What Was I Thinking? - Publishing a Book Series

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I often write when I’m grieving, upset, or have a strong emotion. It’s a way for me to process the emotions and get them out. This wouldn’t be a problem for me except for the fact I then publish such feelings in a very public forum. Whenever I get close to releasing a new book, I can be found, head buried in my hands, wailing aloud, “What was I thinking?” I’ll even go back to my editors and ask if we should take a poem out as it’s just too personal but they inevitably respond, “You can’t take that out. It’s so powerful!” This is partly why I have editors – to keep me away from the trash can. I also know the most vulnerable poems, the ones where I don’t hold anything back, are usually the ones people tell me mean the most to them. And so I publish and let my heart’s lament live out there for all to see.

This is not an easy place to be on a continual basis – it brings new meaning to the phrase “wearing your heart on your sleeve” but, in general, I don’t think we’re open enough with each other about our inner thoughts and feelings. Aside from the seeming intimacy of the internet, when in life do we really express those deepest places within us face-to-face? It’s good to have a handful of people in our lives we know we can go to for a good talk but what about when we write? It can be hard to express such things on paper and have no control over who reads them.

“How do you share such personal thoughts so publicly?” is a question I’ve been asked and that I still struggle with. Now that I have an idea of what this book will be, I’m right there asking once again, “What was I thinking?” I then have to remind myself of a couple things. Perhaps what I tell myself will help you the next time you go to write such words.

• You are not what you write. Writers can be artists and as artists, we equate ourselves closely with what we create. However, what we create is not us. My words do not define me any more than what I wear. Whenever I write or sell a book, I remember that I am not what I put down on paper. My soul is always my own. Once a creation is produced or a book published, it takes on a life of its own and it’s out of my hands. If you want to get to know me, I would love to meet up with you and talk over coffee. But don’t think because you’ve read one of my books or friended me on Facebook that you know who I am. That takes time and friendship.

• Don’t be ashamed of those thoughts and feelings you’ve expressed. The thoughts and feelings you’ve expressed are beautiful and genuine. So much of yourself has gone into your writing that it is valuable no matter what you’ve said. Do no harm, but be honest and vulnerable. If we as writers aren’t willing to be open with such thoughts and to then share them, who is going to be?

• What you write will help other people. Everyone has these deeper thoughts and feelings but many times we need someone else to express them first before we’re willing to hear our own. Our words travel far more widely and to more unexpected places than we could possibly go ourselves. You have no idea who you’re reaching and in what ways all because you were willing to be open with yourself. Anything written in love never goes to waste but is planted and grown in the lives of those who turn the pages. This always happens. You may not always see it.

• When people read your words, they don’t see the full story behind them, they see their own. Much of my poetry and writing in general lies at the intersection of my life and deeper truth. However, what I've discovered over the years is when people read my words, they don’t see my story, they see their own. I may have written my heart out about a relationship or an experience but they read it and see their own relationships, their own experiences. You can, metaphorically speaking, stand center-stage under the spotlights and tell of those things you would never otherwise say aloud but what they hear is their own life. I would bet, even when I’m writing about my relationship with a specific person, that person can read it and not even recognize themselves. (I never use names.) It works that well. This is why I balk at how poetry is taught in schools. We don’t really know what the author was thinking but we teach that kind of analysis to students. Just yesterday, someone read a poem going into Finding Love’s Way and told me what I had done within it. I didn't say anything but in my mind, I was thinking, “Wow! I did all that? I didn't even mean to!” But he read himself into the words. People do it every time. Write whatever you want.

Sometimes it’s our strongest emotions, the darker ones we don’t easily express that can be filled with the most light. Sometimes it’s in the depths where we find the treasure and remember, as you write, this treasure is not just for you. We are all so connected, it is a gift for us all. So please, write. Write honestly and openly, share your thoughts and feelings. I want to learn from them. I want to be able to say, “Me too!” and “I never saw it that way.” I want to be challenged, to hear what I haven’t had the courage to say myself and maybe what I've written will do the same for you. Keep writing.

For more on clearing the clutter within before taking pen to paper read, “Clearing the Clutter: Journaling for Writers.”

(This is the 14th post in my "Publishing a Book Series." To see the others, click here.)

