[Day 25 of 365]:

I’m still writing.  I almost can’t believe it.  It’s a struggle to sit down, find a prompt, and fill a page with words.  I usually hate the words, but appreciate the stolen moments with my MUSE.  And I’ve learned something.

Nobody sees the world the same way as me.

Not really a huge epiphany at first blush.  But what it means (at least to me) is that there is a point to all this scribbling and typing.  There’s a point to suffering through broken thoughts and story ideas that I can barely get on paper.  Every day I get better at describing the way I see the world.  Every day I get better at understanding how my world is different from yours and from my characters.  Everyday I get just a little bit better at putting those differences on paper.

Today’s writing was hard and worth every moment.  Not because it’s good (my inner critic despises every word) but because it proves that I still believe in my dreams.  I have a place to confront my demons and show them that I’m not impressed.  They still scare the crap out of me though.  Maybe tomorrow, I’ll scare them.

Writer’s Prompt: Write about something that frightens you.

Are you willing to wait?
Are you willing to withhold?
Can you contain your power?
Can you hold on to your dreams?

The world is patient, relaxed while we are tense.

Fuck!  Lara kept screaming.  Without a sound.

We could hear the wind for miles. Nothing but empty roads, street signs, and wind.  The sun was hot, burning a hole in the road.  You could almost feel the paint fading, moment by moment.  And yet, we still waited.

Why are we still here?

The hunger, the waiting, the prey would come one day soon.  Maybe this day.  The birds, black and tired screamed their own cries.  Lara felt kindred spirits drift by, the ghosts of predators past.  Nothing to see, nothing to taste, but the dry dusty wind and our own waiting.

Night, already.  Frozen, crouched, we watched the horizon for streams of light in the darkness.  And there they were.  How many days had we been there?  How many days had we been waiting?  How many days didn’t matter anymore.  The prey was here, the hunt was alive.  We were ready, ready to kill.  We welcomed them.

Screaming again, but not from us, not from the birds, not from the wind.  They were all screaming.  Holding on to the leather seats, to the broken windows, glass shards shredding their palms, watching the tires burn as we ripped them clear of the metal wreckage.  Screaming didn’t matter here. Not to them, not to us.  We didn’t care about the noise or the pain.

We only cared about the hunt.  The agony and ecstasy of playing with your food.  Would the right time ever come.  But our patience is rewarded.  Waiting forever made those last few moments the most precious, the most savored.  Their bodies filled with sweat, fear, anger, and all the sadness of life’s dreams left unfulfilled.

Why they ignored their hopes, we’ll never understand.  Why did they rush for a moment of dull and shiny greed instead of waiting, watching, searching for their real dreams.  Why did they forget what they truly wanted until those last moments, we can’t know.  Now they can never taste release from the waiting.

But we always do.

We dream of tasting.  We dream of the hunt and we are willing to wait.  We’d wait forever to taste our dreams, but we usually don’t have to wait that long.

The scent of them fills our mouth, we gulp their last breath as they exhale it.  Bittersweet and filled with death.  A piece of the world dies in our hands.  Our dreams are fulfilled as theirs die.  This is why we hunt, why we wait.  The kill is nothing.  The blood, the flesh, the bone, is nothing compared to the last breath of life.  So fleeting and yet it sustains us.

Lara and I wait for days, months, maybe years, living off their last breath.  A shining moment of life and death, the circle is complete because of us.  We give balance. We create balance.  Balance finally has meaning in that last breath.  It’s the breath of broken dreams. They realize they’ve been dead since they were born.  Only in that last moment of dying breath do they ever live.  Some even whisper their thanks, or beg for the gift of release that only we can give, Lara and I.  Their shining moment, a whole life lived just to die at our hands.

And then the breath is gone.  The body shudders but there’s nothing left.  The waiting is over, and so is the joy.  Life flutters away faster them it came and we return to the waiting.

The feast is over and we wonder, are you willing to wait?

“You block your dream when you allow your fear to grow bigger than your faith.”   ~Mary Manin Morrissey

Comments, links to your writing prompt results, and lurkers are always welcome.

[Day 24 of 365]:

I’m taking a little break, not from writing all together, but from short stories, vignette scenes, and fiction.  Sometimes the MUSE has something deeper to say in fewer words.  Sometimes I’m lazy.  I’m not sure which category this poem falls under, but somehow I think it’s both.

PS – I did figure out exactly what I want to do with my Shattered Souls story.  And I’m doing a lot mor planning this weekend then I’ve ever done on a novel before.  I can’t wait to see what my MUSE is going to show me next.  Yippee!

Writer’s Prompt: Create a story, poem, or any other piece based on this metaphor: “a cup of restraint.”

