Self-Care and Mindfulness

My brother and I have had a couple conversations on mindfulness. My basic understanding is that one does a task with one’s whole attention. But the doing is more complicated than the saying.

I’ve discovered that if I walk Sophie before my own walk, I come up with too many excuses to cut my walk short or not go at all. That’s because I’ve allowed my brain to fill with all the activities needing attention. I blame my failures to walk on a mind too full of the day ahead.

I’m mindful of everything on my walks.

So yesterday, I took my walk first, before Sophie’s.

My mind was quieter. Maybe self-care is an aspect of mindfulness. It certainly led to a more productive day.

Mindful Writing

I began reflecting on the mind part of mindfulness. Specifically, the creative mind. What I love is being deeply immersed in another world. It can be someone else’s world—and often is. But even better is to be immersed in my own. That’s why I write—but I often find myself on the outskirts rather than fully inside my own worlds.

I continue with last week’s determination to write for 15 minutes every day for the final book of my trilogy. Very often, that happens at or just before bedtime. One night, I wrote some highly unsatisfying prose, but fortunately, my sleeping mind came up with an important point I had missed. Hooray for sleeping minds!

For the last two days, I’ve been paying attention to a desire to work on an entirely different project. Not the verse novel awaiting further editing. No, this time the heroine of my other fairy tale retelling is begging for her story to be told in verse. The hero remains in prose.

And so, here I go again, into a new project. Why? I don’t know, except it feels right. And don’t we have to trust these urges? Especially urges that demand our entire attention?

It’s already May. Where did April go?

Small Steps

Last week, I made a minor breakthrough toward finishing my sci-fi trilogy. The following day, I continued that trend. Then two, three days went by—busy days—with no progress. 

“All my steps are small steps.”

On Sunday, I made a promise to myself. Just for this week, I will set my timer for 15 minutes and I will write. I began that day. 

Then, as often happens, my Monday efforts seemed lackluster. 15 minutes is not very long, but it feels like an eternity if you can’t find the words, or don’t even know what you want to say.

Small Steps Lead to Bigger Solutions

But—the thought came that I really, really needed to write out an outline for the remainder of the book. I’m what’s called a pantser, (one who writes by the seat of their pants). However, after two books, I have a lot of strings to pull together. Plus, I have a number of scenes, and happenings, that aren’t yet pinned down in time, or in sequence. 

I have to figure out when they happen, and how they fit into the whole. Then I’ll know what new scenes are necessary—and they will serve as a focus for my daily 15 minutes.

So on Monday, I also began working out a detailed outline. On Tuesday, I continued working on the outline. Tuesday’s 15 minutes didn’t happen until bedtime, but they did happen.

Show Stoppers

I’ll admit, I’ve been fighting the midpoint of this book because—spoiler alert—someone dies unexpectedly. (Well, someone also died unexpectedly in the second book, but though there was shock, there was no strong attachment leading to deep grief.)

Have I mentioned that writers have to mine their emotions when writing?

In this case, I was fighting the need to go back twenty years to my shock on learning that my youngest brother might be dying. Was dying—but it took time to accept that possibility. I’m taking that shocked grief and moving it to an entirely different event.

Garden News

I picked a bit of spinach last week—young, tender leaves.

Yesterday, I discovered a new crop of mushrooms pushing through, and showed them to a friend. But, wow! How that spinach had grown! We’re having spinach and mushrooms for supper.

No! Not these mushrooms! I still don’t know what they are. We’ll be eating button mushrooms from the grocery store.

You all have a great week! Happy May Day.

WEEDS

This phlox is not a weed.

In the backyard, I’m digging out this year’s crop of unwanteds. In particular, wild mustards delighted in our unusual number of winter and early spring rains. You can find mustards all over the city, and especially in my backyard.

In previous years, we’ve had volunteer larkspurs which I’ve protected until their lovely blue blossoms faded away. I haven’t found a one this year.

Before beginning, I tasted a mustard leaf. It wasn’t nearly as bitter as I expected. Hmm. Unlike those questionable mushrooms that popped up in a raised bed, I could eat them.

Nah.

I began slaughtering weeds, using a shovel and large collecting bucket, dumping mustard carcasses in a heap against the back wall where they’ll compost themselves. 

But yesterday I let an inspector in through the side gate, apologizing for the weeds there. After he left, I decided to work in that area before anyone else used the gate.

