Heather Demetrios's Blog, page 7

The Pen Is Mightier

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I’m in the middle of reading Sarah J. Maas’ delicious A Court of Wings and Ruin and my mind is directed towards all things fantasy. One of the things I love best about high fantasy is how people name their swords. I’ve always thought that was badass. For example, Azriel, one of the characters in the book, named his sword Truth Teller. You should also know he’s the strong, silent type, a warrior-spy who’s all shadows. So the name of his sword = perfect. I’d be scared shitless if I met Azriel and Truth Teller on the battlefield and we weren’t on the same side. Azriel is a new addition to the very long line of fantasy characters – and real medieval people – who named their swords, few as famous as those belonging to the Lord of the Rings family:

 

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Azriel’s Truth Teller got me thinking…wouldn’t it be kind of fun to name my laptop in the same spirit as warriors once named their swords? It’s the only weapon I’ve ever been able to wield with any accuracy and would be the first thing I’d think to bring into modern-day battle. Like any Word Warrior, I have to train with it daily so that it hits the mark when it counts. Casting my net a bit wider here, we see how laptops really are today’s swords. From cyber attacks to cutting Op-Eds and Snowden revelations, laptops are perhaps the most sophisticated weapons the world has ever known, giving the old adage The pen is mightier than the sword new weight.

I’ve always been weirded out by people naming inanimate objects (and bombs, for that matter). But this feels different. People named their swords for the ideals they wanted to bring with them into battle, or to honor the maker, the gods, or their family. They weren’t being cute–they were deadly serious. And so am I. My laptop is the instrument through which I contribute to the world. It’s a vessel my words flow through (or perhaps I’m the vessel and the laptop simultaneously my anchor and sails). Just as with a sword, a Word Warrior must become one with her laptop, letting all that’s inside her flow onto the keys. I know my Macbook isn’t made out of Valyrian steel, but it pulls its weight when we’re in the thick of it. If Jon Snow were a writer, I’m sure he’d be happy to have a Macbook while he fought off White Walkers and Lannisters.

 

[image error]Image credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/434175220303915795/

 

But how does one go about naming their beloved laptop (or typewriter or quill)? It’s rather a serious decision, isn’t it? There may be a precedent for changing a sword’s name, but it’s highly irregular. No, we’ve got to get it right the first time, don’t we? Here are a few questions to ask yourself as you contemplate your name. Grab your journal and have at it:

 

Why do you write? 

To get to the heart of why you write (and perhaps why you’re a reader, as well), write an Artist’s Statement. (You can get a peek at mine here). 

What are you about as a person? Jot down some of your core values (integrity, honesty, generosity, compassion, etc.).

What do you want your words to accomplish? What effect do you hope they have on the reader and the world at large? You might have got into this with your artist statement, but if not, think on this a bit. 

Now, start brainstorming names. This should be loads of fun. I encourage you to geek out online for a bit. You might want something epic like “Excalibur” or perhaps something more along the line of Arya Stark’s “Needle.” It should have a bit of your personality in it, or perhaps you want to choose a name that’s aspirational, hinting at where you’d like to go as a writer. You should choose a name that gives you a little flutter in your soul, a sense of YES. 

 

In the end, choosing my laptop’s name required very little thought. The name came to me almost immediately, right as rain. It’s a combination of what’s in my artist statement, and why I engage in spiritual practices and meditation for myself. Mostly, it feels right, and I hope it’ll keep me honest when I’m tempted to be lazy and write something crappy just to get by.

Drumroll please…..

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(Imagine me looking like a badass, holding my laptop and staring, steely-eyed, into the distance, okay?)

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The next time I sit down to write with Awakener, I’m gonna channel Arwen from LOTR and do some serious ass-kicking entertaining and awakening. What about you? What have you named your laptop?

See you on the battlefield. xx

 

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Surrender

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In my last post, I mentioned that I took what I call a Well Week last week–a period of time dedicated to refilling my creative well through artsy activities, rest, self-care, and reading. The week would have been A LOT better if I hadn’t tried to keep plugging along on my work-in-progress, a disaster of a novel that has had me incredibly stressed for two years straight. I was on my third (!) whole new attempt and failing. This brought me down, of course, (let’s be honest, I was already down and this was a whole new low) and induced a degree of panic so high that it resulted in my entire back locking up for days (think your muscles spasming and then going so tight you can’t even stand straight or sit up in bed). I’ve come to realize that my body is a total traitor: it turns on me fast if I’m refusing to deal with something in a healthy way. (Okay, so maybe this means it actually has my back because it’s watching out for me, except in this case, it had my back by the balls–if my back had balls, which it doesn’t, because that would be weird…but I digress).

The “healthy” way of dealing with my book would have been to take a damn week off for creative wellness. But I have taken many, many breaks from this book, hoping my muses would get their shit together and, being on deadline, I couldn’t afford to take any more time off. So I forced myself to write 2K words a day on a manuscript speeding down the Highway to Hell while trying to meditate and learn tarot and make mandalas. Picture a Cali Zen girl on a stress bender and you’ve got an accurate portrait of Heather Last Week. It’s like drinking green juice in the morning, then snorting coke for lunch. (Neither coke nor green juice was involved in the making of this book, though I now wonder if both might have helped).

