“Think of your blog — Spark and Spitfire — as your playground,” advised my writing coach, Saundra, “you know . . . as a fun place to honor your voice.”
“Honor?‘ I replied incredulously (also probably cynically). “I’ve heard, “listen to your voice,” or “pay attention to your voice, but honor? Shouldn’t that verb be assigned only to a noble or courageous person or a revered text like the Bible or Declaration of Independence? And you want me to honor my voice at a playground called Spark and Spitfire?”
“Yes,” Saundra said. I made no reply, waiting for her to elaborate. She did not elaborate. Looking back, her silence was no doubt a way to honor my voice.
I hate it when silence shuts me up. (God uses this tactic with me ALL the time, by the way.)
So welcome to my playground, a place where I am going to have fun figuring out how to honor a voice that has, according to my pastor friend, Carol: “many often-conflicting currents.”
I have no idea how to have fun telling my story when I am trying mightily to keep my head above three distinct currents.
The first current are my attempts to write a memoir. Pictured here are the title pages of three separate drafts of a memoir: “Years of the Cicadas” begun in 1995 and abandoned after 100 pages; “Black Rectangles” begun in 2015 and abandoned after 240 pages; and “The Harvey Girls Reunion,” a memoir play begun in July 2023 and abandoned in October 2023 after 42 pages. There’s got to be SOME story there.
The second current is my extensive collection of original art focusing on the female form. In 2022, I inventoried all of it (300 + works by 73 different artists) and pictured above is the 10-page (front and back, single-spaced) detailed inventory. Beloveds, I live in an art storage facility with a bed. There’s got to be SOME story there.
Pictured here is my “Affirmation Wall” that I walk by every time I walk into my home office — copies of sunrise photos I began to take in September of 2018 during my morning ritual of walking in nearby farmland. These photos now number in the thousands and have won several awards. There’s got to be SOME story there.
So what the hell is the story and how the hell do I tell it? Are these currents separate stories? Is there a common element to each of these three currents? Would it help if I simply stuck all of these currents together on the wall and stared at them?
I stared at this for about a minute and then put everything back in its proper notebook. I did not listen or pay attention to, and yes, I did not honor my voice. I would not, could not, in the rain. Not in the dark. Not on a train. Not in a car. Not in a tree. I do not like it, Saundra, you see.
Okay, so I’m playing around, having fun, acting like a kid. But am I getting anywhere? Wait, hold the phone, kids, because I think I hear Dr. Seuss again: “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose.”
In March of 2012, I volunteered to teach storytelling to First Graders. Above is one of those stories. Note the Cat in the Hat at the far right. Hand on heart, I just noticed it. That Seuss image merged into this post without ANY manipulation from me. I was simply putting one word in front of the other and another one in front of the other and . . . wait, that’s how currents can merge? With the brains in my head, and feet in my shoes, I wrote word after word, how can I lose?
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My beloved friend and prayer warrior, Beth, left a comment in yesterday’s post late in the day so most will not have read it. Here is part of that comment:
“I’ve been reflecting on your blog history. Once upon a time there was Sassistas and it was mostly a wild romp, filled with sass and humor in my memory. My guess is that it was fueled with active power. Then life happened, things changed, and now they are changing again.”
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Sassistas! Yes, it was a wild romp and yes, it was filled with sass and humor, not only fueled by Adrienne and me, but also by a very well-read, intelligent and clever “sass” community. We dished on everything from politics to fashion to . . . just name it . . . if some topic could be skewered, we posted about it. It was indeed active energy, but where was it going?
We published hundreds of posts for about 5 years (2008-2013) that included 10 times as many comments and then it just died in 2013, shortly after I was diagnosed with double depression. I tried to resurrect it with a new design with the same name, but I could not figure out what it was, plus Adrienne now had a demanding full-time job.
The blog site remained on the internet for several years until the MOMENT — and I mean, MOMENT — I decided not to renew the subscription to the platform in 2015. When I hit the “send button” to confirm not renewing, I had no idea that that would delete the ENTIRE blog — all the posts and all of the comments. I had made copies of some posts related to my life story, but no other copies. All of that work and creativity were literally gone with the push of a button. It was a stunning, disheartening oversight on my part.
Now I’m wondering if Sassistas! is ANOTHER current. Or blogging in general. I started Spark and Spitfire in May of 2018 and have tended to it very erratically, depending on my level of depression.
Today’s post is the 202th post on Spark and Spitfire, and this is comment 1,923.
Thank you for bearing with me as I just write away not really knowing where I’m going. The very first paragraph in Annie Dillard’s book, The Writing Life, is this:
“When you write, you lay out a line of words. The line of words is a miner’s pick, a woodcarver’s gouge, a surgeon’s probe. You wield it, and it digs a path you follow. Soon you find yourself deep in new territory. Is it a dead end, or have you located the real subject? You will tomorrow or this time next year.”
It doesn’t help that I fear that tomorrow will never come. Thus the writing coach. Thus all this spewing. Thanks for continuing to bear with me.
No sooner than I had hit the “post comment” button for the previous comment, I received this email from a friend I’ve known since kindergarten. Yes, since we were both six years old. She said this in response to today’s post:
“I believe in you! Walk away from the dark and enjoy the light. It is much like the way you enjoy your beautiful sunrises!”
Well, that’s one way to meld a current.
As Rilke says, you are living the question. It is one of my favorite approaches to life these days. Being curious. Wondering. There is an invitation there–to you and to me. I too believe in you. I believe in God acting in you–in inviting you.
