New Book Update

I’ve spent the past couple of days working on the book, but once more I am stuck. I made a table in Word to help me track information thinking I could open the file on the Mac and update as I go along while writing the chapters in Word on my laptop. Nope, doesn’t work that way. I can edit material already on the table, but I can’t add new items. 

I also need to decide if this chart is a waste of time. It isn’t something that will be published in the book. It’s only a reference for me. I so easily get hung up on some of these piddly issues that it holds me back from getting any real writing done.

I wanted to add a “Sasha’s Star Rating” to this book to rate the places I stayed and the various sites visited. I’m struggling with this a bit, too. Do I call it a star rating even though I’m not printing actual stars? I think it would be something people would understand.

I swear half of yesterday was wasted. Yesterday, I also re-went through chapters 1-9 and now I’m going to go through them again because I’m not happy with some of what I changed. Early this morning I edited the introduction… again. (How many times does that make?)

I can’t really complain, though. Each bit of work I do is getting towards the end and each time I go and re-edit, I’m making it better. Part of the work includes differentiating front matter from end matter. For those of you who don’t know, front matter is the beginning parts of the book like copyright page, dedication, introduction, and such before the body of the story. The end or back matter goes after the main part of the book. So what part is pertinent for the beginning? What does the reader need to know up front? Oh, if it was so easy to answer.

Still, I’m excited about plugging away at it. I’ll get there… eventually.

Is Anyone Ever Truly Happy?

Happy, as defined by Mirriam-Webster: “feeling pleasure and enjoyment because of your life situation, etc.; showing or causing feelings of pleasure and enjoyment; pleased or glad about a particular situation, event, etc.”

The question was asked of me yesterday as we talked about whether we thought our parents were happy. I’ve been thinking about my mom, as I do especially this time of year, and I wondered if she was a happy person on the inside. We had a unique relationship, she and I, but I wonder now how well I really knew her. My mother was never one to talk about her true feelings whereas I am blabbering all over the place. Oh, she let her displeasure show when she was totally unhappy. I know there were many times when she was happy. But do I see her as a happy person? No.

I look back now at her life. Oh, she was happy when others were around. She was happy doing particular things like playing games, bottle hunting, coin finding at the beach, and spending time with family. But deep inside, I don’t see her as a happy person. It was like she needed other people and things to make her happy. When she was alone, she was miserable… I think. But do I really know for sure?

“Dad wasn’t happy, either,” Don said. 

I think back about him. That’s true, too. I’d never thought of that. Is it just because we don’t look at our parents that way when we are young? My parents certainly did not talk about their feelings to us kids. My mom and I would talk when I was older, but she held back even then, I know she did. She held secrets. Dad must have held secrets. (After all, he talked less than Ma). Was it to protect us?

 “Can anyone ever be truly happy?” Don asked as we continued to talk about our lives.

“I’m happy!” was my immediate response. I took him by surprise. I don’t come across as being happy. “It’s not about a laughing and joking kind of happy,” I explained because that is not me. That is not my definition of happy. 

I consider myself a happy person on the inside. I make being happy a conscious choice. Yes, there are many times I am not happy. There is the grief and loneliness, the issues with self-exile as I live my solitary life to devote to writing and art, the frustrating life issues that need to be handled, and such. Inside I choose to be a mostly-happy person, but there are days when I am ornery and sometimes I just go with it and celebrate that orneriness. I use these times to explore the hows and whys and what makes my mind work the way it does. (This is an exciting journey in itself, like charting an unknown course. It’s almost like exploring the unhappy parts of my life makes me happy because it is giving me understanding of myself.) And, in spite of even this, I see myself as a happy-inside person.

I think about what makes me happy. Happy for me is not the party world. It’s not the adrenaline excitement experiences. Happy for me is an inner feeling of content. It’s living the life I want. (I don’t know if, when I was young, I could have made that statement because when you have to work jobs you don’t like to make ends meet… then again, happiness is a state of mind, an attitude. It took me a long time to understand this.)