I knew this was my brain on stupid. I’m a writing coach, dammit! I know exactly what I would tell my clients, and it’d be good advice: you have to write the book that wants to be written, the book you have to write–as in, the cosmos won’t shut up about it until you do. And it sounds like this book doesn’t want to be written…at least not by you. Sometimes books are bitches like that. I would encourage my client to put on her big girl panties and make some tough calls. Then I’d tell her to fill that creative well properly and go write the fuck out of something she can’t wait to put on the page. I’d tell her to let it go, like a bad romance (hint, hint my new book) or that shirt you love that you got a stain on and can’t wear anymore. It’s time to say Book ‘Bye.

Except. I don’t have a coach breathing down my neck, so I can do whatever I want, tralala: damn the torpedoes–full speed ahead! *cue maniacal laugh*

So here I was, supposedly trying to fill my completely dry creative well while forcing my fingers to type words I wasn’t feeling at all for several hours a day on a book that, if we met in the street, I would give zero fucks about telling it to go fuck itself. I FUCKING HATE THIS BOOK. I hate this book like Brad Pitt hates Nazis in Inglorious Basterds. This book gives me the same hopeless, impotent, rage-fueled AGGGHHH that I feel whenever I see Paul Ryan’s smarmy face. Okay, you get it: I really don’t like this goddamn book. Already you can see this is a Houston We Have A Problem situation. No one can work under such conditions. I mean, my book and I are basically staying together for the kids. It’s the most depressing thing in the world. Truth? We should have broken up ages ago. I have said goodbye to many books that I’ve put tons of time and energy and love into. But there are reasons – good reasons – why I’ve kept trying to make this work. Not ones I’m going to splash across the Internet, but if you email me I’ll tell you. That being said, those reasons don’t matter one tiny bit if the book isn’t working.

The worst part of all of this is that my failure to write this book has made me lose faith in myself, in my abilities, in my artistic vision. It’s taken the fun out of writing. Except for a new project I’m really excited about (non-fiction, thank Jesus), I have been pretty uninspired since I finished Bad Romance when I was in Bali two years ago. I’ve tried a million things in between working on this hellscape of a novel and none of them have really come to fruition. While I’ve experienced flow and word-giddyness several times working on both this book and others, my attention has necessarily been fractured because of the book’s looming deadline. This has had a domino effect on many of my other projects. There have also been some personal things and basically the entire year of 2016 and this first half of 2017 have made me want to crawl under a rock (I’m sure if I did, I’d see many other Americans under said rock, including Hillary Clinton). This certainly affected my ability to create. Like, A LOT.

(And, yet, strangely, gave me the time and capacity and desire to help other artists–go figure).

So here I was at the end of my not-so-well week, worse off than when it began. I’d signed up for a tarot for creativity workshop (amazing, I’ll tell you about it later) and I was psyched. I knew this would help, but I wasn’t sure how. Then I pick my first card. Observe:

 

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If the illustration doesn’t freak you out enough, imagine me sitting in the workshop when the teacher holds it up and says to the class, “This card….this is a shit card. It means everything is shit.” Awesome. From what I can tell, it’s pretty much the worst one in the deck. Hey, at least the universe is keeping it real with me. Okay, so I get the Shit Card aka Ten of Swords and the Hell Book is basically looking like Voldemort’s soul at the end of HP7 and then my back temporarily breaks. Clearly, I have to make a choice here. But what to do? There are things on the line with this book that make throwing it in a drawer difficult. But I can’t write it. I’m not convinced more time is going to solve this problem (I should dedicate a whole other post to the millions of strategies I employed in trying to get this thing working–I totally brought my MFA A-Game). And yet I felt totally paralyzed.

Clearly, it was time to get into coach mode. Heather, what is this book trying to teach you? I’ve been thinking a bit lately about how each book teaches us something, usually about ourselves, but of course about writing and navigating the artist’s life. I always say that no word is wasted because, as Anne Lamott says, each word has to be written to get to the ones you’re ultimately going to keep. You don’t just get all the good and right words at once. Each book–whether is succeeds and you get the National Book Award or it ends up in the drawer–is there to teach you something. I firmly believe this. So: what was this book teaching me?

As I was walking my dog, pondering this, a single word comes to me: surrender. This word tastes nourishing, like honey or coconut milk or a good cup of tea. It feels right.

Surrender

Surrender

Surrender

And I suddenly got it: this book is showing me how to let go. To trust that the stories that want me to write them are out there and that I am capable of writing them because I am a motherfucking writer and pretty decent at stringing words together (if I do say so myself). This book isn’t teaching me that I can’t write and it’s not the Fraud Police. It’s teaching me that control is an illusion. If I’ve put in the blood, sweat, and tears that any writer worth her salt should put into her work and it’s not working, then this shit is not my problem. I showed up. My muses…did not. They were off doing fuck-all who-knows-where. What is my problem is my refusal to let go of the death grip I’ve had on my future.

It is entirely possible that this story is no longer mine. That maybe it hasn’t been for a long, long time. (I’m thinking here about how Liz Gilbert talks in Big Magic about her story idea being psychically sent to Anne Patchett.) But right now, my job isn’t to worry about if it is or isn’t my story. The whole thing about surrendering is relinquishing all attempts to control or determine the outcome. Saying, I’m not writing this book or I am writing this book isn’t going to serve me in the practice of surrendering.

