SISTER WISDOM

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a writer’s manifesto: I should know what I’m talking about Comments Off

Filed under work
Written by Annie on 11th Jan -11

My notebook loves writing group

I write about things as if I know what I’m talking about.

It’s part of the package with writing for money. Or maybe just with writing, period. You feel like, as a writer, you should be able to present some authoritative view or revelatory moment to your readers. Having readers is a big responsibility, people. You may not know what a burden you are to us writers, but really, you are. Obviously we’d all want to kill ourselves if you weren’t around, but writing for you people is serious work.

You want to know all sorts of stuff.

You want fact-checking and witty commentary, all in one.
You demand a lot from us writers.

And we strive to give it to you, really we do, because the biggest fear we have is that you’ll leave us.

You’ll decide we’re not witty enough.
Or that we’re too witty, self-consciously painfully witty like a ponytail pulled too tight.

Or we’ll give you too few facts, or the wrong facts, or not enough facts. You readers, these days, you’re so inundated with information, you have so many options, you can get multimedia anything; the chance that you’ll simply sit and read some words we wrote? Slim, slim, slim. So those of you that do stay with us (and we bless you fervently as we drift to writerly dreams at night) may not be surprised to find us kind of clingy. A little desperate. And so very, very aware of the responsibility of keeping you here with us.

And that’s why we kind of resent you people sometimes.

It’s not your fault.

It’s just the weird little dichotomy we live, writing these posts and articles and books as if we know what we’re talking about, when the one thing running through our head is just desperate, clingy, 5th-grader’s refrain: please like me please like me please like me please like me.

Please?
Because as distantly higher-than-thou as we act like we are sometimes, we really really like you. Really.

Image: My notebook loves writing group by juliejordanscott

Stupid Things I Obsess Over, Part 1 11

Filed under self
Written by Annie on 25th May -10

Most of my journal entries are boring. Most of them start with the date and then the time and then a report: “doing good today, got up on time” or “we’re getting on track” or “late today, forgot to set the alarm” or “hit snooze 27 times before I got up this morning.”

I flip back through my journal and I think, Hmmm, anyone who could fend off the boredom long enough to actually read these pages would probably walk away thinking this girl is obsessed with only one thing: when she gets up in the morning.

Maybe I am. Let me ‘splain. (No, is too much. Let me sum up. No, let me let Madeleine L’Engle sum up for me.)

“A woman who follows a vocation needs an unusually understanding husband; [CHECK, ALL GOOD THERE.] and even then, a woman’s success can put a real strain on marriage. [I'LL LET YOU KNOW WHEN I FIND OUT.] And I believe this will be true even when women’s liberation is an accomplished fact. [WHATEVER, I DON'T KNOW.] And the woman who accepts the demands of a call must be able to observe rigorous discipline. [THAT WAS THE IMPORTANT LINE.] If we follow a vocation and choose to have a family, too, there is a constant balancing of priorities. We have to learn to turn away from the typewriter in order to cook dinner. [WE DO? OOPS.] And, yet, we mustn’t lose the train of thought.” (Madeleine L’Engle)

“…and the woman who accepts the demands of a call must be able to observe rigorous discipline.”

I’m a morning person, Joe is not. But I’ve noticed that for both of us, we do much better when we both get up at ungodly hours of morning to do the things which are important to us, which take time, which inspire and encourage us through the rest of our day, which are part of our long-term vision. These are the things, the efforts which most define and identify us at our core, most reward us (at least inwardly), but which it is most difficult to make time to do, daily.

Get up at 4 or 5 in the morning to pursue something iffy (a book, a website, a start-up business, God…) and then work the rest of the day at your real job? Are you crazy?

Well.
Maybe.

Maybe crazy. Definitely most alive and definitely most happy when we are pushing ourselves, pursuing a goal, challenged and working and progressing on something important. Of course, it goes without saying but I’ll say it anyhow: being a Mom is important and Joe’s work at Arco is important.

Yes, obviously, since we devote our days to that, to the exclusion of other pursuits. There’s no question in my head of which is more important, my children or my writing. I don’t have to ponder this. If we were in an either-or situation, it would be bye-bye to writing. But praise Thee, Lord, we are not. I can love, nurture, train, be with my children and still write. It just requires thought, effort, rigorous discipline, and a good dose of craziness to do both.

That’s why I obsess over my mornings. They are the sign: am I making room in my life for what matters? I can’t shove aside my children during the day in order to pursue writing, and I don’t want to. So if I want to do the important work of writing, I have to do it before my other important work begins. (Or after, which might be an option for night-people but not for me, as brain turns to oatmeal after 9 pm.)

So I care. I infringe on night, I cut my sleep short, I drink too much coffee, I hide my alarm, I mumble and mutter and stare and then the caffeine clicks in, I start writing, and I remember why I’m awake.
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What do you obsess over?

Image of girl obsessing over checkbook courtesy of Betsy with a lot of S’s. Thanks, Betsssssssssssssy.

You Can’t Balance a Passion 2

Filed under self
Written by Annie on 5th May -10

The Audacity of Passion

There is so much audacity in putting words on paper and assuming any of them are worthwhile. And it’s no good saying, “Well if only one person is helped by what I write then it is worth it…” That’s a lovely, noble albeit impractical thought and to it I say it better be some person to keep me waking up at 4 a.m. to scribble things down and that person must need a lot of help.

I hope it is crowds of people and thousands of copies and yes, large sums of money. Because money is a sign of value, and if I am to find a decent value in the time I’ve put in it will take a lot of money.

But that might not happen.

