some exciting things are unfolding this fall…and I’m dreaming new dreams for the winter.

WRITERS’ ASSEMBLY & BOOK LOVERS’ LUNCHEON & NaNoWriMo

I’ve joined forces with the fabulous Michelle Weglarz, owner of Balanced Life Wellness Centre in Essex, and I’ll be leading a writer’s group once a month beginning in October on Sundays from 1pm – 4pm. For all the exciting details, CLICK HERE! For now, there’s no need to register, just show up if you can. We’ll see how many of us show up and figure out if we need to make a registration process. Of course, if you have any questions or want to let me know you’ll be coming so I can look forward to seeing you, by all means send me an email!

I have to honour of being a part of the May Court Club’s Book Lovers’ Luncheon on Sunday, October 29 with Kim Conklin and Heidi LM Jacobs. It’s gonna be a fun literary event! Come get lit with us!

I’m definitely participating in National Novel Writing Month this November. You too? If so, would care to join me here…

And…I might be going to school! EEEP! I can’t make the official announcement quite yet…but soon! And…I’ve got a hankerin’ to organize a writing retreat…ideas and connections are a brewin’! My witchy soul is a cacklin’!!!

It’s been a while since I’ve written friends. Thanks for your patience. I’ll write again…when I write again. I hope to see you at a writing gathering, event, BookFest Windsor or where ever the stars may align us! Be kind. Spread love. Read books. Write ’em too if that’s your passion.

BELTANE REFLECTION

“The days melted into each other like snowballs roasting in the sun…”

Virginia Woolf, Diary, 1918

I received this amazing book about Virginia Woolf’s life and I’ve been embracing the magic of opening it to a quote that will magically be exactly the quote I needed in that moment.

What I love about this quote is how perfectly it coincides with the still-some-seeds-inside-winter (snowballs) spring we’re experiencing here in Windsor. I’ve had to wear socks and shoes again, and button my coat to my throat when going for a brisk walk. Beltane arrived in the mouth of a grumpy, wet day…but not so wet that I stayed inside. On my walk, I gathered wild flowers for a Beltane ceremony.

Creating the Beltane flower cross is about setting intentions for the second-half of spring, for welcoming the rain and the power it gives to the earth for sowing our seeds. It’s also a time when the veil between us and our ancestors is thinned, so we can reach out to them with our hopeful intentions and pay attention to their signs and energies in response.

For me, my ancestors show up in birds (the lone cardinal was hopping in the branches of the white cherry blossom tree in the backyard…she looked like a burst of heart!), in feathers…the way a photo frame moves on its own, in specific times on the clock when the numbers all match and thoughts of someone settles in…in the way I went for a walk to gather wild flowers and there was one single, perfectly beautiful yellow tulip…waiting for me to be a part of the flower cross ceremony. (I walked by the place it grew for days…and the tulip was not there!)

When the sun is the queen of the sky and her warmth pushes down, I do feel like a roasting snowball. And I love it! I adore the deep heat, the weight of it in my bones. I’ve been experiencing some serious neck and cleavage sweat, but I don’t mind that either. (I am still on the prednisone and my swollen body continues to sweat a lot…I’m more shaped like a snowball now…) I love taking in the sun’s heat and telling it to burrow in my marrow for those gloomy days in February when it feels like Winter will never end…I close my eyes and tell my body to remember the heat from the summer sun…and I feel better. A little! Enough!

The days are melting into each other. I can barely believe it’s May. My birthday month! My son’s birthday month. We share the same birthday, and this year, he’s turning 17 and I’m turning 45. It is a fact I cannot wrap my brain around quite yet. I’m working on it. The days feel melty because they are busy, but busy is different than before. Time is some days a gentle companion, other days it’s running ahead of me telling me to hurry up, while other days it crawls back under the covers and I have to yank it up and get it going.

Some days my brain feels older. My thoughts are…deepening in different ways. My sense of self is shifting as well as my confidence and my writing voice. The term ‘paradigm shift’, which I don’t think I’ve thought about since my university days, keeps popping up like an activist sign in my mind. I am experiencing paradigm shifts internally and externally. And the synchronicity of things, people, music, flowers…goosebumps is so on point I cannot deny that love (the spirit, god, goddess…whatever word you use!) is the force urging me forward.

My rituals have been consistent – still praying and meditating in the mornings, doing yoga and walking, making time to read and write, be with friends and family…and being in the ‘now’ of these endeavours as best as I can.

There have been blips. But nothing more. I am cognisant of my initial reactions to things, and so when emotions strike up, I stop, listen, and decide which ones I want to pay attention to, which ones are anchored in fear, and I adjust my responses according to what will best keep me in my integrity and truth. Slowly, I am making very important distinctions about my responsibility to my self-worth and capacity (I’ve decided to replace the word ‘power’ with capacity). For example, I have the capacity to let go of stories whose narratives were not written by me. I have the capacity to not be afraid of things out of my control. It’s really freaking hard, but I’ve been practicing, and with the incredible help of family and friends, writing in my journal, reading amazing poetry and memoirs, I’m breaking old patterns and opening my mind and heart to new paradigms.

I’m reading a lot…memoirs and poetry and inspirational books. I’m listening to podcasts and birdsong and to my kids talking to each other in the car while I drive them here, there and everywhere (and back again!). Inspiration is a daily gift…and its consistency is downright shuddering! I’m writing poetry again! So much. I’m submitting. And getting rejected. And submitting again. I’m taking little writing courses in genres outside of my comfort zone.

I made a spreadsheet with all the projects I’ve been working on for the last ten years. It was five.pages.long.!!! Doing this enabled me to see all the starts and finishes. All the starts and stops. All the ideas and possibilities. All the potential. All the capacity for sharing stories. It also helped me see that my creative writing pattern (instinct…innate biological instinct!) is to start the same ‘story’ many times, across many genres, but then don’t actually FINISH any of them. Or, follow-up on the dreams to put them into the world in new versions after I receive feedback or rejection. I’m talking about the long version projects now. The screenplays, the novels, the children’s books. I do have writing that I can go to that needs to be finished or edited or simply re-submitted. And it feels very comforting to see this laid out in a spreadsheet. Alas, the main intention behind creating this gathering was to choose ONE project and FINISH IT in a full draft.

It took me a few days to make the decision because, as I was remembering all the projects (and finding them on my laptop…what a private detective job that was!), I was re-falling in love with each of them! I could feel them, the characters, the energy it took to write, the time in my life while I was writing them…and they all still mean so very much to my soul. I trusted that the inspiration that’s been synchronizing in my life would give me a sign…and she did. Isabel Allende’s memoir “The Soul of a Woman”. And I was led to Isabel by Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ incredible podcast: Wiser Than Me. I opened “The Soul of a Woman”…and my soul opened. I had a vision of my project finished…in book form…I felt a surge of ‘capacity’ and a ball of heat where my rib bones meet in my chest…and I’ve been writing and writing and writing. And I am writing with abandon!

I’m abandoning censorship, fear, worry, comparison…even my Demon Woman who never stops talking to me about food pulls up a chair, sits down, crosses her legs and arms, and gives me the nod to write. It’s a miracle I’m embracing.

I also have committed to writing at least 500 words a day, Monday to Friday, on the Chosen Project. I have an accountability coach (Thanks Christian!) who I send the word count/file to each day. Since I started, I’m averaging about 1500 words per day. I sit down to write and I don’t really know what’s coming. I respond to a quote or I read the last few lines from the day before and the words flow. Sometimes I write myself into a…well, I start to feel bored or frustrated or like I’m getting caught in a ‘voice’ or a ‘part’ that’s trying to usurp the story…and I’ll stop. Sometimes in mid-sentence, and then I allow myself to leave it and start writing on another topic. This seems to be working well. I don’t know yet what the Chosen Project is, genre-wise. Some kind of memoir…

My relationship to writing, my process is changing. I can really feel it while I’m working on this Chosen Project, and when I’m writing poetry. I suppose it’s a kind of freedom…

It’s been nearly a year-to-the day when The Life Change began. Like the gorgeous orange sherbet cumulus slathering across the horizon right this moment, the story is setting on the experience, and I am more and more able to see its beauty.

