Write, Dance, Hum Through Your Paradox, But Especially Write

The title of this book grabbed me, "Owning Your Own Shadow: Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche." For about a year, I've been on the verge of finishing another manuscript, and the end of the book is a paradox of light and dark, good and evil. I'm not one for the melodramatic, but I had to pick up this slender book and start a little fire under myself. It's given me much more than I believed it would. It's a quick read but sticky.

The theme is paradox (again that word) of what is positive and negative in the act of being and how the parts of life we don't like are instructive and won't be ignored regardless of trying. The author, Robert A. Johnson, who also wrote He and She (all from 20 years ago), suggests we find meaning in the hard space inbetween.

What stuck with me, besides most of it, which I'll be rereading, is what Johnson wrote about writing:

Every verb makes holy ground. "I will go home" or "I will play music now" imply a special identity to "I" and "home" or "I" and "music." To make any well formed sentence is to make unity out of duality. This is immensely healing and restorative. We are all poets and healers when we use language correctly. One makes a mandorla* every time one says something that is true.

...

The mandorla is the place of poetry. It is the duty of a true poet to take the fragmented world that we find ourselves in and to make unity of it. ... All poetry is based upon the assertion that this is that. When the images overlap, we have a mystical statement of unity. We feel there is safety and sureness in our fractured world, and the poet has given us the gift of synthesis.

Great poetry makes these leaps and unites the beauty and the terror of existence. It has the ability to surprise and shock -- to remind us that there are links between the things we have always thought of as opposites.

*A holy circle or bounded place that is a representation of wholeness.
No compensation or free copies of this book were provided as an inducement for this blogpost.

Cynicism and Writing

My pretend book proposal about the trials of living a writing life will be entitled "My Deal with the Devil." (see previous post) I've been kicking it around in my head for years. I've gone as far as outlining chapters:

Lady as Devil

Good, Bad and Ugly (How Cliches Still Mean You Suck)
I Tweet, Therefore I Tweet
From the Land of Bloz (Blog+Oz)
Productively Using Controlled Substances to Boost Your Output
Leave-Me-the-F**k-Alone-To-Write Support Group
DIY/Indie Disaster(s) in Paradise
Distractions? Look!
Revisions and Hail Marys

Okay, so I'm a little cynical. It doesn't help. Trust me. It doesn't help. But having tried to do my best to get on the other side of a book deal, there is hope. And I have a list of chapters that temper the horned heckler on my shoulder.

Your Words Matter
God Loves a Good Story
Oz is Green and Everyone's Happy
The Real Stuff Isn't Out There, It's In Here
Mom Always Said You'd Amount to Something
Write Because You Can

See? I'm not a lost cause.

The Rules of Lazy Ball

Hula dog.

The rules of lazy ball are there are no rules. Needed: wiffle ball and bat, small yard, a couple of neglected outdoor chairs, a hula hoop, and that's it. Oh, bring along a batter and a pitcher. So the batter (generally, youngest goes first) steps into the hula hoop, which is first base, and gets to bat as long as she wants. If she hits the ball, she can run the bases, which are the chairs, or not. Or, she can choose to bat 'til the sun goes down. If she chooses to run, no warning is necessary. While the pitcher wanders off to find the ball, a runner can whip around the bases and dart for home regardless of whether the pitcher is ready. This usually sets the pitcher off in an ankle-twisting fury, but who cares? The pitcher, on the other hand, can throw the ball at the runner to get an out. It doesn't have to be the same ball as the one that was just sent across the neighbor's fence. It's the pitcher's one conciliation for being the only outfielder and having an extra ball handy. A run around the bases equals one point, unless the batter thinks the odds don't favor short legs and she scores it how she feels best suits her. No one wins; not everyone takes a turn at bat; and the dog is sometimes target practice.

The rules of lazy writing are there are no rules. Needed: pen and paper, small room, a couple of neglected outdoor chairs, a hula hoop, and that's it. Oh, bring along a dictionary and an object of distraction (smartphone, Ipad, good novel). So the writer (generally, the crazy one in the room) starts with the hula hoop to get the juices flowing. She can hula as long as she wants. If she gets tired, she can play Pandora until the battery goes dead on the smartphone, or not. Or, she can choose to scribble 'til the sun goes down. If she chooses to write, no warning is necessary. While the dog wanders off to find food, the writer can whip out 1,000 words, regardless of whether the dog needs feeding. The dog's whining usually sets the writer off in an ankle-twisting lurch for the hound chow, but who cares? The children, on the other hand, can throw the hula hoop around the outdoor chairs in the living room until the writer feeds them. It doesn't have to be the same hula hoop as the one that was stolen from the neighbor's yard. One conciliation for being the only writer in the household is having an extra crappy laptop. The laptop is equal in speed to dial-up, unless the writer doesn't use any programs except MSWord, and she curses when it best suits her because Word doesn't work either. No one wins in lazy writing; everyone takes a swipe at the writer; and the dog could care less.