The Wearing of Many Hats

We’ve all heard the adage of “wearing many hats” and that is definitely true for me. But the wearing of many hats is not just about putting on a baseball cap where one says Writer, the next says Photographer, etc. Each hat is as different as the type of work that goes with the project.

Hats come in many styles and are made from a multitude of materials and, as such, each “job” on the label has as much variance in its style. The writer’s hat would not look like the photographer’s hat, et.al. Some hats styles immediately come to mind when one things of certain types of jobs. I’ve already mentioned baseball caps, although those cover a wide variety of jobs including truck drivers and farmers.

With the title of artist, one pictures a French beret; cowboys wear cowboy hats; helmets are worn by football players, race car drivers, and deep sea divers, to name a few. It would be interesting to list a number of jobs that are associated with specific style hats or headgear, but at the moment, I can’t think of more.

My writer’s hat, if I wore a hat when I wrote, would be totally different from the ones worn I’d wear when out shooting photos or painting or drawing. Yes, even painting and drawing hats would be different because the jobs themselves are different and have different requirements.

A writer’s hat, for instance, would have to have a hatband into which I could slip pens, small notebook, and reading glasses. It would have an all around, small brim to help hold these items and would maybe be made out of felt. (I’m not fashionable enough to know material.) Maybe the pen would even have a feather. The small brim would be so there wouldn’t be much shadow when I was writing.

This hat would have to sit on the head tight enough so when I bend over the table to write, the hat won’t slip off, but not too tight to stop the creative flow. Finding the right words is hard work. Even with working on a computer these days, I still take notes by hand. Pens are my favorite tool.

A photographer’s hat must be of different material with some waterproofing because getting caught in the rain sometimes happens. It would probably have a string tie (I don’t know the proper term) to tie the hat under the chin. This way, the hat can be pushed down onto the back when taking pictures. I take pictures in all kinds of weather and I must be able to adapt to conditions – cold, sun, precipitation, and such. Sometimes when I’m out, I am so focused on getting the shot, that I don’t pay attention to other things. A photographer’s hat must be tough. It will take a beating.

The different projects (jobs) that I work on require a total change in how I am thinking and sometimes I go from one to the other in minutes. Instead of musical chairs, I play musical hats… although I do move around depending upon what I’m doing. For instance, in working on my books, there’s the story-writing/reporting/research aspect. I study, search my mind for the correct words, comb through the word catalogs in my brain trying to find the right descriptions and rework the research so I’m not always quoting someone else’s text. Then there’s the proof-reading and editing; many times.

Then I have to put on the photographer’s hat to edit the photos. My brain has to shift into a different type of focus. Here, it isn’t so much about words, although I do have to come up with titles, but the concentration is on color and contrast. Pictures that will go into a book take different editing than those I use in prints or cards, (which is even another hat.) I have to consider the size of the photo and how it will go onto the page of the book.

Next comes inserting the photo into the template where I’ve put the story. I try to match it to fall in with the proper place having to pay attention to margins and whether there will be text wrapping depending on the size of the picture. And finally, I have to make sure the Table of Contents is correct along with the List of Photos. Sometimes I am exhausted from all the “thinking” to make sure everything lines up (swapping hats many times during the course of a day.)

The work I do for the newspaper, even though it’s also writing with occasional photos, calls for a different type of hat. My mind set has a different focus when reporting. I am no longer writing from my point of view and the guidelines are strict for journalism. The editing (as I’m also the assistant editor) has its own rules, its own hat. This hat would come with a magnifying glass (metaphorically) with the need to make corrections. And the photographs for the newspaper are handled differently.

This just shows a couple of the hats I wear. Of course, it would be fun to actually design are real hat for each instance.

What kinds of hats do you wear and what would they look like?

"The Fire in the Song"

The Fire in the Song

He said, “If you only stop singing, I’ll make you safe.” And he repeated the line, knowing you would hear “I’ll make you safe.”  - David Whyte in his poem “The Fire in the Song”

There’s something about that line that ran through my mind this morning as I contemplated the plight of our society. If you only stop singing, I’ll make you safe. I hear the words in Whyte’s voice and in his inflection, And he repeated the line, knowing you would hear “I’ll make you safe.”

