Weaving The Dream

Yesterday I received an email from the husband of a weaving customer of mine.  He works for the Library of Congress and had discovered that my book, Weaving a Woman’s Life: Spiritual Lessons from the Loom, was there, properly catalogued and shelved.

Wow! I thought.  My book.  In the Library of Congress, where my sons can find it and, when the day comes, their children can find it as well.  When I shared this delightful information with a friend, she said it was one of my legacies.

And that got me thinking about the word legacy—something handed down by a predecessor, sometimes a gift in a will.  Something we leave behind for others.

My house is filled with legacies.  There are the paintings and sculpture created by my mother who died of breast cancer at the age of 53.  An avid antique buyer and collector, she also left me the large Early American china cabinet in our dining room, my collection of antique sewing collectibles, and the oak washstand in our family room, among many other things.

My father gave me the small, etched water glass that belonged to his grandmother bearing her name, Cornelia, and “Chautauqua 1895”.  I also have the oak kitchen table that belonged to my father’s mother and father, which he and his sisters used to run and hide under when they were growing up.  My paternal grandfather gave me the mantle clock that sat in his parlor but didn’t run.  Years after my grandfather’s death, my father repaired it and it now sits ticking on our mantle.

As a young girl, I always longed for a vanity table.  After my mother’s aunt died, I received one of hers along with the mirrored tray, hand mirror, and face powder holder.

The interesting thing about legacies is that you usually don’t just receive the item—you also receive the memories about the person who handed it down.  In this way, a small part of his or her spirit or presence remains in your life.

One of the best examples of this, and for me one of the legacies I treasure most is the collection of daylilies my father has given me.  An avid aficionado, my father has raised and bred daylilies for years, even earning certification as a daylily judge.  His flowerbeds trumpet over 50 types of daylilies.

Knowing that he and my stepmother intend to move soon, last year he carefully went through and divided his daylilies to give me fans or rootings of each type.  Some I planted last year and some are still waiting in pots for their permanent homes.

They are in full bloom right now, many of them, and I perambulate along their beds, talking to them, complimenting them on their exquisite beauty, removing the spent blooms, and all the time, I am thinking of my father and the care and commitment he gave to these flowers. 

Like the lilies, if given care and commitment, our children are living legacies.  How we raise them, who they become as people can affect family, friends, communities, and the world well into the Future.  My three loving, compassionate, creative sons are my and my husband’s most significant legacy.

Legacies are important.  They provide connection and foundation for the present and the future.  They can give us something to hold onto or push away from.

What legacies have been passed down to you?  What are you leaving behind for others?

Okay, this is bad.  This is really bad.  After all I read about keeping my blog up to date and blogging at least two or three times a week, it has been just over two months since my last entry.  Two months!

And every time the doorbell rings (well, it doesn’t, actually, since it is broken) or the phone rings, then I worry that the Blog Squad (Patsi Krakoff and Denise Wakeman, www.buildabetterblog.com) have arrived to carry me off to jail for fraud and failure to follow through.

I could say that my long absence here was due to that rejection previously noted in the last entry but truthfully, rejection doesn’t immobilize me for long.

I could also say that June was the month where I felt like Lucy in the chocolate factory.  For those of you too young to remember that classic episode, she and Ethel take a job on a chocolate production line.  The belt carrying the chocolates moves faster and faster past them until they can’t keep up.  First they stuff the extras in their mouths (every woman’s dream), but then, when that doesn’t solve the problem, they stash them any place they can find—their apron pockets, their bras, etc.  The perfect example of too much of a good thing.  That was me in June.

I barely had time to recover from the excitement of attending BEA (Book Expo America) in New York the very first weekend of June and meeting with a couple of agents and publishers, then I was off to Skidmore College in Saratoga, New York to teach dreamwork at the International Women’s Writing Guild conference.  And let me just say here that if you are female and have ever considered the idea of writing, this conference is the place to be for stimulation, motivation, and amazing friendships.

