This week, Barbara quoted one of my favorite writers, Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love, The Last American Man and Pilgrims. (I loved them all, but especially Eat, Pray, Love, her memoir). Barbara happened to mention two of my favorite lines in the book-- the line that sucked me in and the line that was so reminiscent of a line I used at the one of the more defining moments of my life.
First, at the beginning of the book when Elizabeth is lying on her bathroom floor in the middle of the night, in the middle of a major melt down following her divorce, bawling her eyes out, she cries out to God, who she doesn't believe in--"Please tell me what to do."
Her answer: "Go to bed, Liz."
As Barbara put it, thus begins a search for God which takes her to Italy, India and Indonesia, four months each. As an aside, she meets someone named Luca Spaghetti in Italy. For those of you familiar with my WIP, that's where I got the inspiration for the name Antonio Rigatoni.
Later, on p.328, she writes:
"My heart said to my mind in the dark silence of the beach: 'I love you, I will never leave you, I will always take care of you.'"
Barbara said that line slayed her. She asked us to try saying the words to ourselves, and to sit with that thought for ten minutes to see what comes up, writing down the protests, the things that might change as a result, and everything else that springs forth.
Some people found the exercise difficult, or they avoided it because it brought up a lot of emotion. I did it, but the truth is it wasn't the first time.
Back in my late twenties -- I was 27-- someone I loved in a mad, passionate, nutty, crazy way, the most brilliant person I've ever known, died. Just like that. He was 29 and larger than life. It was shocking. Life changing. Mind boggling. Heart shattering. The first year following his death was achingly difficult. For all of us. His parents, his sister, his friends, me. He died in November, right around Thanksgiving and to this day I get a little more wiggy than usual around that date (psychologists say your body, mind and soul all remember stuff like that because of the trauma to your well-being)-- but after the one-year anniversary of his death passed I convinced myself that I was home free. I had made it. Everyone knows the first year is the hardest--
Well, New Year's Eve came and I thought I had it covered, but I didn't. I ended up drinking too much. When I came home my roommate and her boyfriend were there and they weren't supposed to be. I wanted to be alone. They were carrying on, spanking each other with ping pong paddles-- and for some reason, listening to them carry on just hit me wrong.
I had a major meltdown.
I was bawling, shaking, totally falling apart, much like Elizabeth Gilbert in her book. I threw up. I looked like hell. On my fricking knees on the tiled floor in the bathroom, I said, "Dear God, please help me. I don't think I can do this anymore. I can't. I -- can-- not-- do--it. I don't want to live anymore."
My answer: Go to bed. Now. Sleep it off.
See why Elizabeth's book spoke to me?
I staggered over to my room, still bawling and shaking, changed into my pajamas, then saw the picture my mom had given me for Christmas in a beautiful frame. It was the last picture my grandfather took of me before he died. I was almost three. I had a bandanna tied around my head because I was sick. I was holding a wilting bouquet of dandelions out to my grandfather.
I don't why that hit me funny, but I picked it up and threw it-- and then I went into hysterics. But, after another dramatic crying spell, a strong, maternal, life affirming voice deep down inside me told me to take care of that little girl before I went to sleep. I knew that voice-- it had saved me a couple of times before, when I was losing a different war. I cleaned up the broken glass, picked up the picture, hugged it and said, "I'm so sorry. Don't worry. I love you, and I'll take care of you. I'll do a better job of it. I won't leave, too. We'll make it, I promise. I want to live. I'll never leave. It's me and you, kid. I'm going to take care of you. "
I went to bed holding that picture, and the best way I can describe what happened that night is to say peace descended on me. Really, that's how it felt. Peace filled the air, and caressed me until I fell asleep. I knew I was going to be okay. I was going to take care of me and my soul, the soul that was represented by the little girl in the picture. I was strong enough, good enough, worthy enough, resourceful enough.
Since that day, when she needs a reminder that I'm there for her, I play John Hiatt's "Have a little faith in me." It works every time. Incidentally, that song, along with another John Hiatt fave, is on my playlist for my current WIP.
Last week I put that picture next to my new "creativity altar" in my sacred space (formerly known as my office) next to an angel holding a lantern and a river nymph.
I was going to end my post there but then I remembered something else. The day after "peace descended," I wrote up a statement of beliefs which served as an affirmation of sorts.
One of my favorite movies of all time is Bull Durham which opens with Annie Savoy's statement of beliefs, "I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. . . . I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball. "
I skipped a lot of the voice over because it's not really essential here. I'm just setting up the following scene which contains one of my favorite exchanges in any movie ever. After Annie brings Crash Davis, the seasoned catcher, and Ebby Calvin LaLoosh, the up-and-coming pitcher, back to her place she explains her ground rules-- she hooks up with one minor league baseball player per season. So far they are the most promising prospects so she thinks they should all get to know one another. After asking why she gets to choose and getting an answer full of a lot of baloney about quantum physics, Crash gets up to leave.
Annie Savoy: Oh, where are you going?
Crash Davis: After 12 years in the minor leagues, I don't try out. Besides, uh, I don't believe in quantum physics when it comes to matters of the heart.
Annie Savoy: What do you believe in, then?
Crash Davis: Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days. [pause] Goodnight.
Annie Savoy: Oh my. Crash...
Ebby Calvin LaLoosh: Hey, Annie, what's all this molecule stuff?
Ha! My statement of beliefs isn't nearly as witty or hot, but Crash was my inspiration. I wrote it out on a card and it served me well. Three weeks later I met my husband, who really is my best friend and the love of my life. Here's what I wrote. ( I still have the card.)
I believe in the soul and more than one true love, as many true loves as it takes. I believe in seizing the day and living life to the fullest. I believe a wish to die is really a cry for help. I believe that to everything there is a time and a season and that I'm ready to be okay with that. I believe the universe is unfolding as it should and God still remembers and loves me. I believe in the beauty of the mess and the mysterious. I believe in the little girl in the photo and I believe in me. I also believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days but I definitely do NOT believe in ping pong paddles.
Okay, I admit I erased the part about the ping pong paddles way back when -- but I clearly remember still being annoyed the next day, despite the whole descending peace thing. An enlightened yogi I am not. But I try.
SO, what does any of this have to do with writing? Well, I believe that the soul has everything to do with writing. I believe the soul is where our muses reside, where inspiration springs from, where we find our "voice" and the flow.
If you haven't told yourself, your soul, "I love you, I will never leave you, I will always take care of you," then try it and see what happens. And try an affirmation or two. Here's what happened to me--
I met my husband; I traveled; I quit drinking except for the occasional glass of wine; I got over my adolescence . . . eventually; I went skydiving. I gave up the need for approval, praise and acceptance ( I still like it but I don't need it as long God, the Universe, the depths of my soul and me are cool with what I'm doing); I quit my corporate job and became a grad student, amongst other things (law school student, preschool teacher, substitute teacher, book store manager, freelance copywriter, research assistant, wife, mom, tutor, babysitter), for fifteen years. It's been a convoluted path but it brought me back to the notion of writing fiction eventually, which was my childhood dream. Plus, I met a lot of interesting people and refilled my well. I became more authentic. I really am who I am.
Now, if only the words would flow more exquisitely, my authenticity would transfer to the page and ring true and I could find a clear path through the mucky middle of my WIP. Maybe I need a new statement of beliefs. I'll work on that. . .
Happy writing and cheers,
Alyson
p.s. Samantha missed her blog on Friday because she's cruising the Caribbean with her hunk of burning love in celebration of her upcoming birthday. Have a great time, Sam!
1 comment:
Very powerful stuff, Alyson!
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