Breaking through the Logjam

Bursting Through the Log Jams

Writing is a lot like rafting on a river. There are spots that are swift and exciting. There are other spots where there seems to be a huge log jam hindering any progress forward. To move ahead, we need to get out of the boat and remove whatever is blocking our passage forward. That’s where I’ve been as I prepare for the 2nd revision of the WIP I’m working on. I’d love to say, “I’m finishing up”, and in a way that’s true. However at this point, it doesn’t feel like that.



Editing and revising can be slow and tedious. At the very least, it’s not very creative. Add to that the technological difficulties that are part and parcel when using a computer. Sluggish modems, new unfamiliar software, and mysterious crashes and missing documents. Oh nothing major, but those moments when you can’t find what was just in front of you. It can be frustrating and disheartening. Not to mention being at the far end of a long process, I’m ready to be done.



I took a wee break and did some organizing and house keeping. I got out and did a bit of socializing, and read more than usual. I made some good healthy meals, and had some great experiences with yoga and meditation, and last night at meditation, it hit me. I was feeling as if I was never going to get the river unblocked. Logjams don’t happen very often with most of what I write. I might have to step away from a piece for a few hours or a couple of days, but usually find my way to the end in a relatively short period of time. What was different?

One problem I had was I was counting. That’s right. When I finally got myself back into the daily routine of revising and editing, I began keeping track of how much I’d finished. That was probably a mistake. Three chapters in one day, two the next, and then ten. The Ten Day gave me lots of energy, and then also gave me permission to ‘take a little break’.  Taking little breaks when you’re working on getting momentum going, is also probably not a great idea. Pushing on is better, if only because if I finish up  a day’s work feeling like I’ve accomplished something, then I have more energy for going on. Oh, this all sounds so well thought out. It isn’t. I’m simply looking for explanations that help me understand my resistance to doing this part of the work.

The only other times I remember feeling like this was when I was completing my thesis and then my dissertation. The researching and writing part of those two projects was grueling and long.  When I got to the end, I was so relieved but also tired.  It’s not like the rest of life stops so you can write a graduate thesis. It’s not like you don’t have mounds of other responsibilities to do in addition to getting that dissertation done. Yet, I found myself at this time of the year many years ago, feeling as if I might never get to the end of the work. At that time, I had a fabulous dissertation advisor who helped me all along the way. She even flew all the way from New Zealand to spend a week helping me over the final stages of the dissertation–in essence, helping remove the log jam that was blocking the flow of energy at that time.

Last night in meditation as I listened to people talking about what they were each dealing with, I recognized the log jam factor. The point in any journey, situation, condition, relationship, or stage of development when we just know we have to get beyond something that is keeping us stuck. The point when knowing that, we still don’t know how to do it, or we think we don’t. On my refrigerator is a quotation I posted years ago. The crumpled, white piece of typing paper with the big block letters is faded and splattered with spaghetti sauce and other flying debris. The quotation is from author, John Hersey

It reads:  “To be a writer is to sit down at one’s desk in the chill portion of every day, and to write; not waiting for the little jet of the blue flame of genius to start from the breastbone–just plain going at it, in pain and delight To be a writer is to throw away a great deal, not to be satisfied, to type again, and then again and once more, and over and over.”

This quotation is held up by refrigerator magnets and reminds me every single morning, what my commitment is. And that is what writing is about. It is about a commitment to begin, develop, and complete something so that a portion of my story, a piece of a tale, or a bit of my observations of life are out of my head and imagination. The ideas and imagination have taken form through words, in the case of a writer, and are meant to be shared. Hopefully to be enjoyed and shared with others. And so I might not show up as often as others in public gatherings or in meetings or on committees or boards and the like. But I do show up every morning, at my writing table.

And when I show up at my writing table, I fight my way through all the voices and critics in my head that distract me from my mission. I stand firm in my own desire and commitment to do what I set out to do. In this case, to complete my first mystery novel. The fun part was the initial telling of the story. And I’m finding out that I can go back into the story and change things a bit here and a bit there, and actually make the story more intriguing or easier to read or more sensually alive.  For two weeks, I’ve been struggling with the logjam that is not a physical block. It is a block of my will and determination that has talked me out of trying a little harder or pushing myself on. I keep telling myself, I’m not getting enough done. I’m not making much progress, and then sure enough, that’s what it feels like.

Part of the logjam has been my negative perspective on what I’m doing. Knowing that, will I change it?  Last week I finished 7 chapters. This week I have finished 21 more. I now have only 56 more to go.  Numbers overwhelm me, so let’s not count too often. Once a week, take stock, and know that we are moving right along. The flow is increasing. The time wasted worrying, fretting, or stewing is lessening. The numbers are growing in the right direction, and it will be done when it’s done. If I analyze my progress, at the rate I’ve been moving, I should be done in 4 weeks. Unless, that is, I get an influx of energy and have more 10 days than not. Then it can be finished sooner. After that, I’m leaving the copyediting to someone else because at this point, I no longer see what is on the page. It’s all too familiar to me.

In the meantime I have some plans to keep me from getting stuck in a logjam again. I’m doing other kinds of writing so I keep my creative juices flowing. I’m doing something creative that is not writing…not sure what though I’ve been playing with watercolors and pen and ink sketches. Maybe I’ll build something. When I finished my Bachelors degrees, what I longed to do was move to the Oregon Coast, find and old barn to disassemble and build a house. Instead, I cut my hair and bought myself a beautiful Rosewood guitar and I took some classical guitar lessons. I still play the guitar, and now have two–one here in Oregon, the other, the Rosewood, in San Francisco at my Daughter’s house. I play when I take time. Last night on the Full Moon energy, I turned music back on in my life.