Those mustards had been more pampered, with shade, and moisture. They were taller, with bigger leaves. I collected a bunch and carried the mess into the kitchen where I stuck them in a bucket. Later, I trimmed off the best looking leaves, washed and bagged them, and dumped the stalks.

I ate some this morning along with an egg. A little tough, but okay. Maybe chopped up in a stirfry next?

Which brings to mind the two oak trees in our front yard that spill so many acorns every year. One time an escaped pig settled in under the chinquapin oak (she knew which acorns were the sweet ones) and was chomping away until we got her removed.

People are starving in the world. Why not consume them ourselves? I’ve thought of trying them more than once, but . . .

Other weedings:

Weeding in the library used to be one of my favorite jobs—culling the unwanted, the battered, the overly-loved books to make room for new titles.

As a writer, I hang onto far too many bits of paper. I’m currently weeding out notes to myself, early drafts, ideas, etc. . . .

And then there’s always junk mail . . .

Spring Sprang. Now what?

Weather went hot the day after Easter.

Momentarily, anyway.

So far we’ve had mostly strong winds and cold air. Of course, in New Mexico, it can change in an instant. But I’m thinking this era of climate change is going to rob New Mexico of any spring at all. It feels like we’re moving from winter into summer.

Apologies to my readers. I’ve been immersed in work, so the blog is going to suffer this week.

Warm wishes to all for a spring-full week.

April is Poetry Month

One of my writer friends emails out a poem a day in April. It’s lovely to receive the great variety she selects. I’m not going to emulate her daily discipline, but here’s a poem and a few thoughts to share with you. 

Most of my early attempts at poetry centered around emotional times. My first college love. My failing marriage. Having been happily married for many years, I have to go back to an earlier time to find personal poems. 

I guess that’s why verse novels have become such a part of my life. They let me put words to my character’s angst, while living my own life on a more even keel.

Taking a Walk remained only four lines for a long time, until a poet critiquer told me there was more to say. So I added two more verses. Years later, in a calligraphy class, I made a little booklet on labyrinths, and created a different set of verses to accompany those first four lines. 

So here’s to labyrinths and finding our way home to ourselves.

Taking a Walk

Taking a walk around the block

circles from and back again.

Rather would I walk from toward

for we always take back with us.

*

Taking a path through the labyrinth—

though Theseus cheated with a string—

he knew the game was only won

by facing the monster found within.

*

You can never go wrong in the maze of life

unless you stand still— Even then—

no matter where on the road you wait

you meet yourself, again and again.

Kate Harrington

Variations on a Theme

I was without ideas for a blog this week, not wanting to write about the elimination diet I’m on for a gastro-intestinal issue. But really, I only needed to bring my focus to the outer world to find related topics. 

An Eruption of Mushrooms

Mushrooms erupted in a corner of one of the raised garden beds—right where the sugar snap peas were supposed to be—but are not—sprouting.

Does anyone know what these are? Are they edible? They look to me exactly like the white button sort in the grocery store, but a whole lot larger. 

I had been mourning the fact that mushrooms are not on my current diet. Maybe I’ll be relieved, instead. 

Differing Opinions on Odors

And then there’s Sophie’s taste in—well, not exactly food, let’s say, her taste for—odors.

I had bought fish emulsion a year or two back, to fertilize my very reluctant vegetable garden. Later, when I began using it on a couple house plants. Sophie would sniff with great interest. 

She and I differ about what smells good!

I now have a small crop of vegetables sprouting, getting a head start on the summer. Having a weak solution of fish emulsion on hand, I watered them with it, without taking into account that the pots are on the floor. 

Sophie tracked down the scent and apparently tried sucking that “delicious” stink off three cherry tomato starts before I caught her. The poor stalks were limp (terrified, no doubt). 

From now on, their replacements will have to drink plain water—at least until they’re out of Sophie’s reach.

Spring?

We’ve had a cold and wet week. Although rain is always appreciated here, cold winds are not.

Sending warm wishes to all! 

Labyrinths

I’ve had a long love affair with labyrinths. I’ve stitched them, sketched them, and walked them—though never often enough.

Last week my husband and I had two errands to run. The day was a break in the stormy weather we’ve been having. Our first errand completed, we arrived at the second with too much time on our hands. I knew the nearby church hosts a labyrinth, and we decided to walk it.

After the first bend or two, my jangled thoughts smoothed out, calmed by the measured pace of following the path. An added plus was knowing I wasn’t alone. My husband followed, a silent, steady companion.

