Doing versus being

[pegkerr]

I feel that I have been head down in Getting Things Accomplished for the last, oh, several weeks. Getting the gardens in (four of them), working on cleaning the house, trying to get the girls to eat more fruits and vegetables (we've incorporated a Five Servings a Day challenge in our family), filing paperwork, doing Quicken, learning the new Minnesota federal court electronic filing system for work, trying to fit in five workouts a week, critiquing Lois' manuscript. These are all good things, but I realized today, while reading Possession that my inner life, which is so important to me, has become somewhat muffled.

What seized my attention about this, and led to this uncomfortable train of thought was the excerpt from Sabine de Kercoz's journal in A.S. Byatt's Possession. Sabine is a would-be writer, who has been advised by Christobel LaMotte, an experienced poet, to keep a journal:

I began this writing task at the suggestion of my cousin, the poet, Christobel LaMotte, who said something that struck me forcibly. "A writer only becomes a true writer by practicing his craft, by experimenting constantly with language, as a great artist may experiment with clay or oils until the medium becomes second nature, to be moulded however the artist may desire." She said too, when I told her of my great desire to write, and the great absence in my daily life of things of interest, events, or passions, which might form the subject matter of poetry or fiction, that it was an essential discipline to write down whatever there was in my life to be noticed, however usual or dull it might seem to me. This daily recording, she said, would have two virtues. It would make my style flexible and my observation exact for when the time comes--as it must in all lives--when something momentous should cry out--she said "cry out"--to be told. And it would make me see that nothing was in fact dull in itself, nothing was without its own proper interest. Look, she said, your own rainy orchard, your own terrible coastline, with the eyes of a stranger, with my eyes, and you will see that they are full of magic and sad but of beautifully various colour. Consder the old pots and the simple strong platters in your kitchen with the eyes of a new Ver Meer come to make harmony of them with a little sunlight and shade. A writer cannot do this, but consider what a writer can do--always supposing the craft is sufficient.

Sabine goes on to write a lively, observant journal, just as Christobel LaMotte advised her.

I have given this exact advice to many writers over the years. Yes, I am a writer, I have said, and it all started with my keeping a journal at the age of 14. Yet, when I read Sabine's (fictional, of course) journal, and think about my own, I am so struck by the painful contrast that it hurts.

The inside of my mind, and consequently, my journal (my private paper journal, I mean) has become lazy and flabby, a dry recitation of what I have accomplished, perhaps, but not indicative of any kind of thoughtful probing, second looking, or reflective inner life at all. I made a nutritious dinner for my family tonight (not that they ate it, of course), but God, isn't anything else going on in my life? Something about moving my inner life as a writer forward?

I have talked with many creative women who are mothers, who have all assured me that yes, this is absolutely normal, but it does get better, really it does. (Lois talks about the "lacuna" of early motherhood. But she still managed to write Hugo and Nebula-nominated books at the time, dammit. Of course, she didn't have a day job to contend with at the same time.)

I look at this and cannot manage to do much more than feel fretful about it. And inadequate. And even more fretful about feeling inadequate--I mean, I got up at 5:15 a.m. today to do a cardio/abs workout, I put in a full workday, I came home and weeded the garden and made Margharita chicken and Sante Fe salad over spinach (delicious and nutritious) and served it to my family, and read to my girls out of Bridge to Terabithia and folded a load of laundry and read 70 pages of Lois's manuscript. Why the hell should I still feel inadequate? There's something wrong here.

Phooey.

Comments

[shellefly.livejournal.com]

I don't have any good advice for you, but oh boy do I empathize.

[klostes.livejournal.com]

Phooey.

Today I figured out a year's curriculum for my to-be-10th grader, then searched out and ordered those books online. Later I dealt with that same 15 yo's melt-down about school vs. homeschool. Made supper (nothing so nutritious as yours); went to the library to pick up everyone's books on hold. I came home and filled out my final book order for homeschool, making sure I covered all the necessary subjects for three different children at three different grade levels. I still need to read to my children (we're finishing up Quest for a Maid.)

Is it any wonder I just want to go find some fanfic online to lose myself in?

I keep thinking it will get easier as the kids get older; but it doesn't. Then I think "No one's going to write my book for me." But damned if I know when I'm going to get to write it...

Inadequate is the word, isn't it?

[peacockharpy.livejournal.com]

I have always been a spotty journal-keeper -- or at least I was until LiveJournal. (And I don't usually pour my inner feelings into LJ very often -- too public.)