It’s been months since I’ve enjoyed music. A good friend, musician Mark Josephs died right after the first of the year, and it’s been hard for me to enjoy music since his death. Music connects us to old loves, losses, and connections. Over a year and a half ago, my long weird wacky marriage ended, and so much of the music of my life is wrapped up in that lost love. Music brought me to a place of peace with my long-dead Father, and helped seal up a little more of the lingering rifts that separate us from those we love. Music is also what brings us to life, and so what came to me last night was it is time for some new music in my life. Something that helps me form new connections and new memories. Something that brings new life into my life. New meaning into whatever I do, including the writing.

Logjams can be found in all kinds of places in our lives. In our work, in our relationships, in the way we live, or the way we think. But what seems important to recognize, to me, is that it’s all about how we think about it. Our thinking makes it so. That’s a Motherism…probably a quote from the Scot poet, Robert Burns. She was always quoting Bobby Burns. For me, the cool stillness of the early morning, is where I have found my sweet spot, my time to write and ride the flow of the river of thought, imagination, and the mystical writing fairies who do show up, if I do. So I will just continue ”

Get On Your Mark. Get Set. Revise!

Writing anything is a lot like a sport. It requires being in good condition. It necessitates having a clear idea of what you're doing and where you're headed. And it requires a plan for getting from the start of the game or race to the finish line. This past year my goals changed drastically. Nearly a year ago, I did a reassessment of what kinds of writing I wanted to do, and what I wanted to let go of in order to focus on my goals.  At the time, I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out, but at this point, I can say, I'm very glad I switched to a new game.

For years I'd played around with an idea for a mystery novel. It sat on the shelf, in a file folder, and on flopping discs and then hard drives, until I had some spare time to work on it. The mystery novel seed was always at the bottom of the priorities list.  That is until last year when once again I pulled it out, to work on it.  This time however, I asked someone else to read what I'd done so far. It was only about 5-6 chapters into a story...not much for so many years of keeping the project on the top shelf of my closet. This time however, I wanted to get some feedback from someone who knew writing. I wanted to see if there was enough started to be worth making it a priority or not.

Not only were the first few chapters interesting to the reader, they also sparked an interest in her to help me get the project off the ground. Since then, my writing life has been devoted to writing the first draft of my first novel, Body on the Beach.  Early in the summer I finished the first draft, and then I set to work revising it. After a first run through, I set the draft aside for a week to decide what I wanted to do next. More work was needed getting rid of some pieces that didn't add to the story, and getting more involved with my main characters.  I also needed some rest. So rather than continuing to piddle away editing or redoing one thing or another, I simply put the manuscript aside.

The first time through with any kind of experience is always about learning by doing, at least it is for me. This has definitely been a learning experience. And what has helped me a lot is listening to other writers and my editor/reader.  Also wanting to make things easier and more efficient for my editor/reader, has made me come up with some ways to cut down on excess paperwork, unnecessary repetition, and needless busy work.  One  of the best things for me was having a skilled reader and editor who urged me not to look back. She continually encouraged me to keep writing.

One of the problems I have as a writer is that I am also an editor and teacher. As a result, I am hypercritical of my work, and yet that does not serve me well. It cuts into the pleasure of being creative. During the revision of this book, which we have nicknamed BOB, I have had the tendency to spend too much time on copy editing, and not enough time yet, on really developing the characters and flow as I want to.

This last week I found I just couldn't go any further. I decided the best thing to do was to change things up, and vary my routine.  Took time to socialize with friends, did some light reading, and took lots of naps. Got back into my dreams, and began considering how to change the layout of my office. Moved my desk, and am setting the scene for the next phase of the revision process. I also took some time to cook and clean up a bit.  Took some nice walks, got out and did a bunch of photography, and caught up with a lot of things that have been overlooked while I've been so focused on writing.Earlier a the end of last week, my reader/editor and I met to kick back and relax and to talk about what we wanted to do next.

Thanks to some great advice I got from author, Angela M. Sanders of Portland, Oregon (and Paris in the summer), I am now using a new type of software that is designed for writers. The software is so much more compatible for writing a novel than what we have been doing most of the year. I introduced my reader/editor to it, hoping she would like it. And she did. So earlier this week I contacted the software company to find out how to go about equipping her with the software. Taking care of details, getting things in order, including me, and looking forward to setting out a plan of action to bring this book to its conclusion.

That reminded me of an email conversation I had years ago with another writer, C. Hope Clarke. It was mid-summer, and she was just about where I am with her first novel, Lowcountry Bribe.  She was asking herself the same kinds of questions I am asking myself right now? What next? What order  should I tackle this? And am I ever going to finish?  The one question I try not to spend too much time on, is "Is it any good?"  At this point, I know it's pretty good, and what I want to do is clean it up and tighten it up, and get it ready for market.  When she was asking herself the questions about her first book, I was asking myself the questions of how to start bringing some of my writing projects to a conclusion?

Our mutual conversations, and the support I received from her and other writers, has provided me with what I needed to get 6 books finished, published, and on the market. Three books of poetry, a book on understanding the Tarot, an inspirational books, and my latest book, a collection of essays entitled, Tales from the Lily Pad.  Last year at the end of August, I decided to put BOB at the top of my list, and have been working on it steadily ever since.

