Tuesday, February 19, 2008 at 1:01am
The writer's secret weapon
Column: Writing Down Your Soul
Writing about Writing, Part 8
I do not write alone. I know that sounds ridiculous. Of course, I write alone; all writers write alone. It's not exactly a communal activity. If you walked into my writing office on any given day — or night — you would, indeed, see me sitting by myself in my writing chair or at the computer clicking away. And you'd be totally justified saying, "Uh, Janet, I hate to break it to you, but you write alone." You'd be correct about me being the only person in the room, but you'd still be completely wrong.
It isn't that there's room for anyone else in my office. There isn't. Every flat surface, every book, every object on the walls, every stick of furniture and piece of equipment is designed for one purpose and one purpose only: to help me write. There is no space for anyone else to sit and chat. There is no conference table, no window seat, no welcoming hearth, no gentle music. This is my totally individual, totally focused and totally silent writing space.
The only person allowed to step inside this sanctum is my son. When he's home from college, he occasionally flops down on my writing chair, but most of the time even he, who is totally and completely loved, hovers in the doorway telling me what he needs.
But that doesn't mean I'm alone. I'm never alone. There's a veritable crowd in here, and with the help of that crowd, I write. Let me introduce you to my "writing team."
First, there's Laurene's spirit. My mother was glued to a typewriter from morning to night. I thought this was normal, if frustrating, behavior. Dinner? Are we having dinner tonight? "Oh, yes, dear, in a moment. Would you go set the table and make the salad and find your sister?" It's only fitting that the small glass angel that sat on my mother's desk now sits on my writing altar. I pat it on the head at the beginning of my day and call on Laurene's focus.
And then, there's my ex-husband. He wasn't a whole lot of fun to be married to, but he was my soul's great gift. He tormented me until I couldn't take it anymore, and stumbled headlong into my deep soul writing practice. That daily writing begat "Spiritual Geography," which begat this UPI column, which begat "Writing Down Your Soul" (Conari Press, fall 2008). It may be my name on the cover, but it's my ex-husband who turned me into a writer. If he hadn't crossed that dark, mysterious line from unhappy to scary, I would still be dragging my body across the bay every morning to a high-rise building and a job I hated.
Just in case I missed the connection between his behavior and my new writing career, he showed up at a séance a year ago. When it was my turn, I asked to speak to my spirit guide. (I sensed I was getting writing help from some sort of guide, so I thought it would be kinda fun to "meet.") But, invited or uninvited, my ex came barreling through. "Why do I see a sailboat?" the leader asked. "Uh, because my ex was a sailor and we lived on a sailboat," I said. "Why do I see bottles of scotch?" "Uh, because he had a drinking problem." "A pipe?" "He smoked." She went on to describe his height, weight, hair, beard, facial expression, and exact condition when he died. There was no question; she was "talking" with my ex. I sat on the edge of the chair listening as hard as a human can. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said through her. "Big changes are coming, and I want you to know that I am with you." His small crystal heart sits next to my mother's angel. I touch it every morning and remember that I write to help others heal.
And then there's my son. His body may be in New York, but his spirit is right beside me, glaring out of a matte black frame, giving me his best what-does-all-this-mean scowl. I wave at him several times a day. Sometimes I read him something I'm writing and say, "So, whaddya think?"
I don't read to Abundantia, but I see her every day. Abundantia is a chestnut horse riding majestically across the Dreamscape I created for "My Abundant, Unstoppable Leap of Faith Year." This collage floats just to the left of my computer, stimulating my subconscious mind every moment of every working day. Whether I look directly at Abundantia or not, I can feel her power carrying me forward into my future.
Then, there's my writing genie. I call on my writing genie when the words won't come. When I'm tired or lonely or scared or frustrated or feeling down, I hold my hands out over the keyboard and say, "OK, genie, let's write." And then I start typing. Things are never dull when the writing genie writes. Wacky new thoughts appear on the page. Odd sentence constructions. Vocabulary that hasn't crossed my lips in years. Creative punctuation. It's all good and wildly interesting when the genie helps.
