Where I’m Writing . . . and Where I’m not

Dialog and posts have unfortunately declined on the Young Adults Catholic blog in the past year or so. The blog is completely run by volunteer editors and writers, and it’s no surprise that all of us have pretty busy lives. I’ve been doing pretty well at keeping my posting commitments, and I uploaded a new post today about forgiveness (fitting, as Yom Kippur is right around the corner). Unfortunately, the last post uploaded was also by me, which makes it feel a bit like a “Lacey Blog” and also means it hasn’t seen any new material for two weeks.

Luckily, we do have a few new blog writers in the wings. BUT if you know anyone who is Catholic and progressive, or even vaguely Catholic (raised Catholic, considering conversion, Catholic-curious, etc.), send them over to nextgen-blog@cta-usa.org. Although CTA 20/30 is a progressive organization for Catholics in their 20s and 30s, it’s open to a pretty wide range of Catholic-esque perspectives, as long as said perspectives are respectful and open to dialog.

I’ve also recently finished writing a bit of a closeted blog I’d kept about my transition moving from Duluth to rural Minnesota. Because I wanted the opportunity to explore potentially personal topics, I never made the link very public, and I’m not doing so now, either. But it seemed appropriate to mark that blog’s passing here, too, as this is another topic-specific blog that I devoted myself to for a year and then eased up on. Although I’m keeping this blog’s doors open indefinitely, I’m going to try to take a break from opening any new “themed blogs” and keep my writing focus on my novels and existing journals — including my trusty, dusty Livejournal that I’ve kept since 2002.

Writing Makes me Cry

. . . and I consider that a good thing.

I’m not always the greatest at being in touch with my emotions, which usually comes back to bite me. I went for a period of about five years in my life when nothing could make me cry, no matter how sad I felt. When I was in therapy, my therapist sometimes gave me the homework of writing letters — to myself and to others. Right away, I started noticing something: writing the letters made me cry.

But I had been writing unsent letters and journal entries forever. Why was this different? For one thing, writing “on assignment” forced me to delve deeply into issues and feelings I might have avoided otherwise. It also pushed me to go further with those issues than I would have on my own.

Most writers take a little while to “warm up” to their writing, and this is just as true in informal writing like letters, emails, or journal entries. Usually, my  journal writing at the end of the day remains short, perfunctory, capturing a few thoughts or images or memories. But it usually stays in the “safe” zone — where what I’m writing was more-or-less preplanned and stays within those safe bounds.

Despite my own habits, I heartily recommend going outside those safe bounds. If you’re writing about an emotionally charged experience and you’re not feeling much, you’re probably not going deep enough (unless you feel certain that you’ve totally resolved something, in which case, congratulations!). To take advantage of writing’s cathartic benefits to the utmost, we need to stop being ashamed to write what we REALLY think, stop being afraid someone might read it. This leads to new levels of honesty, to new depths of feeling. So as I continued to feel a little numb about my upcoming move away from Duluth, I knew what I had to do. I took my journal to Chester Park, hid behind some trees, and wrote a “goodbye” letter to Duluth. I noticed that I didn’t feel much for the first page and a half — the length of a usual entry for me. It wasn’t until I went past the “clearing my throat” and got to the meat of the matter — the way Duluth had and hadn’t let me down in seven years — that the tears I needed to shed finally started making their way out of my system. There are probably more where those came from, but it’s good to at least know the plumbing’s still working.

When I was in college, I did research on the benefits of journaling and discovered that

• journalers sleep better at night
• journalers get sick less often
• in some cases, journaling can be as beneficial as traditional “talk therapy” for your mental health.

For some fascinating reading on the subject, check out Dr. James W. Pennebaker’s work, from which I gleaned most of the above facts. If your own writing ever brings you to tears, trust in the process and keep going. You’re probably doing something right.

Submission Opportunity: Unsent Letters

On Jenny‘s advice, I just started reading the Freelance Home Writer blog, and I found the coolest submission opportunity EVER there yesterday. Apparently some peeps are putting together a book and a blog of Unsent Letters — and they’ll pay you if they select your letter for the blog OR the book, up to $250. Now, this is the kind of submission opportunity that I’d like to see more of — one in which I have TONS of backlogged content that fits the requirement. See, I’ve been an introvert and a writer most of my life, so I’ve always used unsent letters as a way to process my feelings and capture interactions. Add a couple years of therapy and the fact that this anthology accepts FICTIONAL letters, and I have enough unsent letters to fill my own book. I’m resisting the urge to go into the “attic” and dig through old letters because the ladder is not all that stable and I found myself dangling off the edge of it the last time I went up–not fun! Unfortunately, you can only submit one at a time and must wait to hear back from them before submitting another. Apparently the folks who are putting together this anthology were aware that there are people like me out there!