Let Liberty Ring

Good morning everyone! Last night I had the choice between blogging or going out for a late night snack with friends whom I haven't seen in a year. Frankly speaking, it wasn't a tough choice. But the internet is working in this building now and there are a lot of people with laptops. (Writer's conference you know!) Thus, I should be able to keep up blogging from here.

It feels SOOOOO GOOD to be together again as an editorial board along with several other young adults, many of whom are authors in the book. We were so excited to see each other, hug each other, and catch up one one another's lives. Last night several of us went out for a late night snack and we agreed we hadn't laughed that much in a long time. I think we all needed that release. We have worked so hard these last few years on this book, brainstorming for it, traveling and speaking, talking about the submissions, editing it, along with hundreds and thousands of other decisions, that it feels fantastic to hold it in our hands. As Harriet and I agreed last night, it is like holding a baby that has just been born. We are such proud parents.

So since most of yesterday was a travel day, ten and a half hours in the car (it was beautiful), I thought today's post could be more reflective.

On Monday I was in the glass hall that holds the Liberty Bell. To get to the bell, you walk through the long exhibit hall that talks about the history of the bell: why it was made, when it cracked, the repairs done, where it hung, the special occasions on which it was rung, the story of how it cracked again, and then the symbol of liberty it became to people all across the nation, and even, around the world. It occurred to me, while gazing at the bell that this object is cracked, it does not serve the purpose people originally thought it was created for. The bell is broken. Or is it? Could it be that it is because the bell is cracked we love it so? Does it stand for liberty because we see ourselves inside of it? Why is it we hold up what is broken as the enduring symbol of freedom? The enduring symbol of our ability to raise our voices across the land after we have overcome? This bell that no longer sounds is the symbol of the sound of freedom. It's message is quiet; it's in the Liberty Bell's very existence, its survival and enduring presence amongst us, that it speaks most loudly.

We love what is broken. We love looking at this cracked bell because it gives us hope for ourselves. We have all been broken in some way. It is a part of this world and our lives within it. We all think we have places within us where we have gone wrong and not done what we were intended for. We weep over our brokenness and are ashamed of our crack. We hide it. But what if we choose not to be ashamed? What if we choose not to be embarrassed? What if we make a different choice, a different knowing of the truth? Could it be that our greatest, most powerful truth is lived out through our crack? Could it be we could be proud of our crack, as a badge of honor and the enduring power of God's love and triumphal redemption? Maybe our cracks aren't cracks after all along with that inherent judgement we place upon ourselves. Could we transform our cracks if we choose not to judge them? Could we too be symbols of liberty and freedom for others? Not freedom in perfection, but freedom in our humanity, our seemingly imperfect, wonderfully cracked, beautifully designed and created humanity? Could we just let ourselves be who we are, accept that in ourselves, and let our lives speak for themselves, raising our voices, both in sound and in presence? Gary Chapman says, "The parts of ourselves left out of our offering [our lives] weaken our gift." If we do not acknowledge all of ourselves and live out of that, we weaken the gift of ourselves God wants to give the world. We are each an expression of God. Why would we want to hide even the smallest bit of his face?

I saw a beautiful illustration of this in the Magic Garden. This man has taken broken tiles, old glass bottles, well-used plates, bowls and cups, old metal wheels from bicycles, and created an astounding mosaic grotto. It is a place of beauty, of rest and creativity. You see yourself in the shards of mirrors that scatter the light. This man has taken what is old, unused, and broken, and created something of incredible beauty. You can never get enough of it. You always see more. You see, it is not despite of but because the pieces are broken, because they are cracked that he can use them. Only when they are willing to be what they truly are, apparent cracks and all, only then can he place them into this beautiful design that speaks of life and wonderment.

When we bewail our cracks and hide them away, it is as if we are staying in the box in our master's workshop refusing to come out. We refuse to be placed in the design because we don't want anyone to see our broken places. We are ashamed of ourselves. What we don't understand is God is not ashamed of our cracks and neither should we be. Perhaps he even placed them there because they are the most powerful places he created within us. They are his glory shining out in our power. Let this liberty, this freedom, ring out across the land. Let our voices sing "We are broken. We are good and we are glad." May we be proud of our cracks.

