this writing life

I took some photos earlier but left the camera back in my room, at the other end of the big house, so I'll have to put them up tomorrow. We have wireless here now, but only in one area, and I'm generally just getting online once/day.

It's being a very productive week thus far. I've enjoyed the freedom to stay up late, knowing I don't have to get up by any certain time, and it's wonderful being able to work, break for a bit, and get right back to it with no other responsibilities.

The things I miss, ironically, are my barn chores. I've become so used to measuring the passage of my day by the horses and the chores that several times I've found myself wandering about the house here, looking for a chore to do. Using my hands seems to now be intimately connected to balancing my day. Fortunately, there ARE usually a few dishes in the sink here, and I can busy myself for a few minutes doing that.

Tonight all the writers in residence went out to dinner at a lovely little Greek restaurant, where we shared good food, good wine, and excellent conversation. Afterward, we wandered down to a coffee bar we thought was open for business and ended up unintentionally crashing a private birthday party (the owner's). She was incredibly gracious, and made us coffees anyway.

I also bought myself a little spirit doll, as an early birthday present. I'll take a photo later, but it has blackbird or crow or raven wings and my favorite colors - and I felt like she wanted to become my talis-woman, so now she's sitting on my desk along with the two pony figurines and my crow feather from the labyrinth path.

This morning, the property manager came upstairs and found all of us writers sitting in the kitchen sharing a few minutes' chat before we got to work for the day. He looked around at us (we are 4) and said "this is what it's all about, right here, this energy."

And he is right. It's easy to get drawn into the "publish or perish" web, and easy to mark success using that scale, but the joy of writing and the joy of living the writing life is being able to sit at the desk and do it, and to share that passion with other kindred writing spirits.

As much as I get done when I come down here, I always leave with the renewed sensibility of what being a writer truly is. It's a lifestyle. It's not whether or not someone in NY picks the query or the book or the story or the poem. It's not an advance or an x-book deal. Those are things most of us aspire to and celebrate, but they're not the most important part of this practice and this art.

We've talked a lot this week about being true to our voices and our work, and to aim high but by our own standards.

I'm grateful once again for the reminder.

Typing to you from the NC Literary Hall of Fame

A quick glimpse into the richness of place here. You can see why it has so much power to inspire.

writing frenzy

I've been working on the new project the first half of the day, and switching over to editing work the latter half. Thus far this work schedule is going really well. I stayed up until 2:30 a.m. this morning I was so caught up in the edits.

It's been rainy and windy here most of the day, and we lost power for about 6 hours. Fortunately, I'm working in longhand this trip, and so the power loss didn't affect my writing time at all.

In between the writing I'm enjoying the company of two of my favorite women colleagues in fiction, who are also here working hard on their novels and stories.

Right now, I feel like I'm in a novel myself - in the mansion full of antiques and history and layers of writing energy from years on end, the wind howling outside, the ghost room just down the hall. It's quite stimulating.

the magic mansion

So, here working on the new pony project and what do I see this morning when I walk into the kitchen and look out the window?





What more could I ask for? Life is very, very good.

telling stories

Later today I'll be leaping into a project that has been simmering for a couple of years. I have a cast of characters, a setting, the first 2-3 chapters, and finally the sense of conflict that will drive the story.

Two days ago every project was shrieking my name, but after doing some barn chores yesterday the din settled and this story's voice won out. This is the first book I've started that didn't already have a title and an ending scene, and I've discovered that having something to write toward makes it easier to get going. I also know that once the pen is on the page, or the fingers are on the keys, things begin to happen. I just have to listen.

Meanwhile, the stories here: Keil Bay's neck lump has disappeared. The pony is moving well. Cody is feeling good. Salina is in fine spirits and the donkey boys are chipper and sweet. We have a couple more cloudy days but thus far very little rain, and the ground is a bit more solid beneath our feet. Not quite dried out, but getting there. The temperature spread is such that they won't need blanketing all week.

Corgis and kit-meows are all existing peacefully and keeping life interesting. As I was writing this post, the Mystical-Kit got up on top of the kitchen cupboards and made his way onto the top of the one above the refrigerator. There's an opening there, I guess for venting, and I heard a scrabbling of cat claws, agonizingly long, and then silence. I hadn't seen him up on the cupboards, and after he fell there was no sound. I guessed he might be back there, and heaved and pulled until the refrigerator was out of the cubby it fits into like a glove. There was Mystic. I was writing, and fortunately some part of me was listening.

I was thinking this weekend about the need to tell stories. We all seem to have that desire on some level. Jung said something about that:

The reason for evil in the world is that people are not able to tell their stories.

Interesting that I spend some of my time telling stories and another chunk of my time listening. Not just in my therapy office, but everywhere I go. People seem drawn to tell me their stories. Usually I think "I don't have time for this. I do this for my job, I don't want to do it in the grocery store too." But then I listen. Because they need to tell it, and I usually get intrigued in spite of myself.

It's important to listen.

This week, in a tribute to balance in the new year, I aim to do both.

Writing makes a map, and there is something about a journey that begs to have its passage marked.

-Christina Baldwin