Call and Answer

Powerlessness is a toxin that spreads within seconds, corroding any sense of security or joy and leaving absolute terror in its wake.

The squeeze of the heart, the turn of the stomach; mere alarms ringing in the background of a greater siren: the brain sensing imminent danger.

Once activated, it screams incessantly, demanding action be taken to fix the situation and disarm the threat.

So you search, if you can, to locate the source. To find whoever tripped the wire and raised the red flag.

Then, the realization you’re unable to find it sets in, and the attempt to reclaim power in the face of fear crumbles within you like a rotten heap.

Yet, though suddenly isolated, you’re still not alone. Doubt, shame, and confusion have joined the fray, screaming into your ear the absolute failure of your recognition.

The heart continues to twist as the senses burn with hypervigilance; the stomach gone cold to cut off force-fed uncertainty.

And still it lingers, feeding off the shadows at the back of your mind.

Am I safe? you ask yourself. I don’t know, you reply.

Bardo

I'd like to say that I'm caught in the in-between, held in place by some force keeping me from moving forward or even backward, but I'm not. I'm simply in-between. There are no tethers, no shackles holding me in place, it's much more visceral than that. Everything is currently existing in a status of uncertainty, that formless space so vast and terrifying that in order to make sense of it the mind desperately tries to reason with its unperceived boundaries. 

There is a distinct comfort in the concept of an end, and to see no end or even beginning to the void permeating one's very existence is at the very least disorienting and at most existentially dismantling.

What do you do when you awake to find yourself in a boundless sea, the water as black as the night sky above so that even the horizon cannot direct your gaze. There is nothing to latch onto, no star to follow, so current to carry. Do you float on your back and patiently wait for something to change? Do you try to swim to a shore there is no certainty of even being? Do you dive into the depths of the sky above or fly down into the expanse below? 

I can feel the weight of the space forming across my chest, seeping into my bones, pulling me deeper into myself as I disintegrate. It would be preferable to dissolve into the darkness around me, for I cannot see even my own hand reaching out, grasping for a ledge that was never there. I am of this space, but I am not in this space. I only know my gaze seeking outward, and I use this as an anchor, but should I? Perhaps it would be best to allow this form to which I cling, to release into the expanse and lean into the destabilization of my very being.

Perhaps it is not that I am in the in-between, but that I am the in-between. It is not a void I find myself succumbing to, but my own sentient impermanence.  

After the last post, I've been thinking off and on about the various authors that have influenced me as both a writer and reader over the years. 

I remember the first time I discovered an author whose voice grabbed my attention and held it to the point that I had to go to the library and seek out anything I could find of hers. I remember the first thrill of falling into another world through the words of another, then feeling crushed when I had to return to my own at the book's end. 

It's a powerful thing to find someone who seems to put to words that which you have not yet been able to yourself. To recognize yourself in the voice of another, like finding a resonating tone to the one you already hear. It's also powerful to discover one you did not know even existed, thereby shifting your range even further and growing not only as a reader or writer, but also as an individual. 

It is for this reason that I wanted to list (for the sake of space) a top ten, each one representing a facet of my own voice that their work has inspired or awakened. Like a literary lineage tree, each author has in one form or another presented a turning point in my own writing, personal perspective or creative process. To honor the literary voices that bring clarity to your own is not only an exercise in recognition of those who inspired you, but also a reflection of how you utilized that inspiration. 

It's an ever-going process, and I am thrilled as the list continues to grow. That's part of the magic of listening to (or in this case reading) storytellers, for each thread they spin can become part of the larger picture that you then sew. 

Top Ten Literary Inspirations and the Work that First Hooked Me
(in no particular order)

• Charlotte Bronte - "Jane Eyre"
• Ernest Hemingway - "Now I Lay Me"
• Mark Twain - "An Innocent Abroad"
• G.K. Chesterton - "The Man Who Was Thursday"
• Susanna Clarke - "Jonathon Strange and Mr. Norrell"
• Kathryn Lasky - "Beyond the Burning Times"
• Diana Gabaldon - The Outlander Series
• Janet Evanovich - The Stephanie Plum Series
• Agatha Christie - "Crooked House"
• Philip Pullman - His Dark Materials Trilogy 

The Bee at the Door

There are some moments that you just don't know what to make of. The logical mind would say coincidence is keeping life interesting, ancestors might say that a message was being sent through circumstance, even the spiritual of today might find purpose or hidden meaning in the event of the unexpected. 

My own take in these moments is to apply any and all perspectives, not just to maintain balance in my own response, but to also genuinely consider the possible origins. 

I had such a moment this morning, and I'm taking it for what it was: A very interesting, entertaining, slightly creepy, but wonderful surprise. 

I woke early this morning with the sun rising, feeling like someone was standing outside my bedroom door. Now, on most mornings I'd assume it was my husband in the middle of getting set for his day, but I knew that he'd already left. My next consideration was perhaps my son had gotten up early, so I pulled myself out of my bed and pattered over to the door and opened it. 

At first I didn't see anything other than our two cats staring up me with looks of alarm and curiosity on their faces, then I saw a small dark figure that seemed to be looking up at me from the threshold of my door. Still a bit bleary eyed with sleep, I bent low and reached out a hand to touch it, thinking it was likely a piece of massed fuzz or something else the cats had batted toward the door. 
It was not.