And I’ll write anyway, though heartsick at times continue reading…

A Steep Deep Rush Through Amazing Day Comments Off

Filed under the home
Written by Annie on 3rd May -10

in even the laziest creature among us
a wisdom no knowledge can kill is astir–
now dull eyes are keen and now keen eyes are keener
(for young is the year,for young is the year)
–let’s touch the sky:
with a great(and a gay
and a steep)deep rush through amazing day

Pete and Repeat Were Sittin’ on a Fence

The thing that kills me about housework is the repetition. No, that’s not it. The thing that kills me about housework is the thought of all those other things I could be doing instead of housework. Repetition is just part of life, after all.

We shower every day (or thereabouts, hopefully), we say hello and goodbye and I love you, we eat three meals (or thereabouts), we sleep, we work. So on. Life is full of repetition, and that isn’t always bad despite the occasional plunge into boredom. There are ways to avoid the boredom. continue reading…

Letting Go of My Perfect House 3

Filed under the home
Written by Annie on 26th Apr -10


“Nothing mankind has yet made is worth any regret.” T.E. Lawrence

As of this writing, my kids are cute little stair steps: one, two, and three years old. And the reason I’m writing is because the stair steps are asleep and don’t need my attention. When the stair steps are awake, writing is only a fond dream. A fond dream, kind of like the fond dream I had of what my house would be like… before I actually had a house of my own.

Transitioning Into Real Life

I’m one of those (rare?) folks who went straight from Mom and Dad’s place to newlywed life. A tricky transition, at best. I understood budgets and how to clean and cook – how to rearrange furniture – how to pick out matching curtains.

But I didn’t understand how to transform myself from someone who cared more about reading a great book or writing a great article than rearranging furniture or hanging up curtains. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I do care what my house looks like. I care a lot. It pricks my pride when things are, well, iffy. But I don’t care enough to put all my waking hours into turning this place – our home – into something magazine worthy. And when you’re working with a newlywed budget for home decor – in our case, a wopping $0 – all you can put into it is time.

You Say Crafty, I Say Crappy…

I tried a lot more DIY type stuff before babies. I sewed a little curtain, with a very crooked hem, to hang over my kitchen window. I didn’t have any curtain rod or hardware, so I bent two forks and managed to attach them to the wall, then used welding wire to string the curtain. It looked… well, let’s just be honest: it looked iffy.

My talent does not lie in the crafty, sewing, DIY, decorating world. Oh dear, no. I am finally realizing this, instead of pretending like I have a latent talent for it that just hasn’t been discovered yet. (By the way, did you ever notice that “latent” and “talent” are the same but for two letters swapped in position? Hmmmm. That might mean something.)

My latent talent remains hidden, well below the surface. And I’m kind of coming to a strange peace with letting it stay there.

Proof I Am Getting Somewhere

Point A: I cajoled a dear friend of mine into sewing up the curtains for my front window, after purchasing the fabric with an “Oh sure I can do this, it’s just a big rectangle” pep talk and then staring, guiltily, at the fabric for 3 months.

Point B: I have stricken the phrase “I need to paint that ___________” from my vocabulary for at least the next three months. I do need to paint things, lots of walls and cabinets and doors and trimwork, but I’ve quit pretending that I actually want to or will DO that painting.

I’m way too busy with other things, things I love more, things that matter more to me. Family, teaching my children, getting outside, dates with my husband, losing the last 20 pounds of baby weight, writing writing writing and reading.

I Didn’t Think I Was a Liar

There is a level of honesty with myself in those statements that I never gotten to before. I kept putting things on my list and putting them off and feeling guilty and making plans and repeating the cycle. And all the time I wasn’t getting any of those “house” things done and I was distracting myself from the things that really matter to me.

The truth about myself and my love-hate relationship with my dwelling is this:

  • Truth 1: I love it when it looks good, but I hate putting the time in to make it look good, or better, than it does now. Regular cleaning is about all I can manage. (And I confess, even the cleaning is below my Mom’s standard. Please don’t lift rug corners, touch over-eye-level surfaces, or open closets in my home.)
  • Truth 2: Functionality matters more to me than trendy or pretty or even matching.
  • Truth 3: I would rather (by 1000%) spend my “extra money” (ha ha, what is THAT?) on a) more books or b) really good food or c) a massage than on decor, curtains, pillows, fabric, furniture, etc. You know, that stuff that makes a house look good.
  • Truth 4: I’m not as much of a DIY Frugalista Home-Freak as I’d like to pretend. I’m not going to spend my weekend breaking down that toddler bed, stripping it and repainting it and turning it into a headboard. No, I am not. I am going to spend my weekend playing with my kids, working in the garden, hiking in the woods, doing the absolute minimum cleaning necessary, and maybe baking some really fattening but delicious cookies to eat while I finish my current read. (Note to self: put that half-reupholstered rocking chair on Craigslist asap.)
  • Truth 5: I am, finally, five years in to this whole house/home/marriage thing, okay with those truths about myself. I am finally not berating myself for being a secret member of the Anti-Cutesy-Crafty-Home-Decor Mom Brigade. I don’t have anything against cutesy or crafty or home decor, I’m just done feeling guilty because I don’t spend my time on it. It’s just not me.

The Time Has Come

There is one last truth that accompanies the previous five, and you know what it is already. It’s the title of the post, it’s the inevitable break-up. I can’t expect to have a perfect (or even semi-near-the-neighborhood-of-Perfect) house if I’m not willing to put time into it. This is a simple concept, and I get it.
It’s time to let go.

One day, I hope, mere years rather than decades from now, all this investment in writing writing writing and reading will have paid off in some sort of tangible (read: bank account) way, and then I might revive the relationship with my perfect house.

No, not that I’ll have “made it” as a writer, so I can take some time off to work on the house. Heck, no. Just that I’ll finally be rich enough to hire somebody to do it for me…

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Images

1. The red house with cows courtesy of Jody McNary Photography on Flickr.

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