For my word nerds:

sur·ren·der

səˈrendər

verb





1.


cease resistance to an enemy or opponent and submit to their authority.
“over 140 rebels surrendered to the authorities”




synonyms:
capitulate, give in, give (oneself) up, give way, yield, concede (defeat), submit, climb down, back down, cave in, relent, crumble; More










antonyms:
resist










give up or hand over (a person, right, or possession), typically on compulsion or demand.
“in 1815 Denmark surrendered Norway to Sweden”




synonyms:
give up, relinquish, renounce, forgo, forswear; More











antonyms:
seize










(in a sports contest) lose (a point, game, or advantage).
“she surrendered only twenty games in her five qualifying matches”






abandon oneself entirely to (a powerful emotion or influence); give in to.
“he was surprised that Miriam should surrender to this sort of jealousy”






(of an insured person) cancel (a life insurance policy) and receive back a proportion of the premiums paid.












noun
noun: surrender; plural noun: surrenders




1.


the action of surrendering.




synonyms:
capitulation, submission, yielding, succumbing, acquiescence; More

Instead of trying to control all possible outcomes and account for all possible bad shit that can happen, I’ve decided to let the universe take over. Okay, so here it gets esoteric or woo or whatever, but you’ll just have to roll with it–I am a Californian you know. Generally, I am not a Give It Over To The Universe kind of girl. Nuh-uh. No. Freaking. Way. But I finally recognized that I had worked myself up into such a tizzy that I couldn’t write the book anyway, so I might as well just acknowledge where I’m at and stop worrying about it for the rest of the summer. Maybe inspiration will finally strike, but I doubt it. I think this book is dead. And if it’s dead, then I have to believe that something better will come along. I think I’m in the shit part of the Hero’s Journey, or perhaps the Doldrums in Phantom Tollbooth. 

 

[image error]Jules Feiffer: image credit

 

But in any good story, the hero prevails and has a boon to bring back to their community, so I have to trust that I will get my boon. Hopefully sooner rather than later. That might be in the form of a great new story idea, other ideas I already have beginning to pan out, or this book itself suddenly getting all Lazarus on me. Or maybe it’s just a fantastic anecdote to help my blocked clients. Who knows?

I did this guided meditation (from chapter six in Gabby Bernstein’s The Universe Has Your Back–a book I have mixed feelings about, but would generally recommend). By the end, I was smiling for the first time in a while. You might even say I was blissed-out. It’s this beautiful visualization that involves a golden basket and an angel – just trust me, it’s delicious. The whole thing was about letting go and surrendering whatever your issue is to the universe. Let it work its magic while you do your thing.

What my “thing” is….I have no idea. I wrote this blog. That’s a start. But I’m going to have to get back on the fiction horse soon. (You know, like how Maverick has to get back in the air after Goose dies…come on, you know I had to bring Top Gun into this). I have no freaking idea what that will be. I am currently struggling to create magnetic poetry on my fridge, so the thought of embarking on a new fiction project is a little daunting. But I miss being in flow and loving a world and characters I’ve created and so I know I’ll be back in the saddle soon.

I am chock-full of so many thoughts about what going through this means about living the artist’s life, the lessons I’ve learned throughout this whole journey, and how I had to come to terms with the financial ramifications of a being a full-time artist who is blocked…I promise I’ll get there on the blog at some point.

For those of you who find yourselves in similar situations, I recommend a real well-week, some honest-to-goodness soul searching, and lots of meditation. If you’re a lady writer (18 and up), come join the Pneuma Facebook Group to have a supportive writing community–I haven’t done this alone, and neither should you. I am still deep in shit, but I can say that this simple act of surrender has lifted an enormous load off my shoulders. Whatever happens, I’m honoring my role in the creative process and holding space for myself so that when the right book comes along, I can write the hell out of it.

What about you, friends? Comment below about blocks you’ve had, books you’ve said goodbye to, surrendering, etc. I’d love to hear what other writers are dealing with.

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A Lesson In Impermanence

This past week I took what I’ve come to call a Well Week, which is basically a week where I’m entirely focused on filling my creative well. I engage in projects and activities that will spark my imagination, inspire me, rejuvenate me, and hopefully leave me more excited than ever to write. For example, I took a workshop in reading the tarot for creativity, read and wrote poetry, and danced in my living room. This was my second attempt at a well week this year (2017 being my inaugural year of well-weeking) and while I worked out some of the kinks from the first one, it left a lot to be desired. More on this in my next post. However, one of my highlights of the week was a creative activity that ended up being indicative of the week’s unexpected central theme of surrendering: I drew a mandala. If you’re unfamiliar with what a mandala is, this is an example:

 

[image error]Image credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/430023464404081155/

 

Mandalas are ancient Buddhist and Hindu symbols that can have various meanings depending on the symbols and designs, but one of the overarching ones is that they represent the cosmos in whole. Mandalas are gorgeous, intricate, painstakingly created works of art encoded with sacred symbols and intention. The possibility of making one myself has appealed to me ever since I learned about the sand mandalas Tibetan monks make. Their mandalas are a meditation on impermanence: made of sand, these mandalas naturally lack the permanence of a mandala that is painted or carved. But the monks go a step further: in order to bring the lesson home that nothing is permanent, not even ourselves (over the course of seven years, all the cells in your body will entirely regenerate!), they destroy the mandala after they make it. When you consider the amount of time, effort, and talent that goes into making these, it’s an almost painful thing to contemplate. Some mandalas can take weeks to create, with the monks spending hours each day creating the image drop of sand by drop of sand.