Happy, for me, is seeing the beauty around me. (I adapted a Native American saying of “Walk in beauty every day.”)  Happiness is being able to look out the window at nature, birds, critters, etc. It’s having great conversations with family and friends. It’s being caught up in creativity or when ideas gush forth from a bubbling fountain and I try to write them all down – it’s like chasing butterflies and dragonflies to get them to stay still long enough to take pictures. 

Happiness is burying myself at home for a few days as I’m caught up in the latest writing endeavor (or book). It’s having the opportunity to travel, even if only a day trip, and visiting places and learning about the history of the area. It’s getting out a drawing board and supplies and putting shapes and pictures to a blank slate. 

Is happiness about a perfect life? No, there is no such thing as a perfect life. I say, “I’m perfect at being imperfect.” Happiness is a state of mind, an attitude, a choice. I choose to be happy! And on those days when things are not going so well I will try to find a way to make good from that.

We all make choices in how we live our lives. Our parents chose how to live their lives. I can’t live with any regret. There wasn’t anything I could have done that would have made a different. I am choosing to live a happy life. Yes, it has taken a lifetime to get here, but I am satisfied.

What makes you happy?

I AM Somebody Even When I’m Alone

This morning I was journaling about being alone on Christmas Day to play my mother’s favorite game. I set up three sets as if she, my aunt and her twin Margaret, and I are playing and I take turns playing for the three of us. This is my way of honoring them; especially my mother, and I’ve done this for the past years since her passing on Christmas Day 2011.

Yet, even though I look forward to doing this, there is still part of me that feels lonely about spending Christmas alone. I insist on doing it this way and I am stubborn about it! On this, I am not willing to give in. 

So, while writing about this in my journal, I also got into how Ma always seemed to need people around her to make her happy. Did this mean she was an unhappy person on the inside, that she needed others’ attention and company to make her feel worthwhile? Is this why I am so adamant about my solitude?

How unhappy was my mother? Was she? I know Don and I were her life, along with her twin and brother. And of course, this wasn’t anything she would ever discuss… these types of things were secrets, not to be talked about. (Again, is this one of the reasons why I spend so much time researching emotions and the whys behind them?) 

Did my mother only define herself by who was around her? Did she need us to make her feel like she was somebody? Did she feel useless when she was alone? Maybe this is why I feel the need to define myself and acknowledge that I am OK alone as well as when I am with others.

I may be sad and in tears while writing about this, but I also find it very interesting. Is there a part of me deep down that knows my mother was in those places of sadness when she was alone? Of course, as a child, I wouldn’t know that, but now… is that why it is so important to me to play “her” game and insist on my solitude? There is that part of me that feels I need to prove to others that I am OK being alone, that I need solitude – and I do – but it must be balanced with the company of family and good friends.

So, once more I get a bit of understanding, a little snigget of wisdom, in this journey of humanness. 

There’s something about the love of one’s mother… I miss her so much!

Two Different Minds and a Blank Slate

My best friend and sister-artist-in-soul and I can talk hours about life and creativity. Yet we are total opposites in how we view some things. 

Nan is totally linear. She has that mathematical mind that expects everything to be in place, to be planned out, and followed to a T. She is minimalist and everything needs to be organized, neat, and orderly. She plans her year ahead and likes a precise, laid-out path. Nan focuses on a set plan and will follow it to its exact end.

Me, I am spontaneous. I will move to the moment and I work almost totally on inspiration. My mind does not narrow to a specific focus which means I am distracted easily. I can have a myriad of thoughts gushing through me at once and I will bounce from one project to another on a whim.

Nan and I discuss our differences and from that we learn more about each other and ourselves.  

Yesterday we talked about the year coming to an end and how 2015 has been unlike the past few years art-wise. For me, most of my creative endeavors were put on hold due to the selling of the Bradford house and finding and moving to the new house in Hillsborough, the subsequent settling in and renovating to Sasha-fy it. I only put art work in a couple of places this year and I knew sales were going to be practically nil.