Yesterday after yoga and coffee with a couple of friends, I decided I was getting fidgety and anxious to get back to work. Instead of doing it right away, I just let myself notice how I felt.  I decided to let myself have the weekend off, and then get set to start work again on Monday morning. Today I had a massage, and noticed how much my body still needs to be worked on. Part of my writing routine includes yoga, but it's going to have to also include some more swimming, walking, and healthy activities to keep my body and the rest of me in good shape.

And then there's the question, "Where do I begin?"  Ask the question and sure enough, someone is bound to have an answer. After going for my massage, getting some lunch, and sitting on top of the hill looking out at the river on this beautiful day, I drove home to rest.  I opened my Facebook page, and noticed an article written by San Francisco author, Susan Ito. Her article was on, you guessed it, revision.  She teaches some workshops on revision, and her article was the perfect answer for what I needed. She outlined just the things I'm going to do, and explained them in a very practical way--a way that put order and organization into place for me.  So what I'm going to do for the rest of the weekend is relax, and get outdoors to enjoy life.

The writing process, no matter what kind of writing we do, is something that demands an understanding of how much control and order we need to keep things in shape, and how much freedom and letting go we need to let our characters tell us their stories. Whenever I take a break from the creative part of writing, I have this sense that my characters are all sitting just above me, chit chatting over tea and toast, calling out to me, and urging me to get back to the table with them. I can hardly wait. Ready or not, here I come.

Pain, the Great Motivator

Tulips in Bloom                                                                                                                           Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

Pain is something we all experience at one time or another. For some of us pain is physical, for others it is emotional or psychological. Pain can be that overwhelming existential dread of spiritual loss or soulful despair. Pain is caused by many things. It provides an early warning system for us to head off worse trouble. Pain can also be a reminder of something that was enjoyable, pleasurable, and even fulfilling. One thing about pain; it can be a great motivator.

For the last week, I have wanted to write this article. As with all times when I'm pondering an idea or when, a topic keeps announcing itself over and over in my head, I find that whatever it is I'm considering for an article or essay or some other piece of writing, pops up all around me. And so it has been for the last week or so. People I barely know have begun telling me their stories of pain. People have been sharing their own experiences of pain, and the news is full of pain. Pain so deep it is almost stunning in the way it stills and affects us. And yet, pain is there, waiting for us to respond.

For me, the pain has come in physical pain connected with dealing with old injuries, repetitive motion related to my writing lifestyle, and with the aging process. As my life has become a bit more sedentary than it has been, my need for exercise has increased. When I don't remember that need, I pay the price. In this case, my knees have been causing me trouble. My propensity for moving furniture in the middle of the night as a means of psychotherapy, has caused me to overdue and injure one of my knees. In the process of trying to rehab the one knee, I have overcompensated with the other, and now both are bringing me--forgive me--to my knees. Both literally and figuratively, my knees being in pain has called me to remember what I had conveniently forgotten. I need to keep moving and exercising in order to keep them working properly.

Knees are something I can do something about. The underlying issue for me, is remembering to take care of myself. And that is determined by knowing who I am now. Knowing what my needs are beyond my flaming desire to finish a book, line up more projects, or keep going on a review or essay I'm working on. Pain reminds us of who we are when we have gone beyond our limitations. When we have overstepped the boundaries or pushed too hard.

One of the people with whom I've had a couple of conversations is a man who recently had a multiple bypass operation to repair his heart in order to save his life. A very successful, talented, driven man, he told me how he was having a hard time tempering his movements and becoming this new person who was limited and not supposed to be pushing beyond the limits. He told me he wasn't even supposed to lift more than pounds, and as I heard that, I almost fainted. I lift more than 10 pounds when I pick up the cat litter and carry it up the steep flight of stairs to my home. What the real problem for him though was tapering back and not doing what he'd spent his whole life doing and that is getting things done. To make matters worse for this gentleman is that shortly after he had his surgery and was still recovering, his wife had a serious medical emergency, and he immediately jumped into the taking care mode as she bravely fought for her life. When two partners have such close calls, pain reminds them that life must change dramatically.

Pain reminds us that we must not go back to 'life as usual'. Pain requires an adjustment, and too often when someone becomes incapacitated, they sit down and stop. They tire of boring and often painful rehabilitation, and they settle into using pain killers and letting the body parts 'rest'. This usually happens because we forget that by doing the rehabilitation we can improve our chances of getting stronger, healthier, and more fit. And we can improve our overall health and well being. But it means we have to get up off the comfortable place we've found to relieve ourselves of pain, and move into the routines and habits that will help us.

Pain does require rest and easing up, but it also requires the correct form of strength building and healing movement. There's a reason doctors get us out of bed walking as soon as possible after surgery. The old adage, "move it or lose it" is in fact, true. One of my favorite mystery writers, J.A. Jance recently shared her own experience of pain. She too, like many writers, had gotten to the point where her knees caused her so much pain, she could barely walk. Her health was deteriorating in a number of ways, as was that of her husband. They both began walking daily, with the goal of 10,000 steps. Neither was able to do 10,000 right away, but gradually have both achieved that goal, and have both improved their health tremendously. They did more than walk. They got more rest. They started eating better, and they did some strength training. And now their lives are both more active and less full of pain.  I remember writer, Brenda Ueland who in her 80s walked 8-10 miles a day. When I first read this, I thought it was out of my reach. Now I believe she had the right idea.