 

[image error]Image credit: dkoyanagi.com

 

There’s actually a great episode of House of Cards where Tibetan monks make a mandala in the White House over the course of several days, which demonstrates the practice really well. (Side note: mandalas are a great way to remember that Trump won’t be President forever *cue sigh of relief*).

 

 

I went into this activity for a few reasons. One, it was creative and would force me out of my comfort zone (I struggle with stick figures). Two, it’s a meditative experience that I hoped would usher me into a flow state and force me to just be in the present moment for a bit. More than that, though, I really wanted to learn the lesson of impermanence. I’m currently going through an experience that I can only describe—with no attempt at eloquence—as Writer Hell, and part of this journey has involved me writing tens of thousands of words that I’ve had to throw out. As in, two entire books’ worth of words. 13K into the third attempt at the book, and I’m pretty sure I have to throw those out too. This goes beyond ‘kill your darlings’ — this is more like, ‘kill yourself.’ Over two years of my life has ended up on a literary guillotine and everything inside me is kicking and screaming, refusing to go down without a fight. It doesn’t matter how many tarot cards I pull that essentially say, Girl, take a break. I am desperately trying to find a way into this story that works and until the very last day of my Well Week, was slightly paralyzed, unsure how to move forward, knowing I can’t go back. I’ll leave it at that, since I’ll be blogging about this in my next post, but now perhaps you can see why a lesson in impermanence—one that is beautiful and positive and sacred—was in order. The purpose of creating the mandala was to get to a place where I could happily destroy it, prepared to accept and even welcome the destruction through the process of creation. The purpose of my novel, however, is most certainly not to destroy it.

Or maybe it is.

I’ve come to start thinking about this book as a teacher—a really fucking sadistic teacher, but one who is forcing me out of…something. It’s trying to open my eyes, to push me, to enact a change upon my creative functions….I don’t know. I can’t see the lesson right now. I just know that, for whatever reason, I’m writing these words and deleting them in order to discover something about myself, my writing, my career…something. You could argue that I’ve been a student of impermanence for years now. My first two novels—both of which I spent years writing and revising and submitting—received countless rejections. As I grew in my craft and understanding of my genre, I came to accept that these books were my starter novels—projects where I was basically learning how to write a novel—and so they ended up in the proverbial drawer. I came to terms with this pretty easily, actually, because I was enmeshed in other projects that I was much more excited about. And I recognized their significance in my journey, clearly seeing the role they played. But here…I’m not entirely certain where I went wrong. And I hope to God I don’t have to go through this too much longer in order to find out.

So: mandala. I sat down and did this online workshop, then continued on my own in between each segment of the online workshop, listening to the new Lorde album as I drew. Eventually, I ended up with this:

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Note the mess of multiple colors in the center. This was not on the video, nor was it my attempt to enact my own unique artistic vision on the mandala. Nope: this is where Heather got frustrated—very early on in the process, I might add. I couldn’t see what the design was going to be, had no idea where I was going (much like my work-in-progress) and I became convinced I’d done it wrong and that I didn’t have the materials and ability to make it look cool, anyway. I almost started over entirely, but, shit, I’ve had to do that so much with my writing, I couldn’t bear it. I forged on, eventually seeing the intricacy of the final design take shape and seeing that I’d been too hasty in assuming what I was making was a disaster. There are many creatives lessons embedded within all of this, but let’s move onto the destruction of the mandala. So, I made the thing. I let it sit on my desk for a couple days, and then I destroyed. Voilà: 

 

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Because I knew from the get-go that this baby wasn’t sticking around, I was totally okay with destroying it. It would have been harder if I’d thought my mandala was totally amazing-looking, but still, I’d spent so much time on it! And ruined one of my Sharpies! Tearing it up was strange, but it felt like a bit of a purge to—a catharsis. Look: it was gone and the world was still standing. And the next one I’d make would be better. And equally impermanent.

My books will go out of print someday. Maybe someday soon. And my words might not stick around too long after I’m gone. This is hard to accept. As an artist, I want my work to stand the test of time, I want it to matter on a cosmic level, and it’s a painful process, recognizing that all of it—the stories, the characters, the effort and rewards, the physical books themselves—will all fade away. I hope they fulfill their purpose while they’re around, however long that is: to open my readers up to themselves and help them get in touch with their imaginations and what it means to be human. As they say in the military, “hearts and minds.” My hope is that this understanding of impermanence will help me to lighten up a bit as I work, to hold on less tightly, and to accept when it’s time to let go. To surrender. I’m trying to get there with this manuscript (next post!) and this was a great first step.