Nan’s year was a turnabout for her, too, as the two galleries from which she sold most of her paintings closed. She struggled to find alternative places with little results and she is feeling deflated by the lack of sales. She gets her inspiration to create from having her other paintings sell and move to a new forever home. No sales or too few sales are totally demoralizing for her.

And so, this year comes to a close. I always look forward to a new year to be refreshed and to start a clean slate. However, this year as I look towards 2016, the picture in my mind does not contain any images. It usually shows an open door to the New Year with flashes of scenes moving by… the possibilities of things that could be. At least it did in past years.

Right now, while there is color and images around the outside of the door, looking through the door into the New Year, I see nothing but white, foggy light. I squint trying to see an image, any type of picture, but there is nothing. Maybe I’m looking too early. After all, it isn’t New Year’s Day yet.

This is not a need to panic. Perhaps it’s just a hiatus, a resting period before the New Year. I know in my heart that something will come. The universe will provide. This is an opening to possibility and without set plans, anything is possible in 2016. How exciting is that!

I share my vision with Nan. Again, because of her linear, mathematical mind, she struggles with waiting for possibility to happen. She wants that concrete picture. She demands plans and precise steps. She’s more of a “make something happen” while I tend to “wait for something to happen.”

It’s very interesting sharing our ideas, visions, and looking at the way two different people think and believe. That doesn’t make one wrong or right. It’s all about other points of views. The sharing can also spark the flame that could put pictures in that open door. I am content to sit back and wait for possibility to happen. (And in the meantime, I can always find lots to do.)

A New Christmas Season

The past three Christmas seasons have been very emotional as everything about the Bradford house reminded me of my mother. Yes, I miss her every day and some days I still cry. I have her picture placed so she is always with me. I miss her so much!

But moving to the new home has lessened some of the pain, the sad memories. I will still spend Christmas alone with her, playing her favorite game. I am actually looking forward to it. However, this new home has a different feel… or maybe I just feel more ready to continue moving on. 

Years ago I went a bit overboard with decorating. That became less so in later years, then after her passing, hardly anything as grief was too encompassing during the season (she had passed away on Christmas Day). In having to downsize to move here, I got rid of all of the decorations that had been saved throughout the years. Some went before I left Bradford, then another two full boxes after moving here. 

I did keep a wreath, my little, foot-tall, lighted, purple tree, and a couple of purple and pink ornaments. I realize I got rid of some of the items I meant to save as some of what I kept actually had prices on them from the estate sale.

Now that I have neighbors and can see nightly Christmas lights, I am feeling more inspired again. My little lighted tree isn’t enough and the blue balls hanging on the old wreath do not go with the red-trimmed house. 

I don’t know if I want to purchase new decorations after throwing away and giving away so much. However, I feel the need for color, for brightness, for happiness. I need to bring in happy.

I can’t feel guilty about what I discarded because what worked in other homes would not work here, so perhaps I do need to go new. And I don’t need a lot… never again too much.

It seems that not only a physical move has made a big change in my life, but I am moving in other ways, too, as even how I look at my art is evolving. It happens. So maybe if I run out today to pay my taxes, I can reward myself by stopping to purchase something Christmasy to further brighten my new home. What do you think?

The Throes of Writing

I am back in book mode. I went to sleep last night thinking about the book and I wake this morning with the writing on my mind. All I want to do is work on the book. Tomorrow is breakfast day with fellow artists and I’m tempted to not go because I want to write. But I have errands that need to be tended to and I can’t put them off.

Yesterday was another afternoon spent on the book. One of my problems is that I keep going back and rereading and re-editing previous chapters. I remember things to add. Annette advised, “Get the book written and go back to do the editing later!” I’m taking (or trying to) her suggestion to heart. My new mantra is “Get the book written.”

The funny thing is, is that’s how I write poetry. When the words are flowing, I don’t stop to edit, I just write. Later I go back and fix it up. Maybe I do need to do this with the book even though it’s a much more massive manuscript. If I keep spending time going back over what was already done, I’ll never get to the end.