Teapot steam,

A Welcome cry.

A Touch of honey, Lullaby.

*

Stir in Remorse,

And take a sip.

A Taste of bittersweet, Regret.

**

Hands are Warm.

A Cup of Restraint,

Curved, Round Comfort, Hesitant.

***

If fear beckons

And doubt reigns,

A cup of tea can release your strain.

****

“A poem is never finished, only abandoned.” ~Paul Valery

Comments, links to your writing prompt results, and lurkers are always welcome.

[Day 22 of 365]:

It’s not the writing that scares me today.  It’s the exposure.  Of who I am and what I think.  I’m afraid people will read what I write and judge me….Because it’s true.  But more than feeling not good enough (because I’ve been working on that in one guise or another all my life), I think I feel scared to be the creator of conflict that wasn’t there before.

I have spent a large part of my life trying to not be the source of conflict.  And yet, here I am, writing — a task which I wholeheartedly believe requires a deep understanding of conflict.  Writers create conflict, manipulate conflict, build conflict, and resolve conflict using just the power of language.  And I’m not sure if I can do that.

Sometimes I feel like I’m standing in front of a dam, chipping away at it by throwing tiny pebbles and wondering if trying to break open the dam is really a good idea.  I call this the “Why Bother Monster.”  He’s got multicolored fur, like a Wookie who fell into a bin of wet finger paint; gestures wildly while he talks; and has a tendency to stick out his tongue to make rude noises behind my back.  Other than that, he’s very charming.

Writer’s Prompt: Don’t give in to Doubt.  Turn to face it, and ask the most important question any writer can ask, “Why?”

(I’m sitting in a booth with my most recent manifestation of writers block.  I think we just finished our first round of tequila shots with a second batch on the way. The Wookie licks a lemon and grimaces with joy.)
LV: So, dear Why-Bother-Monster, Can I call you WB for short? I would love to know why you think I should doubt my writing hopes, dreams and goals.  What are you trying to tell me?

Why Bother (WB): Ugh. Aren’t you tired yet? Wouldn’t you rather read a book than keep writing?  Nobody is reading this stuff anyway.  There are so many other writers that are better than you.  Don’t you already have a really good job?
(Side note when talking to your monsters:  Havi says monsters are always trying to help, even when they are being mean.  Try to give them the benefit of the doubt.)

LV: Hmm.  I think I need a translator because I only seem to hear mean things when you speak to me.
(A tall man in a gray pinstriped suit falls from the ceiling using his huge umbrella to slow his descent.  He orders a Roy Rogers, opens his briefcase and shoves a sparkly purple fish into his ear.  The tail wags at me before disappearing.)

Translator: Hello LV.  Garglaspaf WB.  Flinp’gra nasflam.  (Which apparently means “Please continue” in Finger Painted Wookie Speak.  I’ll describe the conversation using the translated version for brevity.)

WB: As I was saying.  You needn’t worry about all the other writers out there.  It’s just your time to suck.  Sucking in the beginning is perfectly natural.  But, I’m concerned that you’re trying to rush the learning process.

Translator: So you’re saying that LV needs to slow down and smell the bicycles? (I’m pretty sure WB meant roses, but you never know with a Wookie)

WB: Yes.  If you push too hard, you’ll forget to enjoy the act of writing and focus too much on being a writer.

Translator: I see.  So is writing better than being a writer?

WB: By taking action every day and building a writing habit you can develop an easy connection and regular communication with the MUSE.  This is much more important than worrying about being an instant best selling author.  The joy comes from creating — from writing a story that only you can write.
(Suddenly, I can understand everything the pink, blue, and orange haired creature says.)

LV: And I’m not really sure exactly what I want from writing.  I just know that I’m passionate about learning everything I can about it and then experimenting with all the amazing things I can create.  I guess I’ll just have to wait and see about the rest.

Translator: Well then, WB.  Please explain how we can soothe and comfort your concerns.

WB: That’s easy.  Just consider this…Why bother worrying about getting published yet?  Why bother worrying about who is reading your work or who might read your work in the future?  Why bother worrying about anything except how to write your stories just a little bit better each day and enjoying every minute of it?

Translator: Hence the phrase “Why Bother.”

WB: Bob’s plat trasslemonglet! (This apparently means “Bob’s your uncle” to gray pin striped translators with fish in their ears…which apparently means “Exactly!” to people who love to write, like me.)

And yes, I did just imagine a scene where Star Wars, Mary Poppins, and Larry Dent’s Babblefish merge into one crazy, yet decipherable discussion about writing for the pure joy of it.

Comments, links to your writing prompt results, and lurkers are always welcome.