For writers dealing with pain requires taking regular and frequent breaks. Stopping when you're on a roll writing, may be difficult, but it will enable you to write more in the long run. Getting regular exercise that focuses on the areas of your body that are most abused by writing is essential. I do yoga 4-5 times a week, and am going to start taking the head and shoulders class that is held early one morning. I got out of my regular practice because I like to write in the mornings, but the trade off of my morning writing time and less pain and a healthier body seem to be worth it to me.

My daughter got me a fitbit because I told her I wanted to keep track of my walking. It also tells me about my heart rate and my sleep patterns as well as how many calories I'm burning. I've had it for more than a month now and have gotten a reality check. As I walk around, I tell myself I'm doing fine, and then I look to see that as a rule, I'm only walking about half what I need to be doing. My sleep patterns also showed me that my night owl status worked most of the time, but several times a week it was better for me to go to be earlier than I usually did. We adjust as our lives change. And I know we all get into the mind set that we are still living like we used to.  As an educator, I was on the move day and night. Now I have to build movement into my daily routine.

As we move through the seasons of our lives, and I'm not necessarily talking about age, we need to adjust to who we have become. New work, new babies, new relationships, as well as endings, deaths, divorces, and all matter of life style changes, require that we treat ourselves differently. Grief and loss can exhaust us like nothing else, for example.  A new romance may tire us out as well as elate us, increasing the release of good hormones and chemicals in our bodies. Whatever lifestyle changes you go through, even seasonal ones, notice what needs to change to alleviate or deal with pain.

And one of the biggest and most challenging aspects of our lives is how we respond to the world around us.--to the pain of living in a world where we inflict such pain on one another. After many years of living through the impact, chronic stress, and effects of contact trauma brought about by war and politcal upheaval, I learned to pay attention to what I let into my experience. I worked with political refugees and immigrants for many years, and learned from them how best to handle the ongoing effects of trauma and violence. My goal when I began my study of violence, terrorism, and trauma was to determine how those who survived, did so with their sanity intact and with the ability to live, love, and be productive and relatively happy. What I learned has helped me, and I hope will help you too, in dealing with pain that we feel when we experience either our own pain or that of others.

Pain requires taking positive steps forward. It requires not reinjuring ourselves, and it requires treating ourselves gently. It requires recognizing that our whole system (physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual) is designed for survival and for allowing us to live life fully. To do that, we cannot subject ourselves to too much of anything. We cannot drive our bodies so hard that they break. We cannot overload ourselves emotionally to the point where we can no longer function or support our own needs. We cannot dwell on obsessive thoughts or get so caught up in fear and anxiety that we stop being able to function. We cannot dwell in darkness and live in despair. To do so, whether because our own personal pain is so great or the collective pain, so overwhelming, is to choose death over life.

This morning, I listened to Steven Colbert and I read an article by Dorthy Day. Both people were dedicated to raising our collective spirits and to helping those who needed it most. Both talked of the power of love to move, shape, heal, and support. And whether it be for very personal reasons and situations or for the collective healing of the world we are living in and our compatriots of this journey of life, we can use love to help heal ourselves and others.

Local musicians and artists in our little community of Astoria, Oregon, recently put together a fundraiser to raise money to support the efforts to help the homeless here. It was held this past weekend the same weekend that Astoria held its first Gay Pride Celebration. At the time, I thought the Gay Pride was long overdue, seeing that most places had been acknwledging the LGBT communities for years and even decades. What became crystal clear to me though, was that what started as an urban movement supported first by educational insituttions and then by government, was slow in coming to many outside the fringes of urban centers. These two groups in our community represent those who suffer among us. Different kinds of pain, but both representative of the outcasts that Jesus embraced and pled with us to love.

We are motivated by pain and we live in the aftermath of whatever we experience in our lives. We are motivated by the pain of others as well as our own pain, and what we can do is take whatever steps we can to help address that pain. The answer is to love ourselves enough to do what is necessary for our highest good, best health, and our well being. The answer is to acknowledge and do something to soothe the pain of others, and to stop whatever is causing the pain. Stop doing what you do to cause pain to yourself. Stop doing what you do to hurt anyone else. Be kinder to yourself and others. Acknowledge your own gifts and those of others. We are each here, created to use our gifts for some expression of that Love that we reflect from our Creator.

Remembering Who We Are

Blossoming                                                                                                                             Catherine Meyers

At a point in between one phase of a project, in this case a book, and the next, in this case the edit and revision stage, there is a lull. A time to stretch my legs, air out the house, clear my mind, desk, and calendar, and a time to take stock. As part of this in between time, I continue to write and today my reflections on May, seem to have streamed out of a place, a place alive within me, that is bursting forth. Each step I take, each breath, each turning of the clock, and each incoming and going out of the tides, reminds me, of Life. 

May is a month for remembering. For centuries May was the month when the Ancient Greeks revered Artemis, the Goddess of fecundity. The Ancient Romans honored Flora, the Goddess of Blooms and Blossoms. Traditionally in many cultures, May is the time for the start of new growth. Today, with the New Moon in Taurus, we are at the threshold of another new beginning. 

For those of us who honor the Blessed Mother, May is the Month of Mary. Sometimes called the Lady Month, it is a time when special devotions are done to honor the place of Mary as a light and model for all women. It is also a time to revered those whom we have lost; a time of remembrance and reverance to the special place those people held in our lives while they were living. This weekend marks the anniversary date of my Father's death. This year it falls on Mother's Day. 

