In the morning we lay in my bed bonelessly entwined, breathing each other’s breath as we talked in that inaniloquent way of lovers. You laughed when I told you how Maria had called the snowdrifts pressing against the windows snow elephants. These were the incidentals we turned into treasure chests, the words in which we stowed the meaning of moments. Codes to hint at what words could never describe so that we could relive the fulsomeness in mixed company, hidden in plain sight. This is what the peculiar language of  inside jokes is about, and together we perfected it.

I have a soap box, and I'm not afraid to use it (but this isn't the space)

Is it seriously FRIDAY already?

I never meant for this week to get away from me like this, without even so much as an update on Twitter or Facebook for y’all. I’ll be honest, I have been glued to the news, the social media networks, the Youtube, and in some cases to the street itself where the most important conversation in my lifetime is happening. A conversation about the state of our democracy.

Sometimes I tell people, “I have a soap-box and I’m not afraid to use it”, but my silence here has been a reflection of not being able to separate from the sense of urgency about what’s currently happening in our country as well as across the globe, but this not being the space to write about it. It wouldn’t be right for what this space is about to suddenly turn it on its ear and mess with the focus of this particular community. Sometimes I tell myself I need another blog, but I already manage five (3 of my own).

In real-time I’ve never run into feeling the need to cordon off various quadrants of my “self”. Internally there is no disparity between my creative self, my business self, my science-geek self, my political self, my philosophical self, my human rights self, etc. There’s a synergy to all of it that works out, and it’s all mainly fueled by a passion to examine and understand the human condition. It seems all my life I’ve been trying to deconstruct the mechanics of humans so that I might figure out how to best contribute to the bettering of conditions. It’s a process. It involves a constant inter-disciplinary probing and discussing and thinking.

But here, online – I realize the internet just doesn’t work that way. People don’t come back to a site that isn’t focused and consistent. And where I can’t be solidly consistent, I can at least maintain the focus. Just understand it can be difficult for me. My mind doesn’t naturally lean into separating things out – it wants to connect dots. I run three blogs because the internet needs me to only talk about one thing at a time within a space. And when none of these blogs can encompass what’s hijacking my intellect at the moment – well, the airwaves go silent. But I don’t.

This is just a long way for me to say that it’s too late in the week now for a new challenge, so I’ll post a new one on Monday (so long as I’m not crushed under a pig-pile of protestors over the weekend). I’m still very much in love with y’all.

Welcome to the “new” Velvet Verbosity site. Not sure yet if it will be temporary. As those of you who follow me on Twitter or Facebook know, my site was hacked and was sending out spam to people as well as causing some visitors to get a warning that the site was infected with malware (not to be confused with “mall wear”). Fun.

I had a live chat with support at Hostmonster and deleted all suspicious files, updated the part of my site with new code where the “hole” was, but then for good measure downloaded a new theme and upgraded the framework and deleted the old theme entirely from my files. I’ve checked with Google Webmaster Tools and the site has a clean bill of health there, and Hostmonster has removed all warnings.

Whew. Way over my head. I need to marry a web coding geek (preferably with dark tousled hair and big brown eyes), any takers?

I’ll be back soon with a new 100 words prompt. First I need to go lay face-down on the bed for awhile.

Alrighty then…

If you’re not following me on Facebook or Twitter then you missed the explanation of how I blew it last week. I had a work report I had to get out and I ended up pulling an all-nighter (less because of a deadline and more because I was on a roll) which threw off the rest of my week. Note to self: “part of aging gracefully is knowing when to quit with the all-nighters. After 35-ish, they’ll just mess your world UP.”

In other not so surprising news, I’m an introvert to the nth degree. Introversion, by the way, is not even in the same ballpark with shyness. Just ask my daughter. She has about two dozen embarrassing stories about her brazen mom (don’t worry honey, I’ve already started your therapy fund). As it turns out, this introversion may not have been my best friend when it comes to how I came to have Complex-PTSD. Introverts aren’t very skillful at creating boundaries between self and other, so they need a lot of alone time to recoup and stay sane. And because we live internally, we tend to internalize. It’s like this. The internal world of the introvert is vivid and full and maybe even noisy and it extends all the way out to the veil-ish thin layer between her and the outer world and for the most part things only pass through it in one direction – outside to inside. From the inside, that veil-thin boundary is nearly impenetrable. What goes in does not come out. 

