Being Clay

I've been engaged almost three months, and this period of time has yielded a lot of struggle and learning.  I feel like the clay in the Potter's hands, being molded and pushed and smashed and turned.  It's been a frustrating sort of pain.  You know that you are going to come out better, bolder, smarter, but you feel your insides turn at the thought of going through another round on that potter's wheel.  It hurts.  And even though the goal of a "better me" and a "better marriage" and a "better relationship" dangles above like a carrot, you can't help but focus on the pain at present and wish you could just skip to the end.

My sister took a pottery class in college.  She told us around the dinner table the first time she saw her professor work the clay on the spinning wheel.  She said the clay looked like water in his hands.  He moved it up and down, using his hands to mold and move the clay into various shapes.  He would knead the clay, stretching it and then putting it back into a lump and then stretching it again.  My sister is more show than tell, so she moved her hands, mimicking his movements and telling us how she remembered thinking, "I can do that."  It looked so easy, of course.

Her professor impressed on his students that just the right amount of water is needed.  Too much and the clay slides off the wheel when it spins.  Too little and it won't move when you press your hands to it.  He said the moisture of the clay is important to a good pot.

My sister then proceeded to her own wheel and naturally, she did not move the clay as easily as he did.  Some of her peers had flying balls of mush spinning off their wheels, but her clay was a rock.  She sprinkled more water, and it still didn't move.  How had her professor made it look so easy?  She pushed and pressed and punched and her clay remained a rock.

This turned into a discussion of how our Potter feels when He tries to mold us.  I can imagine that I'm much like the clay without enough water.  I'm stubborn and prideful, and those things make me immobile.  Not to mention I don't like change.  God patiently tries to mold me with His hands, and I resist, screaming, "No!  I don't want to change!"  I imagine others are like the ones with too much water.  They just spin off the wheel and run away.

These past few months have been full of spending time on the Potter's wheel.  Premarital counseling has opened up a lot of opportunities for change and growth, and while in my head I understand that I need to reform myself, I find that I am resistant to climbing out of my cozy little hole.  And I can't admit that I even dug myself this hole.

As I've spent time in this period of my life, I've begun to see insight into character.  We can't understand character unless we get to know someone other than ourselves.  Understand is a heavy word.  Its not just understanding; its understanding.  Sorry, poor English means having to use italics to make a point.  Let's put it this way.  One way the verb "to understand" is defined is "to be thoroughly familiar with; apprehend clearly the character, nature, or subtleties of".  That is a definition with of "to understand" with an object.  Without an object, "to understand" is defined as "to perceive what is meant; grasp the information conveyed, to accept tolerantly or sympathetically".   

To understand my husband-to-be is to be both thoroughly familiar with him and his character and to also know him so well that I can interpret what he says, grasp the meaning he tries to convey in the words he says.    I've been dating this man for 6+ years and this is still difficult.  More difficult now as we try to blend our lives together. 

Everyone tells everyone else that communication is the key to a relationship.  True, of course.  However, I do not think it is as much the communication that is as difficult but the development of understanding.  Understanding has a lot of things built into it: sympathy, empathy at times, humility, and an ability to put one's self into a third person perspective.  

As I've attempted (and failed) to understand my fiancé, I've begun to see how character is intricately more difficult than any other thing in a story.  To accurately convey a person in the confines of words, allowing for this complexity and reality.  Its something next to impossible to truly achieve.  People try.  And a lot of writers get quite close.  To truly accomplish it is something extra-ordinary.  

As I've spent time on my Potter's wheel, I begin to see the intricacy of His creation, my own stubborn flaws, and opportunity to hold a richness of life that I have yet to tap into.  

Storytelling

There is something beautiful about the craft of storytelling.  Using history, back-story, instances, moments to create a montage that says something to our hearts.  Whatever form it may take, be it in a book or a movie or a speech, storytelling speaks to all of us.

I was watching Randall Wallace's speech for the National Prayer Breakfast today and wondered, while he was amusing and his speech was humorous, what all of these little vignettes were for.  Then as he spoke, you start to see all of his pieces come together and what their purpose was.

In realizations like that, I always think of author and professor Ron Carlson, who I had the extreme privileged of studying under for over a year in college as an undergraduate.  He would always teach that when writing, you pull from the inventory you created.  In a room, describe what is on the fridge or the bulletin board or the desk or the love seat.  Put items in the room, and you will find them to be useful later.

It was the same thing here.  Randall Wallace told bits and pieces of his life, his past, his childhood and pulled them together by association to create depth and meaning to his story about the one prayer that helped to inspire Braveheart.

Watch this beautiful speech.  It holds positive qualities not only in the art of storytelling but also in the desires of mankind.  May God bless America.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I've been seriously considering teaching.  Or quitting my job, finding a nice part-time position, and writing my novel.  One of the two.  Both would require mountains of work, but different types of work.  The second would require a lot more self-discipline.  The first would require a lot more money.

