Still Sundays
April 29th, 2012.
It is so very quiet this Sunday morning. Partly because no one knows how to react to the fact that it is still winter in New York City and we are one day away from May. Compared to Friday the weather is supposed to be a little more “spring-like” this Sunday. Maybe spring has always been a myth. An ideal that doesn’t exist. Or when it does we only see a day or two of it. A tiny reflection of what is possible on this earth—some divine weather—if we don’t mess with nature.
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My work-in-progress manuscript has been stalled for a little over a year now. Of course in that time I wrote other stories which eventually led to attending a writing workshop with author Charles Baxter in Prague last summer. Since the workshop I have been working on the craft of short story. I have been working on four different short stories realizing the difference between a story and a short story as an art form. A paragraph here, deleting paragraphs there. I know many people who hop workshop to workshop without actually implementing any work. And most work is work alone when it comes to practice. There are no cheerleaders on the side (although this can be tricky with social media outlets given we all like to act like we are doing something when we really aren’t).
During this entire time I have thought about the work-in-progress novel as one does about a lost child or lover gone to some war. You keep waiting to hear back from him or her but no news arrives. You wonder if the story is dead. You hold onto the unfinished product and it no longer makes you miserable. You go on with your life and quite happily. Some days you question whether you really loved the story, whether you ever really even felt the “must write” compulsion, whether you even are a writer as others have so generously offered, given in this day and age anyone who can type is a writer. But so it was in every age perhaps. But we get to pretend it is all happening for the first time now. Slowly you accept things for what they are without any hard feelings.
No different than most who feel this sentiment when they begin writing, I too began that novel because I felt I had to tell that story. As all who wear Toni Morrison’ s this one sentence like a tattoo know (even if they have never read anything by the author), “If there is a book you want to read and it hasn’t been written…” then you write the story you can’t find anywhere else. The problem being most people don’t read enough and well usually that story is somewhere else. In fact it may just be the exact same story but told from a different perspective. Of course what makes stories feel different is what each individual author can offer differently that still connects us similarly.
This morning it dawned on me the reason the story hasn’t come back is because I have told it already. In numerous other forms than a novel. From my perspective. Someone else wants me to tell that novel’s story from their perspective. So no truth lived is in vain.
I have a lot of hard work cut out for me if I indeed start over. And it calls for a very different drive to continue to finish.
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Oriah often says we lie to ward off the intimacy that is feared.
My heart goes out to individuals (online and in ‘real life’ ) who want to create an ambiance of intimacy without actually engaging in it. We say things like “Oh I so miss fill-in-the-blank” yet we don’t have the guts to actually reach out to that individual to begin a real conversation. Because perhaps the other person wouldn’t respond because they don’t really miss you or even think about you. Perhaps we would realize there is nothing to miss, perhaps we would realize he or she would have nothing to offer us that will satisfy this longing of ‘missing’, perhaps it would lead to real dialogue and if you really get to know someone “familiarity breeds contempt” sometimes instead of admiration.
There is no greater lie than the one we tell ourselves about whom we think we are close to. Because friendship by mere association creates an impression of intimacy. Some people on the receiving end allow this, unconsciously enabling such individuals’ illusions, because deep down they too are afraid of real intimacy.
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Marco Rojas, my instructor since 2007, insisted we attend Chuck Miller’s yoga workshop this weekend. Marco Rojas seldom persists about someone so I decided to partake in over ten hours of yoga practice this weekend.
Chuck Miller has been practicing yoga earnestly since 1971 and finally learned Ashtanga Yoga from Sri K. Pattabhi Jois in 1980. Studies with Pattabhi demanded much study of the practice on his own and 7 trips to Mysore, South India .
Chuck Miller focuses on the wholistic nature of Ashtanga Yoga, teaching it as both a philosophical system as well as a strong practical method. Chuck Miller is known for his gentle but deliberate hands-on adjustments which are both reassuring and challenging. Teaching since 1988 Chuck Miller was Director of Ashtanga Yoga and was a co-owner of the original Yoga Works in Santa Monica , CA , for over 16 years.
Chuck Miller was also Marco Rojas teacher.