But yes, I, too, feel that often all I can scrape together to say is that I played with Meg and took her to the library and did some proofreading and made dinner, and like you I wonder -- where is the luminous inner life in that? (And a day job must make it so much worse. I'm just doing part-time proofreading work at home, and it's like working two jobs, Meg and proofreading, and I'm going to dump fiction writing in on top of that? But it's worth it. I just try to exist without much sleep.)

I think maybe we can take Christabel's advice to Sabine to mean that we should let ourselves revel in our daily details -- you can mine much out of the frustration of cooking for an unappreciative audience, for example. As I can mine a lot out of my driving need to occupy the long slow hours when all Meg wants to do is carry her stuffed toys from room to room, and if I pick up a pen and paper, she steals them.

And if we can't, we set the facts down anyway, so that later we can trace the patterns.

[sartorias.livejournal.com]

What I see here, as in other women's public journals (and in my own life) is that the greater portion of our very long day is given over to work that benefits others. It's been programmed into us, and of course we dearly love our families, treasure the intense joy of our children (and note how very fast they change), know that our daily job is necessary to keep the bills paid and at least we have something that uses our brains somewhat, instead of being laundry-women or whatever drudge work our ancestresses were forced to take on...but. No one else in our lives is going to award us writing time. We have to take it. I take mine early in the morning; others late at night. One woman I know only gets her lunch hour.

It's incredibly hard to take that time, because there are always tasks demanding our attention...but at least I have found that creating a habit helps force it into the daily sched.

Yes!

[pegkerr.livejournal.com]

What I see here, as in other women's public journals (and in my own life) is that the greater portion of our very long day is given over to work that benefits others. Yes, exactly. I've been thinking a lot about this. I remember a story read somewhere, and damn, I can't remember who wrote it, which hypothesized that the denizens of heaven were people whose works had lasted. And it was almost entirely populated by men, because, of course, the work that women did left nothing to show for it ("My wife cooked wonderful meals," one man sighs, "but of course she's not here, because we gobbled them all up.")

This is one thing I've been thinking about a lot as a theme for the ice palace book. Solveig, my protagonist, thinks a lot about what lasts and what is ephemeral. She became an architect partly because she wants to build "something that lasts," (the book, I hope, will become in large part an examination of the urge to escape from death). But the ice palace isn't permanent. So why work on it? Why work on anything if you feel there isn't anything to show for it, or if all your work will disappear?

No one else in our lives is going to award us writing time. We have to take it. I used to be better at this, and I wonder what's changed. Part of it is that my kids are older. Part of it is that I'm older, and more tired.

Part of it, alas, is that I have discovered the seductions of the Internet since I wrote my two previous books.

Re: Yes!

[sartorias.livejournal.com]

I am loving the sound of the ice palace book the more each time you mention it. Hoo, do I want to read it. Sounds like it's gonna hit me right in the chitlins.

As for making time, well, during peak stress periods of overwork, who can write? I can't. I haven't gotten much done during May, the worst month of the school year: as it's eased, I find myself more enthusiastic about splashing right back into my projects. Hopefully as your work situation eases, you too will find not just the time but the energy is there. (And having two kids close in age I think is tougher...but they do get older and more self-motile.)

Re: Yes!

[dawn-came-dim.livejournal.com]

Questioning and then coming to understand the value of things that don't -- and can't -- last has always been very, very difficult for me. For all that I loved acting and designing theatrical sets, I had to leave theatre because of the near nervous-breakdowns I had following the run of shows -- when all of the accomplishment was wiped away and the stage was left bare before the empty seats.

My job now is measured much more clearly in dollars and cents while still allowing me nearly endless time for creative design, which is e very good mix of what I need in order to feel valuable. But being able to articulate this need has never been easy, and understanding the underlying reasons for it are even more difficult for me.

I hope you can find -- or steal -- a balance between your permanent and transient accomplishments. Because from your thoughts here, it sounds to be something needed for your happiness, but also -- selfishly -- because I would buy and read this book you're trying to take the time to write.

[cakmpls.livejournal.com]

What I see here, as in other women's public journals (and in my own life) is that the greater portion of our very long day is given over to work that benefits others.

I think that the world would be a happier place if people became parents only if they saw it as a benefit to themselves. In many times and places, of course, they do see it as such a benefit, because larger families mean more hands to do the work, and children take care of parents in the parents' old age.

Being a parent has been the most challenging, rewarding, and interesting work I have ever done or ever expect to do.

[sartorias.livejournal.com]

Being a parent has been the most challenging, rewarding, and interesting work I have ever done or ever expect to do.