[Day 8 of 365]:

It seems that I’m having some serious difficulties with Writer’s Block today.  So I decided to take the advice of the awesome Pirate Queen Havi and imagine myself talking to my Writer’s Block.  Maybe it can tell me why I’ve been procrastinating all day today and torturing myself with my lack of quality writing output.  By talking to my Writer’s Block and asking it (meaning my subconscious mind) for help, I might actually learn a few things about what’s going on in my cluttered writers brain.  Havi calls it getting Hot Buttered Epiphanies, so bring on the popcorn.

So for today’s writing prompt, I used a short-short version of Havi’s awesome process. I promise I’m not going crazy but I am going to swim in the deep end of the pool for a minute. Basically, I just let my subconscious mind talk to me directly. I feel a little exposed posting it here, but I’m happy to have gleaned a few useful tidbits out of the process (which I underlined).   If you’ve been stuck with Writer’s Block for a while, you might want to try it.

Sit down in a quiet place, close your eyes, and imagine you’re in room with a big red door in the corner.  Suddenly the door opens and there it is, your Writer’s Block.  The first thing it says is “I’m here to help!”  You greet it nicely and ask your writer’s block “What are you trying to tell me?”  Then have a conversation and write down any epiphanies that you discover.

(A multi-colored block walks in, looking like a cross between a unbalanced clown and a Lego. It’s got short wobbly legs and long thin arms with white gloves around his hands.  I feel like I’ve fallen into a children’s video and I’m about to learn how to recite the alphabet.)

LV: My dear Writer’s Block, you’ve been making it really hard to write today.  What are you trying to tell me?
Writer’s Block: Stop pushing.  You’re pushing things too hard.
LV: Um, what am I pushing on?
Writer’s Block: The writing, the work. The expectation of perfection everywhere you go.  You just neeed to stop it.
LV: Yes, I feel very tired when I think about writing sometimes.
Writer’s Block: No, that’s not what I mean.  This is more urgent.
LV: Okay.  I’m listening.  Can you explain this to me.
Writer’s Block: You’re just holding on to all those expectations, all those standards and they aren’t even yours.  Eat this, not that. Workout here, not there. You’re not doing enough, then you’re doing too much.  Work early, write everyday.  Make time to watch TV, relax, and play.  Walk dog, cook, do dishes.  Just STOP.
LV: But I don’t want to drop the ball.  What will happen if I stop juggling the balls.  I’m afraid to lose them.  How can I keep juggling them when they make me feel so tired?
Writer’s Block: Just stop.  Stay here for a minute. You’re making me dizzy.
LV: (I laugh at my Writer’s Block twirling around in a circle, juggling purple and red blocks.  Then, I realize I can sit down in an imaginary chair at an imaginary table.  Apparently the block and I are having tea with a lovely white porcelain tea set, which is even more odd than a crazy clown with extremely sharp corners juggling balls.)
Writer’s Block: Look. You’re hiding too much.  You’re keeping secrets because you’re afraid they’ll see.
LV: Afraid who will see what?
Writer’s Block: You’re afraid to admit that you might not be a writer.  Afraid they’ll know you suck and yet, you’re forcing yourself to write.  You need to play instead.

LV: How can I let go and play?
Writer’s Block: First, admit that you think you suck. Then do what you want anyway.
LV: I do think I suck, don’t I? (I get rather sad here and my block pours me another cup of earl grey.  Don’t worry, things perk up in a minute)
Writer’s Block: But it’s actually okay to suck.  It only hurts your pride.  Just remember that you’re at the beginning.
LV: Wait, so that mean I can either get better at writing or let it go if it’s not fun anymore.  And both options are totally okay, because it’s the beginning. Yipee! I have a lot to learn.  So how can I keep facing this fear?
Writer’s Block: Keep checking in on how you feel about being a writer.  Keep consciously letting it go.  Do the things you enjoy because you enjoy them.  Create more opportunities to explore being a writer.  Tell anyone who says “should” to fuck off. (at least in your head)

LV: So how will I know when I’m finally a good writer?
Writer’s Block: Ask yourself if you have what you want right now.
LV: Yes & No.  I have lots of goals and aspirations but I have a pretty good life too.
Writer’s Block: Do you believe that when you have everything that you want , you’ll stop wanting things.
LV: Probably not.  Are you saying I should be happy with what I have accomplished?
Writer’s Block: I just want you to see that what you’ve accomplished so far, is more than you had accomplished last year and yet, you still want more.
LV: So I wanted to do a lot of things last year and I’ve actually done most of them, but now I want to have new experiences. Specifically playful experiences with writing.

(A huge light bulb goes on above my head and there’s some odd choir singing going on in the background.  A flurry of glitter fall down from the ceiling.)