The reading I was a part of in St. Catherine’s was completely wonderful and uplifting! Thank you loads and loads to Eva Tihanyi (organizer extraordinaire!), Catherine Graham, and Andrea Thompson and the incredible audience who shared the love energy at the Mahtay Cafe. I read from ‘Thimbles’ and managed to get through to the last stanza of the last poem before my tears let loose and I cried! My Nonna was there in grand spirit, we all felt her love legacy.

I spent three days in Toronto and enjoyed writing in a cafe and pretending I was twenty and wild!

I’ve been contemplating the following quote:

“You are only free when you realize you belong no place—you belong every place—no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great,”

Maya Angelou told Bill Moyers in a 1973 interview.

I’ve listened to Brene Brown contemplating this as well, which she does with such passion especially since Maya Angelou was one of her best friends (imagine?!). I’ve certainly been wrestling with what belonging means, how it feels in my body and in my daily life exchanging energies with people around me. I’m writing about it because I’ve never really felt like I belonged anywhere…and upon respectful-to-my-fears reflection I’m realizing that my ability to feel I belong to myself, to/with others, to the planet, the stars, love…is a shifting story, a shifting truth. I’m finding great breathing room and creative space in the experiences of belonging. I’m climbing into what it means to belong to me, to honour my feelings and values, including the beautiful fact that these shift and change too. Certainly, if I’m putting a price tag, metaphorical or literal, it is high because change is risky and costly and scary. But it is necessary and important and beautiful too.

I’ve also realized that I’ve put my belonging in the context of negative self worth, as in I would look for evidence that I don’t belong and find it, whether it was there or not, simply because that’s what I taught myself to do over the years. It’s a habit I’m facing and revising.

We have much to look forward to this summer, including a little birthday getaway, lush gardens growing in the yard, a trip to Stratford to see ‘Rent’, more walks, more bike rides…outdoor playing galore! And reading and reading and reading!

I’m curating a poetry anthology for the Ontario Poetry Society and loving every moment of it!

I was published in Arc Poetry’s 100th Volume amongst pages of other poets who I’m overjoyed to share space with. Thank you, Arc team!

Art Kitchen is going strong with new episodes coming out consistently. Dreams for Gertrude’s Writing Room are in the caldron…brewing.

I had a wonderful talk with Adam from the Windsor Public Library for National Poetry Month.

I’m enjoying attending local literary events like this one coming up at Biblioasis. Anne Baldo is part of the Gertrude’s Writing Room family. We got to write with her during our Poetry of Flowers class. This is her first book, and I’m so excited for her success!

I’d like to also shout out to Christian Laforet whose book ‘Infested’ (Erie River Publishing) just won the Benjamin Franklin Silver Award for Best Horror Novel! His books are available online and your favourite bookstore!

And to Charis Cotter, whose book The Dollhouse won the Honour book award for the MYRCA – Manitoba Children’s Choice Awards. Visit www.chariscotter.com for all her books, awards and upcoming events!

I am honoured to share writing time and inspiration with such incredible writers!

I’ve done a slight reorganization at home to create writing space with an actual door! This way I free up the dining room table too!

And, I cleaned off and filled the tires with air, this gorgeous beauty…which I have been riding on the days I’m not up to walking….

And finally! I’m reading Kyo Maclear’s new book, ‘Unearthing – A Story of Tangled Love and Family Secrets’. It is breathtaking. Congratulations, Kyo!

And on Mother’s Day, I will treat myself to Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s latest poetry collection, All The Honey’ (Samara Press).

For now, thank you friends for reading and spreading kindness and love! Peace!

Spring Equinox Reflection

I’m sitting at a high table in a Tim Horton’s. I’ve been meeting with writer friends at different locations. We talk, we vent, we emote, we write. My clothes smell like coffee. And community. 

Happy Spring! Happy New Moon! It is a lovely time of year, even though Mama Nature is still a bit wobbly with the transition, I can feel Spring in the air, can see it in the greens, in the buds, hear it in the birdsong which is back with a delightful dedication. 

I get giddy thinking about summer. Her hard heat. My skin is yearning for the sun’s blanket of warmth. I go outside to walk, to run, to inhale and it helps with the changes. 

I’m feeling a new shift inside. It has range. Some days I feel terrified and desperate, my patience like a toddler reaching for that cookie on the counter but she’s just not tall enough – yet. I swim in I Don’t Know every day and sometimes I’m strong and happy to do laps, but other times I’m struggling and drowning feels like a strong possibility. 

I am struggling with value and confidence, with purpose in relation to making money (or not), and even though I’ve been very good at keeping each morning from 9-12 open for writing, it is extremely difficult for me to write. 

The voices in my head are still telling me all the things I’m doing wrong, wack-a-mole-ing my ideas like a buzzed teen at a traveling carnival. Am I ‘allowed’ to write this? This question steps to the forefront so often, I’m used to it, but it still takes solid effort to just let it be and write around it. 

There are many things (opinions? beliefs?) that I want to write about, to say out loud, but I am still afraid and caution keeps my fingers from sharing or my mouth from speaking out. Indeed, my writing ‘voice’ is uncertain, shaky and shy. 

But it’s also pulsing and, on some days, totally empowered and strong. I can write on these days. And the can’t-do-its sit back and witness with sly smiles on their faces. 

When I think about outcome, about publication, about post-publication marketing, touring, sharing…I pretty much wanna vomit. I think that’s a sign that I’m just not ready for that part of the writing life. And, seeing as I don’t have any forthcoming publications (she laughs), there’s really nothing to worry about in this regard, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. 

It’s one thing to believe I can’t get published. It’s another thing to believe that if I can, I won’t be able to handle the sharing part. I would love to get published again. A book of some sort. Yes, I still dream of winning awards or placing in a writing contest. I am still submitting when my courage motivates me to do so. But the whole process of submitting and the hope of getting published lives in my shadows. 

I was poking around in the Canada Council for the Arts portal. Checking out deadlines for grant applications, reading about literary grants and scrolling through guidelines. The boxes. Oh the boxes. How do I identify? What boxes can I check off? What boxes do I not? 

Nothing excites the Bully in my brain like those boxes. Though the Bully has been quiet, it lifts out of its darkness and shines a bold light on the boxes. White. Heterosexual. That’s all, the Bully cackles. That’s enough, the Bully points at my chest. Take your privilege and go away, the Bully spits. 

Oh identity! Oh self! Oh voice! Oh purpose! I have responses for the Bully, of course I do. But they are not for here. Not for out loud. 

So it’s a constant hike-around, the Bully, the Shadows, the sticky traps that pull my heart and soul out of the purity of the creative work. 

The truth, and this is not just ‘my’ truth, I feel brave enough to say this bit out loud, the truth about being creative is that art transcends, digs out of, climbs above, the tar of Bully vitriol, of identity boxes, of grant applications and awards. Creativity does not live in validation from anyone or anything beyond the heart and soul it communicates with/from/for. 

Creativity lives in the shadow and the light equally. It exists purely for its purpose – to express love through imagination. Inside this love is everything human and not. It is the spectrum of emotional ability, and how the imagination can reflect, bend, tear, swallow, explode and envelope our experiences of reality. Whether it is ‘real’ reality or a reality we make up. A made up reality feels real, doesn’t it? 

We are a collection of vessels that house the same inner landscapes. And each vessel’s purpose is to love. But we all know that love is not always present in the conception of a new vessel. That what we can do to each other, to our vessels, and to the sanctity of our inner landscapes, can literally kill us. I can’t explain what motivates war, any deep kind of hatred, and why, after thousands of measured years in time, our free will still expands into polarizing, violent conclusions about what our vessels look like and how we choose to connect our vessels with other vessels. 

