Finding a New Way In

 In February 2022, I embarked on The Writer 28 Day Word Challenge, which was part of my pursuit of a balance between creativity and productivity. It started me on the path I wrote about in yesterday's post, so I thought I'd share a post from that experiment today.

Today's word was "fizzle" and that's exactly what my writing did.

But that's okay. One of my purposes in taking on this challenge was to write every day and, just a week into this project, I've been successful in that pursuit. One day, I barely made it in under the wire, but I made it.

Another goal was to shake things up -- to boost my creativity and come at my writing from a new angle. So, when the word "fizzle" conjured up nothing useful, I went a different way, using the word as an acrostic and brainstorming as many interesting words as I could to go with each letter. I may never use them for any specific purpose, but it was fun playing with language. 

This word challenge is part of a bigger picture. This year, I'm inviting creativity in. I still have projects with finite goals, but focusing on productivity and goal-oriented writing have left me stymied and in danger of losing all the joy that writing can bring. It was time to rediscover the love of the written word that made me want to write in the first place.

So I'm doing something new. I'm investigating sketchnoting, podcasting, and word-a-day challenges, including the craze du jour, Wordle. I'm creating graphics for my Facebook group page and wrapping my writing in broader pursuits, hoping that new approaches will feed the muse, who seems to have grown tired of the steady diet of closed loop tasks I keep giving her. 

Doing something new gives us the luxury of being more playful. Stepping out of our usual tasks and stepping back from our usual targets gives us the freedom to worry less about being perfectly productive. And ironically, if past experience is any indication, freeing ourselves of the need to be perfectly productive can, in the end, lead us to approach the same old tasks with a brand new energy.

As winter persists before tiptoeing slowly into spring, I want to bring in my own sunlight. To do this, I'll be on the lookout for new creative pursuits, or opportunities to involve myself in old ones, with the common denominator being the freedom to explore and create instead of persist and finish. I'm not giving up on my finite projects; I'm just making them a part of something bigger that I hope will nourish and sustain them -- and me. 

Creative Endeavors

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

 Creative energy is a funny thing, and something that's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I won't set the world on fire with my skills in physics and calculus, but when it comes to creativity, I find that the older I get, the more important it becomes. 

In my teens and twenties, it was theatre and crafts. And writing.

In my thirties, it was making our house into a home, and crafts with my daughter. And writing.

Over the next several decades, writing became my primary creative pursuit -- so much so that many of the others faded away. No more counted cross stitch. Or finger painting. Or coloring books — oh, wait -- I do have a few of those. 

But I never seem to find time for them.

From time to time, I think about auditioning for a show again, wondering, as I always have, how I'd find the time for rehearsals and all of the additional work that goes into learning lines and songs and blocking and choreography. Not only would some of the time have to come out of my writing time, but, in addition, I fear that my creative energy would be sapped because acting and writing both draw their power from the same source.

Though writing still holds a place of honor in my creative pursuits, the business of writing drains me. Pouring all of my energy into a book is fun when I'm doing it but then, once that work is complete, my control slips away as the final steps in the process depend on decisions made by editors and agents and publishers.

Fortunately, aging has brought me full circle -- or perhaps beyond, if that's possible. Several years ago, when the writing got hard, I began prioritizing creativity over productivity. Unafraid of making mistakes because I was, after all, just playing, I began dabbling in sketchnoting, then sketching/drawing. I wasn't creating anything I wanted to share with the world, and so there was no pressure. Just a playful way of finding a back door into the creativity that seemed to be difficult to access when it came to words on the page.

Then, an article in a newsletter mentioned trash (think office trash, not kitchen trash) collage, and I rediscovered the love of an art form I'd played with in high school and college. Using words and images clipped from magazines, I began playing with color, size, placement, texture, and depth, working first on one collage at a time, then on multiple collages, each with a theme of its own, most likely clear only to me. 

For most of my life, I never thought of myself as artistic. I can sing and act, and I can write, but those were the extent of my creative capabilities.

Or so I thought. 

The beauty of art for art's sake is that it doesn't have to be perfect. Collaging and sketching and experimenting with lettering relax me. And, since I'm doing all these things for an audience of one, they can be lovely, flawed, or a complete disaster because it's the making that matters. And the making is entirely (and literally) in my hands, which is a great counterbalance to the business end of writing in which I currently find myself.

