Showing posts with label words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label words. Show all posts

12.06.2011

On Sabbatical

sabbatical  n.  a break or change from a normal routine (as of employment); from the Hebrew shabath "he rested"

A little voice inside, known in these parts as intuition, has been whispering sabbatical to me. My right brain -- librarian that she is -- has scoffed at the voice: "Absolutely not! You must keep writing poems!" My left brain -- creative wild child -- is giving the voice a double thumbs-up and saying "Groovy, man." I'm going with my left brain, and with intuition.

In the Catholic church, and in many other religious traditions, we are amidst a time of joyful waiting called Advent. I love Advent, except for the reality that most years it's more a time of stressful hurrying -- not joyful waiting -- as I attempt to cram a bazillion extra tasks into days and weeks that are already full. As I've learned over and over again in this life, if something isn't working well there's usually something one can do to change it. Enter: the little voice.

So I've decided (or intuited) to take a wee sabbatical from drafting poems for the rest of this month. I plan to keep reading and learning from good poetry, submitting at least once a week, and revising the Mail Order Bride series. I'll still be here blogging. But I'm giving myself a break on generating new work.

That breezy, rushing sound you hear is me exhaling. Until I came to the idea of a sabbatical, I didn't realize how much pressure the Librarian puts on the Wild Child to produce!produce!produce! I'm a little nervous that I'll lose my momentum, and the Librarian would like me to believe that if I take a break now I'll never get back into a good drafting groove again. She's a little hyperbolic.

Dear Librarian, I appreciate your role in my life, but I want to make cookies with my children, make my house fair as I am able, trim the hearth, and set the table. I want to take walks in the morning, sit down in the afternoon to put my feet up, and click a few things off my holiday to-do list every day. I want to avoid another Speechless Wednesday.

Let the joyful waiting begin... 


10.07.2011

Waiting for Kairos

Clock image is public domain from Wikimedia Commons
I've been thinking about time.

time (n.)  the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future, regarded as a whole (definition from OED).

When I looked up time in my Barnhart's, I read "originally, a drum, probably through Medieval greek *timbanon, from Greek tympanon kettledrum." That made perfect sense to me. Time marches on! Then I realized I was reading the etymological roots of 'timbre' not 'time.' The word 'time' is a long lost descendent of the Old English word for 'tide.'

I get that, too, but the drum seems a closer likeness these days.

The ancient Greeks, those philosophical fellows, had two words for time. One was kronos which referred to the kind of time we keep, quantifiable time, the seconds and minutes and hours, the 'indefinite continued progress,' the drumbeat, drumbeat, drumbeat. The other was kairos, which referred to a quality of time during which a particular thing was appointed or "right." So when we say something like, "It's time for a change," we are speaking of kairos. (Gak, now I'm going to have Little River Band going through my head all day. Nothing against the Little River Band, or anything).

At any rate, the reason I've been thinking about time is that my excellent friend, The Poet A.O.D., sent me the most interesting information about writing time and its relationship to productivity. The information comes from a study on academic writers, and found that "writers fare best when they begin before feeling fully ready." It also found that writers who wrote daily were far more productive than those who waited for large chunks of time to write (average of 64 pages/year vs. 17 pages/year). Those who wrote daily and had a buddy to check in with once a week were more productive yet (average of 157 pages/year).  Here's a link to more information on this study.

Those writers who waited for big chunks of time to write were writing in kairos time. Waiting for the appointed time. Waiting until the time was right. Those who wrote every day / wrote ever day and checked in with someone were writing in kronos time. They were not waiting for the right time; they just grabbed the seconds, minutes, hours that were floating by and put that kronos to use.

I am guilty! Guilty as charged! for waiting for kairos to write. My preference is to have several lovely, empty hours lying down in front of me, just waiting to be filled with words and poetry. I wait for kairos to write here on this blog, too. I've begun a hundred posts in my head, but I've been waiting for the right time to sit down and write them up. Meanwhile, me no bloggy.

In the spirit of making friends with kronos, I wrote a draft yesterday morning in about two minutes. No reading beforehand, no spinning through wordbanks or random number generation, no set constraints. It's a draft I'll keep and work on. I think it can grow up into a poem. I have no plans to abandon my usual process when I do have kairos time for writing. And the rack 'em and stack 'em approach to setting time aside for writing vs. family responsibilities helps me feel more relaxed about both parts of my life. But I'm also going to try to be freer inside of kronos time, to put the pen to paper each day if only for five minutes, to let whatever flows be something or nothing, to write.right.now a little more often.

And as often happens for me, the things I learn in my writing life bleed over into my everyday mom/wife/person/civilian life. There are many things I put off while waiting around for kairos. As if kairos will get off the 51 bus at 9:37 and announce himself. Meanwhile, his underachiever little brother kronos is right there waiting for me. This reminds me of something my uber-wise mother has said many times: "You have all the time there is."

Dear kronos, too often I've seen you as a nag, a bother, a drumbeat. I shall endeavor to see you more as an ally, a dance, a partner-in-crime. Let's hold hands and get some stuff done! If kairos wants to come along, so be it. But, meanwhile, what are we waiting for?

9.22.2011

That is why we know...

"On earth, before writing was invented, before the printing press was invented, poetry flourished. That is why we know that poetry is like bread... ."
--Pablo Neruda 
 

9.03.2011

There should be a word for...

... the feeling of dread one experiences when one skips a day of doing laundry

... the feeling of surprise when one takes a sip out of a cup expecting one thing, and getting another

... the experience of reading a book one thought one hadn't read and realizing during the final chapter that one has already read the book

... the kind of light that makes one realize one's eyebrows really need tweezing

... the moment of wondering why one went into a particular room

... the moment of remembering why one went into a particular room after one has already left said room

... the feeling of delight at being carded long after one needs to be carded

... the experience of spilling a glass of water off one's nightstand in the middle of the night

... the delightful taste of summer tomatoes

... the peculiar mix of horror and joy when one's nephew repeatedly calls one "Grandma"

... the feeling of envy inspired by another's super-cute shoes

... a child's inborn desire to buy something, *anything*, in every store the child enters

... the feeling of wishing one would never have to see another plate of tacos, spaghetti, pizza, (fill in your own dinner ruts here ________) again

... the act of making tacos, spaghetti, pizza, etc., again the next week

... the act of putting a stamp on upside down

... the inflection? many of the younger generations? seem to put at the end of all their phrases? that make them sound like questions? but they're statements? (no offense to anyone intended?)

... the moment when one realizes the people making statements that sound like questions are now teachers, stock analysts, and labor and delivery nurses

... the fear of aging oneself

... the particular brand of laughter that makes one stomach hurt so badly one wishes one could stop laughing but one can't

... the painful period of waiting for the next season of Downton Abbey

... the particular brand of homesickness one experiences when one knows Everyone Else is at The Lake without her... sigh...

Any others, Reader?