Oh, I get it! I will always have desires, but I don’t have to be ruled by them.
(the block, the juggling, the tea cups, table, and chairs disappear with a puff of smoke, but the light bulb stays on.)

How do you work past, around or through Writer’s Block?  Have you ever tried something unconventional to reach your goal?  Do you think I’m going nuts?

Comments, links to your writing prompt results, and lurkers are always welcome.

[Day 7 of 365]:

Everyday is a fresh start or at least I hope it is; because today’s writing sucked.  It sucked hard.  It sucked so bad, I don’t even want to post anything that I wrote.  My Inner Critic is having a field day, ripping the results of today’s attempt to shreds and I hate to give it more timber for the fire.  On the good side, I wrote.  I tried.  I took a prompt and gave it my best shot.  On the bad side, it was awful, dreadful, boring, and trite.

Instead of letting myself feel embarrassed, I’m going to just be happy that I wrote something.  I’m going to post it, so I can remember that time I wrote crap and didn’t give up.  I’m going to leave it here at day 7, so I can look back on it on day 200 and see how much my writing has improved.  I’m not going to give up, give in, or use it as an excuse to stop writing.  I’m going to remember that I’m a beginner, with no formal training, who is just playing around with words.  And I’m going to leave it here, so other writers know that just because you’re struggling, doesn’t mean you’re alone.

Truthfully, the scene started with plenty of potential, but there’s something about writing in the morning that seems to drain the energy out of my characters.  I LOVE writing at night, when my devilish Muse and even darker thoughts come out to play.  The words just seem to pour from my fingertips in an endless flow the fills me with joy, fear, and excitement.

Today’s writing proves that I am definitely NOT a morning person.  So, I guess I’ll chuck this failure up to a creative misunderstanding.  And take it as a lesson that my writing is meant for the darker hours of humanity.  Oddly, this failed writing session gives me permission to stay up late and write when I want to, when my logical mind is asleep and can’t get in the way.   Perhaps my Muse is communicating with me again.  –LV

Begin a story with the line, “The clock winked.” Prompt #34 from CreativeWritingPrompts.com

The clocked winked and Jane threw her teddy bear at it.  She’d hated that clock since her mother bought the damn thing.  It was supposed to wake you up gently by slowly increasing the light and then flashing erratically when it hit the alarm time.  But so far, she’d wake up thinking the incessant beeping and flashing lights are the cops invading her bedroom.  It would probably help if she wasn’t still holding on to the package.

Freida gave it to her and said Lisa would be by to pick it up a day later, but it’s been almost a week and there’s been no sign of either of them.  jane was starting to freak.  She had no idea what to do with the damn thing.  Most of the time, Jane didn’t think about the packages.  They show up once a month, sit in the closet, and come with enough money to pay my mortgage.  Because of the packages, Jane only had to work part time to pay the bills. The way Jane saw it, she was just renting out space, nothing more.

Frieda always told her, “As long as you don’t look in the package, everything is cool.”  But, this one started to rattle yesterday, making sounds like something was scratching on the inside.  So everything is definitely not cool.

Jane kept worrying, “Packages aren’t supposed to be noisy and they aren’t supposed to be around this long either.”   Freida gave it to her a week ago and nobody’s asked about it since.  What was she supposed to do with a forgotten package.  It’s not like Jane could call the cops in to investigate. She’d already left a hundred messages on Freida’s phone.  She could just toss it, except that if that crazy carrier, Lisa, comes by for it, and she doesn’t have it, then Jane might end up in the closet instead.  Dead.

Jane stepped out of bed and headed for the bathroom.  She didn’t notice the small form curled in the corner.  A long thin tongue tasted the air, mint toothpaste and strawberry shampoo wafted from the bathroom.  It waited, hungry, but patient for her return.

Just as Jane started to dry off, she heard a knock at the door.

“Finally,” she said and wrapped the towel around her wet hair.  She pulled on a pair of jeans and a purple tank top, “Be there in a minute.”

Jane checked through the peep hole.  Lisa looked pissed.  Her mouth curled down as she tapped her fingers along the edge of her cell phone.  Her lithe figure was covered in even more tattoos than the last time.  Jane took a breath to calm herself, unhooked the chain lock and opened the door.

Lisa stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, “Where is it?”

“In the back,” She walked Lisa to the closet next to the laundry room.  Jane was glad both Lisa and the package would be out of her house in a minute or two.  Small ears flicked as two red eyes tracked their movements from just inside the bedroom door.   It prepared itself to jump, bunching it’s muscles tightly, feeling claws extend into the carpet.

Jane opened the closet door, an empty box stared at her.  “You opened it?” Lisa grabbed Jane’s arm and shook her.

“Hell no!” Jane snatched her arm back and rubbed at the new bruise, “I never touched the damn thing.”