Whyte is talking about creativity, but I am hearing the words to now mean something more. This year has been a time of question for me as I’ve researched and studied certain aspects of the past. A lot of what we were taught as history is now being found to be untrue. People, who we were taught were heroes, often had a darker, not-very-nice side. (The media, even before it was known as media, played up aspects “they” wanted the public to know. We know that goes on today.) People we were taught to look up to as having our best interests at heart, more often than not were only following their own agendas. Yes, there are those who mean to do well, but a lot of the times, the best of intentions goes by the wayside.

“I’ll make you safe” is a want in all of us when we hear about the terrorism that goes on in the world, when people kill for no good reason (that we can see) or when kids shoot up schools. The media plays up the horror until we are afraid to leave our homes. We cry out our fears and organizations are developed to make us feel safe. Mental illness or mental instability is blamed. Drugs are used to control with often horrible side effects. People are locked down, locked up, and locked in.

But do we really feel safe? I can’t help but wonder if all the hype is just a ploy to still tongues. How do we balance protection versus lack of privacy? With everything being done to “protect” us (sounds kind of mafia-ish,) terrible things still happen, have always happened. I don’t know the answers. What are we willing to give up to feel safe and how much is really necessary?

Yes, I question. Yes, I am afraid. Life has always been a big adventure in a way. You never know what’s really going to happen. Even those with supposedly mundane lives can experience a drastic change in a heartbeat. I used to swear that I would not live in fear, but I can’t help it, and the thing is, I don’t know what scares me the most; the fear of terrorism or the loss of privacy.

It upsets me that we can’t drive down the street without pictures being taken of us, that our children cannot wait for the bus without a parent present, or that armed guards are patrolling our schools. There’s a part of me that believes the more fear we have, the more we will have to fear. Fear calls to itself.

Whyte’s poem hits home for me on many levels.

The Fire in the Song

The mouth opens

and fills the air

with its vibrant shape

until the air

and the mouth

become one shape

And the first word

your own word

spoken from that fire

surprises, burns

grieves you now

because

you made that pact

with a dark presence

in your life.

He said, “If you only

stop singing

I’ll make you safe.”

And he repeated the line,

knowing you would hear

“I’ll make you safe”

as the comforting

sound of a door

closed on the fear at last

but his darkness

crept under your tongue

and became the dim

cave where

you sheltered

and you grew

in that small place

too frightened to remember

the songs of the world,

its impossible notes,

and the sweet joy

that flew out the door

of your wild mouth

as you spoke.

            --- David Whyte

The Need for Balance

This morning I was weighing my love of staying home with the falling into sadness. I love what I do! I love the writing, being alone, listening to whatever music and watching whatever tv programs I want to, eating or not eating, and not having anyone else’s noise interrupt my work. I love that I can choose to write or draw and not be in anyone’s way or intrude on someone else’s space.

On the other hand, I have to admit that more and more I tend to fall into depression and grief. Granted, since moving here I’ve suffered major loss in my life. I lived totally alone for the first time and when I had to put my beloved cat down this summer, I was even more alone. Unfortunately, that makes this house hold more sadness than joy. I also realize that it’s not healthy to stay inside all the time and I tend to do that more and more.

Yes, I do go out and meet with other people. I go to breakfast with artist friends once a week. I do occasional interviews and cover events for the newspaper. I will go off on day trips once a month; sometimes alone and sometimes I will have company. I always enjoy these times, but I am also eager to get back home.

Then for the next two to four days I’m home alone as I catch up with all the writing and photo editing. I keep saying, “What more could I ask for? I’m living the life I want to lead.” So why do I keep succumbing to sadness? Sometimes I wonder if it is this house or property. Yes, it’s beautiful here, but because this place is where I have suffered my greatest losses, it’s too much.

