2015 - ending on a good note
Oh the weather outside is frightful this morning. But I still managed to drag myself out of bed
before the sun sort of came up behind the clouds. It’s amazing what the fear of undoing a puppy’s
house training routine will do. Granted,
her energy upon seeing the first snow was not on par with my reluctant and
cautious steps across the snow/sleet covered driveway and lawn.
That said, I am grateful now to be sitting at my dining room
table with a cup of coffee, a fire going in the wood stove (in front of which
the puppy now sits), with the lights aglow on the tree even as the gray of the
day persists. I’m not going too far from
this spot for most of the day. It puts in mind an idea of what life could be
like in another reality. But now I want
to focus on the present, which is the perfect opportunity to finally write this
blog that I’ve had in my mind for a few days.
2015 is about to take its final bow. It is
an easy benchmark for looking back to see what happened in twelve months as
well as a thought to what the next twelve could or could not change. 2015 changed a lot, some with intention… some
just by course of the universe. But it
has restored my faith in the belief that we are not always stuck with the
status quo. Maybe that’s part of turning
40 and the settling of a perception that doesn’t have much patience with
bullshit. Maybe that’s just the good
fortune of where life has settled.
2015 was a good year.
I had plans for this year that I turned 40, but they mostly went by the by
at the end of January (writing this blog every day for instance). The distraction that swept in that first
weekend of the year was a sudden request to step in as director for Almost,
Maine. In some ways that was probably
good, because I didn’t have opportunity to overthink it. I lost a lot of confidence in directing a few
years ago and this didn’t afford me the chance to wallow in it. I already wrote a blog about the experience,
so I won’t repeat myself here. But it
did get me back into the Barre Players world.
Life is funny that way. I’ve learned that one should never say
never. The path can lead you back to
where you tell yourself you will never return.
And yet… I suppose in a lot of ways, I haven’t returned exactly the
same. I love this little rural
theater. I am determined to bring this theater into the
21st century. Of course
deciding to change yourself is a lot easier than deciding to change an
organization. Everyone has an opinion…
though not necessarily a willingness to own responsibility. I get frustrated sometimes by passive
aggressive behavior (inevitable with artists) or choices that are thoughtless
of other people’s needs or a lack of communication… but then all of a sudden
there is the change and the happy glow of community that I’ve been
nurturing. I love it because I get to
see how I started something but hopefully others will take it to another level. I am most proud of my monthly play readings,
where we read scripts that supposedly would never go over in Barre or be found worthwhile
by the ‘traditional’ theater producers.
It debunks the notion that certain audiences would never go for that
sort of thing. Our group is such a mix
of young and old, local and from further away.
And best of all it is the chance to talk about these plays in a
meaningful, thoughtful and RESPECTFUL of different interpretations way. I value conversation more than anything on
this planet and when a theater can cultivate such a thing, I believe that is
the heart of the community part of it.
We also have a dynamic group of youth artists. I see myself (from twenty years ago) in their
passion and interests. They want to get
more involved. I want to empower
them. We’ve started a rental process for
outside parties that want to use our theater and generate some more (and much
needed) revenue. And then, another
positive sign of change, we had auditions for Guys and Dolls a couple weeks
ago. I was so pleased to see the number
of people and the amount of talent that came out. I think that is a manifestation of the positive
vibes of change.
They do say life is what happens while you are busy making
other plans. Or it could just be that
opening up that creative stream unclogged another source of energy. Well, that’s what happened during tech week of Almost, Maine. I’m a believer of
Elizabeth Gilbert and Steven Pressfield when they talk about the creative genie
or muses. You can call it a lot of
metaphysical codswallop… and maybe it is.
But Pressfield is pretty emphatic about putting your butt in the chair
and doing the work. The muses don’t do
it for you. I can’t pinpoint the exact
day in my memory (and I rather prefer the vagueness) but sometime around
Daylight Savings last spring, I started getting up an hour earlier EACH morning
to write. Yeah – the time when we lose
an hour of sleep, I went the distance and gave up another. I’ve kept with it for the most part since
then. (Add to it a puppy who needs a
walk and food and company in the morning before I leave for work.)
It is mostly devotion to my writing (which is three
different novels in various stages of completion and drafts), but it is also a
shift in how I see my day. Those two
hours are mine. Mine for a good cup of coffee. Mine for a walk with the dog. Mine for emptying my head of what my
characters tell me what has to happen or a journal entry to purge whatever real
life stress gets in the way of the story.
It is my time for problem solving.
I get to see the sunrise. I can
sit at a computer with windows around me and music playing. I set my goals for the day and don’t
surrender all my waking time to the tedium of my job.
