Getting to know the Creative Spirit

"I'll do it. I'll join. I'll write," my colleague, an upper school English teacher, casually says as we pass each other on the stairs. 
She has decided to join the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. 
It's crazy and we know it.
Yet.
Exciting. 

People train months for a marathon but I don't think you can train (except for improving your typing skills to be able to write in an extraordinary speed) and be completely ready for the month of daily writing.  So far, at least for me, the lists of possible slices and the scheduling has not made a difference. I still have blank-page-fear moments, my-wonderful-idea-escaped days, my-writing-is-no-good thoughts, nothing-ever-happens-in-my-life moods. The only thing that has helped to write thirty one days in a row has been getting to know my Creative Spirit.

It took me some time to get to know my Creative Spirit. What a character.  It may be that other people have much kinder and softer creative spirits guiding them but mine was tough. And she retired, so now the visits have been few and far between. The more mindful I have to be when she is around.

I know Creative Spirit prefers beautiful sights and long stretches of time. She'd love to go on writing retreats with beautiful scenery and calmness of a Buddhist center. (We never went. I think this is one of the reasons she retired.) March is one of the busiest months for me during the school year. It is important to take some breathing time - drink a cup of tea, go for a walk or take a bath.

What the Creative Spirit hates the most is any form of self-pity. No empathy from her. She considers it to be the most useless time consuming state with no benefits whatsoever. She absolutely prohibited comparing with others and wanted to ban looking at statistics on the blog. She also deleted the criteria for "The Best Blog Post." She won't hand you a sticker or a certificate or even pat you on a shoulder. No need to be perfect or original, to look for approval, but just to try, experiment, play, and accept what comes.

Weight, age, wrinkles, bad hair, dietary habits, or lack of regular exercise don't matter to the Creative Spirit but she insists on sleeping well, getting fresh air, moving regularly to keep oneself healthy.  She herself has a bad habit of visiting during the night sometimes. She says that this is the time when a brain has the least traffic and there is actually room for ideas to wonder. A pencil and  journal next to the bed become handy.

The Creative Spirit doesn't accept any excuses for not writing. (I said she was tough and stingy empathy.) No ideas? Open your eyes. Open your mind. Still no ideas? Go read mentor texts. Steal like an artist. No time? Find time. Make time. No words? Use a dictionary and a thesaurus. Feeling tired? Take a quick break. Stretch. Yawn, but don't fall asleep. So much to do? Keep the essential. Neglect what possible. Stop multi-tasking. Focus on one thing at a time. Set a timer.

Good laugh, celebrations, surprises, gratitude lists, going out, looking for unusual and unexpected, treats and books all rank high in the eyes of the creative Spirit. She strongly encourages getting out of one's comfort zone. "What if.." she winks, and ready or not, something will happen. She invites you on an adventure. Be brave and join.

"I'll do it. I'll join. I'll write," my colleague, an upper school English teacher, casually says as we pass each other on the stairs. 
She has decided to join the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. 
It's crazy and we know it.
Yet.
Exciting. 

You can read more slices and share your own at Two Writing Teachers Blog

An apology letter to my Creative Spirit

Today is the final day of SOL monthly writing challenge. You can read slices at Two Writing Teachers blog. Even though the challenge is over, we will be getting together every Tuesday to share stories.



Dear Creative Spirit,

This is just to say that I'm sorry I whined so much the last time we met. You were right, I was fine during March. I wrote, wrote, wrote. I called this challenge a writing party and a party it was. Lots of people attended from all over the world. They all brought fabulous treats. I mingled and chatted and smiled. And I forgot about you. Now, I wonder whether you were around and I just didn't notice you.
Where you at the cafe when I went out with Mimm? Did you stand behind my classroom door when I participated in the Literature Circle discussion about "Rules"? How many times did you look over my shoulder whispering ideas into my ears? Which slice did you enjoy reading the most?

I know you said that you retired, but if you ever need a letter of recommendation, I could write one. You have been the most awesome creative spirit. Listening to me, yet letting me make my own choices, and allowing me to learn form my mistakes, nudging me to become independent. Sometimes you were bluntly honest, but I guess I needed it more than sugar coated false praise. The best of all is that you believed in me all the time, even when I doubted in my abilities to write.

The party is over, but I'm not too sad. No dishes to wash. No mess to clean. No final good-byes. The gifts of words will be in the virtual world for everyone to read. I will meet many people on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Not writing every day may weaken my writing muscles, but I hope to spend some more time strengthening my biceps and abs. And I promise I will read, read, read, and write, write, write, as much as I can. My journal is almost full, but I have another one waiting for me already.