On top of it all was a huge writing assignment on Empty Nesters for an online magazine, which promises good exposure and reasonable pay, but kind of killed my desire to write anything else during that time.  (I now consider myself, however, an expert on the Empty Nest!)

Then there was my daughter-in-law-to-be’s bridal shower…  You get the picture.

And the more time that went by, the harder it became to settle back into blogging.  And the guiltier I felt.  And the guiltier I felt, the less I felt like writing and the more time went by.  And the more time went by…well, you get the picture.

Of course, the best way to beat guilt and procrastination is to take action.  So here I am.

And the lesson?  The lesson is that any habit, any discipline, any craft, takes consistency.  The minute you fall out of your habit/discipline/craft, you have to start all over again to build up the rhythm, the motion, that forward drive.

So I am kind of starting all over again.  And now that I have, I have ideas and topics lining up, crowding around, shouting, “Me! Pick me!  Write about me!”

Sigh!  Feels good…and I hope this will convince the Blog Squad to give me probation…

Went out to the mailbox yesterday, little expecting that there was a ticking bomb inside.

OK, maybe that is a little dramatic, but I am a writer and what was in that mailbox is something every writer dreads…a letter of rejection.

This letter, standard in its form—sorry, but you aren’t for us, sure you will find an appropriate home, etc. etc.—was from a well-respected agency who had asked to look at the entire manuscript of my fantasy novel.  I was so hopeful.  After all, how many times do we get that far in the process?

Rejection in any form is a hard thing to take.  I know.  While my weaving and writing have been accepted and purchased by the best, my weaving and writing have also been rejected by the best for almost 15 years—by craft show juries for the best craft shows (even after being in them previously, always a puzzler), by craft galleries and museum shops buyers, by well-to-do private customers, and by those adorably confusing and unpredictable agents and editors.

Rejection, as hard to take as it sometimes is, is just the nature of the business.  In fact, it is the nature of life. And yet, we always wonder why?  Why don’t they like me?  Why don’t they like my work?  Why, why, why…?

If we can move past the place of curling into a ball and chanting,  “Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I’m going to eat some worms!” then we can use those rejections, personal or professional, for evaluation, motivation, and action.

First, we can check to make sure that we are bringing the best of who we are and what we do to our relationships, our creativity, and our work.  Then, we need to remember and understand an oft forgotten truth that is really difficult for some of us to swallow.  Repeat after me, “Not everyone is going to love me, my work, or my creative expressions.”  Did you choke on that a bit?  Take a swallow of water.

Sorry, that is just the way it is, AND that is what makes life so grand and exciting.  Everyone is different and has different tastes and desires and needs.  The challenge, yes, challenge, is to find the match to who we are and what we have to offer while not compromising the essence of our work or ourselves.

So we use the fact that this lover, this employer, this agent/editor doesn’t like who we are or what we have to offer to take action to find the one who does.  As sales and motivational leaders like Tony Robbins remind us, each “no” brings us that much closer to the “yes”.  So, we use the rejection as a catalyst, as a kick in the pants to get moving onto the next candidate in our search for true love, fortune, and fame.  That way, instead of blowing us, and our self-esteem, into smithereens, we cut that colored wire of rejection and totally disarm the whole thing.

So, yesterday, after doing the curling into a ball and chanting routine for a few minutes, I sat down at my computer and did some networking with authors and publishers who will be at Book Expo America which I am planning to attend, and even set up an appointment with a publisher.  I used that blasted letter to get me moving on to the next possibility.  I totally disarmed that letter.

I am still thinking of putting it in the freezer to chill off, though.  Just in case…
 

Recently, I was a guest on a panel of authors speaking to writers at an event sponsored by the International Women’s Writing Guild, held in New York City. The event was on a beautiful spring weekend when most people would rather be outside in their yards and gardens.

But writers will gladly give up fun in the sun to find out the secrets to getting a book published—and they will travel a far distance for the same reason.  At this event, audience members were from New York City, the surrounding metropolitan area and nearby states, as well as from as far away as Texas and Peru. The authors on the panel also came from far away places like New Orleans and Michigan.