As I write this, I’m reminded of the tattoo I got last year of an ouroboros, an ancient symbol of a snake eating its tale. Here’s an example:

 

[image error]Image credit: https://www.pinterest.com/source/nydamprintsblackandwhite.blogspot.com

 

It can mean many things, but one of the aspects of it I like is that the figure represents the never-ending cycle of creation and destruction. It’s taken a year, but perhaps the ink is finally starting to settle deeper into my skin.

I’m curious: how many of you had to step away from a project? What lessons of impermanence has writing taught you? How did you heal and  move forward?

 

 

 

 

The Bad Romance Book Birthday Post

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My new YA novel, Bad Romance, comes out tomorrow. In the publishing world, we call this a book birthday. It feels weird to celebrate this book because it’s based on what were the very worst years of my life. I don’t feel especially cheery like Yay! My book is out! I feel more like Thank God I don’t have to write that anymore. Let’s just say margaritas will be involved in the celebration of this one.

The Bad Romance Book Book Birthday Post

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My new YA novel, Bad Romance, comes out tomorrow. In the publishing world, we call this a book birthday. It feels weird to celebrate this book because it’s based on what were the very worst years of my life. I don’t feel especially cheery like Yay! My book is out! I feel more like Thank God I don’t have to write that anymore. Let’s just say margaritas will be involved in the celebration of this one.

Do you believe in you?

[image error]I found this lovely image on Pinterest and it’s from kidlit author Dallas Clayton’s book.

I want you to think back for a sec: when is a time in your life that you really believed in yourself? What was present in your life that allowed you to do this monumentally difficult thing? How did you keep the bastards from getting you down?

For me, I would say that I truly believed that one day I would be published. Statistically, this wasn’t looking good. And I kept getting rejected. After a lifetime of dabbling in writing I spent six solid years really going for it. Sacrifices were made and tears were shed. There were definitely dark nights of the soul. But still, I had this knowing inside me and I trusted that. I trusted my gut. And it worked! But the key here is that there was a lot that suggested it wouldn’t, but I keep blinders on as much as I could to those things. A very “I think I can, I think I can” mentality.

Believing in yourself starts with knowing yourself and learning how to read your gut. It’s hard work. It requires constant honest assessments, radical changes, humility, and time. I believe in myself, but I don’t believe I can do whatever I set my mind to. I believe I can do the things I have love and aptitude for, things that really are within reach. I don’t believe I’d pass the LSAT or graduate from med school or suddenly be able to learn every language that interests me. I know my limitations BUT I also know – or try to discover – which limitations I can overcome and which I really can’t. So, believing in yourself isn’t a Carte Blanche. But it can be a deeply empowering and life altering practice. It does require that you set up your life so that you give yourself space to put this belief into practice. This might look like increasing your writing time, creating a physical space at home to write, or getting some child care once a week to work on your book. The process will be different for everyone.

You are so much more awesome than you give yourself credit for. Believe in your badassery and behave accordingly! Happy Friday, friends.

The Blog Has Moved!

Hey, friends! Click above to go to my new blog. I'll be blogging about the same stuff (writing, craft, the artist's life, my books, meditation for writers, etc.) but it will be much more organized and spiffy. I'm going to do my darndest to blog once a week! All the posts here on my website will stay just where they are. Thanks for reading! xoxo

Intention

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I’m currently doing a series created by my meditation teacher and coach, Adreanna Limbach called In Bloom. It’s lovely and free and you can get it right here. It’s inspired by Spring and is a great thing to help you transition into the adventure of summer. One thing she talks about is setting an intention for the meditation series, the idea being that it can focus your heart and quiet your mind so that you can drop into the important work you’re doing on the cushion. I’ve been feeling way off center lately, so I played around with “being centered” as my intention, then ultimately chose being “grounded.” I have a lot of spinning plates in my life right now and it’s dizzying. Before I can feel centered, I need to feel like my feet are on solid ground. It’s hard to find that place in my life where I can stand in assurance, rooted in the stuff that really matters. I want some cosmic perspective and I can’t get that when all I think and worry about are the deadlines and worries and hustle. These days, we fly, don’t we? We’re running from one thing to the next, constantly preoccupied, moving so fast between tasks that our feet merely skim the ground. Emails and texts back up and we’re drowning beneath the weight of our to-do lists, clawing our way to the surface every now and then for a gasp of air. We’re utterly distracted, unable to experience anything without simultaneously deciding how we’re going to post about it or thinking about what we’re going to do next.

This is no way to be, but it’s especially no way for artists to be. We simply cannot create from that hellscape. Regardless of your process, you need time and mental space to hear the words that want to be written, to find your flow. You can’t do that when you’re off balance, grounded in nothing but survival and the desire to cross one more thing off your list. So how do we break away from the crazy? How do we get grounded and centered both when we’re writing, and when we’re not? I think Adreanna is onto something when she talks about intention and how the act of setting on can catapult you into a better place. She says: “…it can be easy to fall into the ACTION of something without first having a heart to heart with ourselves around why we’re engaging, and how we want to show up in the process. “

How many times do you sit down and you just want to get the fucking words out and then get on with your life? Has writing become this thing you just sit down and pound out? Even if you’re feeling in flow, doing a gut check when you sit down to work can have powerful results (Challenge: track your flow–on days you have a heart-to-heart with yourself before you write, do you notice you’re in flow more often?).