It has been truly inspiring to see my teacher, one of the most influential people in my journey (for my creative writing and otherwise) and one of the best yoga instructors, as a student. That we never stop learning. That in order to continue learning we must accept the art, photos, writings, movies and songs we no longer like, the people we have outgrown, including a less aware version of ourselves.
I am not sure I will ever be able to accurately describe this weekend with Chuck Miller in words. I have finally experienced yoga as a science and an art. Although I have been practicing since 2007 the journey has only now begun!
“Many of you are able to do many things, due to strength and /or flexibility to have the illusion of a great yoga pose without deriving any real benefit of the pose since you are actually not doing the pose,” repeats Chuck Miller.
There is much to share that Chuck Miller offered—many stopped their practice to take notes since quite a few instructors are attending the workshop—but I have to make it to practice on time.
I leave you with this:
“You have the responsibility to take care of yourself.” ~ Chuck Miller
hello Annie,
Sometimes we can be a little hard on ourselves about the art we create or think we should be somewhere else with it at this point in time. But perhaps putting your manuscript on the back burner, on a slow simmer for a while longer may just be what you need.
I’ve put paintings away for long periods of time, only to come back with fresh eyes and a renewal to finish it. Others, not so much and that’s OK too.
I think surrendering is the hardest part of all, moving ourselves aside so the true art can flow out is the hardest part/challenge. To really quiet the mind to let it just flow out – the story, the painting, the song, etc….
It takes years and years to write a novel. Seeing first hand with Michael, the patience that is required. He started his 1st book in 2004, in 2006 re-wrote and cut out just about everything and practically re-wrote it again then spending a little over 3 years of editing it. I love a saying he once told me “I learned to write a book by writing a book”. No courses or classes can really teach you this. Only in doing can one really learn.
But when there is something within tugging to come out, we just need to get out of our way and in it’s own time, will be revealed. And once revealed it will pour out and be that great manuscript, painting, dance or song. What ever it is working its self out will come out. For me, my job is to not manipulate it with what I think it should be, learning to surrender to what it should be is quite the challenge!
With all of that, we can’t escape who we are either, if you are meant to be a writer, it will be there in the back of your mind, even while we work day jobs or fulfill other responsibilities we need it, its always there, reminding you that you must do it. So whether you start from scratch or use parts of what you have now, it will all come together in its own time.
Hello Jen,
Many thanks for your time and generous thoughts and sharing your story. I appreciate it. : ) Also thanks for the support
Gratitude,
~a.
You are right about “friendship by mere association creates an impression of intimacy” and people being “afraid of real intimacy.” I would like to add, sometimes we miss certain friends for various reasons. Some friends I like to chat with, about random stuff; Some question me, keep me focussed; Some childhood buddies know everything about me. What I’m trying to say is, we miss different people for different reasons and therefore hesitate in contacting all of them, all of the time. Not sure if I’m adding anything to your post. 🙂
Loved the Chuck Miller quote.
hello.
I don’t think whatever you have added per se negates anything I wrote. I don’t think it is possible to contact many people often enough and that is precisely the reason the desire for creating an impression of intimacy. Real intimacy requires work. And in that space when we can’t create the time and effort we are often asked to be “friends” with ourselves. : )
thanks for stopping by and sharing your thoughts. I don’t think it is every about adding enough or not enough when one brings oneself to stillness. I believe my writings and thoughts do demand a certain amount of stillness (literal and within) therefore whatever comes forth is just the right thought. We are all in different stages on the same road.
gratitude,
annie
I wonder if the comments by Chuck Miller might make a good metaphor for a writer feeling her way into a story? Each time one goes to the mat to approach an asana (I won’t say “pose” because that has other connotations), one discovers more about really “doing” it. One learns to readjust oneself or incorporates adjustments from a teacher. Sometimes the adjustments are small and sometimes they may feel like a revelation–like doing a new asana altogether. Finding the inner meaning and balance of an asana and finding those things while writing a story–probably endless. But eventually one comes out of the asana, at least for now, and stories come to some closure in the telling.
As always, the mosaic of thoughts you assemble provides much to think about!
Thanks.
~lucy
dear lucy,
always so very generous of you to offer so much from the stillness within you every time you leave a comment. yes, i am learning the yoga of writing. also similar to the yoga of love. it’s all yoga.
many thanks for putting it all in perspective.
gratitude,
annie