Mind over matter...

March 26, 2007

I'm in revolved triangle, one of several dreaded postures that forces my body to twist and turn in ways it dislikes. Before I entered the asana, I told myself that I hated this posture, that I couldn't do it, that my body wouldn't turn in such a way, that in three years I'd made no improvement, and ten more years wouldn't make a difference either. What chance do I have of breaking this pattern with thoughts like this?

I had my new novel out to several agents in the past three months. I thought positively. Each day I checked email and the post box in search of good news. When I sell this book, I told myself, everything comes good. It will be validation for all the hard work and sacrifice; but deep inside my head, ran another narrative -- what if I don't sell the book, then what? Must I suffer? Will I be eternally unhappy? Does it mean I suck at writing?

In that story, the answer was yes, yes, and yes. It's easy to fall into the trap of thinking that without external validation I must have no talent, and therefore I will be forever unhappy. And what was worse, I applied this way of thinking to much of my life.

I would say:When I _____, I can be happy.

It didn't matter how I filled in the blank:

get a promotion

buy a new carw

in the lottery

lose weight

No matter what it was, soon after I got it, I'd find new reasons for unhappiness. Sound familiar?

Now I'm trying to break that pattern.In yoga, when this all too familiar discomfort arises in revolved triangle: the burning in my hips, the pain in the lower back, the awkward sense of being off-balance, I now try to eliminate the story that runs in my head. Instead of labeling these sensations with pain, or finding a reason why I must pull out of the posture, I work to stay in the moment. I am observant, aware, present and undivided. With a neutral mind, I hold postures longer. It allows me to unshackle the very limitations that I alone have established.

If I could keep that same observant, non-judgmental mind when a short story is rejected by a magazine, or the novel by an agent, I'd have a better shot at recognizing ways to move forward with a rewrite or new marketing options. This doesn't mean that I'm passive; on the contrary, by not wasting energy on unnecessary emotional diversions, I can focus on what really counts. My mind is free to find creative solutions, tapping into energy that was once squandered on emotional spirals.

My neutral mind creates possibilities.

jugglers

March 19, 2007This week I entered the Kerrville New Folk contest for the eighth year in a row. It's hard to believe that I've been hacking away at this for that long. When I listen to what I was doing back then, I realize how far I've come. Ultimately that's what's most important, but the mountain of rejection I've collected over those years does get overwhelming.

Kerrville is Mecca for many singer/songwriters. It's a two-week gathering in the dusty foothills north of San Antonio, Texas. New Folk finalists have gone on to successful careers -- David Wilcox, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Lucinda Williams, Nanci Griffiths, and Lyle Lovette, to mention just a few.

I went to Kerrville in 1999. I'd been playing seriously for about six-months. I took the three-day course, and attended a week's worth of concerts. I had a great time, and met a lot of interesting people. I know one person that made the final 32 since I started submitting -- Jan Smith. She got in last year, but didn't make the six finalists. Jan's an incredible talent, and I was surprised she didn't go further. But I've also been surprised at others that haven't made it either.

Back in '99, I heard a lot of good players in the finals, but there were several that I felt were questionable. That's the nature of contests. There's always going to be someone you think you're better than.At this point I've stopped worrying about whether I’m better or worse. I'm focused on being the very best ME; that's all I can do. Contests are money makers for the sponsors and I don't enter nearly as many as I once did. Literary contests are suspect for the same reasons, but I was a finalist in the Raymond Carver contest, and I bagged an honorable mention in a contest up in Canada. Winning is possible.

Recently I've taken on freelance consulting projects to meet the monthly bills. Although I enjoy the work, it does zap energy from my writing. I can already feel the disconnect. Part of that is psychological, my system shocked back into reality. I was blessed to focus the way I have, but I could now easily let the creativity slide, or not.