How do you want to show up to your writing today? What can you do to consecrate this time for yourself so that it’s just you and the page? Your intention may be that you want to be focused: so you turn your phone off, shut the door, disable your Internet. Or perhaps you want to feel joyful: you’ve lost sight of why you write, why you love it and so you decide to pursue the joy of it–maybe you don’t think about the market or editors or agents or book sales. Maybe you just play. Maybe your intention is to tell fear to get in the backseat because you’re driving this baby. You refuse to let fear or your inner critic tell you you’re not good enough today, that you’re never going to make it, that this is a waste of time. Instead, you keep your eyes on the road and put the pedal to the metal.

Whatever your intention is, the very act of making one starts grounding you in your commitment to the work, to your artistic self. It’s being serious about this thing and it’s understanding the point at which you’re creating from–setting an intention for your writing session allows you to navigate your art with a compass instead of your best guess.

So, where are you creating from today? In the geography of you, what ground do you stand on? Are you creating from a place of empowerment, fear, joy, love, curiosity, playfulness, or stress? Knowing this allows you to be in tune with yourself, and thus more in tune with your creative spirit. If you sit down and feel stressed, you can begin with some deep breathing or perhaps even do Adreanna’s guided meditation beforehand. If you’re creating from a place of joy, make sure to not allow anything that could take it away into your writing space (hint: Internet / phone). If you’re creating from a place of fear, writing an affirmation or reading a few empowering quotes can do wonders to settle you.

Sit down. Check in. Set an intention. Write.

Are You Sunk?

 

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I was listening to the Freakonomics podcast the other day and they were discussing the concepts of Sunk Cost and Opportunity Cost. A quick definition of the two:

 

Sunk Cost is what we call a situation where you’re only doing something because you’ve put a ton of time into it already. For example, you’re halfway through a graduate degree you’re not sure you want to be getting, but you’ve already put in a year of hard work, time, and money–the work, time, and money invested is your sunk cost. You don’t want to quit because then it feels like all that money, time, and effort was wasted.

Opportunity Cost is the reality that, by continuing to do this activity (the grad school program, say), you’re costing yourself other opportunities. So, for example, because you’re so busy and have invested so much time and effort into this graduate degree, you weren’t able to be the lead singer of your friend’s band (a lost opportunity) or take that cool job a non-profit offered you–another lost opportunity.

Thus, getting this grad degree is the combined sunk and opportunity cost of being a rockstar, a non-profit badass, and you are now 20K in debt and have an ulcer from all those papers you had to write.

 

This concept of sunk cost and opportunity cost really got my wheels turning. You could apply this to particular projects (the sunk/opportunity cost of working on a book that you know in your heart is just not materializing no matter how many words you write) and also to the whole venture of being a writer and pursuing a word dream. You could apply it to that MFA you’re working towards, or the particular brand/platform that you’ve created for yourself as a writer. Take anything and ask yourself: What is the sunk cost? What is the opportunity cost? Once you have your answer, it’s much easier to make a decision to either cut and run or stick it out. I’m working through this process on a particular project right now and there’s freedom in coming to a decision : if X happens, then I will do Y. It’s so much healthier than just letting the wheels of misery keep turning, hoping in vain for a lightning bolt of inspiration or luck.

One thing nearly every one of my clients either explicitly or implicitly asks is: “How long do I keep trying to get a book published?” Published clients might ask, “How long do I stay in the game when my books aren’t making money and my new offers are slim to none?” It’s totally natural to want the answer to this. Unfortunately, there is no answer. It could be a case where your big break is around the corner, but if you quit now, you’ll never know. Or it could be that life is passing you by while you pine for something that is as elusive as a white tiger.

Back when I was in theatre school I always heard that you had to give acting ten solid years of hustle. If you don’t make it in ten years, then the chances of you making it are pretty much nil. Now, I don’t think that’s true, not completely, but there’s wisdom in this response for actors. The auditioning process is brutal and the older you get, the harder it is to find roles. In order to be an actor, you must have a flexible job that you can ditch at a moment’s notice: not the greatest if you’ve got kids or need healthcare. Most actors burn out because it’s a fucking slog and can be really painful to be in an industry that values good looks over smarts. I don’t think writers need to resort to adopting this adage. For one, writers hit their strides in their forties and have decent chances of producing good work well into their later lives–National Geographic recently mentioned this fact based on, I assume, loads of legit research. Additionally, writers can have full time jobs with benefits etc. and be able to squeeze the writing in when they can. They don’t depend on others to make their art, though, of course they usually depend on others to sell it. We’ve got flexibility and the only thing we need to buy to make our art is a computer every few years. All said, we’re much better off than most aspiring artists.

Still, there is the question of sunk cost and opportunity cost, the mental wrestling we must do with the choice to be a writer. An exploration of sunk/opportunity might look like this:

Sunk Cost: seven years of writing almost every day, three completed books that no one has bought yet, an MFA, thousands paid in coaching and editing services, hours of craft study, active involvement in the writing community via social media and building a platform (blog etc), cost of writer website design and attending conferences, huge emotional investment, etc. etc.

