Beach Pages, Part 2

peterpauper.com

On Monday night, I found my Beach Pages journal, right where I expected to: on the back wall at Browseabout Books in Rehoboth Beach. Yesterday morning, I cracked it open, ready to write. The imprint inside announced it was published by Peter Pauper Press, a family press founded on the mission of creating "fine books that sold at 'prices even a pauper could afford.'" I made a mental note to check out the publisher and put the date on the first page.

Beach Pages, such a simple idea in theory, proved a little more challenging in execution. I was breaking in my new book not on the beach, but on the screened-in porch, which seemed appropriate  in its own way, if devoid of direct beach inspiration. It was good, in a way, as this pretty new book from Peter Pauper Press was protected, on its first day at least, from ocean breezes that whip the pages around as I write and the sea spray that curls them.

Yeah. No pressure here.

In retrospect, that little bit about the publisher in the front of the journal didn't make the task of filling blank pages any easier. The inspiration that had drifted in on the waves at the beach drifted back out again, intimidated by pretty covers and publisher names the where-is-this-going/what do you mean where-is-this-going-I-thought-we-were-just-having-fun duality that stymies many a relationship. What was I supposed to write about? Was this really a "good use of my time"? Was it okay to just be casual about this lovely book when it had the potential to be so much more?

But, by the end of my hour, I'd broken the book in and established a sense of what I want these pages to be. Reminding myself that the only rule was to "just write," I stumbled a few times, then found my stride.

Just like any other kind of writing.

Along the way, I discovered there's a process at work, even in Beach Pages. I use this word a lot when I write about organization, emphasizing that any progress is just that -- progress. Committing to an hour for my Beach Pages meant that there would likely be warm-up time, productive time and staring-into-space time. Sticking to the hour through the warm-up time and the staring-into-space time was the only thing that would get me to the productive time.

Just like any other kind of writing.

Quangpraha via Pixabay

Process popped up in another way, too -- as a verb. After burrowing into my writing tunnel, I need some time, when I emerge, to think about what it all means. When I closed the book today, my mind was still spinning, so I set a timer for five minutes and closed my eyes, just concentrating on my breathing and letting thoughts come and go (thank you, Headspace). The most insistent thoughts -- summaries, really -- warranted opening my eyes and jotting them down and suddenly I'd created a brief summary of contents.

Huh. That wasn't part of the plan. But apparently it's part of the process.

Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.

Beach Pages

As photos go, this one's pretty bad. 
But as a metaphor, it's dead on,
vacation (Candy Kitchen) and
characters jockeying for position.

We're at the beach this week and, the first night we were here, my husband asked me what I wanted to do while we were down here. My answer was immediate and simple, if unimaginative: read, sleep and write.

We'll also go to the beach, of course (spoiler alert: I'll get one very sunburned leg because I drowned my husband in sunscreen then forgot to put said sunscreen on my own legs), and spend time out on the screened-in porch in the mornings and evenings, as well as going out to eat and probably doing some shopping. Then there are the chapters I'm supposed to be working on, and the tweets and posts for my #ChristmasinJuly promotion and...

Do you see what I just did? I took work on vacation. I can argue that, when it's something I enjoy doing, it's not really work but, that's not completely true. When deadlines and must-do's loom in my head, that's not pleasure. That's work.

Yesterday, on the beach, I watched an adorable toddler use the pole of a beach umbrella to pull himself up to standing and then look up in wonder at the underside of the umbrella. The psych professor in me went immediately to dynamic systems theory, the collision of opportunity and motivation, and Piaget's sensorimotor stage wherein the senses and physical capabilities guide cognitive development.

If you dozed off during the end of that last paragraph, that's okay. Better than okay, actually. I was at the beach, for heaven's sake. Why were dead developmental theorists there with me? Ditto blog posts and deadlines.

For me, vacation and writing are inextricably linked, particularly since the screened-in porch at the condo where we stay is my favorite place to write. But writing doesn't have to mean deadlines and, on vacation, it probably shouldn't unless I'm in danger of missing one.