But this is where art lives. In the truth of this. Art asks why. It asks why not. And once it is created, when it is shared, this is when the danger or the delight blooms. If you write and never share your words, are you still a writer? If you paint, and never share your paintings, are you still a painter? How does identity connect to the action of creative pursuits if those pursuits do not live beyond the notebook, the canvas, the mp3? 

If we are policing our freedom to respond to art in unconditional, authentic, well-intentioned ways, what is that doing to the creator, to the art, to the community, to creativity’s purpose to express love through imagination? Is it too complicated to boil down the process into this core? 

When I pray, does my love not reach out and exist in the world on some level? Does it matter if I pray to Mary or God or goddess or Love or time or hope or doughnuts? How can intention and purpose not be part of the equation for art? 

These are the things I think about. And more. I still worry like it’s an olympic sport. About the planet. About my health. About my family. But worry, oh bless her hopeful dedication, is not active. It feels like it is. It feels like worrying is making a difference, changing things, getting shi* done. But it is not. If I worry about the thing, the thing doesn’t get done, does it? The thing doesn’t change or heal or go away. The thing doesn’t get to be accountable or take responsibility for what it is. If I worry that I’ll never get published, I am not writing. If I am not writing, there is nothing to try to publish. Add a batch of fresh guilt in the mix, and the body, the vessel, begins to lose its ability to move, feel and live love. The imagination slumps and sorrows. 

I still don’t know what my creative purpose is…at least, not like I did Before. I miss the writing room, something fierce. This missing has recently swelled up. I think it’s the weather. The soft sunshine, the smell of spring on the wind. I miss opening the front window and hearing the birds and the leaves and the dogs and the students, the sweet symphony of Willistead Park. I miss the space, the art, the mugs, the coffee, the books…I miss the surprise of writers or walkers knocking on the door, walking in, eyes wide, smiles wider…giving stickers and granola bars to high school students hungry for attention and safety. I miss how I always felt completely safe in that space. I miss the sacredness of what we created there together. I hold it inside me with great love. 

Having said that…feeling what I’m feeling, I do not regret my choice to close the space. I do not regret letting go of the sacred things inside that I spent a lifetime collecting. I love knowing that it is all being loved in some way in some other space. I love having the memories and the mansion in my soul that holds all the goodness that we shared. I do not regret my resignation as poet laureate. Regret doesn’t live here for the choices I made. I made them with the love and integrity and dignity I felt at that time. 

But the work of ‘community’, of creating workshops and classes and offering my time to writers to talk, learn, edit, share…attending literary events and supporting other writers in the community working their arses off sharing their words, published or not…It’s like there’s cement in my legs and chest and when I think about offering a workshop or attending an event, the cement hardens and I feel…stopped. It’s silly, I know. I’ve been teaching and collaborating and sharing a love of words with writers for decades…how can this ability just…feel so foreign? I’m trying to figure this out. 

I know it is related to my confidence. To the way I value myself, my time, my skills. There are parts of me that feel like I’ve never done this ‘writing’ thing before…and facing the keyboard/screen…facing other writers…just feels terrifying. If I let myself think about this at all…I get very, very frozen. And I have to really jump inside my brain and take a good look at all the parts who are gathering there to offer their ideas about who I am and what I should do. It is a busy place in my brain. And I’m learning how to recognize the parts, giving them names and trying to give them enough attention to make sure I really am that part in that moment…or if the part is rooted in something deeper, like a fear or a narrative that isn’t really ‘me’. 

It can get complicated, indeed. And all the brain-part navigation takes energy. Sometimes I have the energy and the parts that want to write kind of barrel in and smoosh all the others to the sides and I can write with the passion and abandon I know I am capable of…but other times, I can’t. 

So I’m learning ways to work with the voices. For example, I have about 100 pages of writing that I typed up on my old Brother electric typewriter. These pages need to be put into my laptop. If I’m struggling with ‘new’ writing, I can go to these pages and transcribe, often with a fairly good edit in the transition. Or I can do research. Or I can watch Judy Blume in her MasterClass and learn and get ideas and motivation from her. Or I can write something like this…

Any kind of creativity in my life is essential. It is invigorating. It is motivating. And being gentle on myself when the narrative that ‘writing is the most important creative thing you do, V’ takes the loudest voice…well, that’s a daily occurrence. 

My eye is doing amazingly well! I’ve been on steroids since November. I am now in a very slight weaning stage. I really do not want to be on this drug one second longer than I have to. So, I’m really hoping that my auto-immune flare up is really over and as I lessen the amount of medication I take, my eye will still see/function properly. The side-effects are more manageable. I don’t know if it’s because I’m taking less or because I’m just used to it now. Or both. 

I’m still dealing with the Demon Woman. She’s been a part in my brain since I figured out I had a body and that body could be labeled and compared to other bodies. (so like, 4?) I really want to fit into this sweet pair of faux suede pants, so I’m cleaning up my food intake and exercising in an attempt to fit into them. This means losing weight, and though I promised myself I’d get off the ‘lose weight’ train, I’m back on it and also telling myself that it’s not just about the weight, but feeling better, making healthy choices and being energetic and joyful so I can love my family, friends and self. Also, I’m turning 45 in May and for some reason, this feels like a really good goal to fit into the pants…and then the subsequent bathing suits in the summer (!). I do wonder when I’ll look in a mirror and not do a double take…and wonder, who in the hark hell is that?! I hear a woman in her 50s gets to this point…menopause will be done. And I’ll get back in control of my body…goodness, a woman in her 40s is something else. Yes, I’m writing about it! Hell yeah. 

My morning praying and meditation ritual is going well, though if I miss a day or decide to pray/meditate later, I let it be okay. I’ve upped my exercise game and am running again. Or walk/running. The warm weather is super motivational – so, um, come back, sunny warm days! 

I’m watching lots of tv/films. We saw every nominated film for award season. The hubby and I are watching ‘Shrinking’ on Apple. It’s written by the guy (and other amazing writers on the team!) who writes for/stars in ‘Ted Lasso’, Bret Goldstein, which we are also watching as season three was just released. I’m watching ‘Dear Edward’, also on Apple…and it’s a right cryfest each time I watch, but I’m needing the release. We also watched ‘Bad Sisters’ – what a show! (I can’t remember where that is streaming…) Our go-to shows for comfort are The Office, New Girl and Modern Family. 

I am curating the next member’s anthology for the Ontario Poetry Society. Super excited for this opportunity! And, I got a poem published in Arc Magazine’s 100th Volume! Wowowowo! This is a big deal for me as this is one lit mag I’ve always wanted to be published in! Thank you, Arc! 

Our Art Kitchen podcast is going well. We’re very close to finishing editing our third podcast with another one in the can to edit after that. These both should air in April…or sooner. It is a pure joy working with Karen and interviewing our incredibly talented creative guests. Yay!

In the reading department, currently I’m doing research on Mary Magdalene. I’m reading: The Magdalen Manuscript by Tom Kenyon and Judi Sion; Mary Magdalene The Way of the Rose by Ishtara Rose; and Mary Magdalene: Hidden Illumined One by Theodore J. Nottingham.  

I reread ‘Deenie’ by Judy Blume. It was as amazing as I remembered. I’m reading ‘Still Life’ by Sarah Winman. I’m still reading ‘American Gods’ by Neil Gaiman. And, I’m also reading (!) ‘Wintering’ by Kate Moses. All of these books are incredible and clearly show my wild brain and its inability to stick to One Thing AND FINISH IT. 

This – the FINISH IT bit, is also at the core of my current creative struggles. Manuscripts take time to write. A long time. And there’s a part of me that’s like, uggggghhhhh, who has that kind of time? But, then the other part says, um, you do. You’re on sabbatical, woman. Sheesh. Still another part says, who’s hungryyyyyyy? And the voices clang and my brain vibrates and the battles ensue. Ooph. Can’t leave out this voice, get over yourself. You have a home, food, clothing and you’re safe. Stop complaining and do the work.  *I don’t know why this text is suddenly darker than the text all around it? *

Can I get a yikes up in here? 