I think being a good parent is not only challenging, rewarding, interesting, but it can lie at the core of writers' guilt and anxiety: that our writing time takes away from our parenting time, that we are somehow betraying our kids if we are not there for them 24/7. It's a juggling act that can leave us restless and unhappy in the watch hours of the night, thinking we are inadequate to anything we do, because we don't do enough. This terrible dichotomy seems, from my limited perspective, to be something that writers with kids instantly identify with, and many non-writers just don't seem to parse. "Well, do your writing when your kids are in college!" is what women hear, but men don't. And that's where some of us get angry...women hear it, but for the most part, men don't.

[cakmpls.livejournal.com]

. . . our writing time takes away from our parenting time, that we are somehow betraying our kids if we are not there for them 24/7. . . . This terrible dichotomy seems, from my limited perspective, to be something that writers with kids instantly identify with, and many non-writers just don't seem to parse.

I think maybe that it is a "limited perspective" (I mean no disrespect!). Pretty much every mother I know and a lot of fathers feel that way about any activity they pursue for their own needs or personal growth.

As for the kids, there's "being there" and then there's "being there." Up to a certain age, yes, kids need someone there 24-7. But even then they don't need constant attending and attention--indeed, giving them that is doing them no favor. IMHO, many of today's kids are grossly "overattended"--programmed and scheduled every minute of the day. Sometimes adults complain of not having time to themselves for personal growth, but then don't give their kids a minute of time to themselves!

After that certain age, what kids need is someone being there: they need to know that there is someone they can always come to, can always count on, but the less physically present that person is, the better!

[vass]

The inside of my mind, and consequently, my journal (my private paper journal, I mean) has become lazy and flabby, a dry recitation of what I have accomplished, perhaps, but not indicative of any kind of thoughtful probing, second looking, or reflective inner life at all.

*tries not to be too impertinent about this* Uh- when I hear myself as flat, it turns out I'm self-censoring because I think the real emotion's unattractive. Especially if it's something petty or mean.

So the fretfulness and inadequacy might be just standing there like unwelcome houseguests, waiting their turn and meanwhile cluttering up your creativity and tracking muddy footprints as they shuffle their feet.

If that hits home, then the solution might be to give them some loving attention, examine them in detail. In your private paper journal or wherever.

[nermina.livejournal.com]

wow, Peg, your post reminded me of something we talked about in the class I am taking at the university at the moment, called:"Parenting in the Post Industrial Society". It talks about American women having day jobs, taking care of kids at home, taking care of house, husband and at the same time having fulfilling life expressing themselves. It comes down to the fact that it leaves women feeling exhausted and frustrated. The conflict happens when you WANT to do something and you HAVE to do something else. So it seems quite common for US lifestyle. But women still excell at multitasking. Great job ladies !

A nugget

[jbru.livejournal.com]

I'm reading Live the Life You Love, Barbara Sher, and she talks about something that I thought I'd pass on: For years she thought herself a failure, she couldn't stick to a diet, she would quit her task of learning Latin, she never kept New Year's resolutions, she frequently procrastinated. All the messages she was getting were that successful people thought positively, they never gave up. The successful people were these super-human wonders of drive and energy and determination.

Then she thought back on all she had accomplished in her life. She finished school. She raised kids. She held down jobs. If she was such a failure, if only people with the right attitudes, the correct industry, the right stuff could accomplish things, how had she done these things?

The answer, of course, is that you don't have to be super-human to accomplish things. My lord, Peg, you've written novels! Plural! You have two lovely little girls! You put in four, four gardens this year! Your list of things you did today reads like a weekly list of accomplishments!

Inadequate? I should hardly think so. You obviously have more than enough of what it takes to get things, hard things, done. You'll finish your ice palace book, never fear, and you'll get about three million other things done in the meantime.

I recommend Sher's book. It has interesting exercises for discovering what's preventing one from doing the things they want and overcoming those obstacles. I'm finding it motivational enough that I'm doing all sorts of mundane tasks to avoid finishing reading it and starting the prescribed program, a sure sign that it has the chance to help change the way I do things.

[liadan-m.livejournal.com]

Because I'm an impertinent young thing...

Around about January I found an lj community that re-sparked my interest in writing, and did it gracefully. writing_days is based on the "write something everyday" premise, but with a time limit. You only have to write something everyday for 25 days in a strech, then you can take a break. Many, many days in both sets I've now done there I only spent five minutes writing. Less than 100 words. But even that returned to me the habit of writing creativly. Now...I no longer do it in the community, but I do try and make the effort to write a drabble a day if I can.