It's funny, actually. I think I've grown more cautious overall as I've gotten older but, when it comes to creative expression, the opposite is true. I keep finding more things to dabble in, and the more I dabble, the more I trust my eye, and the less I care about the opinions of others. And that last one is a brand new experience for me. 

Where do you dabble? In the garden? In the kitchen? With words, paints, music, or clay? With clothing or wall coverings or needle and thread? Wherever you do it and whatever tools you use, I hope you can do it playfully and lose yourself in it in a way that refreshes you.

One main reason that adulting is overrated is because we no longer prioritize play. Interestingly (to me, at least) is that the older I get, the more I realize that's exactly what matters. 

A Dozen Lessons That Are Still True

Image by WOKANDAPIX from Pixabay

 As I start a new semester, I'm reminded that every semester teaches me something. Last fall was a bit of a rough ride, and loaded with lessons:

1. Every class has its own personality.
2. If they don't wanna do it, I can't make them. 
3. I can take ownership of my stuff, but they have to take ownership of theirs.
4. I can take steps toward balance.
5. Just because there are papers to be graded, that doesn't mean I have to grade them all today.
6. Taking a day off doesn't put me behind; in fact, it does just the opposite. One day off recharges me to do a better job the next day.
7. Routines done't rule the world; some are worth keeping, others need to be flexible. Still others need to be rethought (or ditched) entirely.
8. Change is challenging, but important.
9. Where there's a will there's sometimes a way. Other times, there might be an obstacle or six.
10. I can subtract assignments and not miss them.
11. Even the best assignments grow stale with time.
12. No matter how many students are absent, the ones in front of me deserve the best of me.

Some of these realizations were not new, nor is this list comprehensive. But by writing them all down, I was able to remind myself of concepts that are key to both my success and the success of my students.

Now, with last fall in the rear view mirror, I see my list as a sort of manifesto -- guidelines to help me focus my energies on what I can control, and to help me let go of what I can't. So far, I'm optimistic about the group of students I have this fall, and I'm looking forward to seeing what the semester holds. I did some tinkering with assignments and readings, and early readings have been well-received (yay!) I'm hoping the enthusiasm of August is a good omen.

Bring on fall semester!

To Each His Own Planner

 Today, I was talking to my freshmen about planners. Turns out a few of them are almost as obsessed as I am :-)

I love planners. Although traditional organizational wisdom often dictates that one is sufficient, I've never found that to be the case. I have, in fact, adopted a "more the merrier" approach when it comes to planners, pressing this tool into service in multiple ways.

I got two planners for my birthday -- two copies of the exact same one -- just as I had requested. These are my favorite go-to planners, a marvelous undated version that allows me to corral my lists, priorities and appointments all onto a single page. When I discovered that the site where I purchased them no longer had them, I ordered three from Amazon, bringing my total of planners-in-waiting to five. 

Silly? Maybe. But when you find a planner that suits your purpose, it's hard to change to another one. Unfortunately, this is exactly what happens each year when those in charge of designing these life management tools decide to change things up.

In the past, I've had a work planner and a home planner. I've used planners to keep track of my writing goals and progress and I've used some with particularly generously sized blocks to plan everything from lessons to books. I've used them for goal-setting and, of course, keeping track of appointments. 

I'm definitely not a planner snob. Though my day-to-day planner is Kate Spade, my writing planner was from the dollar store. 

Was? Yep, was. It's a school-year planner and at the end of July, I reached the last page. I tore through the drawer where I keep all of my planners and notebooks-in-progress, certain I had something that would fill the void. 

I did not. Nothing in the form of a planner, at least. 

Back to the drawing board.  

Years ago, inspired by an article I read in The Writer, I used something called a "treadmill journal" -- a notebook pressed into service for recording writing progress. I used it to track time spent writing and to make little notes about where to pick up when I returned to my work. Having the planner on hand, I'd used it for this purpose, each day represented by its own square that reminded me that writing was supposed to be a daily occurrence.

Until I ran out of squares. 