While I was amazed at the distance people had traveled to be at this NYC event, I realized I should not have been.  After all, for five years I was a volunteer Speaker Host at the Maui Writers Conference.  Each year I spoke with writers from all over the US who had planned and saved and finagled in order to come to the conference, attend the seminars, and meet the agents and editors in this paradise setting. Writers will go to great lengths and great distances to study and learn about the art, craft, and business of writing.

Here is the thing though.  We—and by “we” I mean anyone involved in creativity of some form—can use the learning process as a form of, uh oh, PROCRASTINATION!  Yes, the more we think we have to learn, to read, to study, the longer we are able to procrastinate, put off having to actually create, having to actually risk life and ego to finally put our imaginative ideas into form.  And this attending of conferences, reading more books, taking more classes, eases that nagging sense of guilt that we should be doing something.

Don’t get me wrong!  Conferences, books, seminars, classes are important stepping stones to successful creativity—but they are not the true destinations.

As I listened to the other panelists share their stories that day, I heard a similarity between all ten of us.  First, we each had a strong belief in our work, our writing.  Secondly, we had the willingness to do whatever it took—within legal bounds, mind you—to get our books published, even if we had to do it ourselves.

We may do it kicking and screaming, as I did when I finally decided to self-publish my book, Weaving a Woman’s Life, but, in the end, what else can we do if we are to truly and fully honor the Gift of our creative work?

So we must decide.  Are we willing to invest at least as much time, energy, thought, and effort into creating and sharing our work as we are in planning and getting to that next conference? 

We will travel far and long to listen to others tell us of their successes and how we too, can be successful with our creativity.  But the really important questions?  How far will we go to make our creative imaginings manifest in the world?   How far will we go to honor the creative urgings of our souls?

My husband, Bob, and I just returned from attending the wedding of the oldest son of our good friends, Bill and Patty.  Like us, they have three boys and this is the first son to marry.  We were excited for them and for us since our oldest son will be married later this fall.

For a number of reasons, Patty had much of the responsibility for organizing and preparing for the wedding and reception.  Her loving care and efforts were evident in everything from the organist to the wedding program, and to the reception in the church hall afterwards.  There, Patty had recruited friends and neighbors to help decorate the tables as well as prepare and serve the food and beverages for the buffet.

During the ceremony, as Bill and Patty watched their son repeat the age-old vow promising to love, honor, and cherish his new bride with his “I do!” I couldn’t help but think about how Patty and Bill first had to say, “I do”, to Mike and his brothers.  For in giving birth, the most powerful creative act for many women, we must say, “I do,” promising to love, honor, and cherish our children, without reserve and often without reward.

As I mentioned in a previous post, commitment is a scary thing whether to the children of our wombs or the children of our inspiration. Like our flesh and bones children, our creative children also need us to say, “I do.” If our songs, our paintings, our novels, our weavings are to have life, find a home, and grow into the fullness of their potential, we must commit to giving them our love and our respect without reserve – and often without reward.

The challenge, of course, is to keep saying, “I do” when we are tired, short-tempered, and frustrated, to continue to love and honor our efforts to create what has meaning, beauty, and significance even in the face of criticism or failure.  Our creativity is sacred whether it manifests in our children or in our creative work, and we are called to give it everything we have.

As we sat next to Patty’s sister waiting for the wedding to begin, she shared with me that Mike told her, “Mom has always been there for me for 28 years.”  Mike truly understood and appreciated the selfless, unstinting love his mother had given him, still hearing the echoes of her “I do,” even 28 years later.

So I wonder…Can I promise to love, honor, and cherish my creative work in frustration and disappointment?  Can I be as selfless in my creativity as Patty was in preparing that wedding for her son?  Can I say, “I do,” to my creativity?

After the ceremony, as the bride and groom made their way down the aisle greeting their guests, Mike hugged his mom fiercely to him, tears of relief and love and joy on both their faces.