During the Lady Month, we crown and celebrate the beauty, grace, and strength within each of us...that light and energy that we share in common with all women and with those special women who have set for us an example of what we can be, what we can bear, and what we can overcome and thrive beyond. The month of Mary is not about worshipping goddesses or venerating vestal virgins, at least not for me. For me it is a time when I celebrate life and being alive. Being a living, breathing, growing, aging, and ripening part of humanity that is bursting into blossom like some Tulip Tree or Magnolia. Big, fragrant, dipped in honey blossoms. 

It's about breathing in and out, the fresh air, the salty sea spray, the rich fragrances of roses, the pungent smell of day lilies, or the swampy, boggy odor of the camas, willows, and grasses growing on the riverbed. It's about the sweaty smells of joggers running for their lives along the riverwalk, or the bundled up children running barefoot at the waterline along the beach. It's the river's ebbing tidal pull and they muddy, silty riverbottom's odors and patterns and temporary revelations that speak to me of May and remembering. 

May is about dressing up in lighter, frillier, and more pastel shades and fashons, and about letting our hair down, and smiling more and feeling lighter and less burdened down if for no other reason than we're wearing fewer clothes. Bare feet, bare arms, skinny dipping in frigid streams, and toes turning blue in the arctic, icy waters of the Zig Zag, its streams nothing more than freshly melted ice off W'east. Gentle breezes. Longer days, stretching well into the purple sunsets that blaze like fire in the sky at day's end. Bodies stretching out of their introverted modes to emerge into the sunlight and play with others dancing along the path of life, laughter, and the endless search for be-ing. 

May is the month for remembering the gifts of being women. And it is also a time to remember our needs as women to share our lives with the men in our lives who celebrate and honor life in the same direction. Time to throw off the capes that we use to hide or protect ourselves from living. Time to walk, dance, swim, sing, propel ourselves beyond the edges of normalcy into the stream and flow of Life's great river. Flowing in the channel, across the bar, into the open Sea, and out onto the highways of new adventures, new chapters, and new beginnings. Equipped with the past's lessons learned, and fortified with the graces that allow us to be free, it is time to celebrate Life as we find it, and let ourselves once more simply be.

Books Make Better Lovers

Bleeding Hearts and Pines                                                                                                      Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

Many would disagree with me that books make better lovers. I might not always think so, but today I believe it's true. Just completed the first rough draft of a book I've spent years thinking about and working on. We've had a real love affair along the way. Sometimes we have refused to speak to one another, and often I had no time for my love. About  8 months ago, we had a recommitment ceremony with one another, and we pledged our loyalty til death do us part. So you know it was a serious commitment.

Every day we'd wake up, look at one another and spend much of the day together. When either of us was away, we'd be thinking about one another. There were times during that eight months when we ran into challenges and had to surmount some pretty big obstacles. I was called out of town a few times, and had to leave my love all alone. Pining at home, waiting for me, I hoped, I would return at the end of the day only to discover that nothing had been done while I was gone. Not a thing. No cleaning up messes. No preparation and rest for the next chapter or the much-needed edit. We would spend time in counseling with our Reader-Editor. In our case, therapy with her really helped us out.

Counseling sessions often revolved around trying to remember who had been married to whom, what someone's name had been in Chapter 6 and how it changed 4 times by Chapter 80. Often we found ourselves repeating, verbatim, a conversation and story plot that we had already covered in the past. I often thought bringing up the past over and over was getting us no where. We spent a lot of time counting pages.  I hate it when someone keeps track of everything that has happened, but in this case, it somehow seemed relevant, and since we love one another and are in it 'til the end, I figured I'm be tolerant of the list-keeping. We laughed a lot, especially over Renee...a character who seemed to have multiple marriages. Not that I'd know anything about that. But it cause our Reader-Editor-Therapist and I to laugh until we cried.

Coffee, tea, and soda have been important parts of our relationship. I never have coffee at home. Ours is a house dedicated to the tea and the daily and nightly tea ceremonies. But my need for Cafe au Lait mid afternoon and occasionally in the morning, are also related for my need to sit and gaze out the window occasionally. I used to do a lot of writing in cafes, but since my lover and I have been together, we stay at home more. I sneak out to meet friends or just have a quiet time to myself at my favorite coffee shop on the pier. They know me and know how to make my Cafe au Lait just perfectly---more milk than coffee. One sweet gal even adds the right amount of sweeter I like.

Yesterday our relationship changed drastically. I finished writing the rough draft. It's a lot like getting through the first decade of a marriage and being too far in it to get out but not fully into it enough to believe you'll make it to the bitter or sweet end. So before I met the challenges, I rushed off to the coffee shop to share the news of my joy. Then I ran back home and spent some time fantasizing about a long vacation and some rest before getting back to work on fixing things that have to be done before we can go to publication. Plans were made to celebrate with our therapist-editor-reader over a martini at Happy Hour next week, and another friend and I made plans to pop the cork on a bottle of celebratory champagne. I put my head on the pillow last night envisioning a leisurely week of doing nothing but catching up with exercise, housework, and long walks along the river.