I quickly pressed a small notebook into service, giving me more space for the "journal" aspect, and I quite like the approach. Unless I get waylaid by a pretty planner (a character flaw of mine, as you've probably already deduced), I think I'll stick with the notebook.

While many people take planners for granted, I've discovered that I'm not alone in my love of them, or in the particular pleasure I take in using them in precise ways. Each fall, I require my freshmen to get a planner, leaving color, size, form, and details to them. Many of my students have one before I make the assignment, and some fill them with beautiful words and designs, using color-coding and artful calligraphy. Others scrawl abbreviated reminders in the squares, while their peers tap screens and type dates into their electronic versions. 

The perfect planner offers an implicit promise of organization and time management to its user, though it bears none of the effort in keeping this promise beyond offering up structured white space in which to make this possible. It is this promise, at least in part, along with the hope it brings, that draws us to the  planner aisle and sends some of us home with multiple copies of what is, for many others, a mere practicality. The right planner gives us a sense of control, inspiring confidence in our own ability to get things done or, at the very least, keep track of things.

No wonder someone decided to dedicate a day to planners. And no wonder some of us enthuse about them for much longer.

School!

 The word of the day is actually the word of the week as we begin a fall semester amid heat advisories, something that is not news in Central PA. I've met with all my students -- two sections of freshmen and a cool combination of upperclassmen (and women) with a variety of majors in my child development class.

Last week, the word of the week was COVID as I struggled to balance class prep with getting well and, alas, ignored this blog. This week is much better, but I'm getting in line for that next booster as soon as I can because losing a week (or more) to tiredness, stuffiness, and coughing is not something I wish to do again any time soon.

Getting sick right before school started did very little to amp up my enthusiasm over saying goodbye to summer vacation. But yesterday and today, meeting my students in person and beginning the business of teaching, learning, and conversation provided just the boost I needed.

And so, here we go. Year 39 as an educator. Who'da thunk it?

Puzzling Over Reading Goals

 As I wrote yesterday's blog post, I felt as if I were embarking on a variation of a plan I already had in place. My latest 10-minute plan does, indeed, resemble my previous Sunday Sampling, though with a bit more structure in terms of time. This post from last year reminded me that my new plan might also be very helpful in knowing when to give up on a book, something I still struggle with. In addition, it might validate that moment I take whenever I open up my Audible app and decide which of my (many) "open books" I'm in the mood for. 

In the end, any plan --  perfect, imperfect, or in-progress -- that nudges my reading forward is a good plan.

A couple of years ago, frustrated by my ever-growing pile of partially read books, I set a goal to finish two books a month. I could read them or listen to them. I could start them from the first page, or pick up wherever I'd left off months (or more) before. I could recognize that I'd gone as far as I wanted to with one (or more) of the books in the pile and donate it (or them) to the library.

The goal was to finish the books, or let them go.

In addition to making my selections from the pile of books I'd already begun, I started (and abandoned) a number of additional contenders. This wasn't a new development; I decided long ago that there are far too many books I want to read for me to spend time reading those that are barely keeping my interest. 

I also started tracking the books I'd finished, eventually creating a book journal where I could keep track and capture bits of books I wanted to remember. I embarked on Sunday Sampling, where I spent a part of my day going through the various ebook samples I'd downloaded, determining what to keep and what to delete and, later, doing the same thing with the physical books on my bookshelf.

Most of the time, all of this works quite well. In addition to achieving my book completion goal, I also re-established a long-dormant reading-for-fun habit. 

But, sometimes, I don't know when to quit.

My first completed book for this month (an audiobook which shall remain nameless) is a good example. I'd enjoyed the beginning of it, gotten a bit bogged down in the middle, and lost enthusiasm before the end. 

But I finished it. I was so close, I didn't want to stop listening and miss a chance to meet (or surpass) my goal. It wasn't a slog through to the end, but it also wasn't the book I wanted to jump to when I got into the car and turned on my Audible app. And, after the first few chapters, it wasn't a book I wanted to keep listening to after I got out of the car either -- both sure signs that there might be something better out there.

But I persisted. I finished it.

Could my goal be backfiring? Could there, perhaps, be factors at work beyond time constraints and motivation? Would I have been better off letting the book slip to the bottom of the queue, spending my time on something else instead?