So, yesterday, I inaugurated Beach Pages. Years ago, my former agent clued me in to Morning Pages,  a concept that just didn't click for me. It's a great idea, but I'm too impatient to carry it out, preferring instead to dig into the work I need to do (or, if I'm honest, procrastinate by easing slowly into the morning).

At the beach, however, it seemed like a great idea, but one I wanted to tweak. As a non-morning person, I prefer to ease into the day, especially when I'm on vacation. But, on the beach, I feel drawn to write. What better place is there for me to let my mind go free and to simply empty thoughts onto the page? Faced with seemingly endless stretches of sand and sea, why shouldn't I let my mind do likewise, moving beyond the boundaries of topics and chapters and deadlines?

And so, this week, that's what I'll do. Every serious goal needs a notebook, of course (at least if you're a stationery aficiando like I am), so last night, I went searching for one. Though there were contenders, I didn't find quite what I had in mind. Disappointing, but if a legal pad worked yesterday, I can press it into service again today. (Hmm...now I think I need a notebook with a pocket....)

There's only one rule to Beach Pages: write. Since I'm used to using writing sprints, I'm adapting them here. I grab my paper and pen (soon to be a notebook and pen), set my phone timer for an hour and write. About anything. Or nothing.

No rules. Just write. That's a vacation plan I can get behind.

Friday Feature: What the Beach Does to Your Brain

Happy Friday from the beach! My husband is in his happy place (on the sand by the ocean -- that's part 2 of my day) and I'm in mine, on the screened-in porch at the condo. We're staying in a different area of the complex from our usual spot, and I'm thrilled to report that the porch gets morning shade, making it cooler and more conducive to writing. I love coming here; few other places give me the same sense of serenity.

Are there really health benefits to coming to the beach, or is it all in our heads? As it turns out, it is more than a placebo effect and there are are definite benefits to being here. Read on to find out what the beach does to your brain.

As for me, I'm taking advantage of the creativity boost that comes from being right here, in this spot, before I hit the beach.

Happy Friday!

4 Signs That You're Overextended

sprypub.com

As I sat down to work on a last Friday's blog post at close to noon on Friday (about 12 hours after it's usually posted), I decided it was safe to say I was feeling a tad overextended. Summer vacation had barely begun, yet everywhere I looked, someone or something beckoned.

I should've seen it coming. The signs were all there:

• Decline in motivation, which I chalked up to laziness and/or the start-stop-start again nature of most days last week;
• A growing feeling of panic as I surveyed my office, which had been trending toward neatness, but was now falling off the organization wagon;
• The inability to select a task, focus on it and see it through to completion. I was great at both selecting and focusing on the wrong tasks (low priority, low yield), while the others piled up around me and eventually engulfed me; and
• Rampant procrastination in everything from getting out of bed in the morning to even making a list, let alone tackling it.

In retrospect, all of the above had one thing in common: avoidance. And my inability to sit, settle and start was exacerbated by trying to flex my schedule around everyone else's.

It was time to take charge. To just. Start. Somewhere.

freepik.com

I threw a load of clothes in the washer and started with the little things that nagged at me and sapped my energy: the phone calls and appointments that needed to be taken care of. Since it was close to noon on a Friday, I met with limited success, but that was enough to get me started on one of the things I'd been avoiding all week.

Making a list. Two, actually.

The first was a favorite motivational tool: the backwards to-do list. The second was a list of things to
do on Monday when offices re-opened and I could take care of the appointments and phone calls that had yielded dead ends just hours before the weekend began (timing was never my strong suit).

From there, it got easier because, after all, getting started is always the hardest part. By just starting somewhere, I moved forward. Progress generated momentum, which led me to another baby step.

As an I need to see it person, one of my favorite little games to play with myself is "pick up one thing." When I'm overwhelmed, even the thought of clearing the piles amassing on the dining room table (and in other locations) makes me want to curl up and take a nap, but tackling it a little at a time by picking up one thing as I go by and putting it away -- well, that I can do. I rarely grab just one thing, but by giving myself permission to start small, the burden is lifted. Once again, all I needed was an entry point. From there, progress was in my sights. 

