I think it's partly because I stopped trying to read the manuscript through someone else's eyes. And so the work I'm doing is strengthening the story, making it whole.

Some people write too much and then have to carve away the excess, like a sculptor. But for me, revision is often more about deepening, layering, enriching. And I am loving it. I feel excited for my story and my characters, as more and more pieces fit together and the logic of the story world clicks into place. 

I'm also loving it because I stopped seeing it as something other than real work, and because I have thrown myself into it wholeheartedly. I've been in that delightful stage where the world of the story walks through my day with me, whispering little secrets, bits and pieces that long to be told. 

"You must be so disciplined," people sometimes say to me, "to be your own boss and get your work done." Discipline has nothing to do with it. Because I am enjoying every minute -- even the hard, stuck ones. There's nothing else I'd rather be doing (except, of course, lying on a beach.) For those hours of the day when my husband is at work and my kids are at school, I play, focused with body and mind, engaged with heart and soul. 

The manuscript has become a friend whom I am tending with loving care, readying it to be sent out into the world -- zipping up its jacket and double-knotting its shoelaces, doing all I can to prepare it so it faces the world whole and complete.

All in the hope that some editor will adore it and start me on a path to revising it all over again

Happy revising!

And the other one I want to share is called Messenger:

I love the way she strings words together and the way she evokes so much feeling and meaning with so few words. I bolded the parts of these two poems that particularly speak to me. It's that question: What is it you plan to do with this life you've been given? What is your work? Not the job you go to each day necessarily, but what is it you bring to the world? For Mary Oliver, observing the world, being astonished by it and sharing that glory is her work. And maybe we all have more than one thing: like loving our kids and our partners, being there for our friends, etc. But when it just comes down to what you are putting out into the world, what difference you are making, whether it's through your job or your community service or your writing, what will you choose?

In the last couple of days, I have begun playing with a new character. I don't know yet what, if anything, will come of it, but for now I'm trying to just enjoy her birth, her creation, and the feelings of renewal I experience in starting a new project. When I'm revising, which is what I've been doing exclusively lately, I start to feel dried out and low energy. Some writers love revision. It's the thing that lights them up and makes time stop. I wish I felt that way. But for me revision is laborious. I do like strengthening the manuscript. But my favorite part of revising is when I think up some new element to add and I have to write fresh material, which technically is creating, not revising. But first drafts, ahh, first drafts are my drug of choice. And so right now, in the midst of all this sunny renewal, I'm diving back into my craft, starting anew, remembering why I love this crazy business. And it makes me feel incredibly grateful for the freedom I have to pursue this life.

As you feast with family and friends, or even go on about your normal weekend, take a moment to focus on how you can bring the spirit of freedom and renewal back into your own life. Maybe it's about recommitting to your New Year's Resolutions, maybe it's about trying something new and a little bit daring, maybe it's about finding time for people or activities you enjoy. Whatever it is, I hope this holiday weekend allows you to find ways to experience your own renewal or rebirth, because even though it may feel at times like it's out of our control, really so much of it is up to us.

Happy holidays

Personally, I've found myself in all three of those positions. The interesting thing for me to note is the direction in which each story pushes me. I know that when I let myself feel like I'm just not good enough, I fall into a place that is neither kind nor productive and truly serves no purpose. Even when it has pushed me to try a writing class or seek out books on craft, I've come at them from a place of trying to prove myself. In contrast, when the story I've told myself is that the piece isn't there yet, I've come to the new class or craft books from a place of openness, a place of wanting to understand, to make the manuscript stronger. And I've learned a lot from those stories. But lately I'm finding that the strongest place for me is seeing the closed doors in life as guideposts, pushing me in a direction I might have otherwise resisted. And this ends up being the story that lights me up and sends me forging ahead on new paths.

The next time you meet a rough spot on the road, ask yourself what story you might tell about this that would be useful to you, and leave behind the ones that diminish you. See if you can't find a story that urges you onward instead of one that holds you back. Because the story you tell yourself is the only one over which you have complete editorial control. 

Last night in my writing group, I discovered something. When I was little, my brother and sister and I played imaginary games. I remember each of us adding, "And let's pretend..." hundreds of times in a given game. As we added layers to the world we were creating, we often went back and revised what we'd added before -- not from any kind of critical thought process, but from that wonderful place of "let's also pretend...."

So my goal for today, as I return to revision, is to go at it from that place of wonder and excitement, that place of childhood pretend, where everything is possible and changes can come from fun and adventure, not just critical thinking.

And then, when I've done all the revising I can do for today, I'm going to write something new. Because it's that wondrous land of time-stopping intuition that makes me feel alive.

