Dusting off the pages

Well hello! What a long summer it was, leading to a great Fall (yes, that's punny).

So much has gone through my mind and the busy nature of life swept it under carpets for another day. Now that the chill in the air has chased me back inside, those days are here.

I've started another blog which is an attempt to trace a new project- Life By Numbers- 365-52-12 to 101 in 1001.
That is things I will be doing every day, every week, every month in an attempt to whittle down my 101 things to do in 1001 days list.

Additionally, I have returned to writing. I find sometimes that summer painting season shoves my writing muse out of the picture, and hog ties her to a pipe in the corner until there are no more faces to paint. Now the writing has come back.

The required creative process seems to have changed.

At this time last year I was prolifically writing short stories, some based on prompts. The prompts were amazing.
Right now, not so much. I have inspiration in other ways but that doesn't help me with the writing community I'm part of. I know that reigning advice is to just sit down and write but it just isn't there. How do you make something happen that isn't there?

We'll find out tonight as I write for a very uninspiring prompt. I've pulled in music to help me...actually song lyrics which will serve as transitions for the action and thoughts, maybe. Hopefully. Right now it's all I have. Someone else's words.

Time to test the time honoured advice of "just write".

Maybe my muse is still feeling beat up. Perhaps she needs some Advil and a glass of water to nurse herself back to her previous glory.
Perhaps.

10 ways to Creation- the first 3 baby steps

On a writing group I am in, we have been reviewing the top 10 pieces of advice from "famous" authors.

As always, there have been absolute pearls of wisdom buried deeply within dung.

What I found almost insulting were the authors who seemed to approach the task with useless sarcasm.
Did they not realize the purpose was to offer guidance to those who follow?
Did they not care?

Some, in their efforts to appear like mysterious, intelligent, creative artistes, were baffling at best. Simple statements with no clarity gave us much to discuss and almost nothing to bite into. It was, at times, very unfulfilling.

For those of us wishing to learn, it was frustrating to read holier than thou perspectives from authors we'd never even heard of.

It did, however, inspire me to think of what my 10 pieces of advice would be for anyone diving into the creative pond.

So far I have thought of 3 that are imperative to my creative process: be it art, writing or costuming.

1. Research. Do not assume you know. Do not assume your audience does not know. In this age of information, people know more obscure things that we give them credit for.

2. Remember all the rules you've been taught about creating a piece, and throw them out the the window, into a hurricane and watch them blow away. When editing, use them as guidelines. When creating, go with your gut.

3. Be flexible and open to change. Change in your outline or notes. Change in your characters or settings. Change in design. Just allow for a bit of wiggle room. All creations like to breathe and I love to be surprised when they are done.

The Process of Creating

I write. I make art. These are just things I do.
I would not be so bold as to call myself an author or an artist, even in the sitting-in-a-coffee-house-while-attempting-to-look-earnest-and-artsy sense.

Join any chat group, read an artist blog long enough, and inevitably the question of "How does one create?" comes up.
I find it surprising that anyone would attempt to define such a magical process. Then I realized, it is not magic for some, or rather for many. It seems that plotting, planning and premeditation control the creative process. This begs me to ask, is that truly creating?

Of course, in the very base of the definition, it is. You are giving birth to something new to the world. At the same time, where is the spontaneous nature that can lead down magical rabbit holes?

I took the time to evaluate what I do.

I write. I start with an idea, some distant twinkle that has no clear definition and I write a few words on a page. The twinkle becomes clearer, less obscure. Images begin to appear in my minds eye, slowly at first like a photograph building speed into a flip book and eventually rolling off like a movie. My fingers ache to keep up with it all as the action unfolds. I sleep, breathe and eat these alternate worlds.

Most interesting to me is that there are times when I have such a clear idea of how things will go, and then these living beings dancing across my page tell me "No." They move along at their own pace and tell me how their lives will be. I am simply their vessel, the one who allows them to come to life. These characters honour me by allowing me to tell their stories, and in doing so they enrich my life.
I can't ever say that there is a process to that, or that I create them. I see and am inspired. I absorb. I translate.