This morning though, I woke up late. That cats were sitting one on my pillow the other on the other side of me, both waiting for the first signs of life. Once I opened one eye, they both proceeded to greet me with lots of attention and indicated that they'd waited long enough for me to wake and get back to the business of filling their bowls with kibble, fresh water, and fresh food out of a can, not that half can left over from last night. I obeyed, and then picked things up around the house. Now, I thought, I have time to make that coat rack I so desparately need. I thought this as I picked up, folded, or hung up about 5 jackets and sweaters that had been draped around chairs, over the back of the couch, or hung on a door handle. Around noon I made myself a big breakfast, and the thought I'd just catch up on a movie or read a book or do the dishes again.  After doing the dishes for the umpteenth time (I have yet to learn to eat and cook without making a total mess of my kitchen. At this point, I doubt that's going to change), I had these strange stirrings.

What was it I was feeling? I had some time off from writing. I was no longer chained, day and night to my lover. My love was fine where it was, for now. It would just have to wait until I was good and ready to return, and maybe continue on. Today was a free day. The world was mine. I had all the time in the world until I had to be somewhere. But this niggling feeling crept over me, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to pick up my lover and get completely lost in the words and images that I'd grown to love so dearly. To give myself some place to process those feelings, because my Therapist-editor-writer is not about, I decided to write about it.

I have to admit that loving what I'm writing as I do this book, is something unlike any other kind of love.  It has taken on a life of its own. And being away from it is not really something I need to do and that's a sure sign that the passion and love affair with a book has the power to keep me captivated and devoted. I know this from other kinds of books I've written and writng I have done, but this journey into fantasy and fiction and imagination is a lover I hope to devote myself to for the rest of my long, lovely life. And I know when this love affair is over, I will be able to return to it any time I want. I will be able to open it at night and look deep into its depths and find pieces of myself that I didn't know existed. I will be able to see the world reflected in places and pieces of conversation. Memories  reawakened after years of being hidden or dormant or lost in some maze of expectations or unfulfilled desires...and they will find their place in the context of what is created through this new love. I love that I am the Lover.

Lessons of the Road

One Closed Door                         Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

(Introductory note: Since some readers have had trouble accessing this blog through the new website, I am returning to this format. It works and hope it puts you in back in touch with Coasting Along: A Writer's Journey)

Lessons of the Road

Since last August, I have spent most days working on one project. It's not just any project, it's a project that has allowed me to depart from my normal way of writing. It's also a project that is fast becoming a fulfillment of a dream I've had for quite some time. And, as it turns out, it's a new role that doesn't quite make everyone I know happy. Before I get into that, let's just say that living out a passion is something I have never regretted in the past, and I have no regrets now. For as a writer, it is my desire, indeed my calling, to write. And to write what I feel I need to write. The need has very little to do with what other people want or need, but more to do with what is inside me--inside my mind, my imagination, or my psyche somewhere, that wants to have some kind of expression. For that's what writing is. The expression of someone's ideas, dreams, perspective, vision, or desires through their written words. 

For most of the last 50 years my writing has included works written in academia including books on trauma, stress, PTSD, healing and spirituality, and pastoral theology and inspiration. I've written several books of poetry, books designed to inspire, and numerous articles featuring artists, writers, musicians, or some aspect of the artistic community. I wrote a Grandparenting column for over 8 years, and wrote a home organizer column during the same period of time. Recently I have revised my home organizing job via my own blog on organizing for home and office. I did the latter when I realized my home and office were in shambles as a result of my having given up that weekly advice column.

My new project though is something different from any of these. While still living and working in Claremont, California in the late-1980s, I made regular trips to visit my Father who was living on the Oregon Coast. During that period of time, I would stay in a little hotel on the cliffs overlooking the ocean in Nye Beach, a neighborhood of Newport, Oregon. Newport is on the Central Coast of Oregon. While staying there, I began writing a mystery novel, set in a little town much like Newport. Upon returning to Claremont and my work, I put the writing away, and let it sit on the shelf until the next time I went to Oregon or the next time I felt compelled to add a few more lines. Over that time, I continued to build settings and create characters in my imagination. I carried the characters and the places around with me. I also continued to read mysteries, a lifelong passion, with an appetite that was voracious. I read books on "how to write a mystery", my daughter gave me books like Writing a Police Procedural and the Writers Market to spur me on. 

Other things in life became more important, and so for many years, the little idea remained in a three-ring binder. Before word processors were the norm, my writing was done on a manual typewriter, and so the first few versions were typewritten, and then later transferred to a floppy disk. I moved home to Oregon in the early 90s, and within a year or so, had returned to graduate school. For the next 10 years most of my writing related to my graduate work and for the work I was doing in teaching. Throughout each phase of life, poetry remained a mainstay, and my three-ring binder and now growing piles of index cards and handwritten notes about characterization and plot was getting larger. After completing all the graduate work, I began writing for newspapers and magazines, and I wrote poetry and essays. The essays became the meat of blogs I began publishing, and later grew into collections for books or chapters for other books. And still, the three-ring binder and the cast of characters were left hanging in the limbo of my imagination. 

Late last summer, I did a reassessment of some of the writing gigs I was involved in. I began eliminating those that I no longer wanted to continue, and felt it was time to 'fish or cut bait' with the idea of ever writing a mystery novel. As much as I loved reading the novels, I wondered if I was 'good enough' to write as well as some. And then I recalled all the books I'd read that weren't the best writers but which were still entertaining and fun. To decide, I asked a new friend to read the first few chapters of the book, and give me her honest appraisal of whether or not she thought it was at all engaging or worth continuing. I'd lost all perspective by that point, and valued someone who knew publishing to give me some honest feedback. When she told me she liked it, and we worked out a way to work together on the book, I set forth. 

