Don’t say what you don’t want…
I have been mucking out my writing cabin. It is a lot like mucking out a stable, or should be, could be. Except I find that I have difficulty letting anything go. So all the pieces of paper get taken out of boxes and then put back in. I managed to part with a little under two boxes of books, when I really need to let go of 8 or 10 boxes of books. Honestly. (And I will still have plenty of books. No worries of staring, bookless shelves here.)
Yesterday, after several hours of this sort of dithering, I had made a little progress. I put my Scarlet Letter books down on a bottom shelf and put my WWI books up on the go-to shelf, in preparation for my new project. I boxed up drafts of my novel (which is now on its honest-to-goodness final read through…I hope), and when the box wouldn’t hold them all, I put two copies (the least marked up) into the recycling bin. I took pages out of notebooks and set the notebooks aside to be used for new projects.
But there were still all those books, and not enough space on the shelves. I don’t want to have books on the floor and the desk and the chair.
If you had sneaked up to my window and listened you would have heard me saying–
- I can’t stand to give up my books!
- I LOVE my books!
- I have a VERY HARD TIME giving up any books!
- I NEED my books!
- My books make me feel SAFE!
After saying these things enough times (or just thinking them, very loudly), I finally heard myself saying them. And I remembered the advice I give my students: Don’t say what you don’t want.
I can’t write. I hate to write. I’m no good at writing. My job, when I hear statements like this is to help students revise what they are saying about their own unlimited abilities and inner resources — into something kinder. I am willing to try this. I can get better at writing. I’m really good at learning and I can learn to write. I’m not afraid to give this a shot and see what happens.
One of my favorite illustrations of this principle came from the woman who cuts my hair. One day, as I sat, ready to be shorn, she held up a brush, a ruined brush, and said, “Would you look at that! Last night while I was getting ready to leave, I kept telling myself, ‘You are going to forget your brush in the cleaning solution! You shouldn’t set it in there this late, because you’ll forget it and it will be ruined!’ And sure enough,” she finished, “that’s exactly what I did!”
Of course it was. Don’t say what you don’t want. Say what you want.
- There are more books where these came from
- The library can help me find any books that I decide, some day, to reread
- I am safe even without so many books
- A peaceful, uncluttered space is so great for my writing
- Books that are stuck in boxes might as well go to someone new who will treasure them
- My shelves are not going to be empty; I can let go of some of these books and STILL HAVE A LOT OF BOOKS
Okay, so I’m working on it.
Would you like to receive a postcard poem?
Poetry Postcard month has to end sometime, though I still have so many cards left. If you’d like to receive an original postcard poem from me, sometime in September, please send me your address:
bethany.alchemy@gmail.com
1917 Postcard
This morning I woke up at 3:30…gave up trying to go back to sleep around 4:20…and crawled out of bed. I am officially between novels (don’t know how long that will last — one will come back, or I’ll dig out the one I plan to work on next), so I wrote a long time in my journal, then I reread a short story that I would like to submit somewhere. After that, feeling too restless to revise the story, I resorted to listening to inspirational podcasts on my laptop and tidying my office (which badly needs it). I didn’t make a huge amount of progress on the tidying, but I did find a CD of family photos, given to me by my sister a few years ago.
Among the photos I found this postcard from 1917. The text reads, “Dear friend how / do you like the East / by this time / I will write more next time / anser soon / Thurman.” It’s addressed to my grandfather, Eugene King, in Sparta, North Carolina (in the military?) and the picture is of a driveway (if the caption is to be believed) in Sheridan, Oregon. I think the bottom line on the back of the card says, “In car of JT Carpenter.”
Here’s my poem for today. (If it’s a poem.)
While you’ve been in Sparta
the world has tipped sideways
and spilled out a barrel of shiny new things.
Among which, J.T. bought a Ford.
When you get home we’ll fix you up
with Hazel M., who, if you look
hard enough you’ll see peeking into
your future from the rumble seat.