I hope that you accept my apology. I invite you to come to visit soon. We can have a cup of green tea. I also think you would enjoy playing "Dixit" with everyone. Or we could go for a walk. It's getting warmer, little flowers are peeking from the grass and from all the trees and rooftops the birds announce that spring has arrived.

Warm regards,
Terje

P.S.
I sometimes worry that people think I am insane when I talk to you, but I hope that they have conversations with their creative spirits and don't judge me.

good-bye creative spirit

Sipping my morning tea on my kitchen sofa, the beat of my heart and the ticking of the clock lulling me with their steady rhythm, random thoughts drifting in my mind like the white cloud-puffs in the clear blue sky - what a perfect slow and quiet start for a day.
"I'm going to retire," my Creative Spirit* appears as unexpectedly and without any polite greetings as usually.
My heart misses few beats and I almost drop my teacup.
"Wh-wh-what?" I stutter
"You heard me. I will retire," she takes my cup and drinks the last drop.
"What about me?" I whimper at the fear of loosing her and my ability to write.
"What about you?" she seems oblivious to my fears, puts the teacup on the kitchen counter, starts walking around, looking into the cupboards.
"Who is going to help me now? I need you," I spell it out to her.
"You don't need me," she returns to the sofa with hazelnut chocolate she has found, "You'll be fine. Just write, write, write."
"I know," I feel a frown forming.
"Write, write , wri.."
"I KNOW," I yell out before she adds another 'write.'
"Write," she whispers and seems to be shrinking.

We sit in silence.
"Sorry," I mumble.
"It's ok," she accepts my apology.
We don't move.

"What do you plan to do?" I wonder.
"I'd like to try wearing a tie and writing business plans," she says and straightens her back.
I am shocked, "Really?"
She throws me a look that speaks loudly of my gullibility.
"I will retire as a personal creative spirit. You were my last project. I have plenty to do. I will attend creative spirit retreats to catch the impossible, go to criticism spas to get cold showers of reality, sit on the committee for the best advise award, and I will attend conferences giving workshops on how to handle insecure and demanding novice writers. I might even write a book and put you in there," my Creative Spirit shines of excitement.

"Will I ever see you again?" I feel my heart aching, even though my Creative Spirit has not been the sweetest and kindest companion.

"Sure. I'll come and visit. In a meanwhile you can turn to Mimm's creative spirit," she offers advice and pats me on my knee.

Maybe it's not too bad of an idea. Mimm's creative spirit is wild, energetic and with unstoppable flow of ideas.

"What about March? What about Slice of Life story Challenge? What about writing every day for a month?"My eyes hop from the calendar to my notebook to my laptop to my Creative Spirit.
"Do what you always have done. Write short on the busy days, longer on the weekends, borrow ideas, shush the critic in your head, experiment, revise, look for mentors and..."

"Write. Write. Write." we say in unison.

*
My first written conversation with my creative spirit.

All creative spirit posts.

to be used in moderation

Last year was not a very easy school year for me, so I started following some blogs and reading books to get myself together. Many of the things that I read, really helped me. Reading when in need, I had obviously scribbled some thoughts in my journal. I let the thoughts go free, listing them as they came, hoping something to surface later, hoping that one day I might make them into some coherent inspiring post for others. A visit from my creative spirit postponed this idea. 

Yesterday I found my creative spirit flipping through my journal. It had been ages since her last visit, but there were no polite greetings or friendly hugs. Not that I was expecting any. 

She read out loud:

"You can decide to be happy. You can choose to be happy. You don’t have to wait for the happiness in the future. Happiness is inside you. Just be happy. Now.

You don’t have to study thick books. You don’t have to sign up for an enlightenment e-course. You don’t have to go to India for a meditation retreat. You don’t have to seek out a life-coach.

You can collect all the inspiring quotes and scribble them on your notebook pages, write them on post-its and paste on your mirrors, or stick inside fortune cookies, or arrange them as sunrays on your living room wall. Or not.

Accept yourself and stop seeking approval.

See the beauty others see in you.

Find your inner balance.

Embrace your flaws.

Believe in yourself.

Be yourself.

Who am I?

Live lighter and brighter.

Whistle off the worries.

Forgive and forget.

Escape from envy.

Give away things.

Let go of the past.

Simplify.

Meditate.

As if it was easy.

Fill in the unit planners.

Plan your week.

Create. Collect. Copy.

Model. Guide. Confer.

Observe. Assess. Report.

Reflect.

Meet with parents.