Already in a daily routine of writing, the daily writing of fiction was a new experience that found me lost in a world of imagination and fantasy that I had not experienced before. It was a little like feeling like you could fly or transcend all kinds of boundaries. Which of course, when writing fiction, is true. The need to prove or back up or state the f'acts ma'am, nothing but the facts' was not needed. What was needed was to make the characters believable and the plot line and setting something the reader could get lost in. And I decided early on that I would let myself write and shut the critic out during the first time through what Anne Lamott calls the writing of the first shitty rough draft. My reader/editor person took that burden off my back, and so I wrote and I wrote and I wrote.

When I had to be away from writing for any length of time, I thought about writing. While writing, nothing much got done around the house. I'd come up for air and feed myself, get out to do yoga periodically but not nearly enough, and felt like I was being put upon when I had to take a break to do the dishes or laundry.  About a month ago, I took two trips. One trip was a brief vacation, during which I slept, walked, and wrote three chapters. The other vacation was to spend Easter Break with my granddaughter, so I had a lot of fun with her, read a lot with her, and exercised my imagination and my City legs up and down the hills of San Francisco. We talked about writing, my granddaughter and I because she too is fascinated with being a writer and doing drama. She made the remark when I was with her last, "We've got a lot in common Yaya. You played soccer, I play soccer. You loved to act, I love to act. You love to write and read, and so do I." And so I recognized with her, the common thread that feeds our souls--the longing to live out of our passions to express ourselves.

My Mother never emphasized the need to keep a perfectly clean house. Time was better spent singing while she played the piano. Time was meant to be spent discovering what adventures there were by reading Swiss Family Robinson, A Tale of Two Cities, Captains Courageous, or Little Women before bedtime. Life was meant to be lived from the  center of our curiosity, not from the end of a broom or from the observation of dust or grime on the stove. Nevertheless, my Virgo Moon (ruler of emotional balance) can't stand a mess. I can overlook my early childhood programming (as wonderful as it was) long enough to spend an afternoon cleaning the stove top or clearing out clutter so I can think again. I am glad that my upbringing allows me to feel free of the constraints of having to be on top of things when what really matters to me is getting the writing written down.

However  there are those among our friends and family who will always throw a wet blanket over whatever new path you set out on. I was in a marriage with a man who used the white glove method to determine if things were 'clean enough'.  After not seeing one another for 20 years, the first thing he said when he walked in my house is, "well you never liked to do the dishes, did you". For some time, I thought it was important to put a higher priority on such things. But I am glad that my ability to focus and to prioritize according to my own passions is in alignment with what really matters to me. So no, the house isn't as clean as it could be, but I manage to keep some semblance of order and cleanliness. It might mean I sweep at midnight or clean the dishes once a day instead of right after a meal. It might mean I drink my veggies instead of spending time cutting, chopping, and dicing. But I am happy and satisfied, and in relatively good shape, body, mind, and spirit. 

And when I've told people what I'm doing, I have gotten a variety of responses. Some say things like "I can hardly wait to read it". That's the good stuff. Then there are those who look at me with disdain and disapproval, and say things like, "So you mean you're not going to write anything serious again?" A if writing a mystery novel was about as low as you can go for an academic or theologian?  This wet blanket stuff does have an effect on me, but since I've chosen the life I'm living and not been forced into exile or something, I figure I'll just chuck it up to someone not being able to see their nose despite their face...although in this case, not being able to see who I really am in my present incarnation.

Leaving the world of academia and not pursuing a more traditional and clerical path in theology (I choose to do personal spiritual counseling with anyone who comes to me), is exactly the right path for me. It's the one I was born to be on, it's the one I've always traveled....just outside the bounds of traditions, just over the hill from the bulk of the crowd, or just off to the edge of the room, looking for the exit. Not having needed reassurance before setting off on some wild hair, "lame brained idea", I have been happily finding Nirvana all along the way. The real battle has been within. Whether to listen to and the make changes in my life based on what someone else, no matter how brilliant or well meaning, thinks rather than what I believe is right for me, or not. Well, at this point, it's no longer a battle, just a bit disappointing when someone seems to think I've lost my mind again. 

Writing can be very solitary work. And in addition to writing, authors have other responsibilities and obligations. For the new breed of writers known as indie writers, there are many aspects of our work that remain a bit mysterious or hidden from what people think we spend our time doing. Indie writers and in my case and the case of a growing number of us, may also be running small presses. All writers are definitely involved in the marketing and sales of their own books. And the design and pre-publication processes that authors who publish with both traditional publishing companies or indie publishing options (self publishing, small presses, kindle or e-publishing) require a lot of time, energy, and ongoing learning and updating of skills and knowledge. All that is related to the publishing process itself is over and above the time and energy spent in writing. This is the part that few see and understand, and it certainly is an aspect of who and what a writer is that remains a misconception to people who think all there is to writing is the writing and the luck of finding a publisher. Even the most successful writers will tell you that the whole business of publishing has changed, and require more and more of writers.  So as solitary as the work can be, it also is demanding. I was astonished to find that one very famous prolific crime mystery novel author had a full time staff of 26 people working for him. Some  of us wish we had one or two people to help us once in awhile, and that's another lesson of the road...learning what it is we need, and then asking for help. Just like we might have learned in running a business or a department which we managed, learning to delegate some of the work we have to others, is a crucial step in becoming more professional about our work as authors. 