“Well somebody messed with it” Lisa started to dial a number on her phone. “Either way, you’re fucked girl.”

Just then, a purple mass shot out of the doorway, hurtling directly at Lisa.  She threw her hands up, but it’s weight landed squarely on her chest, its momentum knocking them both backwards.  Jane jumped out of the way and ran for the hidden baseball bat in the pantry.  She came back in time to see it’s claws swipe at Lisa’s shoulders and dig in.  She pulled the bat backward, looking for an opportunity to strike the purple, furry thing.

“No, Buster, no.” Lisa started to giggle.   “Jesus, Jane, put that thing away.”

Jane kept the bat in the air and paused to stare at the small invader.  It looked like a rat, but it had flaps of skin between it’s front and back legs.  A pointed snout chirped at Lisa.  The whole thing was covered in purple matted fur.  “What the hell is it?”

“It’s a sugar glider, stupid” Lisa took a small wire leash from her pocket and attached it to the collar.  The sugar glider walked up her shirt and jumped down her bra.

“Why is it purple?”

“Because I like purple.  Stop being so damn paranoid.”   She left Jane standing with the bat and walked out the front door.

What did you learn the last time you wrote something that sucked? Did it inspire you to try harder or become a reason to give up for a while?

Comments, links to your writing prompt results, and lurkers are always welcome.

[Day 3 of 365]:

Sometimes my writing takes me to unexpected places.  Places that I’m not always  sure that I want to go.  And although I feel my doubts like a lead weight in my belly, I’ve given myself 365 days to learn whether it’s better to trust my MUSE and write the words that bubble to the top or just let her stories pass me by.

I’ve decided not to fight the DAEMON (inner critic), because I truly believe that resistance begets resistance.   I figure I can teach the two squabbling children (logic & creativity) to play nice once in a while, or at least get them to take turns shouting at me, so I can get a little creative work done.  This might even help clear my mind of all the cluttered themes, characters, and alien worlds that I’ve lost in there.  Actually, I’m hoping I can take all that stuff in the brain pantry and cook up a great story that somebody besides me will want to read.

Since the goal of today’s writing prompt is to follow blindly, my words fell between the cracks of fiction and reality.  I’ll let you decipher which is which.   As usual, I’m just happy the words showed up at all. — LV

“Some writing begins with a sense of absence, a void, a sense of something missing or hidden….  Begin by writing the phrase “I don’t see,” and follow blindly wherever it takes you.”  pg 28, Room to Write by Bonni Goldberg

I don’t see the color purple like I used to.  Purple used to mean playtime and rainbows.  It used to mean grape koolaide and Kung Fu movies with subtitles too fast to read.  It used to mean free time after school and skipping mind numbing homework on the weekends.  It used to mean my grandmother went shopping again and got me the wrong kind of pants.

Purple used to be royal and special.  The color of life exploding in front of me.  The color hasn’t faded but the exquisiteness of it has.

Now, I don’t care for purple.  I don’t wrap my favorite deck of cards in it, or gush over soft purple silk robes with gold stitching.  I don’t laugh at old ladies that wear purple clothes or find their purple hair hilarious.  Purple just reminds me of the abusive people who paint their dogs to look like zoo animals.  Maybe, I don’t want to see it.

I don’t see clouds turn into shapes either.  I just don’t bother waiting while they morph from an elephant carrying an umbrella into a galloping unicorn.  It’s hard to watch them when I’m busy driving or texting or doing anything except walking the dog.  There’s always dinner to be cooked, laundry to be cleaned, Family Guy to watch, and other vitally important adult activities.

But unlike purple, I miss the fluffy clouds floating past me, and the green grass that tickled the back of my neck.  I miss checking to see if buttercups still smell like butter and reflected sunlight onto my best friend’s chin.  I miss parks and meadows and the midday sun.  I miss spinning fast on the merry-go-roundand never getting a headache.

The logic of adulthood, the day job, the constant ToDo list that’s never done, kills it all — like a homicidal nanny who can’t tell the difference between making cereal and gutting a fish.  The daily grind seems to dull my senses, making them fuzzy and drippy and slow to respond.  I feel surrounded by the walking dead.  A society of zombies who want me to eat my own brain.  “It’s tasty.” they say, “You won’t even miss it.”

I want to see families and children enjoying the extra time that I can’t seem to find.  I want to see a world of living color minus the Fly Girl dancers.  I want to actually stop and smell the damn roses. I know it’s possible, because I still remember the sweet moments of my childhood.  I don’t want to go back, but I do want to see.  The zombies say “That’s what television is for.”

I might see the world through adult eyes, but I’m not sure I see what’s real.  I want to see more than what THEY tell me to see. And I want to write it down, so you can see too.