It has been a difficult time for me.  Never before have I not had a reason to get out of bed in the morning.  Life has been such a challenge for me when I have work to dread rather than look forward to.  I used to enjoy working, and while the commute was inconvenient, I would drive it because work was worth it.  Now, the commute is unbearable because I have no personal motivation to get to work on time.

My dad once told me that there are times in your life where you have to work places you don't like just because you need the money.  I guess I've never been in financial want before, so I don't know what that feels like.  But still, I think that might be more of a male mentality.  I feel like girls most often get to have a job they want more so than boys because boys have the pressure of bringing home the bacon.  Girls work almost for recreation and personal fulfillment.  So, its hard to consider the financial aspect of working.

As long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a writer.  It was the only serious occupation I ever "declared" when asked the age-old question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"  Figure skater, artist, teacher...those I never seriously considered.  They were just dreams.  But when I was eight and told people I wanted to become a writer, I meant it.  It wasn't something I dreamed of doing; it was something I planned on doing.  I don't know how I knew at such a young age, and I know it has been a blessing to have a consistent self-chosen direction in my life.  What I didn't realize was how complicated this dream would be.

I've discussed before about how much of your life do you surrender to writing, when there are plenty of other priorities that demand one's attention: work, school, family, church, friends.  How am I supposed to put writing above those things?  It is my desire to replace work with writing, make the two synonymous.  Yet, how do I accomplish that financially with a soon-to-be husband and a family to contribute to?  It seems selfish to drop everything and pursue a childhood "fantasy" and leave everyone else at the whim of such a dream.

Teaching is a compromise.  It involves writing and my passion for mentoring adolescents, yet again it involves time and schooling and money (more money...I really hate money at this point).  I hate how pursuing a dream requires the people around you who love and care for you to sacrifice so much.  Especially when my fiancée has sacrificed his dream so that I can have mind.  How am I supposed to go for it now?  I'll leave a trail of guilt behind me.

As every morning passes and the motivation to get out of bed diminishes, I feel more and more tempted to throw my hands up and start anew.  But I have a wedding in (less than) seven months to pay for and a life to maintain.  Who could get married and start a new job at the same time?

There is almost too many factors to consider.  Part of me wants to think this through, the other part of me wants to just go off of instinct.  The safe and logical part of me demands I stay put for the time being.  We shall see...

On Disappearance

Dear invisible, unknown, and probably non-existent readers,

I'm sorry to have disappeared for so long.  I am a Christmas person, and with that, I dive head first into the festivities.  Festivities leave little time for blogging.

Second, I got engaged.  Yes, I got engaged.  It's a pretty big announcement to make on the Internet, it feels like, on an inconsequential blog.  However, it must be stated.  Why?  Well, planning a wedding feels a bit more immediate than writing a novel, right?

But I'm almost done.  I can taste the end.  I don't know what it is yet, but I am so excited to find out.  I feel more like a writer attempting this novel than I ever have before.  Its amazing what putting words on virtual paper can do to your life.  My (now) fiancée doesn't understand, and I don't expect him to.  Dumbing it down to the "sense of accomplishment" is too simplistic, but its not as complex as what it sounds like.  It's just...I'm almost done.

I'm frantically trying to balance wedding planning and getting this first draft done before I get married.  Granted, if I were truly diligent, I would finish the last...say, eight chapters before I get married.  But who knows?  I have no idea how to plan a wedding.  Everyone says its stressful, and I'm sure it is.  Having just gotten started, I haven't really felt that stress yet, but I'm sure it'll blindside me like...well, something big.  Anyway, I'm setting my goal realistically.  I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

So, sparse postings will occur from here on out, and I've given up numbering my days.  I'll calculate it all at the end.  Until next time, have fun.

Sincerely,
Cheryl

Day....

Warning...Thanksgiving and Christmas incoming.  May become MIA for two months.  LoL

Day 193 + some

Sorry...I'm a little lazy today, because I'm supposed to be working on other things than updating this blog.  I was just thinking about how all writing is argumentative or persuasive.  However you want to call it.  I've been working on my message/sermon for this upcoming Sunday (yeah, I know...no pressure, right?) and it sort of dawned on me how writing my message is so much like writing and essay which is so much like writing a business email.  They are all so similar.

So how does writing a young adult/children's novel come into the picture?  Creative writing uses the other end of your brain.  I don't just mean other side, I mean other end.  Its a remote part of the mind that is only really active (I believe) when you are a child unless you make an effort to use it.  Its the imaginative part.  You know, when you'd walk into a playground, see the jungle gym, and see a cave?  Or a pirate ship?  Or a bee hive?  Or when you were given a piece of Playdoh, you'd see the horse, not the lump.