Last, there's my secret weapon: the big writer, the writer within, the thinker who thinks, the writer who writes. I say it's my secret, but the truth is everyone has direct and immediate access to the voice within; and it's the voice that has the answers, the ideas, the meaning, the flow, the words. Every fresh, stimulating, thought-provoking, heart-healing idea that appears in something I write comes from the voice. The big voice uses my small voice. But please don't think I'm special. The big voice uses all our small voices. We have only to tune in and ask for guidance.
That's why I start my writing day not at my computer looking at my list of things to do, but in my writing chair with a fountain pen in my hand and a journal on my lap. I address the voice and ask the questions in my heart. Sometimes I say: "Today I want to write about _____. What can I say about that?" Sometimes I say: "I'm lost, I don't know what to write. Help me." The voice never fails. The voice cannot fail.
That's my writing team. In this rather small, 12-by-12 room, there are at least six of us: Laurene and my ex rooting for me on the other side, my son, my writing genie, and the big voice — and me. You may see only my name on the column or the article or the book or the website. But now you know that I do not write alone.
And neither do you.
Marilyn Shannon, founder of ReEnchant Planet Earth, has invited me to lead a national conversation on writing TONIGHT, Tuesday, Feb. 19, at 8 pm EST. Go to the ReEnchant Planet Earth website, scroll down to my picture and "Writing about Writing" to get the phone number. Let's talk about writing!
— — —
Janet Conner teaches people how to connect directly to Spirit to receive the guidance and direction they need to create the life they want. Her new book, "Writing Down Your Soul: How to Activate and Listen to the Extraordinary Voice Within," comes out this fall from Conari Press. Janet is also the creator of Spiritual Geography, a comprehensive spiritual-healing system that has been called "the first true innovation in healing the broken heart." "Spiritual Geography" workbooks are available through Amazon or Spiritual Geography. Contact Janet at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}.© Copyright 2008 by Janet Conner.
I do not write alone. I know that sounds ridiculous. Of course, I write alone; all writers write alone. It's not exactly a communal activity. If you walked into my writing office on any given day — or night — you would, indeed, see me sitting by myself in my writing chair or at the computer clicking away. And you'd be totally justified saying, "Uh, Janet, I hate to break it to you, but you write alone." You'd be correct about me being the only person in the room, but you'd still be completely wrong.
It isn't that there's room for anyone else in my office. There isn't. Every flat surface, every book, every object on the walls, every stick of furniture and piece of equipment is designed for one purpose and one purpose only: to help me write. There is no space for anyone else to sit and chat. There is no conference table, no window seat, no welcoming hearth, no gentle music. This is my totally individual, totally focused and totally silent writing space.
The only person allowed to step inside this sanctum is my son. When he's home from college, he occasionally flops down on my writing chair, but most of the time even he, who is totally and completely loved, hovers in the doorway telling me what he needs.
But that doesn't mean I'm alone. I'm never alone. There's a veritable crowd in here, and with the help of that crowd, I write. Let me introduce you to my "writing team."
First, there's Laurene's spirit. My mother was glued to a typewriter from morning to night. I thought this was normal, if frustrating, behavior. Dinner? Are we having dinner tonight? "Oh, yes, dear, in a moment. Would you go set the table and make the salad and find your sister?" It's only fitting that the small glass angel that sat on my mother's desk now sits on my writing altar. I pat it on the head at the beginning of my day and call on Laurene's focus.
And then, there's my ex-husband. He wasn't a whole lot of fun to be married to, but he was my soul's great gift. He tormented me until I couldn't take it anymore, and stumbled headlong into my deep soul writing practice. That daily writing begat "Spiritual Geography," which begat this UPI column, which begat "Writing Down Your Soul" (Conari Press, fall 2008). It may be my name on the cover, but it's my ex-husband who turned me into a writer. If he hadn't crossed that dark, mysterious line from unhappy to scary, I would still be dragging my body across the bay every morning to a high-rise building and a job I hated.