Charlotte — thanks for the Rilke reminder. And thanks for your faithful company (and prayers) as we continue to wonder and wander together.
Another current is your depression itself and it may have hijacked your voice and deadened your other projects. It has had enough airtime as the starring role and your active power and true voice will rise allowing it a bit part somewhere in this new current. Your writing should also fuel your own joy. I concur with your kindergarten friend, “enjoy the light.” Keep going.
Astute comment, Beth. I tend to downplay the impact my depression has had on my writing. I’m not sure why, but I tend to factor it out. Seems too nebulous or evanescent, like a cloud I can escape if I walk fast enough or look the other way. I’ve assumed it had a bit part most of my life.
Ironically, a friend posted this on Facebook today — a description of melancholia from Freud:
” . . . a profoundly painful dejection, cessation of interest in the outside world, loss of the capacity to love, inhibition of all activity, and a lowering of the self-regarding feelings to a degree that finds utterance in self-reproaches and self-reviling, and culminates in a delusional expectation of punishment.”
I find Beth’s comment so astute. I suspect that it’s very possible that your depression clouded your voice considerably. Depression is so demanding and can so easily take over all of one’s life, drowning out anything that tries to “tame” it.
I so love the energy, freshness, and openness of the pieces you’ve written lately, and I suspect this may well come from the healing that you’ve been experiencing in the last few years. Keep honoring your emerging voice!
My beloved friend and prayer warrior, Beth, left a comment in yesterday’s post late in the day so most will not have read it. Here is part of that comment:
“I’ve been reflecting on your blog history. Once upon a time there was Sassistas and it was mostly a wild romp, filled with sass and humor in my memory. My guess is that it was fueled with active power. Then life happened, things changed, and now they are changing again.”
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Sassistas! Yes, it was a wild romp and yes, it was filled with sass and humor, not only fueled by Adrienne and me, but also by a very well-read, intelligent and clever “sass” community. We dished on everything from politics to fashion to . . . just name it . . . if some topic could be skewered, we posted about it. It was indeed active energy, but where was it going?
We published hundreds of posts for about 5 years (2008-2013) that included 10 times as many comments and then it just died in 2013, shortly after I was diagnosed with double depression. I tried to resurrect it with a new design with the same name, but I could not figure out what it was, plus Adrienne now had a demanding full-time job.
The blog site remained on the internet for several years until the MOMENT — and I mean, MOMENT — I decided not to renew the subscription to the platform in 2015. When I hit the “send button” to confirm not renewing, I had no idea that that would delete the ENTIRE blog — all the posts and all of the comments. I had made copies of some posts related to my life story, but no other copies. All of that work and creativity were literally gone with the push of a button. It was a stunning, disheartening oversight on my part.
Now I’m wondering if Sassistas! is ANOTHER current. Or blogging in general. I started Spark and Spitfire in May of 2018 and have tended to it very erratically, depending on my level of depression.
Today’s post is the 202th post on Spark and Spitfire, and this is comment 1,923.
Thank you for bearing with me as I just write away not really knowing where I’m going. The very first paragraph in Annie Dillard’s book, The Writing Life, is this:
“When you write, you lay out a line of words. The line of words is a miner’s pick, a woodcarver’s gouge, a surgeon’s probe. You wield it, and it digs a path you follow. Soon you find yourself deep in new territory. Is it a dead end, or have you located the real subject? You will tomorrow or this time next year.”
It doesn’t help that I fear that tomorrow will never come. Thus the writing coach. Thus all this spewing. Thanks for continuing to bear with me.
No sooner than I had hit the “post comment” button for the previous comment, I received this email from a friend I’ve known since kindergarten. Yes, since we were both six years old. She said this in response to today’s post:
“I believe in you! Walk away from the dark and enjoy the light. It is much like the way you enjoy your beautiful sunrises!”
Well, that’s one way to meld a current.
As Rilke says, you are living the question. It is one of my favorite approaches to life these days. Being curious. Wondering. There is an invitation there–to you and to me. I too believe in you. I believe in God acting in you–in inviting you.
Charlotte — thanks for the Rilke reminder. And thanks for your faithful company (and prayers) as we continue to wonder and wander together.
Another current is your depression itself and it may have hijacked your voice and deadened your other projects. It has had enough airtime as the starring role and your active power and true voice will rise allowing it a bit part somewhere in this new current. Your writing should also fuel your own joy. I concur with your kindergarten friend, “enjoy the light.” Keep going.
Astute comment, Beth. I tend to downplay the impact my depression has had on my writing. I’m not sure why, but I tend to factor it out. Seems too nebulous or evanescent, like a cloud I can escape if I walk fast enough or look the other way. I’ve assumed it had a bit part most of my life.
Ironically, a friend posted this on Facebook today — a description of melancholia from Freud:
” . . . a profoundly painful dejection, cessation of interest in the outside world, loss of the capacity to love, inhibition of all activity, and a lowering of the self-regarding feelings to a degree that finds utterance in self-reproaches and self-reviling, and culminates in a delusional expectation of punishment.”
I find Beth’s comment so astute. I suspect that it’s very possible that your depression clouded your voice considerably. Depression is so demanding and can so easily take over all of one’s life, drowning out anything that tries to “tame” it.
I so love the energy, freshness, and openness of the pieces you’ve written lately, and I suspect this may well come from the healing that you’ve been experiencing in the last few years. Keep honoring your emerging voice!
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️