concocted a new kefir flavor (ginger curry with vanilla)
and am going to do an hour of exercise.
Writing? I will get to it.
Writing procastination. Don't make it a habit. But from time to time it helps me complete a few things on my chore list.
I will write today.
And maybe calling it procrastination is not the most appropriate label. The tuth is that everything on the list was - is almost always - in competition. With having a whole day off (not even a rehearsal), those things need attention, too. And today the other things came in first for completion.
Today ended a long run of interpreted performance events for me (interpreting myself, coordinating, working on an upcoming workshop). It has been a great several weeks and now I have a couple weeks of focus back on my writing.
Well, my writing and the writing of the writers in my cohort at the Writing X Writers Methow Valley workshop.
At my last post here, I was at the coast. At the condo alone, with the ocean front view, my laptop, and everything I needed to stay in and write. And sleep. And write.
Which I did. My writing piece was due by April 10th; I made the deadline.
Then a few days later I received an email with all of the 15 to 20 pages of writing from the other eleven people in my writing cohort. Because of two plays and the first meeting of a new in-person writing critique group, I have barely started on the Methow Valley manuscripts.
That is going to change now.
The interpreted performances went really well today and there was a nice size of signing audience present, which always feels good.
My next interpreted show is not until the end of May, so now, I will dive into the manuscripts.
After a good night's sleep following a day of work well done.
This is the view from my laptop, sitting at the dining table, looking past the living room space and out the nearly floor to ceiling window.
The dishes are washed except for the plate from, um, let's call it "lunch," I just ate, a cup of Pukka Revitalise tea, one fork, one knife. If you know me, then you know it was actually breakfast and, no, I didn't misspell revitalize, it's the name of the tea. Really.
This has been a nice three day writing retreat. And while I didn't accomplish everything I thought I would, I was on the phone last night with S who reminded me that I do tend to plan more than I can realistically do. She's right even though I started to protest, but only for the briefest second. Because. I know she's right.
The sheets and towels and my dirty clothes are in the dryer now. I hear them going round and round and the rhythm is familiar. And one benefit of having a place to go to sometimes which is not a hotel is that I can take my time in leaving and I can wash my clothes along with the things I have to do as a participant in this place, so I can go home with clean clothes instead of one more thing to do when I return to my everyday life.
In these three days with this view and the ocean and time and nowhere to be at any specific time, I have accomplished some writing. The biggest thing I needed to do was to complete and submit a piece of writing for a workshop I'm attending in early May. The piece was edited and submitted; check. Then I wanted to work on something for my newly formed critique group: I have to submit up to 2000 words by next Friday; semi-check. I wrote some new material and paired it with a piece of the manuscript and wove the two together - that's the "check." The "semi" part is that I still need to do some editing and work on the continuity of voice and tone and pacing before I send it in. But the hard part is done, I think. So I can probably call the critique group submission a "check, part one."
While the dryer cycles its contents to dry and I finish the last of the tea, I am trying to just be here. No specific time to depart. No specific time I have to be home. Trying to be present as long as it lasts.
The temperature returned to normal, wind blowing the branches of the trees, the ocean loud and crashing and white caps growing, moisture in the air palpable. And the sludge black coffee from yesterday's french press drained caffeine hitting blood, heritage flakes and soy milk consumed, water with lemon at hand.
Laptop booted up, phone off.
Unwashed, hair askew, still in pajamas, hands on keyboard.
Ocean rolling lulling sounds of birds holding on sounds of air water life. Words.
Done! My submission for the Methow Valley workshop is in.
I took a break from writing and went to the bakery in Nye Beach - an iced mocha and a mini whole wheat sourdough loaf. This was followed by a walk on the beach, barefoot, with unseasonably warm air and waded in the any-season temperature water (freezing).
Now I'm back at the condo to create something for dinner, drink some wine, and get back to writing.
Back to rewriting. I've done my editing and the piece is in. Now it's time to tackle some rewrites. Not just edits, but rewrites and re-vision.
The only problem with driving vacations is that driving time takes away from writing time.
Driving vacations give you plenty of conversation time when you're traveling with someone. But less of the down time when you get to your destination. Although, for some of us (me), the driving is part of the "down time."
Which may seem kind of weird. But not to me. I love driving.
But this lack of non-driving down time didn't allow for much writing on our recent trip to Los Angeles. I'm not complaining; simply observing. The trip was wonderful and we had nice visits with Ian and Ruby.
Now I have the opportunity to remedy the lack of down time for writing by taking a writing retreat to the coast! I just happened to end up with a few days off in a row - completely unplanned but very welcome - so last week I decided to use this time for writing.
I had many options to fill the time. Really. Many. No exaggeration.
Oh - the part I haven't yet said? I received an email while we were in L.A. that the writing for the Writing By Writers workshop in May is due on April 10th.
So. Nothing like a deadline to light the fire. And, to be fair, I did start working on something about four weeks ago, but there is still plenty to do. And what needs to be done is time intensive and a large block of time.
Which I will have. Soon.
Time. Water. Salt air. A comfortable place to sleep, with a view, with power for my laptop.
A story often is more than what we see on the page on our hands in our minds. This story is like that. This particular story I'm talking about is how this thought came to be, which is not what I'm writing about here. Now.
It is enough for now to say that I came across the photo below with the search terms "writing" and "mandala." I'm not going to write more about why I was using those terms to search - no, not now. There is something in process and this, right now, is about what I found.
This photo, while it is not a mandala (or maybe it is in a different way), had a significant impact on me when I saw it. Even though it is not at all what (I thought) I was searching for, it was what I was searching for.
Later, this may become more clear. Or not.
For now. This photo reminds me of the path I'm traveling and the place of writing (and more) on this journey. Exploration.
Creative Adventurer: I'm a writer who can often be found in cafes at odd hours with a latte and a laptop, or with pen and paper in the car between jobs. I'm a sign language interpreter whose passion is performance interpreting, which integrates years of theatrical experience, my creativity, and interpreting. I am also a writing facilitator and peer editor, performance interpreting mentor, and performance & literary event interpreting coordinator.