Opportunity Cost: turned down a few cool job offers, didn’t start that business you were super excited about, never learned a second language, less time with kids and family/friends, no time to exercise and pay attention to health, vacations spent writing instead of doing cool things, unable to do cool things (travel, cultural events, etc.) because of part-time job (so you can write) instead of full-time job with better pay, etc. etc.

How long should you give it a go? The best way to assess this is to ask yourself these questions–preferably sober and not during a self-hatred spiral:

Would I keep writing if I found out I was never going to be published?
Does writing bring me joy?
What would I do if I wasn’t pursuing a career in writing?
Am I doing everything I can to succeed (working on my craft, hustling, living life as writing in terms of discipline & dedication to the pursuit)?
What are the stakes? (Of continuing on or of quitting?)
What sacrifices have I made, and what sacrifices am I willing to make, and not willing to make?
What is the sunk cost of this dream of mine?
What is the opportunity cost?

 

There are no crystal balls: just your guts, good sense, and a compass pointing toward your True North.

 

Only you can answer these questions. I don’t need to tell you the odds of getting traditionally published, or the chances of making real money you can live off of as a writer. Being a writer is accepting a lifetime of uncertainty, financial instability, and the ups and downs of creative flow–and all that entails (mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically). I know writers with marital problems because their spouses are tired of being broke and are worried that the pursuit of writing is taking away from their children’s futures. I know writers who have been giving it their all for years and have been published, but are seeing very little returns financially. I know writers who’ve hit the publishing jackpot, and ones who feel like they’re buying a lottery ticket every time they send their book out. Here’s one thing I do think applies from my theatre school days: If you’re uncertain about continuing on as a writer and you can see yourself doing anything else in your life other than writing, then do that other thing instead. Provided, of course, that that other thing isn’t just as hard and uncertain as writing and that you are passionate about that other thing.

 

The world doesn’t need another writer.

 

The world needs Word Warriors who have no choice but to write. It needs people with a calling, artists who have a vocation, who are devoted to the craft and who would write regardless of recognition or financial gain because it is who they are.  The best writing, the best contribution to the written human story, always comes from these people. If that’s you, welcome. If that’s not you, then good thing you’ve realized it–now let yourself off the hook and go do something else (P.S. You can always change your mind if, upon stopping writing, you see it’s left a big, gaping hole in your life and you’re fucked without it).  If you’re not sure about your status as a Word Warrior, then it’s time to dark-night-of-the-soul this shit. Be unflinching as you ask yourself the above questions. Be honest and brave and leave your ego and baggage at the door. What do you want? Why do you want it? This is the question I ask my characters every day and I’m asking you now.

 

What do you want? Why do you want it?

 

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(Image credit here)

If you’re going to go for it, you need to simultaneously proceed with a fire lit under your ass and the knowledge that even if it doesn’t happen, the effort and sacrifice will have been worth it. Believe with all your heart that you can do it, or don’t bother. You’re totally going to make it / You totally might not make it. This paradox rests on a delicate scale–anything can tip the balance. But it doesn’t matter which way it ultimately tips (and, oh, the world is so mysterious–never forget that) because you’re a writer. You have no choice, at least not if you want to have a reasonably sane existence.

Some people who want to write books don’t have the fire. They don’t write with the blood (to steal a phrase from the Maestro in Mozart in the Jungle). So they might be investing loads of time and money and effort into a writing career that will only succeed in giving them demonstrable returns (i.e. a book deal) if they get stupid lucky in either traditional or self publishing. And that does happen (to, like, ten people). These are people for who the sunk cost and opportunity cost of writing suggest it’s time to go in a different direction. Which is totally fine! They’re not writers, they’re hobbyists–writers write with the blood and do so regardless of whether or not any money is exchanged for their words*. If you’re a hobbyist, why would you live a less-happy and less-abundant life for the sake of a dream that isn’t even what you really, at your core, want?

*Quick note: I am not one of those people that thinks you shouldn’t want to make money. I write with the blood and I also bloody well want to be paid for my hard work. Getting paid doesn’t make me less of an artist–it makes me really fucking fortunate.

None of this has anything to do with whether you’re good at writing–that’s a whole other can of worms. If you suck at it, take heart: Some of the shittiest writers are the highest paid and on the New York Times bestseller list. Anything can happen. It’s not my call and not my place to tell you if you’re going to make it, unless, of course, I suddenly develop heightened psychic abilities and know for a fact that you’re going to end up a miserable old cat lady, single and still working on the damn book you started when you were in undergrad. More importantly, you should never put yourself in a power dynamic in which you will allow someone to give you the green light on your dreams. Because it literally does not matter what anyone thinks of your writing–what matters is what you think of your writing. Although, please, for the love of God, if you’re not good at it, get off your ass and get better. Respect the craft, your readers, and yourself. Do right by all three and you’ll be fine.

Write on, Warriors.

The Nitty Gritty of the Pneuma Autumn Retreat

Originally posted by sweet-cider

 

When

Thursday October 19th – Monday October 23rd 2017

 Where

Honesdale, PA at the Highlights Retreat Center (Check out this cute map)…Just in time to see those deliciously gorgeous fall colors!