But it’s also given me some of my greatest joys! I have a new life direction which is totally exciting and inspiring. So, why do the least little things bring me to tears? And now with the upcoming holidays... and now I always think of Christmas, not as a time of joy, but THE Anniversary of my mother’s passing. The holidays mean nothing to me and haven’t for many years and it’s especially so now that I’m alone. Oh, it’s not that I don’t get invited places. I just don’t want to go. I don’t want to be around happy people who love the holidays. However, I did tell my brother I would go to dinner with them for Thanksgiving this year.

So, where am I going with this? I know the answers. I know what I need to be doing. I just have to do them. I know I need to get out of the house more, but with the writing consuming me, it’s hard to get away from the computer. I realized this morning that with a tablet, I could go someplace to work. Yes, I’d still be working and still be on the computer, but being outside of this house would be good. I could go to a restaurant and find a corner to hang out for awhile when they aren’t busy. Most places have Wi-fi now so I could have access to my writing files which are in a cloud storage place.

I’ve been thinking about getting a tablet for awhile. I just need to make the time to get to Staples. Then, too, I’ll have to force myself out of the house. It’s easy to stay here, easy to stay home. It’s not good for me. It’s okay for a day, maybe two, but when it stretches into three and four… and I notice that the longer I stay home and inside, the harder it is to go out.

Yep, I need to balance the staying home with the going out.

A Revelation

It’s been eight months since my big journey south this past winter. Some of the reasoning for undertaking the trip was the need to get away from the New Hampshire winter, get out of the house, get away from grieving the loss of my mother, give myself something else to think about, and find and stabilize a life direction.

The adventure was exciting and I saw things I’d never seen before. There was fear and wonder. I visited many places and fit more in during those 33 days than in the past fifteen years and when I got home, I buckled down to put the experience into a book. Words cannot describe the intense joy that I felt over my discoveries and I was eager to share.

I never got a big revelation during the journey about my life’s direction. (Then again, I know it doesn’t really work that way.)  I simply delighted in each experience whether it was exploring a plantation or wild life refuge or feeling homesick and missing my kitty. I bowed down to writing when I got home knowing that it might take up to a year to finish the book. I was a little disappointed to not feel any great life-changing event, but such as it is. The months began to pass.

I ran into obstacles with the book. I had many questions and was finding few answers. I know what I wanted with the book, but was it reasonable? If I could pull it off, it would be amazing! Unfortunately, I had to be realistic and consider what such a book would cost. Then in mid-summer, I was dealt another emotional blow with the loss of my bestest best kitty. I was devastated and I floundered.

Bringing a new kitty into my life helped me move on. She distracted me from the grief and I was able to get back to the book. I decided to make changes and dealing with those set me back as I changed photos from color to black and white to save cost. The writing of the book itself is finished and now it’s about fitting the text from the 8 ½ x 11 MS Word document into a 7 x 10 Open Office template and inserting the photos and maps. It’s tedious and frustrating. I thought the hard part would be the writing. It’s not. It’s this other stuff. Plus I have to do Table of Contents and Lists of Photos and Maps.

In the meantime, I took on another project, another of photo and writing. Oh, yes, I realized I’d been bitten by the travel bug big time. So, now I have multiple books going on at the same time even before the first is completed. But, this is exciting. I am excited and inspired!

I still want to do my other art, the charcoal landscape drawings, but I AM foremost a writer and I always have been. I also realize that this new life direction isn’t really new. It’s been on my mind for a couple years. It’s just today it feels like I’ve been hit in the head with a board that THIS IS what I am meant to do! (Almost like a du’uh, I should have known.)

This has certainly been a year of learning about myself. I’ve become a better writer and the biggest thing is that I not only honed my writing style, but I’ve come to accept that this IS my style. It doesn’t matter about all the other writers who have gone on before me. I am not them and I cannot follow their styles. I am me. This is who I am. I have to be able to FEEL my writing and I want to bring that to my readers.

Today, almost eight months to the day I returned from the big adventure, it hit me; the light bulb went off. That trip south DID do what it was supposed to do! I am re-inspired about life. I have a life direction and this new big project WILL take the rest of my life. I’m excited about life again.