Also, a laugh and a squeeze? And a kitchen dance? Thank you. 

There you have it. Nearly 3000 words of reflective update from me, the ‘writer’, the healing writer, the changing writer, the wild-brain writer, the quiet writer, the scared writer, the silly writer, the procrastinating writer, the light writer, the dark writer, the swollen-from-drugs writer, the running writer….and on and on. 

Friends, thank you for your time and energy. I hope you’re finding your way. For all of us, I hope we remember how sacred we are. Be kind. Give love. To ourselves. To others. 

And one more thing…I am doing my first in-person reading post-The Thing That Happened, on Saturday, April 22, 2023 in St. Catherine’s. I’m soooo nervous. But also…excited to share the stage with such extraordinary writers. I will be reading from ‘thimbles’, which is a gift in itself. Thank you, Eva Tihanyi for this really special opportunity! Since I’ll be so close to Toronto, I will be visiting some friends who I haven’t seen since pre-Covid. Should be a fine, fine time.

SABBATICAL – Mid-Winter Reflection

MID-WINTER REFLECTION

Imbolc or Mid-Winter as the seasonal calendar goes, was Thursday, February 2, 2023. As I have made a conscious choice to follow the lead of our infinitely wise leader Mother Nature, this first quarter marker is an opportunity for me to make time to reflect on what has happened during my sabbatical thus far. 

Firstly, I can tell you that it has gone by very quickly…with a bit of a slow start that first week of January because the kids were home from school until the 9th. 

It is snowing today (Monday, January 30), and cold. It feels like mid-winter and I’m grateful for this weather that fits the time of year it is here in these parts. Winter without snow doesn’t feel right to me.  Global warming is a monster we can see and feel, so when winter looks and feels like winter, it kinda helps me feel like things can be better…Plus, the falling snow is so gorgeous and peaceful. My boots have mysteriously disappeared. I have a vision of me putting them somewhere in the house and telling myself ‘remember you put them here, Vanessa’…but do you think I can remember where I put them? Nope. I have boot options, but I think it’s funny that winter is here and my boots are not. My mind loves to play tricks on me, including retrieving things I need to remember. You too? Huh. 

I love the sound of the furnace blowing warm air into rooms. She just purred on and the throaty pushing of air into the space is like a meditative soundtrack to these mornings of sacred writing time. 

MORNING RITUAL – Prayer & Meditation

I have been getting up to kiss Nick and the kids before they head to work and school. It is a different energy altogether without having to drive the kids to school. I quite like it. I don’t have to get dressed or brush my teeth. I don’t have to manage lunches or timing. It is a gift that Nick takes the kids to school and I am aware of it and grateful. But I think it is one of the main reasons why I am able to create and cultivate my morning rituals. 

I light three candles. I burn some sage or incense. I sit on my bolster pillow and I pray. Prayer is me writing out prayers on little pieces of paper that I keep in a prayer box. Plus, I have two prayers I always say as well. One is for healing illnesses of the world and one is for happiness and kindness for all humans. I also find that I’m praying a lot for the stopping of violence/wars, which is something I can’t stop thinking about. Then, I do a 5-12 minute guided meditation.

When I pray, it is for others (people I know and people I don’t) and for myself. Prayers for myself are often born of worries, guilt, and fears. I acknowledge them and ask to be able to let them go so I can do my best to be a good human and put love in the world. I realize that I can worry/fear myself into deep darkness. This is something I’ve done since I was a child. It’s something I am changing. Prayer is helping me trust that I can live beyond the worry and fear. Or at least, live with it, but it doesn’t have to be the thing that guides me. 

Prayer has been a part of my life in various iterations and experiences since I was a child too. And I’ve up to now kept it a private endeavour. But the truth is, prayer is one of the things that is enabling this sabbatical and life change. 

The candles, the sage/incense, prayer box extend the ritual into the air, into the light, into the world. I firmly believe this because I can feel it. 

Meditation has played a role in my life even when I didn’t realize I was doing it. Cleaning, doing dishes, folding laundry – yes, many domestic duties – have been meditative for me. I don’t think too much about how to meditate, I just think about what I need guidance on each morning, google ‘meditations for healing 10 minutes’, and see what the interwebs have to offer. If I find a meditation that I like that has a positive effect on my brain and body, then I’ll do it repeatedly. I’ve been using this one about healing the cells in my body for a while now. It’s helping!

I can feel my spirit reviving. I can feel my insides beginning to zip and zap and vibrate. Some of it is from the steroids I’m taking (see BODY section for more details!), but I can feel the difference between the zipping. 

The last thing I do is some gentle stretching. I find myself inverted in downward dog, letting blood rush to my head. Then I hang forward allowing my lower back to have a deep stretch. I bend slightly and slowly stand up, then do a twist to each side. This awakens my body and spirit and mind to face the day. 

SACRED WRITING TIME

I’m calling it ‘sacred writing time’ so it exists in my world as such. Words are powerful, as we know! And if I tell myself the time to write each day is sacred, it helps me treat it as such. 

I write every day. My goal is to write in the mornings between 9 and 12. I average a solid write for about 1.5 hours during that window. Sometimes I’m in transit to go somewhere to write with another writer. Sometimes I’m doing ‘business’ – filling out my calendar, answering a few texts, taking my daily photo and posting it to Instagram. Sometimes I read. What I know is that I don’t want to put pressure on myself to ‘produce’. The words come and sometimes they’re part of the writing projects I’m working on, and sometimes they’re not. Sometimes I write in my journal for an hour. Sometimes I watch a show or film. 

I am finding that when I fall asleep, my brain/characters speak to me and tell me what to write the next day. Or I’ll have a dream, extremely vivid, where I’ll get messages about what to write or what to work on. It’s quite a magical occurrence that started happening the first week that I started giving myself sacred writing time. I think it’s my openness to be led/guided by the power/light/love/dark of storytelling. And a deepening trust with spirit/love/creativity that I can do it – write, read, be creative.

I lost connection with this trust. I was too scared to do anything but self-protect which showed up as me closing my spirit under piles of heavy fears and self-sabotage. But I am writing and creating through it. The ‘Everything’ that was ‘Before Sabbatical’ is slowly opening its cavernous mouth so I can excavate, and purge those parts that no longer support my spirit.

“The problem with “everything” is that it ends up looking an awful lot like nothing: just one long haze of frantic activity, with all the meaning sheared away.” pg. 19.

Wintering by Katherine May

It’s true. In order to endure that ‘Everything’, I began a numbing, a squelching, a choking, a silencing (oh the silencing!), a stopping of the things that had for so long kept my spirit thriving. It was survival-by-shriveling.

No more. No more.

One week, I wrote nearly 10,000 words, writing a little each day barely realizing that I was actually doing it. I go with the flow of what my mind, heart and spirit want to write about. I engage the emotions that swing in each day, some of them wielding swords. I go with the flow of my medications because they very much affect the chemistry of my body’s energy. There were mornings when the meds were so tough on me, I couldn’t write. Couldn’t concentrate on anything but the zipping vibrations of steroids stomping in my blood.

BODY, MEDS & HEALING

Journal excerpt: Thursday, January 12, 2023

“Prednisone day. Ugh. I can feel it moving inside me, zinging in my blood flow. I took it about an hour ago and it’s like I’ve been plugged into an electrical power. But it’s tricky because I also feel so heavy and tired. My thoughts are a mess. I cried…for what? Who knows? My throat feels tight…and my voice is low again. I can hear this kind of…internal wave, like a machine hum, in my head…and buzzing but like a blanket of it in my ears, sort of pressing the sound in waves…” 

Journal entry

I’ve been taking prednisone for a full month now and I am having positive results! My eye is getting a bit better each day. This is a huge advance in my healing as ‘seeing’ on every level is a key part of feeling healthy! I can now look up and left and not see double. The muscles in my eyelids and eyeball are getting back to their natural strength. Looking down is still wonky, but I’m hoping that in time, this will heal as well. I have to be careful going up and down stairs. I kick and/or trip on things all too often because my depth perception is still a bit off. But it’s healing! 