It creates an illusion of strength. The veil is a mystery. It invites others to heap on abuses they think you can take. It invites broken thieves who think they can steal wholeness. It invites can’t doers to leave it up to you to do. That one-directionality appears to others as a bottomless vessel they can dump their toxins into. Then there are those who simply feel the need to possess or destroy that which they can’t understand. It attracts like flames to the moth’s delicate wings. And the introvert obliges because she herself has come to believe in the myths about herself.

At least this one did.

I can’t cure myself of being an introvert. It’s not a disease y’all, it’s a personality orientation with fringe benefits. I’m learning that being an introvert – living this way, all the way out to the delicate edges, is quite vulnerable and I’ve got to respect and protect it. It’s foreign and unfamiliar to think of protecting it by reversing the directionality of what passes across the borders. What, how, how much, and to whom are questions that spring to mind. In this introvert’s experience, when the inner world becomes too full and “stuff” bleeds over the edges, it is simply too unexpected, sudden, and messy for the expectations of those attracted to the introvert precisely because of the one-directionality.

I’m being too cerebral where I meant to be funny. I’m also kind of proving my point here. And I’m still not sure what ANY of this means about anyTHING. Will this blog change? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Maybe I’ll write more, maybe I’ll decide that’s a bad idea and will only dilute the 100 words project. Maybe I’ve already had this conversation with myself a dozen times and need to shut up now. Obviously things might be more sporadic (don’t lie, you’ve noticed). I’m just sort of going with the process.

So. Last week the word was SPLIT. This entry by Seeking Elevation packed a wallop.

The vote was split down the middle: Timmy and Marissa were for adding another floor to the treehouse, while Jordan and Keith were firmly against. I, the tie-breaker, walked away, stripping the white birch trees to their pink meat, my mind the gelatin of frog eggs.

****

I’d like to believe he was consumed by the tragedy of his attraction to someone other than his wife. Maybe he wrestled with it. I’d take comfort in words like “haunted” or “torn”. But I bet it was as simple as gagging the married half of his mind while fucking her with the rest.

This week’s word is from the poem “Diving into the Wreck” by Adrienne Rich.

MYTH

“the thing I came for:

the wreck and not the story of the wreck

the thing itself and not the myth”

Sorry to have abandoned you fellow travelers. I won’t say it was laziness or lack of time or busyness that halted progress. Inevitably I bumped up against the naked skulls of my inner demons and I wasn’t ready for it so soon. When we see what is, it means work. It means doing something about what we’ve seen. Committing to 12 weeks of writing and going on dates with my artist self and digging and poking in the mud of the psyche — these things I was prepared for. Foolishly I thought it would be an easy journey. I saw it as an upward journey; take the steps one in front of the other and reach the summit at sunrise. I expected fluttering openings like so many butterflies emerging, transformations from the mundane to the exquisite.

What I got, what I found, were bones.

I walked into the journey thinking I would uncover a quaint creativity. It was, after all, what I’ve always been taught about creativity. I thought I would discover the strength to take my writing more seriously, maybe write a book after all. I thought I would rediscover chalky pastel drawings that I could create and collect, perhaps frame a few or turn them into greeting cards and give them as gifts to friends and family.

I did not expect to find the bones of my long-haired, bare-footed self full of mystery and polished rocks  and moss in her pockets. I did not expect to see the landscape of my life shift before my eyes. I did not expect to meet my cackling crone. I did not expect sadness and rage. I did not expect that I would be shoved so forcefully into dissatisfaction with the life I’ve accepted.

I am not a butterfly emerging with damp wings into sunlight. I am a collection of women, young to old, pushing against walls, gnawing at limbs to escape steely-teethed traps, screaming at the bottom of a pit, shooting rocks into the red eyes of predators with a slingshot. All of it rumbling from the core, sending shock-waves to the surface of my life.