My art, body art and sketches that is, comes from a wholly different place.
This involves much planning on my part. I have templates that I draw on to get the images to flow just right. There is researched involved. Sifting through images on Flikr, Google and books until I find something that works just right.
The image I come up with is a gem in the rough, one that becomes refined and polished later with details that evolve as I move through the piece. The end result is generally an image that comes close to what I had originally set out to create.
Process is a monumental part of these projects.

Which is more accurate to my personal style? Well...that, my friends, is a topic for another day because I do believe it involves defining my style. What I do know is that they both work for me.
Neither is flawless, and I fully admit that it may not be correct for everyone but I don't believe for an instant that there is a correct way to write or to make art.
Whatever teachers, professors or professionals say may be relevant for them but at the end of the day what I am left with is MY computer, MY pen and paper, MY own creative mind.
And that's honestly good enough for me.

The Toughest Job

There was once a military commercial that said "The toughest job you'll ever love."

I scoffed and laughed every time it was on.

Men crawled through mud under fences and I thought it was nothing compared to trying to giving a toddler a bath after getting him back from a chocohaulic auntie.

A drill sergeant screaming at you? Try a hungry infant, with a fever, at 3am the day you have to be up at 7 for a final exam. Or alternately, I would like to suggest facing down the freshly angered tween. This is a beast who will say anything to hurt you since you stopped them from playing a video game and texting in order to do the dreaded chores. Suddenly Sergeant Slaughter seems like a lick-happy puppy.

Live artillery training? How about negotiating a Lego minefield with the foot marring addition of Hot Wheels cars while attempting to dodge the projectile vomit in order to change baby's diaper before the inevitable diarrhea bout kicks in. Seriously, the idea of facing down a tank seems pleasant now, doesn't it?

I would love to take exception with the military for falsehood in advertising. It could never compare to motherhood, which I undertook as a single, college student. I know, not ideal but I have to say, I wouldn't change a thing.

I love being a mom. I HATE being a parent. Parents have to make tough decisions, they have to set rules and make the kids stick to them, they have to get up at 5am on Saturday to make sure their child is at wrestling practice by 6am. Parents have to make kids eat broccoli, do homework and go to bed in the middle of a favorite show.
It brings to mind the age old parental adage "This hurts me more than it hurts you."
I never would have thought it, but it's true! The day I figured it out I was floored.

Parenthood hurts more than being a child does.

My mothers heart breaks when my son hurts, but I pretend to be strong to help him heal.
My mothers heart shatters when he tries, and fails. I smile and encourage him to try again ignoring my own pain.
My mothers heart stops when we fight because I fear that he will forget how much I love him, no matter how often I say it. Still, I fight him anyway knowing that once he learns that homework really is important, he will be a better man for it.

Being a parent, a mother, is the toughest job anyone could ever love.

From the Mind of a Foibled Mortal

I have a theory about people.
I believe that we become so caught up being someone else's something that our own personalities get lost along the way. I also think that while in that position, reality grips us so firmly that we forget what it is like to get lost in a fantasy, even for a moment.
Daydreams give way to "Honey-do lists".
Desires transform into dinner plans.
Hope and wishes become silent prayers about bills and children.
I've seen it.
I've lived it.
None of these are bad, but that are not the sum of who we are.

I've witnessed adults who want to play with the same freedom they had as children but who seem to have forgotten how. Those who seek simplicity and adventure, afar and in their own backyards, but fail to recognize it.
Abandon, joy, a sense of self, self-awareness enough to embrace who we are as individuals as well as maintain those relationships without losing ourselves to them. They are within reach, I think.

I've had it. I've since lost it in the back of a closet with my son's other wrestling shoe, the favored green shirt of my fiance and my sanity but I promise I did have it once.

And I want it again.

To recapture it I need to look at my past, for that is where it started, and where it was lost.
I need to look at where I am now, what I'm doing and how it all adds up.

These aren't excavations as much as stories. I'm not a psychologist and am incapable of going all Freud on myself without breaking into fits of giggles.
Instead I want to revisit stories, personal myths and legends, lessons that harbor seeds of wisdom and encourage me to be open to every possibility.

So here I am to share the whispers of days gone by, chronicle the now and ponder the paths I've yet to travel.
It won't be easy. I expect laughter, tears and a bucket load of "what the hells" and "reallys?" to come up along the way but that's the best part.
What's the use of a story if it doesn't tug, push. pull or effect something?

*deep breath*

Here we go.
Flaws, mortality and all.