Answer e-mails.

Write e-mails.

Connect.

Disconnect.

Plan your meals.

Shop. Cook. Clean.

Play. Read. Write.

Exercise.

Make a list.

Make another list.

Don’t make a list.

Go with the flow.

Follow your dreams.

Climb the highest mountain.

Sail the seven seas.

Make the world dance to your music.

What’s my dream?

Forget seeking happiness. Find peace.

All I want is love.

And some sleep."

Shaking her head, she tossed the journal onto my lap.

“You clearly have an overdose of Tiny Buddha, daily quotes and happiness books.

Seriously? This is what you have been writing?

You would have used your time much better doing laundry.

Hand wash cold.

It’s all zen.”

I threw the journal at her. It went straight through her.

This reminded me to write one more advice for myself in my journal. Ignoring the smirks of my creative spirit, accepting the situation as it was, being fully conscious of the situation, I picked up my journal and added:

“In a case of a negative reaction, feel yourself becoming transparent, as it were, without the solidity of a material body. Now allow whatever causes the negative reaction, to pass right trough you. It is no longer hitting a solid ‘wall’ inside you.”

And I wasn’t thinking of my creative spirit.

Today  I smile, because I accept who I am - a dancing giraffe.

Here are some sites (in English) and books (some in Estonian) that inspired this post.

A gentle warning: Use in moderation.
cheerio road

tiny buddha

zen habits

becoming minimalist

the happiness project

The Happiness Project

Õnne valem 

Õnn on otsuse küsimus 

Hingle pai

Where is my creative spirit?

In the morning I looked for my Creative Spirit*. She has a very bad habit of disappearing when I need her the most. I am not even sure why I still turn to her for help. She doesn't allow me to feel pity nor cry. She hardly ever gives me any advice. She loudly laughs at my attempts to be profound or poetic. She is more like a strict personal trainer making me write a bit more when I am sure I have no words left in me.
I looked for her all over the place. I thought she had taken my "Quiet" book and hid herself in the bedroom. Nope. She can get lost in books forever. She claims that she has worked for some famous people before me. I don't know. I think she is just bragging. Creative spirits don't come with CVs and recommendation letters.
I suspected she had snuck to kitchen to eat the delicious apple cake my hubby had made. Nope. She has a sweet tooth. It's very likely that she came to me only because my daughters and husband bake frequently and really well. She has no fear of gaining weight or getting a stomach ache. Every time I take another piece she makes sure to wave her finger at me and shake her head with disapproval. I ignore her.
I hoped that she would be practicing yoga in the living room. Nope. We have tried doing yoga together. It's awful. She can't keep quiet. Whenever there is an animal pose I have to listen to her moos, purrs, and barks. When I struggle with twisting myself, she turns herself into complicated knots and rolls her eyes. Sometimes when I try to balance myself in a tree pose she simply pushes me to fall over. Her favorite pose is the corpse pose. This is the only time she can be perfectly still.
I opened my journal and found a little note: "Hi. Don't look for me. I got tired of the cold and snow. I'll return when the weather gets warmer."
Sigh. I'll try to survive.

*
creative spirit 1
creative spirit 2
creative spirit 3

A prompt

Here’s a picture. You have an hour. Go write. Use your best pre-writing strategies and all the writer’s craft we have learned.

If I ask the kids to write to a prompt, shouldn’t I try the same?

I can write in an hour when a prompt is given.

I think I can write in an hour when a prompt is given.

I think that may-be I can write in an hour when a prompt is given.

Can I write when a prompt is given?

I can’t write. Seriously. How can I possibly write under these conditions?

The wooden chair I am sitting on doesn’t agree with my bottom. The artificial lights are blindingly bright. The cacophony of keyboard clicking and sniffing noses is deafening. My brain is on a break and plays headache-causing hopscotch.  My creative spirit is allergic to children and educational environment…..

“Don’t blame me. Stop making the excuses. You already used that idea for the wordless summer slice. Besides you’re not writing a slice. You were the one who gave the writing prompt. Now eat your own soup. Just start writing.”

……. and I am very hungry.

“Write! Write! Write!”

I heard you. Don’t yell.

There was a man who sat on a chair….

“That’s your captivating lead and vivid details?”

Let me just write.

There was a man who sat on a chair. A wooden chair. The chair fell apart and the man bumped his head.

You don’t have to yawn so demonstratively; I can see your tonsils. Revolting.