It is not a quaint creativity in me just waiting to be gently dusted off. What it is exactly I cannot say except that it is hungry and large and untamed and certainly not ready to come to the table to engage in polite conversation and keep its elbows off the table.

And that is why I haven’t checked in. What is and what wants to be are at war, and I’m unclear who will emerge alive from the battle.

Howling

The distance between who he showed himself to be and his shadow self was blackened by an impossibly wide chasm. The ground around his core eroded slowly by lies. Dug deeper still by the lies required to protect the lies that came before. He always thought he could fill it in, but the hope of unifying inner and outer was now nothing but a whisper written on the bones that lay at the bottom. The bones of what-could-have-been. His eyes revealed nothing of it from a distance, but to stand close was to hear the howling of the damned.

Yikes!

This is zipping by and I’m afraid my check-in is going to be weak this week. Good thing I have you all to be accountable to. I’ve got to ratchet things back up because I really really do want to give my all to these 12 weeks.

Check-In

The check-in can be as simple as you need it to be. In week two the author advises us to NOT share our morning pages with anyone as it can be an unconscious form of self-sabotage (seems about right), and likewise be careful what you share in your check-in. Anything that might open yourself up to criticism or ridicule or even well-meaning advice should be kept close to you. I’m thinking that we can share more thoroughly at the end of 12 weeks. I’m also open to ideas to check-in with each other throughout the week to keep us motivated. Are you all on Twitter?

1. How many days did you do the morning pages? How is this experience going for you?

2. Did you do your artist date this week? What did you do (if you want to share) and how did it feel (again, if you want to share)?

3. Were there any other issues this week that you consider significant for your recovery? Describe them (as much as you’re comfortable with).

I totally flopped on morning pages this week. Every day I would have the intention to do them, think about doing them, and then put it off. Clearly I have a resistance to doing them so this week it will be my top priority above other tasks. My artist date was also weak this week. I cheated and combined it with something else. The biggest issue that came up this week is how hard it is for me to commit to things. I resist schedules and I’ve never really understood why. The feelings that come up are ones of resentment. So…my biggest task in my artist recovery this week is to stick to a minimal schedule around this.

Week 3 – Let’s Rock it!

I’m going to read chapter 3 tonight after publishing this post. I’m looking forward to it and to ramp up the motivation to dive deep going into week 3. How’s it going for you?

Week One Check-In

If you’d like to share your thoughts or experiences from Week One on your blog I’ve provided the linky-tool along with the blog-hop so we can all stay connected during this process.

1. How many days this week did you do your morning pages? How was the experience for you?
2. Did you do your artist date this week? What did you do? How did it feel?
3. Were there any other issues this week that you consider significant for your discovery/recovery? Describe them.

Feel free to share as much or as little as you’re comfortable with. I’m sure this process can bring up some very personal stuff.

As for me, I did the morning pages 5 out of 7 days, and not always in the morning. I’m finding some resistance to them since I write all the time for pleasure and work, and this being an “assignment” makes it feel too much like work. I’m working through the resistance. My artist date was going to the used bookstore I mentioned in the 100 words post from this week. I poked around and allowed myself to buy a completely “frivolous” book. A beautiful book full of art, and an “art” mystery story.

As for other things that came up — I tried writing the positive affirmations to see what “blurts” I would hear, and I didn’t hear any, BUT I observed a more physical rejection of the affirmations. As I wrote them I would feel my body and mind kind of slump and retreat, battening down the hatches. I felt sleepy and drained of motivation. Clearly I need to work with the positive affirmations more until I “hear” something that gives me a clue to the physical sensations.

Week Two – Here We Go

I hope that you forged ahead into week two in my absence. As I mentioned, I’m not going to post all the tasks since you should have your books by now. If you haven’t, you can find The Artist’s Way here. If you haven’t yet committed to the challenge but would like to join now, let me know in comments so I can figure out a way to include latecomers.

Post your responses by Saturday, midnight ET.