“Sometimes, when you don’t ask questions, it’s not because you are afraid that someone will lie to your face. It’s because you’re afraid they’ll tell you the truth.” -Jodi Picoult

Comments, links to your writing prompt results, and lurkers are always welcome.

I have had a change of heart and yet, somehow, NOT a change of direction….

For the past month, I have been organizing my thoughts, analyzing patterns, defining the details and creating worksheets to help explain exactly what I mean by a Pattern Interrupt.  But, I constantly felt conflicted about sharing this information.  Not because I didn’t want to help people make meaningful, lasting change but because I was afraid it wouldn’t work for anybody but me.

I’ve combed through my history many times (and the 20 or so journals that catalog it from as far back as grade school) and I can follow each pattern interrupt through to its successful change.  But what I can’t find was a change that originated from a conscious pattern interrupt.  Meaning, I’ve never been conscious of the entire change process until the change was over.  I’ve never done it 100% deliberately.

And that, my friends, is a big freaking hole.  It’s a hole I don’t want to inadvertently walk anyone else into.  It’s a hole that some well-meaning bloggers use to “sell” happiness (something I’m not trying to do here).  It’s a hole I have to fill before I help people through a meaningful & lasting change using the pattern interrupt process.

In the meantime, I’ve had multiple subscribers ask me for more information.  They want to use this process.  They want to start making changes now.  And I want to keep my promises.

Keeping my promises means sharing everything I can about making successful changes.
Keeping my promises means not adding to the infoporn or useless filler on the web.
Keeping my promises means writing from an authentic and heartfelt place every time.

My plan had been to just describe the pattern interrupt change process over the next few posts, however instead I’m going to show it to you.  I’m going to put my life and a VERY big change that I want to make on display. Right Here.  I’m going to use the pattern interrupt process and explain to you exactly what I’m doing, exactly how I’m doing it, and exactly what I’m feeling.  In the meantime, I’ll be creating a detailed ebook to share with all my readers about how they can create their own pattern interrupt.

The scary thing for me is that I’ve never followed the change in real time from start to finish before.  I’ve initiated the change and then let the laws of physics & math take their course.  Or, I’ve realized that I’ve been in a pattern interrupt and had to stretch a little to get to the other side.  But, at some point, the new pattern always becomes automatic (that’s part of the beauty of it).  However, not this time.  This time, the process will be conscious from beginning to end and possibly a little bit raw (although not undigested).

In my next post, I’ll explain my big change goals, how I consciously defined and prepared them, and how you can do the same for a powerful pattern interrupt. I hope you’ll stick with me.

What do you think about my dedication to show & tell? What other ways have you tried to make lasting change that worked or didn’t work? Share your ideas in the comment section!

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How can you know what really matters in life?  How can you know if what you are doing is what you are meant to do?  How can you know if what you are doing has any meaning at all?

The short answer is this…

What matters in life is to know the meaning of life.  And the most powerful way to know something is to create it.  So what matters in life is to create the meaning of your life.

If that seems a little confusing, here’s the long answer….

Your Meaning vs Their Meaning

First, what you are doing does have meaning.  Your life will always mean something.  But that meaning is more powerful, more potent, more helpful if YOU create it, instead of letting someone else give it to you.

Unfortunately, many people look to their friends, their family, or their work to define the meaning of their life.  They drown out their inner Voice with the voices of their parents, their peers, their boss, or even famous public figures.  This can tell us what other people want THEIR life to mean.  But it eventually creates more internal confusion than clarity and still leaves that nagging ragged question… “what does MY life mean?”

3 Ways of Knowing

In general, there are three ways of knowing something.  You can understand it, or know it cognitively.  You can experience it, or know it experientially.  And you can create it, or know it by distinguishing it. Creating something makes it distinct from everything else.  So, knowing something by creating it, is the most powerful method.

Find your Voice

To understand the meaning of your life requires that you distinguish between your inner Voice and all those other voices (family, friends, coworkers, etc).  Take the time to meditate regularly to find clarity or use your journal to determine which thoughts and feelings “sound like you” and which do not.

Ask the question, “Whose thoughts and ideas are these?” and simply listen. Can you distinguish between the voices that speak and the Observer who listens?  Then, can you notice which voice makes you feel passionate, excited, or hopeful? That’s your inner Voice. Check out I Know I’m in There Somewhere by Helene Brenner for more great ways to find your inner Voice.

Once you begin to focus on your inner Voice, it will get louder and stronger each time you listen to it.  But more importantly, you will understand this Voice better than the other voices.  And vice versa, you will realize that the voices of others cannot know or understand you better than your own.

So, if others cannot know you better than you know yourself, why would you let them define the meaning of your life?  You wouldn’t.