As it took form in front of me, my eyes finally sharpening to their normal focus, I realized that it was a massive bumblebee, and I mean massive. Not quite queen-level, but large enough.  
My first thought was to catch it and release it in my yard, so I did, not being able to see where it went into the grass as is the case with most insect catch-and-release moments (always leaving you wondering whether they made it safely away or perhaps slipped and reentered your home). In this case, I had gone far enough out into the yard to know that it had not come back in.

As I reentered the house, a thought occurred to me that left me both reeling and laughing. As I've said in past posts, I'm currently working on a book, a story about a place where the Otherworld and our own intersects. One of the very last things I'd written in my story was about a door that appeared (that shouldn't have) with an iron doorknob that depicted a golden bee welded onto it. The door had been knocked, but there had been no direct response. And yet here I was, finding a bee at my own door.

Between that and the curious role that bees play in my book (added to the fact that bees are not due to be seen in our area for another month), this moment was a very entertaining surprise, and not one that I'm entirely willing to lose the magic of. 

Mere coincidence, a visit from the Otherworld, or sheer strange timing, I'm happy with all options, but there is no denying that this was a very interesting morning. 

Writing Habits

It's funny how stories just creep up on you. Like a voice on the breeze, you listen to make sense of it, and then all of a sudden you find yourself diving headlong into a world you never knew existed. 

At the moment, I am finding myself in such a situation. Last week I'd been setting up the finer points of the sequel that I've been working on when I suddenly found myself tuned in to a whole other station, as it were. Now, a solid week later, and I've already managed to produce the first ten chapters of this completely new story, and I find it nearly impossible to pull myself away long enough to do much else. 

In fact, yesterday was the first time in the last week that I felt anything remotely related to writer's pause. And in the spirit of all that such a predicament brings to a person who is entirely devoted to a story that doesn't seem willing to loosen its hold, I thought it might be fun to share some of the methods I use to either get out of writer's pause or avoid it altogether. 

1. Daily Writing
   Developing a habit of jotting something down, no matter the context, has been probably the most beneficial tool in my personal writing arsenal.
   Whether blogging once a day, writing in a journal, or simply taking five to ten minutes just to free write, it not only helps develop and keep momentum, but it allows for the opportunity to sharpen vocabulary, practice expression and organize thought.
   
2. Organize the Inner Chaos
   I'm not sure about others who may read this, and it's perfectly alright if this doesn't do it for you, but I'm a bit of neat freak. I LOVE organization. I find it a great exercise in mindfulness as well as stress relief.
   Now, between having two children and a husband who don't share this personality quirk, I have an almost endless supply of small projects that can either distract or calm me. If I'm finding myself in a bit of a writing rut, what I'll often do is take five to ten minutes just to tidy, make a bed, or do the dishes.
   It takes me out of my head for the moment, allowing a more natural flow of thought to emerge that, more often than not, leads to a bit of a dam breakage in terms of ideas and potential dialogue.
   It's simple, mindless in a good way, and will usually leave your space and mind reset and primed.
3. Music
   I have a rather large and eccentrically varied music library that I turn to when writing. I'll often have several playlists put together, depending on the mood I might want to infuse my writing with.
   Aside from using it as emotional or mental inspiration, it also provides an excellent source of disembodiment. When I write, and really get going, it's like my mind and fingers are in a synchronized dance that I happen to be viewing from a third party perspective. Music acts like a shamanic tempo for my mind, harnessing and directing it in a way to allows my thoughts to open and flow out onto the page or computer screen.
   It doesn't matter what it is you're listening to, so long as it keeps fueling the fire in your mind, and if one song begins to fade, simply shift over to another.
4. Reading
   I know this one might be extremely subjective, if not a little controversial among writers. The main concern regarding reading while working on a project is the fear of accidentally copying or adopting the voice of the other author. It really is one of those things that you have to discover on your own whether or not it helps or hinders your work.
   In my personal case, I find it helps. I'll typically have some sort of easy going book on the side that I can turn to like a palette cleanser, nothing too heavy or time consuming.
   Part of the joy of reading is that it helps expand your mind and means of expression. Like traveling to other cultures or societies, the voice of another author can act as a reflecting agent, helping you grow and shape your own into its own unique creation. The wider the variety, the better, but again, it's up to the individual when and where these exercises occur.
5. When All Else Fails, Have a Cup of Tea
   I'm personally addicted to black tea. I'll probably come to regret this later on when my teeth act as color-guard for my habit, but it's something that truly brings me peace and focus.
   It doesn't have to be an actual cup of tea either, just something that you know you can (safely) turn to that brings a sense of calm and collection.
   In my own case, having a hot mug to hold onto helps establish that it is time to write, time to imagine, or time to open my mind. I'll admit that a lot of cups of tea have gone as accidental sacrifice to the caffeine gods over the years (left alone and forgotten in the midst of a typing storm), but the act of making the tea and then having it nearby is a great means of prepping and settling into the moment.
   
   I hope something of this list has been of use, or entertainment at the very least.
   
   I'll aim to write more frequently again as the book I'm working on comes to a close in the next week or so.