As far as the spiritual implications of ‘seeing’ are concerned. I believe that since I closed the writing room, revived a spiritual space in my house, and am on sabbatical this year, the idea of ‘two paths/double-vision’ is clearly subsiding. And, I have an amazing healing team of support that continues to expand and cultivate. From my naturopath, Dr. Vincenza Rotulo to chiropractor Dr. Michelle Hebert at Midtown Chiropractic to Dr. Deans, eye guru, to KerriPrema at The Cave of the Heart Holistic Centre & Yoga Studio to Yoga with Kassandra on youtube to the collective of wise women who I share meals, daily motivational texts, and long healing conversations with to the treadmill in the messy storage room to my amazing family who are very patient and heal me with laughter…I am ever grateful for the power of community and love to help heal. 

My back injury is fully healed. My neck injury is fully healed. My body feels stronger every day. My flexibility is getting better each day. I am sleeping better (especially when the husband wears his anti-snoring mouth guard. Hi honey! I love you!), though my dreams are still extremely vivid and I still wake up in a burst of some giant emotion. (Yes, I’m still dreaming about mega-movie stars who ‘need my help’ in some way. Also the recurring high school dreams have also returned…) I am making pretty good choices when it comes to food as I continue to learn about my immune system and how it works. And I can finally see my chin hairs and pluck them out because my eyes can focus so much better!

I am reading ‘Deep Immunity – Understanding Your Body’s Immune System’ by Anthony Godfrey PhD, ND and it is blowing my mind. 

“The real power of immunity comes from being true to ourselves – each of us to our identity…The symptoms of ill-health are a language that the body, the mind and the spirit speak to us to indicate that something in our life is out of balance.” pg. 2

Deep Immunity – Understanding Your Body’s Immune System’ by Anthony Godfrey PhD, ND

The relationship between my identity and sense of self, and my immunity and balance of health makes absolute sense to me. 

“Stress of any kind will weaken our immune systems. Stress, or more correctly, the nature of our response to challenges which tend to disturb or unbalance us, can come in many forms…the most devastating influence of all is negative self-talk. When we allow ourselves to embrace negative beliefs about ourselves, when we fall into despair and lack of self-esteem and become resigned to these judgements about ourselves – in other words, when we lose our identity – that is when our immune system is most in need of support.” (pg. 14)

Deep Immunity – Understanding Your Body’s Immune System’ by Anthony Godfrey PhD, ND

I can tell you with certainty that my negative self-talk hit a pinnacle last year. When I awoke on September 15th seeing double, petrified and trembling, I was the weakest I’ve been in my life. I internalized the Bully’s words. I let in the lies and accepted the despair of Not Good Enough. No one made me. But it happened. And even though I was also loved so deeply by friends and family, my inside, my mind, the voices in my head, my heart – had been transformed. I know now that if I hadn’t made the changes I made, I would have ended up in hospital. 

What is incredible is that inside, shouldered up against the negative self-talk was the wolf, the wild woman, the matriarch, the crone, the Marys, the Nonnas, the daughters…the ancestors of light and love holding me up. With every Bully word, they held up a shield and howled and bayed my dignity into action. 

But the damage to my immune system had been done. And I miraculously managed to let dreams go. Close dreams. Box dreams. Dance away the past and then ask for help, more help to heal. 

My body, the vessel of my soul, of my dreams, of my mind – including all those present therein – is in a deep, beautiful, terrifying, extraordinary change. And I can breathe and laugh and cry and learn through it now because of the changes I chose to make. Oh, sweet paradox! Oh, delicious dichotomy! Here we are in the light and the dark, more equally now than ever. 

I am 44 and I (finally) don’t hate my body. I have been able to let her be. To trust her messages. To not scowl at the new marshmallow roll above my rib cage. To embrace the blood flow when she comes, if she comes…to trust the rage and desperation in the hot flash…to see stars in the throes of an immaculate orgasm…to enjoy the food, the water, the bones of this vessel that I get is here to be strong and able to love. 

I want to be vibrant and vital to this living. For my kids and their kids. For the words. For the dreams still unlived, or imagined. For the dreams nearby…brewing. 

I trust that healing includes nature and light, traditional medicine and herbal/natural medicine. That there isn’t one fast, easy, all-in-one pill that will ‘fix’ me. 

This is the body I am in now. This is the body I want to love and respect and heal now. 

PURPOSE

My purpose is…like a busted up island. It was for so long clear, concise, calm and confident. That changed. I still feel that part of my purpose is in the writing, in the words. My deep desire to write is still there, still alive, but it is different. It is…less rooted, or the roots are less intensely held in the ground. It wants to float. It wants to turn its back. It wants to skitter away and not be told what to do. And it has become a part of a collection of pieces of The Entire Purpose. 

I am so much more attentive and present with my family. When I am doing home things: cooking, cleaning, sharing time and space with my family, it feels different. I am not worried about ‘work’. Or at least, I am not stressed about work. I have few deadlines, and the ones I do have are scheduled so that I don’t feel the weight of them. This is something I’m really focusing on. Saying yes is an exercise in mindfulness. 

I don’t hate doing the dishes anymore. I don’t panic when I have to do groceries (though food inflation is mind boggling and we’re working hard to shop mindfully, waste less and enjoy our food together). Domestic happenings are an island of Purpose now. 

Trust is an island. Trusting the flow of time. Trusting that Love (god/goddess/spirit – what’s your word?) will guide me. That I will see and understand and receive the messages gifted to me and know how to make decisions. Trusting my intuition which has become a garden of wild flowers, reaching and stretching and swaying for information and support. 

Patience is an island. It needs the most tender loving care. I’ve realized that I am not a naturally patient person. (Is anyone?!) But I think I didn’t notice it because I am also a just-do-it person, so if there was/is something I don’t want to wait for, if I can, I just create it or do it myself. I’m trying to, again, be mindful about this. And letting the impatience exist/be, let the discomfort come and figure out what it means. 

Sleep is an island. Is that odd to have sleep as a purpose? Ha. I just can’t tell you how important sleep has been to me. I think it’s one of the healing leads in my life. I love it very much. 

I hope very much that I can rid my purpose of fear and the still clawing grips of the Bully. It is a wild phenomenon. There are days when the Bully’s voice/face is not in my mind, but those days are few and far between. The Bully is with me now as I write this, tossing daggers at me. The Bully’s pulling on my confidence like it’s a piece of toffee. Part of my purpose is to revitalize my purpose – whatever it may be, and to do so, I know that means I have to find a way to handle the Bully’s presence in my mind/soul. 

I am trying to be gentle with my Purpose. Accepting that it waxes and wanes, fulls and news like the moon, embracing all the degrees of darkness and light as it shifts. It’s okay that my Purpose looks and feels different now. 

DREAMS

Oof. Like my Purpose, my dreams are changing. When I think about Big Dreams, they live in the future in a kind of hazy out there-ness that I can see, but not touch or feel or taste or hear. They are not all isolated…what I mean by that is, some dreams aren’t solely mine. 

Like, when I think about a potential dream, say, about movies. I see myself, I see Jett, I see Nick and Miller…I see our family all engaged and parts of a big whole that is like this massive outburst of creativity. That Old Dream of winning an Oscar is flickering. It might be Jett who wins it, and I’m there with him. Or, maybe I’m in his film and I’m nominated for Best Supporting Actress. It’s funny…my dreams in the movie realm have really expanded over the last couple of months. I am feeling the pull that I used to feel when I was studying film in university. When I truly believed that I was Hollywood-bound, and closer than ever to meeting Tom Cruise and working with him. I feel like that dream is more vivid than ever. And yes, I also feel that there are many changes…upheavals even, in the film and television award systems, but my dreams still include them. I think, at the heart of it, is that I have dreams that are to be expressed as films and I want to be a part of that storytelling world with those people whose films I’ve watched and loved and who’ve helped shape and invigorate my desire (purpose?!) for filmmaking for decades. 