That means you must create the meaning of your life.  No one else can give it to you.  No one else can define it for you.  No one else can know it better than you.

Life’s Meaning, Now

Get our your journal, return to your inner Voice, and ask “What do I want my life to mean, right now?” Number & write down everything that your inner Voice says.  It may be a million things.  It may be one thing.

You may hear words like  Love. Power. Freedom. Connection. Beauty. Truth. Understanding. Harmony.  Or you may hear something completely different.  The first time I tried this, I heard over two hundred meanings and wrote for over an hour.  By distinguishing what you want your life to mean, you’ve instantly created the meaning of your life.

But, there’s a catch.  The meaning you’ve just created only applies to that single moment.  With each passing breath, you have the opportunity to recreate the meaning of your life.  And take action on that meaning.

Take Action

With action, comes clarity. You may begin with a thousand different meanings, but as you take meaningful actions, those thoughts will distill into one to five powerful ideas.  The more actions you take, the clearer your life’s meaning will become.

After a while, you can revisit your inner Voice and ask again “What do I want my life to mean, right now?” Listen without expectation and write down everything you hear.  For me, right now, those two hundred thoughts have boiled down to Unity, Authenticity, & Transformation.  Your life’s meaning could be something similar, or something completely different.  You simply have to take the time to create it.

Your life matters because you accept the responsibility of your inner Voice, create your life’s meaning, and act on it.

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How do you discover what matters in your life? What meaning do you want to express in your life? Share your ideas in the comment section!

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“Whatever you are doing, love yourself for doing it” — Thaddeus Golas

Love

It’s elusive, awe inspiring, and in the context of creativity, absolutely essential to the true expression of your art.  In the creative form, love exposes the artist to the world.  Your fears, your joys, and even your sanity are on display.  You cannot hide.  But love also gives back to you, the artist, with a deeper sense of acceptance.  You may find acceptance from your friends or family, lovers or strangers, but only with True Love can you find acceptance of yourself.

A Garden Path

So how can you ensure that each word you write, each picture you paint, each act you perform contains that essential seed of True Love?  You cultivate it.  The journey of creativity lies in viewing the aspects of the inner self, good and bad, accepting what exists there, and using that fertile ground as the basis of personal expression and growth.

Once you involve your inner self you have every aspect of consciousness at your disposal; the creative Muse, the analytical Daemon, the truthful Observer, the loving Heart, and the choice of Free Will.  Powerful tools.  And the more you use them, the stronger they become.

Unfortunately, simply having these powerful tools won’t write the story, paint the picture, or perform the play for you.  You must act.  And creative action implies challenges.  Every artist faces different challenges, but many have the same emotional roots. Judgment. Anger. Sadness. Apathy. Fear.

Here’s the catch, you must work through your personal challenges to reach your creative form of love…But you’ll need True Love to work through each challenge.  That’s why True Love, as a form of creativity, is a nonlinear process.

Take Action

Just like any other worthwhile journey, to step on the creative path requires a leap of faith.  To reach True Love, you must believe in it.  You can do this.  Simply choose True Love. Ask yourself if you want unconditional love, in your life, in your art, in your creative expression, and in every action you take.  To choose True Love, is to choose transformation, change, growth.

“To see your drama clearly is to be liberated from it.” –Ken Keyes Jr, Handbook to Higher Consciousness

Then, go out and discover True Love by discovering yourself. Who are you?  What do you believe?  What are your likes and dislikes?  What are your goals, your aspirations?  What are your fears, your boundaries?  What are your good and bad habits?  What do you want to change? Tell the truth.  Search until you have a clear picture of yourself in this moment.  Write everything down in a journal so you have a snapshot in time.

Next, fall in True Love with yourself.  Go on coffee dates, take long walks along the ocean, watch the sun set, meditate on gratitude.  And take the time to accept exactly who you are and appreciate your true self. This is not the time to judge or promise you’ll change.  This is the Honeymoon.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Now, simply take whatever step calls to you.

Perhaps you discovered something you wish to change.  By choosing love, you choose to face the challenge presented to you.  True Love grows from the courage to face challenges whatever the outcome.

Or perhaps you want to review how you’ve changed.  Rediscover True Love by revisiting your journal, reassessing fears and boundaries, or redefining your goals and dreams.  Write it all down and compare it to who you used to be.  Celebrate who you are now.

Or, stay in the Honeymoon state, finding a deeper and deeper acceptance of your true self by experiencing life through the lense of True Love.

The Creative Spirit

“Love alone can unite living beings so as to complete and fulfill them… for it alone joins them by what is deepest is themselves.