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Let’s Get This Party Started

Let me just be honest for a moment. I find it very hard to commit to things, so this is a HUGE thing for me to take this on. My hope is that by being “responsible”, if you will, for keeping this going all the way through the 12 weeks that I will commit to the process myself. Knowing that others are joining me will be a big part of that.

Since you’re not all going to get your book, The Artist’s Way, at the same time, I’m just going to go ahead and get us started with the basics from the first chapters including Week One. I’ll be posting a fair amount of stuff from the first chapters, but I won’t be continuing to do this after this week to be fair to the author, so if you’d like to join us in this 12 weeks of “discovering/recovering” your creative self please order the book from the link (helps to support this blog) or pick up at your local book store.

Here we go.

Basic Tools

There are two basic tools that we will be maintaining throughout the 12 weeks.

1. Morning Pages – The instructions are to set your alarm one half-hour early and first thing upon waking write three pages long-hand in a journal as a free write. There is no particular goal generally (though as we progress there will be “assignments”) nor should you write them as a “writer”. If these pages are full of complaints or boring things, so be it. It is meant to purge you of whatever is on your mind and get it out of the way. These pages are not to be shared, nor should you read back through them.
2. The Artist Date – This is hard to make clear without copying the 2-3 pages on the subject in their entirety, but I’ll try. The Artist Date is a date you make with yourself to set aside 1-2 hours each week to do something with your inner child artist. It should be something that feels fun, but there’s no need to force it to seem “artistic”. It could be going to listen to music, taking a walk, watching a sunrise or sunset, or even going bowling. But it is for you alone, and must not be broken. Don’t stand yourself up!

Week One Tasks/Exercises

There’s a lot in each chapter, but I’m going to start with only a few of the tasks/exercises since you already have morning pages and an artist date to set.

• Identifying core negative beliefs and transforming them. To identify your core negative beliefs, start with positive affirmations. Choose an affirmation such as “I (your name), am a brilliant and prolific writer [painter, potter, poet, or whatever you are]“, and write that 10 times in a row. As you do this, listen for the negative “blurts” of your unconscious. Whatever comes up, write it down. Did you hear something like, “you’re just kidding yourself!”, or “you’re not good enough”? Write them all down. Look at the list and find out where your blurts come from. Who in your past said these things to you? Once you’ve done this, use your Morning Pages to turn the negative blurts to positive affirmations. For example, “You’re just kidding yourself” can be turned to “I believe in my talents and my right to share them.”
• Time Travel: “List three old enemies of your creative self-worth”. This may be parents, peers, partners, lovers, siblings, other family members, or teachers. Thing back to people who made you feel ashamed or worthless or otherwise negative about your creativity. The author calls these people “your historic monsters”. Keep a running list throughout this 12 week process, but for now, identify at least three.
• Time Travel: “Select and write out one horror story from your monster hall of fame”. However long or short it needs to be, write down what happened and details about where you were, who it was, how you felt, etc. “Include whatever rankles you about the incident: ‘and then I remember she gave me this real fakey smile and patted my head…’” You can include a sketch of your old “monster” and then “draw a nice red X through it”.

Check-In

Each Sunday I’ll post a “check-in” from the book (you’ll see when you get it) and that’s what we’ll share with each other. You’re welcome to share whatever other thoughts and experiences are coming out of the process, but I don’t want to put anyone on the spot as they move through what may very well be a tender and emotional process. The check-ins seem safe and a good way to keep up with each other. I’ll use the same linky tool as I do for the 100 words so that we can easily see who’s participating too.

My take on this week’s 100 word challenge. The photo didn’t seem to fit, and yet my mind kept returning to it. Perhaps it is the tendrils so beautiful in the depths, yet when we look to the surface of the water they are invisible to us.

Delicately

A small crowd gathers to listen to the poet — cramping into chairs, leaning against bookshelves, squeezing onto the floor. We sit separately and though I can’t see you, I feel you. A constant unseen wire stretches taut between us, transmitting what we dare not yet speak to ourselves. I feel you as you crane towards the poet’s words. I too strain my heart towards the words, hoping we will find each other there in the pages, between the lines, among the words.

Afterwards, we share breathlessly our love of the poem, and with our words delicately shrink the distance.