I can see myself on television talk shows holding up The Book. My book. It is funny and ‘sweeping the nations’. People are curious about what I’ve written and why. And The Book is provoking and kind and making an impact, a positive impact on…gulp, The World. This is a dream that I’ve had, but it went quiet for many years. It’s back again. And in the visions I am older and my gray hair is long and wildly braided. And my smile is so big it hurts. And I’m just so happy to be there…in all the places to talk about The Book. I finally get to talk to Tom Power and meet the Q team on CBC. And I don’t care about book awards. Like not.at.all. And that feeling is so freeing. And I can’t see my bank account which I’m making means that the money part doesn’t matter at all. The joy, it’s the true payment and I am overjoyed in every moment. 

I see Gertrude’s Writing Room as ‘mobile’. 

I see myself standing, clothed in flowery/flowy clothing, my hair long and wild, in breathtaking places…open fields, rocky mountains, beaches being kissed by large mouths of water…I am healthy and strong in body and mind. 

The Dreams are not pushy or desperate. They are alive and breathing and patient. 

THE WORDS

They are here and busy and bursting. I am grateful. 

I am writing prose. I am writing emails and texts. I am helping others in new ways. Community is expanding so beautifully. I am trying new things and engaging with different people. It is supporting the outpouring of words. 

I am shy to submit, but I am still paying attention to calls. 

I am working extremely hard on writing for the joy of writing. To live in the power of the expression. Of giving into curiosity and letting the characters walk into me, my mind and tell me what they want to say. 

I have vivid dreams that guide my writing. I have been visited by my Nonna and Nonno. By friends. By famous people. It is…unnerving at times, but I understand that my dream life is a throughway for storytelling between me and the characters. 

I wrote three poems on January 26. Three bursting diamonds of poetry. 

“Oh me! Oh poem – awaken
my ability to love you again
to swallow you like rain
down my parched throat &
conjure the harvest of your
corporeal curiosities…”

Stanza from ‘Oh me! Oh poem!’ by me!

I will write more poetry. That bucket is filling up.

The words are also attaching to very different modes of expression. I am having a fantastic time recording Art Kitchen – Feeding Your Creative Soul, a podcast, with Karen Morand. I have plans to create videos for writers (that’s all I’ll say about that now…!). I am drawn to the sewing machine, to needle and thread, to embroidery, to canvas and visual art…It’s like this whole new part of my brain-soul connection is exploding with creative content. And the words, the sweet words, are always somehow involved.

I am beginning to feel like A Writer again. I am taking back my bumper stickers and typewriters. I am rebuilding my confidence in the creative fires that beginning to burn within me again.

Other Lovely Things

The dogs. Books. Candles. Incense. Food. Snow. Lamy pens. Ink. Tea. And Dandy Blend (not allowed to drink coffee whilst on the meds!)

Thank you.

Thank you for reading this far. Thank you for listening. Thank you for your kindness and generosity. May happiness and love fill your heart and soul. Namaste! Happy mid-Winter!

Sabbatical 2023

“If I could sit here for three months alone, saying the same things, doing the same things, day by day — then perhaps a few pages would be solidly written in the end…. what one wants for writing is habit.”

Virginia Woolf (Thanks Charis!)

*Settle in. It’s a long post, dear friends!

A new year has begun and this is a very unique year for me as I have chosen to take a sabbatical. A sabbatical is an ‘extended period of time away from work’. Some careers include the sabbatical as part of the experience. Typically, this is a paid time away to rest, reflect, rejuvenate, and perhaps work on a research project in a dreamy place like the south of France or the red stone caves of Sedona…

For me, I’ll be staying in the city of Windsor, working from home or in libraries, cafes, or bookstores. I do hope to go on retreat somewhere during the year, but those plans haven’t solidified as of yet. I will be working with writers as editor/mentor, however, I’m not taking on any new writers just yet. I’ve got a full roster of incredible writers who I’m continuing to work with for completion of their projects. 

Gertrude’s Writing Room, the magical, incredible space in Willistead Park’s Coach House is now closed. Everything has been packed up, sold, donated and delivered. I am slowly unpacking boxes of books and trinkets here at home, and feeling the power of the magical energy spread through our home. It has been a difficult yet necessary closure. I did feel relief when I said a final thank you and goodbye to the space on December 31st. 

Last year, 2022, was one of the hardest years of my life as a writer, as a community member, as an advocate and empath. As the year unfolded and I began to live the dream of being a Poet Laureate, I experienced the wrath and cruelty of a bully that affected my role as poet and community-builder. As his harassment fattened and strengthened on-line, I began to lose my courage, my ability to write/create, and I began to have major health issues. My body and soul was telling me (screaming at me) to stop, look, and listen. 

As I did my best to quell the negativity boiling within my self and my circles of friends and family, I realized that the bully’s words were affecting me on a foundational level. Whether that was his intention or not, it was happening. I had to pay attention to the physical and mental reactions I was having. I realized that in order to deal with the darkness he was slathering in our community and in my life, I had to stop what I was doing – and I do a lot. I always have. 

For as long as I can remember, I have been ‘busy’. Whether it was joining clubs and teams in my youth, working three jobs and studying in school in my twenties, teaching, writing, doing readings, and opening Gertrude’s Writing Room –  my working life, my learning life, my family and friendship life has always been busy. Building community through creativity and writing has always been my main heart goal. But my heart was breaking…my soul was affected by the bully’s statements about my writing as well as my ‘place’ in our community and the greater community. I was afraid that I would be cancelled for writing something that came from my heart. Why was I feeling so crushed, so wrong, so inferior, so very afraid? 

I quietly resigned as Poet Laureate in mid-September, and by the end of that month I was so weak from worry, heartbreak and frustration, it began to manifest in my body with the onset of ocular myasthenia gravis (an auto-immune condition in my eye that makes me see double due to the loss of muscular ability in my eyeball and eyelids), and a lower back injury that made it impossible for me to do many daily movements that previously were never an issue. 

I spent many hours alone in the writing room…looking around, crying, questioning. I spent many hours not alone in the writing room – having intense, soul-full, heart-felt and life-changing conversations with friends. I began to know in my heart that it was time to stop everything so I could heal. 

The feelings/emotions, fear and negative self-talk that the bully (and others who were so quick to hit ‘like’, ‘share’ and write comments on his posts) triggered in me was the true darkness. I realized that the bully was an entity that had been in my life before. I realized that the fear, the gripping, courage-squashing monster that resurrected within me has been in residence in the darkest parts of me since I was a child. This was the real monster. This was the childhood fear. This was the cruel self that I needed to face. 

The bully’s words, the slippery shift in meanings around support and community, the thundering waves of rejection and misinformation, of misconstrued narratives and damage-driven agendas…I turned into a cloak of loss…Loss of faith in myself and community, loss of trust in my own skills and abilities, loss of energy that I could continue to do the good work, the heart work, the soul work because I truly didn’t know how to do it anymore…under the pounding waves of my own loss of self. 

I think about the different narratives of what happened. There’s the narrative that I  quit because I wasn’t ‘strong enough’ to not let the bully’s words affect me. That I gave up, stopped caring, had a breakdown, lost my mind…changed. That I wasn’t able to be in the spotlight, to take on the role, to respond…That I’m a privileged white girl who couldn’t take the feedback, or face her ignorance around cultural appropriation and/or racism. That my voice, my words, my intentions are meant to be judged and I have to be quiet and/or apologize when the judgements come like knives. That my intentions, my beliefs and values, don’t actually matter, to some, and I have to accept that. 