Pay Attention to Your Dreams

Have you ever had a dream that was so vivid it made you question reality for a bit? Or one that lodged so deeply in your gut that you felt sure it was telling you SOMETHING, that maybe, just maybe, it might even be prophetic? And have you ever noticed that no one else seems to get what a big deal this dream was when you relate it?

I hate to break it to you, but most people only find their own dreams interesting. And why shouldn’t we? Not only are they all about us, but they can sometimes give us insight into things we didn’t know we knew. But I do advise refraining from relating your long, crazy dreams to your friends and coworkers; I think we’ve all had the experience of feeling our mind glaze over when someone begins a sentence with,  “Once I had this dream that . . .” (Exception to this rule: people like hearing about themselves. If you had a dream that your best friend shaved her head and moved to Madagascar, by all means, let her know!)

The funny thing is, the things people often find dull or boring in conversation can be endlessly fascinating on the page. So while you shouldn’t tell everyone your every dream, don’t let them go to waste, either.

I’m a strong proponent of writing vivid dreams down first thing in the morning; usually they’ve lost their impact by lunchtime. Writing them down not only allows you to hold onto that otherwordly experience, but it also helps you untangle the delightfully twisted symbolism of your psyche. AND writing down your dreams makes you more likely to remember your future dreams, and believe me, you want to keep those dreams coming. It’s not just that it’s darn interesting to be the star of your own art film every night — dreaming, even nightmares, are healthy for you. One study conducted on people who suffered from depression discovered that those who dreamed vividly and remembered those dreams were more likely to recover from depression, even without the help of therapy or medication. Some mental health professionals even believe that we would go crazy without the nightly unraveling of our unconscious.

But what does all this have to do with writing? Dreaming is a lot like reading: it can suck you in so deeply  that you don’t even think of coming up for air. And when it’s over, you can ache to go back or breathe a sigh of relief that you can return to your regularly scheduled life. And in both cases, you’re left with the uncanny feeling that you have definitely experienced something phenomenal and you’ve come away changed–even if the rest of the world doesn’t understand that it happened.

Because of this, your dreams can make an almost seamless transition into your writing. Although people don’t want to hear about your dreams every morning, they’ll be happy to read them disguised as poetry, fiction, or music — because if done right, these venues don’t just “relate” the experience. They make the receiver a participant in the experience.

One of my recent novels was inspired by a dream that later became a scene in it; the queer SF short story that finally began taking root in my mind was also inspired by a dream I had months ago (and I knew I should do SOMETHING with that dream, though I couldn’t imagine what at the time). Stephanie Meyer claims that a dream that later became Chapter 13 of Twilight inspired the whole series (love or hate the books — and I’ll refrain from telling you my stance on them — you can’t deny that she must feel pretty satisfied that she didn’t let that dream go to waste).

Whenever I write something inspired by a dream, I feel as if I’m “cheating,” because I didn’t “really” make that up. But if I didn’t make it up, who did? All art is really a connection to the subconscious anyway, and you might as well take advantage of the movies that play exclusively in your mind. So dream big.

Writing in Times of Transition

I thought I might be the only blogger not writing something related to the election, but I realize that we Americans have been anticipating a time of transition for a long time, and that transition has been finalized tonight with the election of Senator Barack Obama as the president elect.

I only got a bit over 600 words in tonight on my NaNo, but I was glad to get anything in at all. I find that I have trouble writing in times of transition, and I bet I’m not the only one who faces this. In transition, my brain feels so full of processing the change that it’s hard for me to make space for creative endeavors. In the past two years, I’ve gone through a lot of personal and professional transitions, including my most recent transition to freelance work. Although I made this decision in large part to devote more time to writing, I didn’t factor in the “transition effect,” and its power over my fledgling novel has been dire (I’m only at half has many words as I should be at this stage in the game).

So, what’s the best way to deal with transition’s effect on writing? I’m a strong advocate for discipline, but when your brain and your hands are full with your own life story as it unfolds before you, go easy on yourself. This is something I’ve learned the hard way, after feeling like a “failure” again and again for having trouble applying myself to my writing when I was in the midst of great change in my life. Eventually, I accepted that I didn’t do myself or my creativity any good by beating myself up for being too exhausted to produce a lot of work. Be compassionate, promise that you’ll go back to your regular writing when your life falls back into place (and keep that promise), and redirect your creative energy rather than squelching it or forcing it. Try a different kind of writing; put aside the novel or the blog for some good old fashioned journaling. Write about yourself. Write about your transition. Write your plans for getting your life back in order. Write about how you can’t wait to get back to your novel. Not only will it keep your writing muscles flexed, but it will also help you come to terms with everything that’s taking up space in your brain. It might take two days, and it might take two weeks. But either way, you’ll find yourself on the path to productivity again in no time.