Let me write.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself pressed against a rusted iron gate. A graveyard or a heaven? He couldn’t tell, because a massive bright feathered bird blocked his view. No, a man. No, a birdman. It certainly wasn’t an angel. How could it have been? The short spiky blue hair stood like a crown on top of his head. His hawk-eyes drilled through the man’s heart. The sharp-clawed feet and hook-crooked nose could have been used as lethal weapons.

“If you are not an angel, then I am not dead yet, and I am not greeted at the heaven door. Where am I?” The man managed to mutter with his trembling mind and mouth.

“Haven’t you always wanted to fly? This is your chance.” The birdman’s voice ringed like a xylophone.

“Yes, but I also wanted a bigger house.”

“This is not my expertise. You should have visited a goldfish.”

“I am not sure I want to fly. Sitting in a chair would be fine too. As long as it’s not wooden.”

“There’s Woody Woodpecker’s Woodwork Workshop Shop two blocks from your house. Let’s fly now.”

“I don’t know..”

“If you dare to dream, dare to live your dream”

“Stop. I can’t take it any more.”

But I was in a flow. I was getting somewhere.

“No you were not. Stop torturing me. Stop torturing yourself. Stop torturing the kids.”

But, but, but…. I am their teacher. I help them to become better writers.

“Dream on. Didn’t you know that when you speak during the writing workshop, they see a cabbage-head fish-mouthing, or sometimes your English becomes Martian and as you know they haven’t learned that yet.”

I kind of suspected it.  Never mind. Go away.

Another conversation with my Creative Spirit

“Do you plan to stare at the empty page of the journal forever?” My Creative Spirit spoke as bluntly as always.

“I was waiting for you.”

“We have been through this so many times. You don’t need to wait for me to start writing.“

“ I know. I just thought… Well… Do you know that on Thursday it will be exactly 1 year of bolgging for me?”

“Are you offering me a cake and a thank you speech?”

“No. I was thinking. I planned to write just for a month. I wrote for a year. Should I continue? What if my readers get bored? I have no hidden layers, deep thoughts, golden wisdom, dark secrets, or important messages to share. What if I keep writing but don’t develop as a writer anymore? What if I have reached my potential and there’s nothing more? What would my goals be? Why should I continue?”

“Not again! I’m not here to hold your hand, hug you or do any other emotional pampering stuff. Do you have to complicate your life with too much thinking? Does it really matter? I kind of enjoy the lets-experiment-with-writing mood more than the am-I-good-enough moaning. Whose “good enough” is it anyway? You have a choice. You don’t want to write. Don’t. You want to write. Write. I’ll be here as much as you need me and as much as you allow me. That’s enough of the mushy feeling stuff for me. Get scribbling.”

To my creative spirit

Dear Creative Spirit,

Where are you? Have you forgotten me? Have you left me? I desperately need you to guide me, to support me, to help me. I am lost without you. Please come back.

Sincerely,

Your writer

Dear Writer,

Why do you think I have left you? Haven’t I been with you every time you go for a walk or drive a car? Haven’t I visited you at night right before you go to the dreamland?

When you requested for a creative spirit it was clear that you needed a snippet-spirit who would help you with the slices of life.  That’s exactly what you were provided, first for a whole month and then for every Tuesday. So why do you address me with such a desperate voice? Did you expect to become J.K Rowling in 3 months?

Sincerely,

Your Creative Spirit

Dear Creative Spirit,

I am sorry. I should have started my previous letter with expressing my gratitude. I appreciate that you have been with me for the past months. It has been an incredible experience to play with ideas, words and texts. I have learned a lot.  It started as a game or as an adventure. I wanted to learn the rules and explore a new territory. But I wonder is that all? Will I be a snippet writer forever or is there more in me?

I know I haven’t written daily but I have written for 15 minutes on some days. There does not seem to be much sense in what I have written. May be that’s why I felt down.

Thank you in advance for any advice you will give me.

Sincerely,

Your Writer

Dear Writer,

I read your journal. Forgive me for the following bluntness. Your ridiculous random ramblings reeked with self-pity. You kept asking why to write, who cares, why continue. Only you can answer these questions. There is no rule that you must write. Writing is optional. And only youcan figure out what is it you want to say to your readers. 

You compared your writing to a game. You are not playing the real game yet. You are playing the writing WII. Learning writing takes time. Writing takes time.

May be you are unclear about the role of a Creative Spirit. We don’t give gifts. We don’t have the ideas and stories stored in boxes and tied with silk ribbon to be handed out when wished for. The writer has to do the work. Writers need to live the life of a writer. Trust me. I will be there to make sure you catch your ideas on time.  Most of all - trust yourself.

Warm wishes,

Your Creative Spirit