Just in case I missed the connection between his behavior and my new writing career, he showed up at a séance a year ago. When it was my turn, I asked to speak to my spirit guide. (I sensed I was getting writing help from some sort of guide, so I thought it would be kinda fun to "meet.") But, invited or uninvited, my ex came barreling through. "Why do I see a sailboat?" the leader asked. "Uh, because my ex was a sailor and we lived on a sailboat," I said. "Why do I see bottles of scotch?" "Uh, because he had a drinking problem." "A pipe?" "He smoked." She went on to describe his height, weight, hair, beard, facial expression, and exact condition when he died. There was no question; she was "talking" with my ex. I sat on the edge of the chair listening as hard as a human can. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said through her. "Big changes are coming, and I want you to know that I am with you." His small crystal heart sits next to my mother's angel. I touch it every morning and remember that I write to help others heal.
And then there's my son. His body may be in New York, but his spirit is right beside me, glaring out of a matte black frame, giving me his best what-does-all-this-mean scowl. I wave at him several times a day. Sometimes I read him something I'm writing and say, "So, whaddya think?"
I don't read to Abundantia, but I see her every day. Abundantia is a chestnut horse riding majestically across the Dreamscape I created for "My Abundant, Unstoppable Leap of Faith Year." This collage floats just to the left of my computer, stimulating my subconscious mind every moment of every working day. Whether I look directly at Abundantia or not, I can feel her power carrying me forward into my future.
Then, there's my writing genie. I call on my writing genie when the words won't come. When I'm tired or lonely or scared or frustrated or feeling down, I hold my hands out over the keyboard and say, "OK, genie, let's write." And then I start typing. Things are never dull when the writing genie writes. Wacky new thoughts appear on the page. Odd sentence constructions. Vocabulary that hasn't crossed my lips in years. Creative punctuation. It's all good and wildly interesting when the genie helps.
Last, there's my secret weapon: the big writer, the writer within, the thinker who thinks, the writer who writes. I say it's my secret, but the truth is everyone has direct and immediate access to the voice within; and it's the voice that has the answers, the ideas, the meaning, the flow, the words. Every fresh, stimulating, thought-provoking, heart-healing idea that appears in something I write comes from the voice. The big voice uses my small voice. But please don't think I'm special. The big voice uses all our small voices. We have only to tune in and ask for guidance.
That's why I start my writing day not at my computer looking at my list of things to do, but in my writing chair with a fountain pen in my hand and a journal on my lap. I address the voice and ask the questions in my heart. Sometimes I say: "Today I want to write about _____. What can I say about that?" Sometimes I say: "I'm lost, I don't know what to write. Help me." The voice never fails. The voice cannot fail.
That's my writing team. In this rather small, 12-by-12 room, there are at least six of us: Laurene and my ex rooting for me on the other side, my son, my writing genie, and the big voice — and me. You may see only my name on the column or the article or the book or the website. But now you know that I do not write alone.
And neither do you.
Marilyn Shannon, founder of ReEnchant Planet Earth, has invited me to lead a national conversation on writing TONIGHT, Tuesday, Feb. 19, at 8 pm EST. Go to the ReEnchant Planet Earth website, scroll down to my picture and "Writing about Writing" to get the phone number. Let's talk about writing!
— — —
Janet Conner teaches people how to connect directly to Spirit to receive the guidance and direction they need to create the life they want. Her new book, "Writing Down Your Soul: How to Activate and Listen to the Extraordinary Voice Within," comes out this fall from Conari Press. Janet is also the creator of Spiritual Geography, a comprehensive spiritual-healing system that has been called "the first true innovation in healing the broken heart." "Spiritual Geography" workbooks are available through Amazon or Spiritual Geography. Contact Janet at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}.© Copyright 2008 by Janet Conner.