Who

Pneuma Creative founder and creativity coach / author Heather Demetrios will be leading the retreat with fabulous YA author and manuscript doctor Ingrid Sundberg. You’ll be hanging out with us and up to twenty of your new best friends: your Pneuma sisters-in-arms (ladies only retreat), word warriors who are with you on this crazy, beautiful, maddening, wonderful journey of living your life as a writer.

Cost: $1216*

*You only have to pay a $200 deposit now (refundable). The rest is due 6 weeks before the retreat. Make sure to sign up ASAP, as cabins are going and I can’t guarantee the space without a deposit!

 

[image error]See those cabins? One of them could be yours!

More about the center:

The campus consists of the Founders’ farmhouse, 21 cabins, a lodge, and a 5,200-square-foot Retreat Center known as the Barn at Boyds Mills, 10 miles from Honesdale, Pennsylvania.

The Barn has several relaxed classroom-like areas, a Great Hall, an outdoor fireplace and a giant kitchen. There is space for meetings, meals and just hanging out. The Lodge contains eight private rooms with private baths, and a great room for getting together with others, or just relaxing.

This intimate and inspiring setting in the Pocono Mountains features serene walking trails; a 1,300-acre forest; a creek that runs to the nearby Delaware; crisp, clean days; and night skies blanketed with stars.

Here’s what you can expect when you arrive:

A cozy, private place to stay,  with a writing table and other amenities, including hot beverage center  and round the clock snacks (Note: there are 13 private cabins left for our use and a farmhouse that holds 5 rooms/5 baths. If we have more than 16 people who want to come (max 20), a few people will need to share rooms – up to them, of course! Private rooms on a first-come, first-serve basis.
A full schedule and   special gift from Pneuma
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner:  Farm-style meals are prepared by a top-notch chef and mealtimes are  perfect for lively discussions. Snacks are always available for late-night  or early morning writing sessions.
Computers and printers available     for your use
Respect for the sanctity of your     creative space

 

What your $1216 covers: 

Your own cabin at the retreat center
Three scrumptious and healthy meals (including snacks, coffee, etc.) each day
Guided Meditation and Instruction – you’ll leave with the groundwork set for a practice of your own (I promise!)
Lectures on craft, creativity, and publishing by Heather and Ingrid
Workshops of your work and those of your cohorts with editorial letters from your workshop leader (either Heather or Ingrid)
One-one-one meeting with your workshop leader about your work-in-progress
One-on-one creativity coaching session with Heather
Generative writing exercises and free time for writing
Late-night good times (think wine, dramatic readings for the extroverts among us, and confessionals)
A special welcome gift
A transformative weekend with your fellow creative women word warriors who will inspire the shit out of you.

 

Next Steps

****You need to pay your $200 deposit ASAP. If you need more time before you pay or decide, it’s ok, but let me know ASAP. You can pay for that directly on the Highlights site here. Details below:

In the “Choose Workshop” field, choose the top one “Unworkshop”
You can either pay the $200 deposit or the full room/board fee for our 4 nights, which is $516.
In the Comments field, mention that you are part of the Pneuma Creative group with Heather Demetrios.
If you choose to only pay the $200 deposit, then 6 weeks before the retreat Sept. 7th), the balance of the entire retreat is due (a total of $516 to Highlights, and $700 to Pneuma).
As for the program fee ($700), I will email you after you pay your deposit to let you know your options for paying that fee.

So, recap: $200 deposit no later than May 1st, full Highlights and Pneuma Program Fee due 6 weeks before the retreat (Sept. 7th). Email Heather to let her know you’ve paid. She will email you after you pay your deposit to let you know how to pay the Program Fee. 

 

Booking Your Travel & Prepping For The Trip

 

o   Between our Facebook group and a retreat email list, we’ll be coordinating meet-ups at the airport, for those of you flying in. Some of you might be interested in carpooling or train-ing etc. together if you live on the East Coast.

o   The sooner you book flights, the better (cheaper!).

o   The Highlights people are lovely and you can call them with any questions you have about the facilities, dietary concerns, getting there and away etc.

Our Highlights Contact:

Jo Lloyd

You can email her (Jo.LLoyd@highlightsfoundation.org) or call her (1-877-288-3410)

 

If you have questions about programming, schedules, etc. then you should contact Heather, as she’s running our retreat and Highlights is only concerned with lodging and board. You can email her at: heatherdemetrios@gmail.com. 

 

The Skinny on the Writing Situation

 

We will be divided into two workshop groups, one led by Heather, and one by Ingrid. Six weeks before the retreat, you will submit the first chapter of your work-in-progress (no more than 15 pages) to Heather. She will compile a PDF of your workshop group, which your group will receive in time to read and make comments before the retreat. There will be 3 workshop days (Fri/Sat/Sun) and three or so pieces will be discussed each day. More info will be sent out on this whole process over the summer and you will be contacted by your workshop leader regarding anything else you need to bring or prep.

You will have a one-on-one meeting with your workshop leader after your piece is workshopped and you will also receive an editorial letter from them. There will be opportunities for generative writing exercises during the retreat and optional readings in the evenings (think reciting wacky haikus written on the spot or writing your own obituary and reading it to us with gusto). My fellow shy introverts can be supportive audience members—no theatrics required.