For the last 8 months I've been writing almost daily, and am now coming down to the last few chapters. I'm near the finish line, and in a state of bewilderment and a kind of panic. The whole experience of the last 8 months has been one of great joy. I love writing fiction, and to be so focused on one project has been a learning experience that is unlike anything I've experienced before. And that's why this morning I was reflecting on what I've learned over this span of time and through this experience. The next part of this book is the editing, polishing, and getting ready for marketing phase. And already, a new book or two have made their way into my imagination and have taken some form or another on index cards, spiral notebooks and outlines in a file for a new book. And how my characters arrive at their final destination in this book, is still revealing itself to me. They're calling. "C'mon, we're ready to go...", so I must say so long for now. When you hear the music blast from the car radio or from my home, and you see me out walking and dancing along the riverwalk, you'll know I have put the Finis at the end of something that has made my heart and soul happy. The harder work is ahead, but that's good because I love all aspects of this process of being a writer and author. There is so much to learn. There are so many lessons of the road. The journey and the process of writing are constantly allowing for a living a full and joyous life. 

Moments in Time

(Temporarily I am posting Coasting Along in its old format. This will be until I can access my website on Wordpress again. Ah technology!)

During July I am participating in a private writer's challenge. For a while I have been thinking about today's upcoming historic meeting up of the New Horizons spacecraft and the planet Pluto. Here is the piece I wrote today. Historic events like this mission to the distant parts of our Solar System, cannot help but have an impact on those of us who look to the sky, day and night, and wonder how it all fits together with the lives we live, the art we do, the writing that comes from us, and to the our perceptions of ourselves and the Universe. Here are some thoughts of mine.


I remember the day the first astronauts walked on the Moon. My husband and I were visiting friends we had met while on our honeymoon in Hawaii. This couple lived in Canoga Park way across Los Angeles County from our home in Long Beach. We were there for the weekend, and we all sat on the living room floor, watching the black and white television screen waiting for the moment when the first Earthlings would get out of a space ship, open the hatch, and enter the atmosphere of the Moon.
Since elementary school, children in the U.S. knew we were in a race against the USSR for being the first to reach the moon. This is all in retrospect, because at the time, the words we heard in the Weekly Reader, in classrooms, and sometimes in overhearing adult conversations, really had no impact on our rather simple and naive lives. At the time of the first lunar landing, I was in my early twenties, had just married, and looking ahead at the rest of my life. The Viet Nam War was raging, and was claiming the lives of old classmates, and had become a looming worry on the back of my mind.
That afternoon, on the floor of the living room with Carol and her husband, Tom, we looked at what looked like one of the early, blurry ultrasound photos, the kind you tried like crazy to 'see' the baby's movement or heart beat? That's what the live photography looked like to me. We all knew that it was a momentous event, a first in world history. It would also prove to be a momentous day for me, for it was on that date that I conceived my daughter.
Nine months, almost to the day later, my baby girl was born. She was born into a world that would be vastly different from the one I grew up in. Now all these years later, with all the changes that have occurred in her lifetime and mine, another event is occurring. This event is the culmination of a ten-year voyage into space by the spacecraft, New Horizons. The plan was conceived years before that, and all the people who work for NASA-JPL, and other supporting communities, brought the dream into reality. The ship was launched into space, and 10 year later, has arrived at its destination-passing Pluto.
Pluto, the Great Transformer in Astrology, is now within view of the cameras and equipment on the spacecraft, and if all goes well, for the next year photographs and information will be streaming back to Earth. I remember when photographs sent back from the Hubble Space Telescope revealed the first beautiful photographs of space, how amazing it all was. This morning an astrologer mentioned on the NASA website, that the Moon in Cancer is transiting (passing by) the Sun, Mercury, and Mars, that are all in opposition to Pluto. That person then wrote, since this is no random occurrence, astrology wins. I think we all win. Scientists, astrologers, carpenters, teachers, men, women, and children from everywhere, win when we move more deeply into getting to know who we are in the Grand Scheme of things, and discover a bigger connection and a wider perspective than we had had before.
While it may not seem to touch our daily lives much, it has and will have an impact on all of our futures. How we use the information and what we learn about our oneness, remains to be seen, but I feel we are so fortunate to witness such an event. To forget the uniqueness of our own individual lives and the responsibility we each have to live life to the fullest and not get caught up all the time in the mundane, trivial issues that tend to tie us down, is something that moments like this stir up in me. I think it was Meister Eckart, the theologian who whose own papers and ideas were burned up because they were too radical, said that we are spiritual beings having a physical journey. I for one am happy to be in human form, living out the dance I've fortunate enough to get to do.
At this moment, as we all get to see a first time discovery in our Solar System, there is a new Moon. I wonder what is being conceived on this New Moon to be born into each of our lives. I especially am curious to see what is being conceived in my own life, as this marks a time when Life reveals everything with a broader and deeper view of how we are orbiting through space together, bound for many other amazing and heart-opening experiences.
So today, I wait, this time before my computer screen, with millions of others worldwide, to see what's going to happen next. I wait in my own time and space too, and am open to what new mysteries appear to be experienced while I'm fortunate enough to be incarnated into this curious, and fabulous body, mind, and spirit that still loves to play in the sandbox of the cosmos, and still loves to wonder about, "What does it all mean?"