I find meditation difficult, preferring group meditation, where I can’t simply follow my impulses to quit early. In the same way, I’m a better maze walker with someone else’s expectations keeping me within the pattern. 

We finished all the curves and turns right on time for our next appointment.

Labyrinthine Plots

As a novel writer, I can’t help comparing labyrinths to plotting a novel. In the early pages, the main character has a goal or dilemma in mind. The MC circles that goal, first on one side, then the other. That dream of reaching the goal or solving the problem appears to be so near, within the bounds of possibility. 

And then the path moves farther and farther from center. When hope is all but lost, one last turn leads straight into the heart of the maze.

As for my science fiction plot, I’ll know when my hero reaches center, but right now we’re on that outside ring and “we” have found some blockages. Actually, it feels more like a maze (with dead ends) than a labyrinth with a single path. But I know there’s a way.

The verse novel, on the other hand, works better with the labyrinth metaphor. Its ending is fixed. That’s those outer rings. But the the first two-thirds (inner rings) contain too many steps for the space allowed. I’m having to prune words to keep my heroine moving steadily forward.

Happy springtime to all!

Darn Birds!

I like birds. I worry about their numbers as the climate changes.

But they like my sprouts! Why don’t they eat the wild mustard weeds that are all over the place?

The wind had torn off the frost covers, and I was enjoying the clear view of my spinach—until birds came nibbling. The beds are covered again.

Speaking of predators, I had thought by planting the kale early, I’d avoid those white cabbage moths, but I’m seeing them everywhere; so the frost covers will remain—probably forever—except for the peas.

A good thing the plants can push it up as they grow.

Here’s hoping our apricots don’t freeze this year. There’s still time for a cold snap . . .

Other News.

Between the time change, appointments, and demanding household matters, my days have been frustratingly unproductive.

Our two power outages killed the microwave and also the clothes dryer. Fortunately the dryer only needs a new fuse, but since it melted solid, we’re waiting on a replacement part.

However, I’m looking for ways to get more exercise (unresolved so far), and have renewed efforts to make progress in my verse novel edits. Sometimes, I look at the whole and want to run.

The answer is to keep each day’s goal measurable. Wish me luck!

How’s your week going?

Spring is coming

Our bulbs seem taller each day. Here’s a garden report:

The spinach is sprouting. I planted the seeds in three batches, two weeks apart. The seeds didn’t care. They all decided when it was time and began popping up.

The kale is a little more reluctant. And so far, nothing from the snap peas in the same planter. BUT!—

I had soaked and planted an older packet of snap peas in a different planter, before giving up on them—

THEY are making an appearance. So yes, I’m back to watering that planter as well.

And here’s a report on writing to music:

I work best to CDs. The sudden silence at the end of a disc lets me know it’s time for a break. (At least, for those times I’ve actually been concentrating,)

More than any other music to work by, I’ve played a CD found many years ago in a Goodwill Store: Theta Meditation System, from The Relaxation Company.

When working on my verse novel — my current state of affairs — the Celtic strains of Loreena McKennitt set me in the right state of mind for my heroine.

I hope you all have a great week!

The Ups and Downs of a Writer

One piece of writing advice has always stayed with me. Use everything. Grief? Don’t waste it. Fury? Desperation? All our moods and experiences serve us well when we mine them for our work.

I didn’t get much work done last week. Appointments occupied the first three days. On Wednesday I drove home through a wind storm, arriving to find the garage door wouldn’t open. The power was out. 

For nine hours, the power was out. At 11:30 pm, I got up to turn off the odd light and blow out the odd candle. I got back into bed only to realize I hadn’t closed the fireplace damper. Up again. An exceedingly unrestful night ensued.

I got up grumpy.

In the morning I went to my laptop for my most pleasurable pursuit—playing around with turning prose into verse, in this case, a tale with three points of view.

My grumpy mood turned out to be the ideal state of mind when dealing with the story’s “villainess.”  That cheered me up.

Actually, I’ll probably leave the manuscript in prose, but even experimenting with verse can enrich the end product.

Unfortunately, that was the only writing I did. Fatigue cost me most of that day and the next. 

The saga continues into this week. A second wind storm took out our power on Sunday, this time for 22 hours. But that’s another story.

“No lights? No internet? No heat? Take a nap. Just don’t forget to feed me.”