There will be plenty more opportunity to tell you what I’m
writing. The point is I’ve changed how I
look at writing. It is work. My work.
As such, I need to treat it like a job.
Waking up to go to it. Making it
a priority to spend time to complete a project.
Looking at not just the story and whatever moves me to inspiration, but
how to make a good product and how to sell it.
How to attract an audience. How to
make this the job that will pay for my life… eventually.
I am writing about history.
Even the fantasy has some antiquity to research. I’ve crawled through the internet and made a
list of historic places to visit in my area so I can incorporate details into
my story. I also used my trip this
summer to get my head into a back story… and as it turned out, the end of the
whole thing.
I intended to go to Ireland regardless of the writing
thing. That had been a plan for nearly
two years, well before inspiration hit me in the middle of a normal day. The idea was I turned 30 in Ireland. I wanted 40 to have something like it. The former trip was with my family. The latter was with my supper club. And then by myself. I enjoyed both legs of the journey, in spite
of a car debacle and weary feet by the last days in London. I found matter for my writing. I found the ability to completely disengage
from life here. I also found a complete
attitude shift.
My writing provoked my interest in Northern Ireland. That’s where some of the ancient magic lies,
especially so close to Scotland. I
stayed where I could see Scotland from my bedroom window. I also decided to go to Belfast because at
some point I thought my characters would end up in that city during the
Troubles. I’m still very far away from
that story, but I knew to even contemplate it I had to visit Belfast. The way it affected and still affects me was
nothing I ever expected.
I’ve always been a political person with strong
opinions. I still am. Nothing breaks my heart more than racial
injustice or the exploitation of the wealthy against the working classes. I am still a bleeding heart liberal living in
a tea party town in the heart of blue, blue Massachusetts. It’s easy to use those labels. But really… I live in a small town with a
bunch of other human beings who have different world views from me. I have learned to pull myself back from using
a different world view to color my opinion of people with disdain. I learned that in Belfast. Because I saw how it can escalate to the
point of walls with barbed wire and gates that lock every night at 6pm, years
after peace was declared. Murals on both
sides of the division showing lives lost needlessly because extremist groups
thought a car bomb was how to send a message of who was the most right or
internment was an acceptable consequence for speaking up against the unfair
majority. I came home and digested those
observations and began to recognize that any time I throw a polarizing opinion
on Facebook or use those broad generalizations of beliefs that I am tapping
into that vitriol, that anger that can escalate so easily and make enemies of
my neighbors.
My disinterest in the conflict has led to a general apathy
about politics. I have absolutely no
desire to engage in any presidential election conversation before the year of
the election. And even as it is a
couple days from now, I’m not much more interested in starting. I will show up to vote. I will shut down anyone who supports the
hater in my hearing, but not in the wind tunnel of one way shouting of social
media. If I want to have a discussion about
politics, I will have a conversation when I have to look someone in the eye. I
slip sometimes because the assholes out there do infuriate me. But mostly… mostly I see more value now in
using my words to articulate peace and love of this life and the people in it.
The last major piece of 2015 I shall mention here is the
puppy. She has now moved from the fire
to the chair she has claimed for herself so she can snooze in the dining room
while I work at the computer. I have
long wanted a dog. I haven’t had the
life where I could be home (whether it was life in the theater or a long
commute) enough to take care of a pet or lived in a space where I could have a
dog. I still have the theater life, but
make choices so she can be accommodated.
She is… well, she is joy and love and warmth… and just so gosh darn
cute. And, like I said, it adds that head clearing activity in the morning. A 20ish
minute walk before I start my day, no matter the weather. Good habits to take place of lesser ones.
So, yes, 2015 was a good year for me. It had challenges. All years do.
There are always downs to go with the ups. They are needed for the contrast so happiness
can stand out. And isn’t that how memory
works anyway? We remember those things
that stand out more. Maybe because we
will it. Maybe because it is the
necessary fuel to head into the next year in the life.
As I head into the next year, Dear Reader, I will be putting
this blog on hiatus. I’ve started a new
blog, A Journey Through Rooms. This is
where you can follow the progress of my fiction writing and research. I’ll even throw in a recipe or two and some
magic. I don’t want to say it’s a
lighter fluffier blog (my history research is anything but light and
fluffy). However, it is an attempt to
contribute to the more positive conversations on the internet, not to mention
intrigue potential readers for my series.
I may come back and blow the dust off this space if I find a topic that
doesn’t fit the other’s purpose, but for now come find me at the new space
where I will be posting regularly throughout 2016, a year I look forward to
living.
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