Image by LoggaWiggler from Pixabay

What got me thinking about all of this is my latest jigsaw puzzle. Now that we have our sunroom, and I have a place to chip away at puzzles without taking up the dining room table, I've really been enjoying working on them. 

I'm on my second go-'round with my latest puzzle. When I started it more than a year ago (it might even have been pre-pandemic), I wasn't successful in making progress on it. Eventually, reclaiming the dining room table became more important than finishing the puzzle and so, with a twinge of regret, I took it apart and put it away.

When I re-started it in the sunroom a few weeks ago, I was enthusiastic. But now, although I chip away at it, I don't get absorbed in it as I did with the others. It's a challenge, and not one I'm completely enjoying.

Is it quitting time?

I think the answer will reveal itself in time, as it does with most of the books I read (or don't) but, in the meantime, the more I think about my puzzle conundrum, the more I realize how universal this question is. 

Should I quit or keep pressing forward? Stay or go? Salvage this relationship or walk away? 

And what does it mean if I do?

In the case of my puzzle conundrum (or a mediocre book), it means nothing -- or close to it. It's a puzzle (or a book) and deciding I'd rather spend my time on something else is hardly a character flaw. In fact, it's probably a sign of decent self-awareness and/or a recognition that the joy we garner from some activities is lifelong, while for others, there's a season.

So why is it so hard for me to pick up the pieces, let a recording fall to the bottom of a queue, walk away and leave something unfinished?

Why indeed. 

I want to have rules and guidelines, something that promises to make the choice simple and leave me with no lingering regret. 

Or maybe I don't. Maybe I don't want to give up my wiggle room. I'm not big on being told what to do, after all.

In the end, the choice is mine, and the choice I make means only what I let it mean. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sometimes, an unfinished book or puzzle is just that -- not a habit or a character flaw or a commentary on my value as a person.

Usually, it simply means there are far too many things I want to do for me to spend time in pursuits that are barely keeping my interest.

And, in that case, knowing when to walk away is a wise decision.

The Art of Shelving Books

AI-generated books via Pixabay.com

 Last weekend, I finally made time to tackle the bookshelf in our mudroom. I've been clipping pictures of pretty book cases featuring tidy shelves with an artistic co-mingling of books and decorative items, and I wondered if I could pare back my collection (or re-configure it, at least) to accomplish some version of the same thing.

Meanwhile, in preparation for this task, I've been working on taming my book-buying habit by getting ebooks whenever possible (cheaper, no shelf space needed) and borrowing single-read books, like novels, from the library. I've gotten a bit more ruthless about donating books that I might read, keeping only the ones that truly interest me. Since I donate to the library, I figure that chances are good that I'll be able to check out my own copy of the book should I someday regret giving it away.

When I was finished, I had a small pile of books to give away and a few little niches where I could display a favorite photo or memento. In addition, I'd pressed a small, decorative suitcase into service, storing one category of books inside it (and, to be honest, a handful of books behind it) to make the bottom shelf look a little fancier. I relocated a file bin, freeing up some bonus space and improving the overall look even more. My shelves didn't look like the ones in the magazines, but they looked a lot better than they had at the outset.

As I agonized over which books to keep and which to get rid of, I realized that some of the books had been taking up space for a long time, and yet I hadn't cracked them open. My new spend-less-money-on-books (among other things) campaign was working, but library books have a due date; books I own do not. 

So, I set a new goal for myself, one that would balance what I own with what I borrow. Each day, I'll spend ten minutes on a book I already own. A few of these sessions will be sufficient to let me know which books are keepers, and which are just taking up space, waiting to go in the donation bin. 

That night, I spent close to an hour on one of the non-fiction books I'd "discovered," reading chapters out of order based on what looked interesting. I might (or might not) finish the book and I might or might not keep it, but the reading was pleasurable. 

The next night, I read only material I needed for work. Oops.

But, since every new day presents a new opportunity (and I was at least 50 minutes ahead anyway), each day, I can pick up where I left off, or pick up a new book. The end goal is to keep my shelves filled with only books I love, minimizing clutter and making space for my new must-haves in the process.

Meanwhile, I love the new look of my shelves, and I have a new stack of donations for the library.

Win-win.