Granted, your schedule is a bit more hectic than mine, but this was an idea that worked for me.

[pegkerr.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the suggestion. I'll definitely check it out.

[cakmpls.livejournal.com]

There is no reason why you should still feel inadequate, but I'm pretty sure that only you can discover why you do still feel inadequate.

Someone above wrote that The conflict happens when you WANT to do something and you HAVE to do something else, and that's probably part of it, too. But it seems to me that's pretty much the human condition, and has been for much of human history. I think that, given their druthers, most humans would choose, at least a lot of the time, to do something other than what they must do. The trick here is to distinguish what we really must do from everything else, and then to figure out why we do the everything else.

Someone famous once said that "life is what happens to you while you're doing something else." That's the one that keeps biting me on the butt. I've tried very hard, for example, to live in the moment with my kids, experiencing who they are at each stage. I've tried to live in consciousness of Emerson's words: "The days come and go like muffled and veiled figures sent from a distant friendly party, but they say nothing, and if we do not use the gifts they bring, they carry them as silently away." But still I found myself frequently wishing for the kids to move on, out of needing to be changed and fed and tended constantly, out of needing to be watched constantly, out of needing homework help every night and transportation everywhere and clothes bought and washed and put away, out of needing me-me-me.

And they did move on, in a heartbeat, in a blink, faster than I could have imagined when I was mired in their constant needs. Each one of their days brought me the gift of who they were that day, and if I didn't see it as a gift, I lost it. But Emerson has words for that, too, and if I had to state my philosophy of life, I'd choose this--indeed, my LJ is named from it:

"Finish each day and be done with it.
You have done what you could.
Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in;
Forget them as soon as you can.

Tomorrow is a new day;
Begin it well and serenely
And with too high a spirit
To be encumbered with your old nonsense.

This day is all that is good and fair.
It is too dear, with its hopes and invitations,
To waste a moment on yesterdays."

You have done what you could. No one, least of all yourself, should ask more.

[siriologist.livejournal.com]

You definetly should NOT feel inadequate, but I understand why you do. There just aren't enough hours in the day to everything you need and want to do. Each of the things you listed that you do every day take up a finite amount of time. And the need to do usually takes precedence over the want to do. Unfortunately it seems that your writing has become an option. You are great at keeping up with the excersise...far better than me. But that too takes up a space of time. Would it be helpful to detail your schedule and try to make a bit of time for writing, like you do for excercising? At least until the inspiration bug bites and you can't help but write? Can you get help with cooking from Rob or the girls?

We all love your books and have as much interest in you writing as you do in writing them.

[corinnethewise.livejournal.com]

You are so not inadequate. You've written two wonderful books, and you're working on another one. Yes, it's going slowly, but that happens with everyone and every talent sometimes. It's a busy time in your life, your kids are at that age where the are independent enough to do lots of stuff, but they still need to you to be around for all of it. That takes time, you're being a mom, which is important too, and everything you've ever said about your girls screams that you're a more than adequate mom. It's okay that your writing is going slowly because you and your family are not depending on it for a steady income, you have another job for that, which also takes time. Now that doesn't mean stop writing, or say "I'm too busy" and then not write at all. You should keep writing (y'know, as long you still want to write of course), but if you're busy, write less, just make it count. Try to find all the writing time you can and make it count. If you can't write for your book, write about something else. Just don't beat yourself up if things are going slowly, or if you miss a day of working on your book every now and then. You are not inadequate as a writer or as anything else. Everytime you write in your journal I am impressed at how you balance your life, and that inspires me to make sure that I have time for writing in my life because being in high school is definitely not more demanding than being a mom and having a day job as well. Okay I'm done now. Just don't lose confidence in yourself.

[demarazare.livejournal.com]

I recommend you read some of the essays in The Writer on Her Work (http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0393320553/qid=1086273981/sr=8-2/ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i2_xgl14/102-2234963-4753738?v=glance&s=books&n=507846). It's a wonderful collection about what it means to be a woman writer - dealing with prejudices, taking care of a family, inadequacy, etc. One of the essays is actually culled pieces of a diary from a woman writer - I think it was Michele Murray. It's a LOT like what you describe. Despite producing wonderful poetry and being accepted to magazines, Murray worries about not being a good enough mother, about not writing enough, about being selfish with her time, and about finally getting cancer and dying young. It's actually rather heartbreaking, but you might recognize yourself in it.