I have worn the shoes of all these narratives, even when they didn’t fit. I keep all the shoes and continue to step into them so I can learn, so I can dive into how each narrative makes me feel and why, and figure out how to let go of the shoes that offer options to experiences that are just not mine. What is my narrative? Sometimes it is an amalgamation of all of them…sometimes it is none. The shoes are in a steady shift. Or I go barefoot…which is an experience in itself…

I decided to close the writing room for many reasons but the main ones were that I knew I couldn’t do the inner work whilst running a small business, that I didn’t want to worry about costs, that I was too tired to create, collaborate, market and do the work of leading. It was a very difficult decision. More difficult than resigning as poet laureate. If I define myself, my work, as being a writer, a community-builder, a teacher…what would be left of me if I stopped working in these capacities? 

There were days when I felt sick to my stomach at the mere idea of shifting out of the work I’ve done for decades. It literally felt unnatural to me. That I was going against my purpose. That I was wrong to even consider a change of this magnitude. And then the bully’s face would come to my mind. I could see his fingers on a keyboard pulling pins of word grenades and tossing them into the world to explode…and this serenity would flutter in my centre with the deep knowing that, in fact, this mega-life change was (is) my purpose. That it was (is) okay to stop, look, listen. To change. To rest. To heal. 

And so here I am. Sitting in a sacred space I’ve created in my home. A white candle burns as sage smoke curls in the air. The second hand on the clock ticks loudly and there is nowhere else I have to be but here, writing this to you. 

I feel less afraid now than I did two months ago. I have decided on a sabbatical schedule that includes the most important things to me: writing, family, health. My eye is still unwell, but my back is getting stronger, and I made it through a tough bout of Covid. I am reading again. I am writing in my journal. It is still difficult to write poetry, but I’m nurturing the poet in me and giving her time to rebuild. I am letting it be okay that my desire to teach, organize, attend is quiet. I am ready to begin new habits and am curious about what will come of them. 

My weekdays will look like this: 

8-11am – wake, pray, meditate, stretch, write
Break for food
Afternoon for writing sessions, family, friends, other projects, etc. 
Exercise 
Weekends
Go with the flow

The key is sacred morning time for mental and creative health. I have identified three writing projects to work on. I’m not sure if I will work on one at a time or shift back and forth, but the goal is to finish them before starting anything new. 

I am recording a podcast with the great Karen Morand. It’s called Art Kitchen – Feeding Your Creative Soul. This is a project I am committed to working on. Our first podcast episode airs Monday, January 16th. 

I will be submitting writing on a follow-my-instinct basis. Loads of submission calls land in my inbox each day. I’ve been reading them over and submitting if I feel compelled, inspired, motivated to do so. 

I’m posting a photograph a day on my Instagram. I can’t deny the pull to do something on social media. I can’t quite confirm the healthiness of this pull, but I can say that there’s a big part of me that doesn’t want to be forgotten…that is worried that if I completely expel all social media from my life…that makes me less than, forgettable, unable to stay connected with the world, failing at my ‘online presence’….ha. That’s reading pretty unhealthy as I write it, but there you have it. And so, I’m sticking with instagram. Twitter, for me, is hell, so I’m staying off it, and Facebook too is a colosseum I’d rather not attend. 

January 4th Instagram pic

Email is a constant, though I may be even slower than before in responding. There are times when I just can’t open my laptop. Although I need her to write, she feels very connected to kinds of work that give me anxiety. I know I will breathe through this, but the truth is that my ‘must-respond-right-away’-ness has dwindled in the shift of healing. Time feels different. It is less…frenzied. Less…electric with musts. 

I am following the seasonal shifts and moon phases for reflection. I feel an intense connection with the moon and want to follow her rhythms. The same goes for the seasons. Here is the calendar I’ll be following, so that when a seasonal shift arrives, I will stop and reflect on how I’m feeling, how things are going, and how habits are building (or not), and make any new changes. 

February 2 – Imbolc/Mid-Winter
March 20 – Equinox/Spring
May 1 – Beltane/Mid-Spring
June 21 – Solstice/Summer
August 2 – Lammas/Mid-Summer
September 22 – Equinox/Fall
October 31 – Samhain/Mid-Fall
December 21 – Solstice/Winter

Plus all the new and full moons in between.

These moon/seasonal markers feel in tune with my spiritual and mental flow/learning. I love meditations that coincide with these shifts, which in many cases, are driven by the light/dark relationship. That is what I am experiencing and so to let nature guide my spirit in this way feels beautifully divine. 

I have a list. A ‘what-to-do-during-my-sabbatical’ list. It’s quite long. And suddenly daunting as January first crawled toward me. Choosing to flow with the seasons and moons is making the year feel way less daunting. The ‘year’ as a whole feels huge and long, unreachable. But holding days and moonlight as pauses throughout the year feels much more accessible. The list is there. The little dreams. The space for new dreams…this is what the sabbatical holds for me. 

I don’t know how often I’ll be blogging. I will go with the flow here too. Again, it feels odd/unnatural to not have a commitment to writing and sharing here, but I know I need the freedom to flow.

“Be new, think new, and open your heart to new things. Let go of the old and all your attachments. Spirit has awesome plans for you. Make some room.”

#35 – Loyal Heart, Wisdom of the Oracle

With love, V

Three Life Changes, a Letter

Dear friends, I have begun an extraordinary career and life shift. 

I have made three critical choices:

I am no longer Poet Laureate. I resigned in mid-September. There was no grand announcement, no press release. In an effort to maintain my creative integrity and explore this very different, very exhilarating new career path, I chose to step out of the position. I will be closing the Gertrude’s Writing Room space. As of January 1st, 2023, there will no longer be a gathering place for writers at the Coach House. While I am keeping the business open through one-to-one editing/mentoring (not taking on new projects at this time, but completing current writing projects with writers), I will no longer be running the space, offering workshops or classes, or running the poetry circle. Yin writing is on hold until further notice. In 2023, I will be taking a year-long sabbatical. My intention is to continue to explore this new creative path, to complete writing projects that have been patiently awaiting my attention for years, to submit my work to new and challenging contests/submission calls, to strengthen my writing craft by taking classes and workshops, and to be open to whatever creative endeavours flutter my heart and evoke my curiosity. (Perhaps an Etsy page for pillows I’ll make…or karaoke once a week to strengthen my singing skills for a dream of fronting a band!)

“Consider how the tree remains supple and secure when everything around it may be in shambles. This is how you need to be right now: willing to learn new things, teachable, malleable, yet firmly grounded in who you are.”

Wisdom of the Oracle card, #19, Flexible

This year has been one for the books! I lived the dream of being Poet Laureate of Windsor. Despite it being short-lived, it was an important part of my evolution as a creative writer, as a dreamer, as a mother and a friend. And, it is and will continue to be a major catalyst for this intense inner-shift that I am navigating. Things happened that burst open my centre (that affected my values, my beliefs about who I am, and the communities I am a part of), in at first, a negative way, but upon reflection and contemplation, in a way that enabled me to assert my integrity, stand strong in my values and beliefs, and experience a kind of empowerment that I’ve never felt before. 

There are versions of stories. One of the major reasons I have been vague about what has happened over the last six months is because of this fact. Facts themselves, I’ve learned, shift. I know what my story is. I know my truth. And I know I have remained, and will remain, in my integrity no matter the consequence. Each decision I made and will make does not come lightly, does not come without deep contemplation, conversation, spiritual intuition and love. Self-love, to be specific. Something I realized that was waning with each day, with each poem, with each reaction…

And now, I am giving myself the opportunity to face this reality: why did my heart, mind and body react the way it did? Why did my spirit deplete and look for dark places to hide? Why did I feel wrong, weak, less than and confused about things I ‘thought’ I believed in, valued and respected – including my own ability and power? Why did I feel a burning in my stomach when suggestions/advice to remain on the job were offered with love and support? These questions, and many more, are constantly on my mind and banging in my heart. I am facing them. I am answering them. I am learning from them. 

But the truth is, my truth is, that I cannot face these questions, I cannot recover and re-ignite if I remain on the same path, if I keep making the same choices, if I keep being afraid. Afraid of hurting someone’s feelings, afraid of speaking my truth, afraid of confronting a bully, afraid of using my voice to tell my truths, afraid of being ‘canceled’ or shunned or excluded.