As adults, most of us don't use that part of our brains.  Some adults (inventors, artists, writers, and adults who just haven't grown up) use that "end" of our mind but only on occasion.  How often do we unknowingly tap into that creative energy?  We have to make an effort, strain, suffer headaches in order to get the same out-of-the-box thinking that it would've taken us half a second when we were a child.

Still, creative writing is very persuasive.  Any writing is persuasive.  Either you are trying to persuade your readers that the argument you are saying is the logical stance, or you are trying to prove that this product is better than that product, or that God really wants you to do this rather than that.  OR you are trying to prove that this world that you've created really is a viable, livable world and that the characters are worth the attention and the time of your readers.  And maybe you are just trying to prove that the things these characters learn is something worth noticing.  Maybe, just maybe.

I don't think writing, or anything spoken or written or communicated, is worth the effort unless there is a message to it.  From something as simple as "I am cold right now" to as complex as a political argument or graduate thesis.

What does your communication prove?  Is it idle or is it worth using that side of your brain?

Day 193

I've been working on my book for over half a year!  I just realized.

There has been talk of rings and proposals and change in my life recently.  This past weekend I celebrated my 6th anniversary with my boyfriend, eagerly anticipating a marriage proposal but not getting one (he knew I was expecting it haha).  Having been with my boyfriend for so long, almost a third of my life, it feels strange to be away from him.  When we are not in the same vicinity, I am not as comfortable.  I'm not squirming, but it feels like a part of me is missing.  I feel whole when he's around.

Except when I'm writing.  My boyfriend eeks into all of my male characters, and the way I am around him seems to find its way into all of my female characters.  Somehow every male protagonist has attributes that I admire in him.  Somehow.  I know how, and I know why, but it boggles my mind a little that even when I don't intend to make any of my characters similar to my boyfriend or I, they wind up being that way anyway.

I was talking to him about my novel, describing how I was trying to get my female protagonist to "break" (in that she needs to start changing from who she is to something better).  I was explaining how she is stubborn and set in her ways and that I was struggling with making her "turn" because she was that way.  At this point in the novel, I knew that my male hero was patterned after my dear, having done it on purpose this time, and I was telling him that I needed the prince to help get her to turn.

Then my boyfriend says, "Oh, so she's like you."

It was like a slap in the face.  It was one of those "Duh!" moments where you feel like slapping yourself in the face.  Duh, she's like me.  Stubborn, set in her ways, slightly brainwashed.  Or at least, how I used to be.  I'm not proud of it, but I AM proud to say that I have grown up a lot.  So, pretty much what I found was that my novel was very much a story of myself and my boyfriend while we were in high school.  The characters were almost carbon copies (personality and maturity wise) of our high school selves.

WEIRD!

Sorry.  This revelation was a light bulb epiphany moment for me, and as I continue to write (it having been weeks since my boyfriend and I had this conversation), it surprises me that I did not notice it before.  Its so blatantly obvious now, of course.

Day 177

I have been writing my novel for almost 6 months.  Wow.  That feels both short and long at at the same time.  An accomplishment in time, but a failure in work produced.

Today, I want to write to support public libraries.  I'm not on a soap box, but never have I written so much in one week on this novel as I have a week ago.

After Labor Day, I was determined not to spend countless hours in my room goofing off.  My younger sisters had all returned to school at that point and the house is dead quiet.  A bad quiet.  My house is so often full of noise that it has become a normal auditory backdrop, and when absent, I cannot concentrate.

So, I go to the library. Where it is quieter than my house.

I woke up around 10:00am every day (a stark contrast to noon) and drove to the library and wrote until I was hungry for lunch.  I was usually there until 12:30pm.  I was able to concentrate.

It was such a blessing!  I sat in the quiet section at one of the tables, not even in one of the cubbies where you can block yourself out, but at a table, facing the thick tome-like reference books on American History and The History of Drama, and wrote.  I wrote about 5 pages a day, on average, for four days.  I normally write that much in three weeks.

Hooray!

The writing wasn't horrible either.  Even better.

The trick to this was that I practiced my professor's dutiful advice.  Ron Carlson would always say, "Stop writing at a place where you know you can start again."  I have the habit of stopping at the end of a scene or the chapter.  It makes me feel like I have accomplished something.  That week, I stopped writing in the middle of conversations.  I would reach the end of the scene, feel like it was a good place to stop, and tell myself to write one more page.  Then, I would be stuck in the middle of the next scene.  I would stop, come back the next morning, and feel like I was literally "picking up from where I left off."  Amazing.  Funny how simple the advice and how big the effects.

This past week, I was offered a temporary "full-time" position with temporary days off, and I had no time to write.  Such a stark contrast.  I was itching to write all this past week, but stupid 2 hour commutes per day and 8 1/2 hours at work and three scheduled dinner dates and an iTouch with addicting word games led to no productivity.

My fault.

I almost wish I didn't have a job again.  Then I could write.