All we need is to image our ability to love developing until it embraces the totality of men and of the earth.” — Teilhard De Chardin

With each pass through this process, your True Love will grow.  As will your ability to express and share True Love in the creative form.  Exercising this power can strengthen your entire consciousness.

Remember, your expression of art may be about any subject, but it requires True Love to provide the key element…. You.

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What does True Love feel like? How do you creatively express True Love? Share your ideas in the comment section!

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“A moment’s insight is sometimes worth a life’s experience” — Oliver Wendell Holmes

Everybody’s got one.  The problem that’s been following you around all week.  You know the answer is inside of you, if you could just get to it — Crack open your subconscious, scoop out the solution, and move forward.  But the more you think about the problem, the more confused you become.  Sometimes you give up and hope it’ll go away (even though it always comes back eventually).  And sometimes it swirls and swirls around your head, like a hamster running on a meaningless wheel.

To solve this problem, you can either wait for an “A-Ha” moment, or you can design a moment of insight using a Creative Journal.  Let me explain.

Right vs Left

When you’ve got a serious problem, the analytical left side of your brain is running amok, trying to solve the problem with all the logic that’s stored in your memory.  You experience a constant playback of individual details and sequential thoughts.   A leads to B leads to C.  Unfortunately, this demanding Daemon, as I like to call the left brain, keeps you too busy to step back and look for larger patterns and creative solutions.

This is the perfect time to call on your Muse.  This elusive creature, otherwise known as the nonlinear, intuitive right brain, is playing poker with all the related details of your problem.  And you may already have a Royal Flush.  You just have to sit down and look at your cards.

The key is making your Daemon and your Muse work together.

Play Nice

Your Daemon and your Muse hate each other most of the time.  Or at least they pretend to.  The Daemon loves to live by the rules, and whatever logic defines them.  The Muse loves to daydream and play endless games.  Each is strong in their own sphere of influence, ie analytical vs creative.  But their synergy is the powerful substance that makes all life possible. Invention, Philosophy, and Art.

So, you have to design a way for them to both do what they love.  Here’s one.

A Plan For Clarity

Although the goal, a solution to your problem, may be difficult, the steps to get there are simple.  It only takes three:

1. Schedule the Time
2. Prepare the Space
3. Ask the Question

Remember, your Daemon loves rules, even open ended ones like this, and your Muse love to play games.  A designed moment of insight requires them to work together.  So lets take each step one by one.

1.  Schedule the Time

When you consciously set aside time to resolve a problem, you tell your subconscious that this issue is important.  You prioritize the issue for both your Daemon and your Muse and communicate when they need to show up.  I like to set aside 15 to 30 minutes right before bed.

2.  Prepare the Space

You need to create a space where your Muse can play, and a tangible record of the ideas the Muse creates.  Then, the Daemon can analyze the big picture as well as the merits of each idea and pick the solution that works best.  Make sure and pick a Creative Journal that calls to your Muse — whether its a Recycled Wirebound Notebook, a Green Embossed Journal, or an Artist’s Moleskine Sketchbook.

3.  Ask the Question

This step is crucial and the one that most people forget.  You must define the question you really want to ask.  Don’t assume the initial problem is actually the one you need to solve.  One way to do this is to ask yourself “Why” 3 or 4 times.  Then turn the last “Why” into a “How” to clarify the problem and describe your question.  As an example from my own life…

• Why haven’t I finished writing my novel, Shattered Souls? — Because I haven’t made the time.
• Why haven’t I made time? — Because I prioritized my other writing tasks above it.
• Why did I prioritize other tasks above it? — Because I’m not happy with my plot lines. I’m not sure how to end it, and incorporate the twist.

Clarified Question: How do I end the “Shattered Souls” plot lines and still incorporate the twist? (It looks like I’ve got to set a date with my Journal tonight)

Aha Moment

Now, simply let the Muse play without judgment.  Write every thought, every idea, every inspiration, every emotion, every goal, every intention, and every obstacle that your Muse comes up with.  You may even get a phenomenal “A-Ha” during this time.  Don’t censor anything.  Don’t let the Daemon onto the playing field until the Muse has finished making a complete and total mess of your journal pages.

After 15 to 30 minutes, you stop.  Set the journal aside and take a break for a few minutes or even a few days.  Then, reread everything your wrote.  Hand the whole thing over to your Daemon and let it analytically sort.

You’ll see the Big Picture with more clarity.  You’ll find new and innovative solutions.  You’ll know how to move forward.

Take a moment to be grateful that your brain has stopped spinning in circles, finally.  And reward your innovative mind by reading a book, seeing a movie, going out with friends, or eating chocolate ginger brownies (my personal favorite).

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When you have a problem forever swirling in your mind, how do you create insight and find the solution? Share your ideas in the comment section!

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