In a fews days, I fly out to teach with Elin Stebbins Waldal at our first retreat, Veritas Rustic Writing Retreat for Women. This year, our theme is on Permission.
Early on in our preparations, Elin and I divvied up the days, brainstormed ideas surrounding permission and writing and what holds us back from our own creativity. I offered to present on granting ourselves permission to fail and to succeed.
For the last several months, I’ve dogeared pages in my books, researched articles, saved links to essays; I’ve gathered perspectives and explored the ideas of failure and success.
“The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.”
~ Mary Oliver
In that time, I’ve also been taking a closer look at my own creative aspirations, figuring out what feeds my creativity or what flattens it. I’ve sent out submissions, filed away rejections, quietly celebrated a publication here and there. I have embarked, head-on, into new adventures and wondered (…worried) what it will look like if/when I fumble and fall.
Not surprising, all my prep work to teach at this retreat is giving me insight into my own experiences in failure and success and helping realign my perceptions on permission to embrace both. Every page in a book I mark with a tab is saved for the workshop and for myself; each video I discover to share during a writing activity becomes another message from the Universe to pay attention.
Moving toward the unknown–a new story, the first lines of a difficult essay, a creative pursuit of any kind–is never easy. The journey is filled with excitement and fear, sometimes (usually) a little pain. We make mistakes–we have to make mistakes. We have tiny successes. We experience days when every action seems moot. But all of it–every rise and fall–is necessary.
“Don’t be afraid of mistakes; they tell you what you are trying that you don’t have control over. They suggest that you are venturing into new territory where you’re not yet sure what you are doing. They’re a sign that you are stretching yourself.”
~ Paul Skenazy on Brevity
What stories do you long to pursue? What creative opportunities are you pushing aside because of time, fear of failure, or what your mother would say? What is the risk in letting it pass you by? What is the risk in diving in?
Grant yourself permission; you may be surprised where the journey will lead.
Looking for online writing opportunities?
Flash Nonfiction II: Write, critique. Rinse, repeat. April 7-May 18, 2019. We meet online for 6 weeks and engage with lessons on voice, memory vs. memoir, omissions on purpose, and more. We write, we critique, we don’t stop for the inner editor. While flash nonfiction may not be your main form of writing, working on your short game improves your long. Only a few seats remain & registration closes April 4th. Read student testimonials and sign up HERE.
Study Hall: #AmWriting. Next session: April 7th, 3:30-5pm CST. Once a month we gather online to talk craft, read essays, stories, or poems. And we write write write. By the end of one session, you’ll have tackled 5 different writing prompts–and had fun! Registration is required. For the April session, sign up HERE by Friday, April 5th.
Time was limited. People like Ralph, the men, and women who had lived during WWII, would soon be gone. I didn’t want their stories to die with them. Sites of remembrance, including concentration camps, are part of their stories, part of history not to be ignored or forgotten. Such places act as persuasive and effective teachers. Are people still willing to learn?
I’m constantly asked for resources on how people can move forward learning about Indigenous culture, and I’m often repeating the same thing: read books. . . . Indigenous peoples cannot do the work for you. You must dig in and learn yourself, and the best way to do that is lean into our cultures. Learn about us. Do your research, and then we can have a conversation that isn’t a one-sided history or cultural lesson.
Writers work successfully in so many different ways, I never assume that what works for me is best for someone else. But if a common denominator exists among us, it might be attitude: the enterprise of writing a book has to feel like walking into a cathedral. It demands humility. The body of all written words already in print is vaulted and vast. You think you have something new to add to that? If so, it can only come from a position of respect: for the form, the process, and eventually for a reader’s valuable attention.
Details play a significant role in our writing, whether we write poems, essays or novels. Details build story, deepen story, and provide more ways for readers to connect with story.
…with space, an invitation, and a gentle push from another writer facing similar challenges, we are more likely to show up at the table and set pen to paper. We are more likely to encourage the writer across from us and–together–create more art.