And I would guess that, for Patty, that was reward enough!
 

OK - so my studio goes through periods of looking like it just burped after a heavy meal…

Like right now. I asked my fairy godmother if she would just wave her magic wand and clean it for me but she thinks it is better if I clean and organize it myself.

“Then you are less likely to make such a mess again,” she tells me, pointing her wand at me. (Really, after all this time, you’d think she would know better!)

But if I am just going to mess it all up again (me and those reproducing cones of yarn), then why bother? Why not just leave it the way it is after a swipe with the dust cloth and push of the vacuum cleaner along the path through the jumble of books, cones, pillow forms, and projects?

Well, because just as much as creativity loves the freedom of chaos, it also loves the space and clarity of order. After a while, the jumble of papers, books, yarns, and other things that sneak in, makes me feel chaotic inside, and a little claustrophic. Clutter weighs me down–mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

I usually try to give the studio a thorough cleaning–reorganizing, vacuuming, dusting, and washing windows-at this time of year. I throw out old files and magazines, and give books I have read and don’t need anymore away to friends or my local library. And when I am done, I feel lighter, happier, and eager to get back to weaving and writing.

Apparently, I am not imagining this as experts in Feng Shui say that clearing out clutter eliminates negative Chi (energy) and makes room for new ideas and developments.

So I need to create order in order to create. After all, how can I choose the colors to weave a new luscious shawl if I can’t see all the yarns I have available? I might miss that ocean blue or that deep forest green. How can I let my mind adventure off into the next scene of my fantasy novel, if bills and writing assignments are scattered around the computer competing for my attention? I may manage to write a few pages somehow but it often takes longer and uses more energy. Eventually, I start to procrastinate writing or weaving, or even going out to the studio at all, a sure sign I need a little order.

Sigh! So I need to get to work because I have seven feet of workspace and you can’t see the surface of any of it anymore. And something important may be buried there…like my creativity.

Now where did my fairy godmother go?

Why are beginnings so scary?

Some beginnings, of course, are scarier than others. Beginning a New Year is not so scary most of the time. Usually we are grateful to be alive and able to see in a New Year. Beginning a good meal, a new book, or a movie is seldom scary unless intentionally so.

But two beginnings are always scary - new relationships and new creative projects.

New relationships are scary because if they don’t work out someone might get hurt and that someone might be me!

New creative projects are scary because if they don’t work out - if no one likes them, buys them, understands them, etc, then someone might get hurt and that someone is always going to be the creator, i.e. ME!

And here I am beginning a blog - something that is about both a new relationship (with you) and a new creative project. Now how much scarier can you get than that?

Maybe that is the reason I kept finding more research to do, changing my mind about the focus, listening to one more teleseminar before birthing this baby (OK – having a baby is the ultimate really scary combination of new relationship and new creative project and I should know – I have had three!)

Beginning relationships and creative projects require at least two things: commitment and the willingness to risk being a fool. And this is why they are scary.

In today’s world, we can do, change, access most things quickly and easily. Here today, gone tomorrow. Making a commitment to stay with a relationship or a creative project (which is really just a relationship of another kind) requires being willing to give time to something to grow and change and succeed and fail and succeed again. Most of us either are unwilling to be patient at all since everything else seems to arrive at the push of a computer key, or we are only willing to be patient through one or two failings. Then it gets too painful or too costly in time, energy, or money, and we give up.

And, of course, most of us are unwilling to be seen as the fool. The Expert? Absolutely, see my hand in the air waving at you? But the Fool? Oh no, experience that kid-in-class-with-the-wrong-answer-so-the-other-kids-laugh-at-you feeling again? Unh-unh. Been there, done that.

And yet, if I don’t risk being the fool by being wrong or inept, if I’m not willing to make the commitment to allow growth and evolution, how will I ever enter a marriage, start a new business, write a book, make a new friend, post a blog?

So, here I am - the committed Fool, stepping off into the Blog Abyss.

Paula