One of the tough things about being a writer is that my primary tools -- my mind and my creativity -- rent out space to other tenants. Even when I know I should be focusing on writing and editing, there are necessary mundane tasks that also require a chunk of that mental energy, whether I do them right away or not. Strangely enough, not doing them right away is often a bigger drain on my mental energy than simply gritting my teeth and getting started. The less mental energy I have, the less creative I feel, and the more likely I am to fall into traps like the bullet points above.

Photo: lisasolonynko via Morguefile

As long as we are members of society, we're never truly in control of our all our time. There will always be competing demands; chief among them is the clash between logic (do it now!) and emotion (I'd rather do this/someone else wants me to do that). And the sooner we come to terms with the inevitability of this clash, the less mental energy we'll waste fighting it. 

Easier said than done.

Friday Freebie: What I'm Reading Now in Ten Minutes or Less: The Aroma of a Good Book

Tokyo Milk Paper & Cotton 17 Perfume

As I prepare for my beach vacation, I face the recurring question: paperback or Kindle? I know I'll toss at least one paperback into my beach bag (along with the library book I checked out yesterday), but I also know the lightweight convenience of a Kindle can't be beat when I'm lugging a week's worth of necessities to the car -- or the beach.

R. Nichols Read Candle

Since I'll have the smell of sand, surf and salt air for atmosphere, I won't miss my new book smell on the beach. But would it perhaps be worthwhile to pack one of these for my reading back at the condo?

Vacation Freedoms

We come to the same beach every summer. Though none of us plays golf, we stay in the same golf course community -- often in the same condo -- every year. It's familiar, and we like it. We know where things are, we know what to expect, what to pack, where everything goes when we unpack. We've even gone to open houses in this complex, checking out the prices and the possibilities, dreaming of being owners instead of renters.

Today, as my husband and I were walking on the beach, he asked me if I had any interest in going somewhere different for vacation. Many people in our area of Pennsylvania vacation in the Myrtle Beach area, and though we've talked about it a couple of times, we've always ended up in Bethany.

One summer, we skipped the east coast beaches entirely and took a Caribbean cruise, something I hope to do again someday, but in the meantime, we always end up in Bethany Beach.

As we walked, and off and on throughout the afternoon, I thought about his question. I thought back to a summer when my daughter was still in elementary school and I spent an hour or so online, sketching out a vacation to North Carolina. When I approached my husband and daughter about it, they were less than enthusiastic. "Too much time in the car," they both said. 

And that was that -- for then, anyhow. Each summer, we consider the possibilities, and each summer, we end up here. Even though my daughter is older and the length of the car ride to our destination is no longer as prohibitive as it once was, summer isn't summer unless we come to the beach.

Now that my daughter is in high school, the advantages of familiarity are, in some ways, more important than ever. Because she's been coming here since she was small, she knows this place. For the past two summers, she's brought a friend along, and because she has her bearings, I'm comfortable letting her branch out. When she and her friend make a quick run up onto the boardwalk or even into town while my husband and I are on the beach during the day (or vice versa), I don't worry about her. (Cell phones help). The girls can go to the pool or on a bike ride through the complex, and I don't stress. We can run out to the grocery store or to pick up take-out knowing they're just fine where they are. 

These age-appropriate freedoms are something I can offer her because we know this place, and I know she knows this place. I know she can contact us if she needs us, and I don't feel the need to smother her, something I probably would do if we were in an unfamiliar locale. Something that I probably shouldn't be doing when she's only a few years away from branching out on her own somewhere new and different.

So, I guess for now, my answer is no. No, I don't really want to go anywhere else, or even stay anywhere else. At least not for the next few years. In part, I love the predictability of this community. I love knowing what I have to pack and what I can buy once I get here. I love our favorite miniature golf course with the great soundtrack and the Australian theme. And, of course, I love the screened-in porch and the bullfrogs that converse below me every night.

It's strange that it has taken me so long to realize this, but I now understand that my daughter has grown up here, and that coming here and having some away-from-home freedoms is probably just what she needs right now -- what both of us need. And, as long as she has good taste in traveling companions (and so far, she has), we all have fun. 

Which is sort of the point of going on vacation.