Consumed by Writing

“Writing consumes me in a way that no other form of art does.” – Sasha Wolfe

It’s interesting to reflect on how I approach the different aspects of my – talents. The three major components of my art life are writing, photography, and charcoal landscape drawing. Each one is very different although the photography and writing often blend in together.  

When I am working on a drawing, I have to walk away and forget it for awhile. I reach a point where I dislike the drawing and I fill with self-criticism over the work. I have to get away from it before I get so frustrated that I destroy it. Unfortunately, I sometimes leave it for too long, but I almost always go back and finish… eventually.

Photographs are always on-going between the editing and deciding what to do with picture. Those decisions play a part in how I edit. For instance, if the photograph is for the newspaper, the publisher likes to do her own editing so all I need to do is reduce the size for emailing and save it to 240 dpi. If I’m posting to Facebook, I edit and reduce, the size, and if I remember, add my Sasha Wolfe Fine Art & Photography line to it. I leave the dpi at 72. For regular prints, the editing will be determined by what I am printing and which printer it will be printed on. I am still able to easily go on to something else although I can get caught up in the editing and hours will pass.

But with writing… writing consumes me or I become the writing. The current topic stays with me and I’m almost living and breathing it. I relive the journey. I am constantly thinking about how I can improve the story or I’m coming up with more ideas to enhance the project. I think about doing more research or finding someone to interview. I wonder where to go next or how to arrange the individual articles. I think about the pictures; how many I can use and which ones are the best.

The thinking takes on a life of its own. I do more thinking than actual writing sometimes. My mind is working while I’m preparing lunch, doing dishes, or working on other projects. It creeps into my dreams. The writing is all I want to talk about and I have a number of writing projects going on at the same time.

This isn’t just with the current projects, but also fiction stories. Those stories also follow me like the vapor trails following an airplane. It’s like I can put myself in those stories and actually live what I am trying to write about. No matter where I go, the stories are there and at any moment, I can bring myself back to that point.

It’s hard to drag me away from the computer sometimes. I spend hours researching history segments to add to my current writing projects. I go over and over what I’ve written proofreading and editing. I cannot read the chapter without making changes. At this rate, I’ll never finish. But I will. I’m pushing myself.

Maybe this is why it feels like I have a built-in switch in my brain and by late afternoon, the switch is flipped to off and I cannot work anymore. Of course, this doesn’t mean I stop thinking. The thoughts just become more fragmented. I have to read or watch tv to get away from it. Then come 5 a.m. and the I am once more turned on to words and ideas. I want to write and write and even when the words won’t come, I still want to write.

It excites me, inspires me, and gives me a reason to live with joy.

Random Day Trip Project Update

I went off on my longest day trip since I started this project. I’ve dozens of stories I’ve written over the past years. I’m trying to pull some of them together while adding new ones. This is all while also working towards finishing the book of the past winter’s travels.

My mind always fills with questions. Today I am stuck with finding more information about the towns I visit or travel through. The internet only gives me small pieces usually through Wikipedia. A few towns have histories on-line, but the research is time consuming. It’s disappointing to spend a lot of time on the internet and not find any information.

My style of working is to do little planning in advance. I want to visit an area with as little pre-conceptions as possible. The trips are in exploration. I love the surprise of discovery. This is my own way at being an explorer and within the next few days afterwards, I try to dig up more information and history about the area. It’s funny because I always have the “Wish I had…” regrets, but a major part of these trips is about my spontaneity. If I stopped for everything that caught my eye to photograph, I couldn’t get very far.

So, no regrets, right? These are day trips and I can always go back for a second visit or if I pass through a place on my way to somewhere else, I can return there, too. That happened on this recent journey. I passed through three towns to which I want to return to highlight that area.

This is a learning process, and not just about the towns and areas. I’m stretching my mental boundaries, too. Each trip is teaching me to be a better writer. The irony, though, is in not going back and rewriting previous stories every time I get a “new” idea on how to improve the storytelling. If I keep going back and re-editing what’s already been written, I’ll never get anywhere and there’s still so much territory to cover.

This project is going to take my whole life. I may never get it all done.