That's why I got off my butt and entered Kerrville. I'm still a player. And even when I'm not writing, my writer's eye is on the hunt for insight and opportunity. I'm no different than most artists -- lots of balls in the air, smoke and mirrors, juke and jive -- I juggle to keep doing what I love. I'd have it no other way

March 12, 2007A well-regarded British journalist blogged about her sex life under a different name for years; the sex site grew so popular, she scored a lucrative book offer. A week before the publication, a UK tabloid threatened to release her real name unless she granted an exclusive interview and advanced excerpts. After discussing it with her family, she opted to come forward on her own. Its one thing when Tommy Trailer Trash or Sally Stripper tells all, but when an established reporter goes noir stiletto, it does beg the question -- what's going on?

Is blogging about bedroom activities the virtual version of having sex in a public place? Is telling all in print just another fetish? Or is it something deeper?Considering how fixated we are on sex, it's amazing how infrequent honest sex talk takes place. We all tuned in to Anna Nicole-Smith, red and blue states alike, we gawked and stared at her boobs, and yet most of us struggle to communicate what we want from our partners. A writer's job is to push the envelope, to make readers uncomfortable, and make them think. Does the Queen of England masturbate? Does Barbara Bush like it doggie style? Most of us shudder at the thought of our parents having sex.

But is it a writer's job to reveal everything about themselves? I write a weekly essay and strive to be as truthful as possible about my life. Sometimes I talk specifics; sometimes I tackle larger subjects from politics to sports. Annie Lamont, a well-respected Bay Area writer, talks about the necessity of going for the juggler. She's written about her parents, her children; practically everyone she knows. She says those she writes about get mad, but so do those she ignores; they feel left out.

Putting certain things into print would complicate my world and friendships, but I do wonder if this censoring prevents having a wider readership. The more I write and read, the more I realize that truth is stranger than fiction; and yet great fiction is a reflection of truth, and so there's a flaw in that logic. I'm sure Annie Lamont doesn't tell all. She doesn't have to, as long as she stays true to the emotions of her experience. The facts are irrelevant. I too must strive for such honesty, otherwise this won't be worth anyone's time.

A few weeks back I had an epiphany watching American Idol. Honestly folks, I never expected to learn something about my own writing from watching this show, but what surprised me even more, was realizing that this insight applies to all singer songwriters, regardless of genre.

I will admit, when Idol first appeared, I wanted to puke. I, like many music industry dinosaurs, longed for the old days, when true music folks ran the business, and new groups were given more than a few weeks to prove their mettle. Idol represented everything wrong with the music biz. Although some of those issues still plague the program, here's why I've changed my mind.

You can't argue with long-term success. Idol is in its sixth season bigger than ever; few shows of any ilk last that long. Idol has spun-off credible talent. Who could have imagined that an Idol reject would bag an Oscar? The New York Times wrote this week that Idol is the only TV show that brings teenagers and parents together. In an age where kids have the Internet, cellular entertainment, and video games for distractions, this is a remarkable feat.

Now to the epiphany. For those that don't watch the show (which I assume is many of my readers), the 24 finalists are whittled down from a pool of over 500,000. You might not like Simon, Paula, and Randy, but they've been around enough to recognize folks that can sing. When you sift through that many bodies, you'll find 24 who can carry a tune; and yet, all too often, each finalist has a karaoke break down. Many sing off-pitch, lack emotion, and appear completely out of touch with the performance.

Obviously nerves plays a role, but setting that aside, what's the number reason these decent singers derail? Avid Idol fans should know the answer. Song selection. Pick the wrong song, or just the wrong key, and a singer, even a fabulous one, will struggle. The wrong song will put them out of their comfort zone. It makes a singer think, instead of feel. It creates a barrier that keeps a singer from connecting with the song.

Picking the right track, or writing songs in a key that best shows off a voice is not as easy as it appears. Singers of all levels all too often misjudge their abilities. I've done it more than I care to admit, but thanks to Idol, I hope not to repeat that mistake again.