I am choosing to retreat and to be accountable for my choices. It is terrifying. It means I am letting go of things I love; I am shifting passions; I am changing the way I exist in our community and communities beyond. I’ve never done this before. I don’t even really know how to do it, but everything in my being is telling me to follow my heart so I can learn from this experience. I know that this is one way to deal with the situation. I know that there are countless other ways to have lived through this, that each of you would have had your own ways too. I want to own and feel pride in my choices, and to do that, I am following this new path. 

I have been having double vision since mid-September. When I look down and/or to the left, things are askew and double. I have to wear a patch when I drive, which I’ve only started doing again after a few weeks of not driving at all. I have had many doctor’s appointments and tests. We are still not sure what is the cause. This health challenge is another reason that I am taking time to retreat and recover. The spiritual implications of ‘double vision’ are very real to me. The left eye represents the future. When I look that way, things are askew…there is more than one way of seeing. I am very aware of the spiritual lessons I am experiencing at this time, and I want to give my body and my mind all the strength and energy they need to heal. 

My children have seen me crumpled in a sobbing heap for many reasons this year. My actions, reactions and responses to the hard things, to the mean things, to the confusions, to the fear and to the divine emotions of navigating my voice and my ability to love unconditionally (my self and others) is a mirror. What am I showing them? What am I teaching them?  Who am I in their eyes and their hearts? I want to be the best I can be for them, someone who is thriving with a life and love force that can navigate even the hardest and scariest of internal and external times. Someone who can have perspective and awareness, within a family structure, in a community and beyond. 

I want to learn how to be grateful without guilt. I want to learn how to love myself by feeling it in the thump of my pulse. I want to learn how to write for the love of writing. I want to read without feeling jealousy or envy. I want to breathe without comparing myself to everyone all.the.time. I want to do one thing at a time. I want to unlearn ‘busy’. I want to feel okay with wanting to change anything or everything. I want to believe in the simple beauty of making a choice from the integrity of my own heart, with good intentions, and know that that is enough. 

I don’t know how often I’ll be blogging once I begin my sabbatical. If one of the things I’ve always done is blog…perhaps taking a break from it as well will warrant a new experience for my writing life. I’m curious about how so much of this new writing life experience will affect my writing, my heart, my soul…

I have been grieving for some time now. I recognize that is part of any process of change. I am sad, but slowly, my spirit is flickering into its self, and hope and excitement are building.

The next step is going through all the fun things at Gertrude’s…packing up books and some decorative things, and selling the rest! If you’d like to come by and shop, give me a call/email/text. I am feeling both overwhelmed and excited at this part of the process.

With love and gratitude,

V

What if…

I’ve decided to step away from Facebook. I’ve also deleted my Twitter accounts. I have kept my Instagram accounts (personal and Gertrude’s Writing Room), but I don’t know for how long. I’ve been toiling about getting off social media for years, but with the recent experiences I’ve been having, I’ve made myself think more deeply about the whys of social media in my life. I made a pro and con list. The cons far outweigh the pros at this time.

The thing is that social media is part of my life…in my friend circles and definitely for ‘work/business’ related things. For example, it seems like Facebook is a giant digital cork board for events. I can still look and see, which is a good capability of Facebook if one is not fully deleting her account. Even though I’m not using my pages, I can still see what’s going on if I choose. But I’m choosing not to as much as I can. I don’t have the power to not look at/see things that break my heart…

It’s a really…mucky place I’m in about social media. But my negative experience on the platform is only a small part of why I’m taking a break. Do you know how much energy it takes me to scroll through my feed? I see so much. There is so much information. Do you know how many arguments I have in my head about hitting a ‘like’ or…not. I put myself through this whole system of should I, shouldn’t I, what does it mean if I do, what does it mean if I don’t, what will the person think if I do, what will the person think if I don’t…sometimes it feels like an open door into someone’s life…but do I want to go in? Do I want to see inside? Or would I really rather physically go into the real space of a friend?

Because the voices in my head have been so difficult to manage, especially the monsters, scrolling through my Facebook feed results in great anxiety. My brain creates stories that may or may not be true. My heart hurts for all the missing out I feel. I sometimes hold my breath for so long, I get light-headed as I read and react, even without ever clicking a share or a like…and commenting…writing comments is a major feat for me.

Sometimes…a lot of times…I feel good old fashioned shy. Especially when posting things about myself. And, I don’t want to post because I’m in fear of the responses – positive or negative. If I post something, is there not an unspoken expectation for a response? A response to a response? This feels like pressure, and this is why I know it’s time to take a break.

It is unbelievable how one little emoji can crush my spirit or make me cry or bring me joy. At this point in time, I can’t manage my reactions in a way that is healthy, so…off I go.

The fact that social media has so much power…the extremes are evident from one ‘viral’ video making someone ‘famous’ to a comment that results in a career ending or a full-out ‘cancel’. I keep having visions of the colosseum in Rome…it’s big enough to fit billions of humans (and their pets, I suppose)…and we choose to sit in the stands and throw tomatoes or cheers or stones…or we choose to brave the centre…show our skills or our fears or our opinions that can be daggers or fluffy clouds…we can absolutely be there for the simple joy of sharing and spreading love…but, at least in my experience, it is not the love that fills the seats or dusty centre. And for this reason…because I can’t see or feel the love, at least in any way that I know how to respond to, I know it’s time to leave the colosseum. Catch a bus to Tuscany…find a sunflower field and breathe it in.

I have visions of myself recording videos. Time-lapses of me writing. Quick snippets promoting a poetry workshop or class. Me reading my poetry. Really using the platform to expand my ‘self’ with (literally) the world. I can envision myself doing this…but I have this wad of ‘nope’ in my chest that stops me. And the question of ‘why’ keeps bonking me on the head. What is the reason I want to share anything I do or write? I can’t come up with an answer that feels…steady, for one, or for two, that doesn’t spiral into a very dark place that has me not good enough to be ‘out there’ in any way.

Because it all feels complicated, I know it’s not a good space for me. I am responsible for these feelings; they are what’s so at this time. I’m asking myself about intention and outcome. I’m facing internal and external realities about intention and outcome. And, I think, until I figure out how to stand in my own empowered values about such things, it’s best to step away.

I know that if I fully stop social media, that I’ll lose a large portion of business at Gertrude’s. This is what’s keeping me on the gram, for now. I cannot deny that our instincts for information gathering go directly to the internet now. This is the reality. And so, how do I pull away and expect anyone to know what’s going on if I don’t tell them on the agreed-upon modes of communication at this time? I can’t.

I’m still making posters and using email for information sharing, but I know that this works only in conjunction with social media and the internet.

I do feel like I’m missing things. Important things…but perhaps this is what I need to feel in order to know if I want to go back…or if I want to find other ways to communicate and connect with people in my life. Or some lovely hybrid of both.

I see myself at age 12, reading books, writing in my journal, listening to music on my walkman, writing letters to my penpal…if I wanted to see my friends, I simply walked to their houses or called them on the phone. Getting a busy signal on the phone didn’t make me rage. If they weren’t home, I didn’t feel frustrated, personally affronted; I simply skipped off the porch and went for a bike ride or went back to reading. The way that my body reacts to an unanswered text or a comment on a post, or to the pressure to answer a text or an email…I have let it become an Event…a Big Thing…and I need to change this. I am changing this.

That means my communication will look and feel different. It has to. I’m taking my time. I’m working on shifting these, what seem like natural reactions (rage, frustration, heaviness, worry, fear), into calm, heart-felt responses. I actually don’t think it’s natural to respond to anything with rage or frustration…I mean, I don’t want to have these be ways I react to the way we communicate with each other. I know I don’t have control over what others do, but I want to have control over myself, my emotions, my ways of communicating.

What if I gave time to writing letters again? What if I gave time to reading with the full-body,take-in-each-word-and-get-swept-away way I did when I was 12? What if…what if…what if…

I’m re-discovering myself in the what ifs…