I’ve got to stop worrying about what I’m going to do with all the pictures. I took some amazing photos on the trip and very few will be able to go into the book. I had this same dilemma with “Two Cold for Alligators” which was about the 2013 trip. I still have those pictures sitting in limbo. Maybe I could eventually do a picture book of each trip, but for now, I have to concentrate on the writing of the current book.

I’ve managed to work on the project two days in a row. It’s hard to keep straight writing while referring to the daily journal I wrote at the time and photos taken. My thoughts get interrupted by ideas to add to charts or lists I am also making. Questions pop up about how to do this or what other information I could add. I look up sites on the web to add historical facts on places I visited. This isn’t straight forward writing. Other factors are involved.

I am consumed by the desire to get this book written. I worked on it on Nov. 2, but that day was mostly trying to catch up to where I left off. The last day previously I worked on it was April 6. The project had been put aside with the house selling, new house purchase, and the stressful move. Now, I’m in the grip of creativity and I want to stick with it. How can I ever go on another trip if I can’t get this one written up?

And I do want to travel again. I enjoyed it so much! I loved the driving, seeing the entire countryside I travelled through, and being able to go or stay as I pleased. Just thinking about it brings excitement and writing about the journey and viewing the photos taken along the way make me want to do more.

(I just have to figure out how I will afford to.)

Consumed by the Fires of Creativity

This past week mornings are consumed by the fires of creativity and two poems erupted from the torrent of words rushing through me. It dawned on me that I can relate these creative outbursts to weather and natural phenomena.

Firestorm

A flash ignition quickly

burns through my mind

in an uncontrollable wildfire

of words and thoughts

I can’t write or type fast enough

my brain can’t catch it all

as the combustion of thought  

narrows in focus

to roar through me

with intense heat

The firestorm flares

fueled by its own storm-force

I grab at the flames

trying to capture

essence so profound

that my brain

can’t contain the heat

But the movement is too fast

and won’t wait

for my slow mind

to process what I’m seeing

and my slower hand

to record what I witness

For these few moments

my entire being 

is consumed 

by the gale-force words

I am scorched

by the hot gases

and the fear

that I can’t get 

it all down

on paper

Thoughts roar through me

one after another

light bulbs flash

deep understanding

astounds me

excited

fascinated

eager to get it

onto the page

I struggle

to keep it all contained

Too soon 

it’s over

the fuel and I

are spent

my brain gasps

for oxygen

a cool wind

blows through my soul

I can now rest

  ---Sasha Wolfe 2015

The poems are fresh and new and I could write one every morning. I even have the idea to do another poetry book with accompanying pictures geared to the topic of creativity. I certainly have written enough poems on the subject throughout the years to be their own book.

Creative Burst

It drops

out of the clouds

slams me into the ground

with the force

of a tornado

In moments

roaring winds

rip my soul to shreds

as the debris of words and ideas

crash against my walls

I have to capture them

I have to put it all together

I have to make them understandable

I struggle to hold together

keep my house

from falling apart

as the whirling forces 

strip me bare

Destruction and creativity

turn, spin, flip me upside down

then dissipate into the void

leaving me flattened 

on the floor

But oh the joy!

From the chaos

comes the awe

Once again

I am rewarded

with another bit

of writing

that leaves me

refreshed and renewed

      ---Sasha Wolfe, 2015

Then another exciting bit is I’ve finally decided on a path for my memoirs… yeah, like I need another project. But at least I have an idea. I’ve been wanting to put together a memoir for years, but I couldn’t figure out how I wanted to go about it. Oh, I am not explaining this well. My goal is not your normal life-story type of deal… and that’s all I’m going to say at this point.

However, there are many other things trying to grab my attention. I have articles to write, editing to do, and the community calendar to put together, and other assignments for the InterTown Record. I’m still settling in at the new house. There are the two books that are already in various stages and if I want to do any more traveling, I need to get that one book finished before I can take on another travel-writing project.

My brain is so intensely on fire for most of the day that it eventually shuts down. All I can do is crawl to the living room and become a couch potato until bedtime.