Last night in my writing group we did two writing exercises. With both of them, the minute the facilitator announced the prompt, I thought, "Oh, great, that doesn't inspire me at all. I don't want to write about that. There's nothing interesting about that." But then, because I'm working on this trust thing, I made myself shut up. I didn't try to think about what to write. I just tried to get quiet inside. I forced myself to be patient, no matter how many precious minutes of our writing session ticked by, no matter that other people's pens were dashing across their pages. I sat still, not thinking. And then a few words came to me, and even though they didn't seem too interesting, I wrote them down. And then a few more came and I wrote those down too. And before I knew it, I was on a roll. And about twenty minutes later, when time was called, I had a complete piece written -- one that had depth and meaning, details and characters that came alive, a mini-story I felt good about. And when I read it out loud to the group and people reacted to it, I realized there was even more in there than I'd realized. All from a prompt that I'd found uninspiring.

It made me think back to this issue about life -- learning to fall into whatever it is that is happening -- even if it doesn't seem ideal or inspiring. Because the truth is no matter how much we think we know how we want things to be, sometimes letting them be what they already are can lead us to someplace better than we've ever imagined.

I'll be traveling next week -- an adventure I'm a little nervous about. There won't be a post then. But I'll be continuing to work on this issue, trying to meet whatever challenges may arise with acceptance and trust. If you find stumbling blocks in your path along the way, try letting that be okay, see if you can get still and notice what it is they want to tell you, toward what new direction they might be pushing. You might be surprised where it leads.

Last night, in one of our writing exercises, I was inspired by the last line of the poem "A Blessing" by James Wright in Roger Housden's Dancing with Joy. That line (in quotes) became the first line of my own piece. It would have been easy to keep this private since I'm not confident about my poetry. But sometimes one step out of the comfort zone encourages another. So here it is:

"Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom"

Because it is not just the barriers of skin and bone

That hold me back.

It is the weight of words

And beliefs that saturate my brain.

If only I could step away

For a moment or two, I would see

The way they tether me 

Like gravity.

The voice that cries "never enough"

And the one that insists I'm wrong

And the ever-present chorus

Of scoffs and jeers,

The reminder that I'm small.

If I could step away

For just a moment and feel the grandness

Bloom, feel the unfettered, unjudged fullness

Of my being, I would blossom

Gloriously with sweet, divine wholeness

Such that when I returned to my skin

I would glow

I would dance

I would float

Would have trouble keeping my feet on the ground

Enveloped then in the nearness of my soul.

And who knows, maybe I can't blame my brother for making me feel this way. I tend to react intensely to most things (okay, maybe not quite as much as Kristen Bell, but still.) My initial reaction is usually red alert -- adrenaline pumping, breath shortening, stomach lurching panic. To be fair, to look at me, you'd never guess. People think I handle things well, that I stay calmer than they would in a similar circumstance. It's only on the outside. 

Yesterday I was leaving my house to go to the gym. Let me be clear, I am not a fan of gyms, and the only way I can get myself to go is by scheduling an appointment with a trainer for which I will be charged regardless of whether or not I show up. So, I was running a little late and rushing out of the house. I hit the garage door button and grabbed my shoes. Well, as fate would have it, the garage door broke, the emergency release wouldn't release, and I literally had no way of getting my car out of the garage. Naturally, I went into instant panic mode. OH MY GOD! The door is broken! I can't get out! I can't go to the gym! Adrenaline pumping, breath shortening, etc. 

Um, seriously? Panic? Cause you can't ... go to the gym? *Giggle, snort* Ah, darn, I can't go to the gym. I'm stuck waiting for the repairman and I don't want to get too involved in working on something because he could show up at any minute. I guess I have no choice but to read for fun (!) I don't usually read for fun during "work hours."

Once I caught my breath and calmed the #$!@ down, I started to realize how much I do this in my life and in my work. Freak out, that is. And I vowed to do better. Can a high-strung, moody, sensitive, neurotic Jewish girl do that? Learn not to freak out and jump to conclusions?Yes! I can, because -- believe it or not -- I'm way better than I used to be -- even if that only means realizing what I'm doing sooner than I might have in the past. I know I've learned to take criticism on my work, to understand its value, to use it to improve the story I'm trying to tell.

Part of embracing all of life is learning to accept what comes our way -- which, of course, isn't always what we want. This is also true when receiving critiques of our work. In any of these situations, whether it's one of life's curveballs or whether it's a biting critique, there is a simple and straightforward process to take:

Step 1: Do not panic. 

Step 2: Give your body time to calm the #$%@ down after it ignores step one without your permission. 

Step 3: Let whatever is before you be okay -- whether it's the garage door breaking or a critique that stings. Know that you can handle it.

Step 4: Get to work.

If I can do it, you can too