Working Styles

This morning while doing my writing, a realization came to me. Oh, I have known this, but I often didn’t talk about this one aspect of how I work because… I was a bit ashamed to admit it. This realization came to the forefront while I was trying to figure out how to describe, after the fact, some of the sights that I’ve seen in my traveling and in my photography. How do I describe things for which I have no names?

My revelation is that I tend to get in, get out, and move on. I visit a place and only take time to scratch the surface. I take many photographs of what catches my attention in the moment. I don’t plan or study the situation.

Why do I feel guilty? Because most of the professional photographers I know take their time to study the light, plan their shots, and concentrate on preliminary work. The “real” writers spend hours researching an area and talking to locals.  I feel these types of people will look down on me if they know I zip in and zip out; that I do my work later in cropping and editing on the computer and doing a little research on the web for bits of history.

But why should I have to feel ashamed of my working style? I don’t have to. This is the way I work and I enjoy what I do. There’s nothing wrong with that. In further thinking about this and writing in my journal, it’s brought to the surface that my travel writing and photography styles are similar. After all, this is who I am; it’s how I work. Why should I expect one to be different from the other?

I visit a place and because there are so many other places I want to visit and so many miles to travel and because I limit myself to a few hours a day, I do tend to hurry. It’s who I am, how I work. Yes. I get so excited about what I see. I want to share this excitement and joy with everyone! I can’t wait to get home to write all about it and look at and edit the photos.

So many times, because I don’t always do preliminary research, I get to an area and don’t have the names for the flora and fauna. I get stuck on trying to describe something for which I have no names. But isn’t that what describing is all about? Hey, I’m a writer. It’s my job to describe, so why don’t I take the time?

One of the reasons I take a lot of photographs is to help me remember later what I saw. With digital photography, I can take the time for photos that won’t be used for prints and will only be used for reference.

Why am I struggling with descriptions in my writing? Why am I struggling to find words? Again, here’s an admission – I’m in too much of a hurry. I hurry to write the story without looking at the photos. I will edit the photos and sometimes put them with the writing, but at that point, I don’t take the time to look close at the photos to get down to that detail for writing better descriptions. By the time I’ve written the story draft, then proofread and edited a couple times, I’m ready for the next adventure. Like those adventures, the stories are “get in, get out, move on.” Not that the writing goes quick. I often spend hours writing one and that’s without trying to be more descriptive.

I envy those writers who have the ability to be wonderfully descriptive in their narratives. William Least Heat Moon in his book, Blue Highways, wrote beautiful descriptions of what he saw along U.S. back roads. Duncan Dayton followed the trail of Lewis and Clark in his book, Out West. Lewis and Clark certainly had to be descriptive in their traveling as white men had no names for what they discovered.

For the most part, I want my photographs to show what I saw. However, there’s a cost issue in putting numerous photos in a book with a lot of text. I have to be aware of the print costs, which means watching page counts and comparing the cost of color to black and white.

So, this is where I am today. I have six books in process at the moment. The big one is the adventure south that I took this past winter which is taking me months to write. Cost is one of the biggest issues with this book as I’ve had to re-vamp my original goal of having many colored photographs along with the story. I wanted to have the photos show what I saw along the journey, but no one would be able to afford to buy the book. Now I am removing most the photographs and the ones I’m keeping will be black and white. I do plan to do a color picture book sharing photos of the journey.

I am also working on another travel book, plus I have four other themed picture books in the works.

Am I crazy for taking on so many projects? Probably. BUT, I get such joy in sharing the wonderful sights I see from the beautiful scenery to animals and birds to run down buildings and more. There’s so much I want to see and do while I’m still able. I am in the later part of life and I want to celebrate the beauty around me. It’s said, “Stop and smell the roses.” I say, yes, that’s great, but also appreciate some of the other sights, too, like things that are rusty, things found on the ground, look up, look down and let yourself wonder.

Every day I look out my window and say, “How beautiful the countryside.” I want to share this beauty, this love of life and of what’s around me.

My working style is “get in, get out, and move on.” After all, there’s so much more to see and more adventures to undertake. Life is good!