Let Freedom Ring: A Day to Remember Part 2

The moon is so beautiful tonight. It's full and white with clouds passing by, occasionally reflecting that elusive rainbow ring of light around its orb. It looks on me from above, a friendly face in the night sky. The house is quiet tonight. Allie is at work and I am siting here in the dark, my yellow and blue quilt I made wrapped around me with the tea kettle on the stove. It's late, but I am in a thoughtful mood.

Driving home this afternoon from Deanna's, I thought more about what freedom means to me and what it looks like in my life. Years ago, when I first started spiritual direction, I had a belief that I was walking the narrow path and that if I moved away from it, I would break my relationship with God and be punished. God was in the right and I would be in the wrong. In some ways, it was all very black and white to me. My terror in crossing God's limits was disabling to say the least. One session I remember in particular, I was really frustrated about life and I exclaimed, "I wish it was all just black and white!" Adria took a good look at me and responded, "Sarah! Look around you! The world is full of color!" I will never forget that because that is what freedom is to me.

Life, and our spiritual journey, is not a narrow path through the woods where we will get eaten up by the wolf if we leave. No, life is open countryside with no path whatsoever. We are free to explore to our heart's delight. When this idea was first beginning to dawn on me, it terrified me. I still held onto the idea of limits and the punishment of crossing them. I was scaring myself with the journey I was taking, it was far beyond anything I had been brought up with and I thought I had crossed into heresy long ago. At that point, Adria asked me how I thought it would make her feel if when her son was young, she had filled a room with wonderful toys but instead of exploring them, her son just huddled in the corner afraid to move. I realized that no matter where I went, God had me in His view. I couldn't explore anywhere where He wasn't already. And, if I did go too far, which I can't see happening, He would be there to bring me back. But that isn't a worry of mine in the least. I know God in the core of my being and I can't separate from that. The only way I could ever go too far would be to go out of His hand and since I've already experienced God holding onto me when I couldn't even hold onto myself let alone Him, there is no problem.

You see, I know I can explore to my heart's content for the only one who can tell me to stop, never will. I know my value is already intrinsically there, always has, it's been exploding like fireworks from inside me since before I was born so no judgement of anyone is going to take that away. I am free, truly free. I think that is what God wants to give all of us. Real freedom. As I said in part 1, freedom is not being afraid, it's exploring, loving without limits, taking care of myself without guilt, having boundaries, and being myself with no apologies. And I'm still working on all of this, but, wow! Freedom feels good! There is responsibility too, of course. Freedom to love is caring for myself and others, respecting myself and others. But since I already know who I am and am not afraid of losing that or caught up in the hopeless cycle of defining my worth by what I do, I am free to help others with what they need when I can give it. I love the idea that my life has benefited more people than just myself. If I cannot give it away, what has my life really been for? It's hard to explain but it's the one thing that when you truly have it, you just want to give it away! Life and love are like a spring, I give it away and it just keeps flowing into and out of me. That is freedom at work in a life. It's freedom worth fighting for, seeking out, taking the journey to find.

A life that is free can only be found by letting go of limits that don't exist, knowing God has a hold on you wherever you go, and when you've found your life and nourish that life inside you, start giving it away to those with whom God has gifted you. Freedom, in the end, is how you live the journey.

Thank you, Adria, for giving me that legacy.

365-09 #186 (Part 3 tomorrow.)

Let Freedom Ring: A Day to Remember Part 1

Happy 4th of July!

Yesterday was truly a day to remember. These last few days I have been a bit lethargic having a hard time getting things done, feeling unmotivated. I blame it on the heat. But yesterday morning, I woke up, found my way to the computer and added captions to all the photos from our On Tap show at the World Beat Festival. I posted a few on here, but if you want to see the other 35+, you can look here. An introduction will be added as soon as Stacey writes it.

After breakfast, (remember? Work some first, eat later?) I changed into painting clothes and headed to the theatre for a work party. The Comic Potential set is a work in progress and I enjoy throwing in a hand to build the set. As I was the only one with the paint brush and not scared of heights, I was the one nominated to be sent up the really high ladder to the set pieces at the top of the set. It was fun to talk with the director of the show as we painted and then to sing as I painted. Apparently, it wasn't as quietly singing as I thought I was. I love how they recycle set pieces from one show to another. It shows great management. When they were working on building this one, I caught sight of one of the pieces from Death of a Salesman so that's in their somewhere. It's fun to see how the sets come together.

Cheryl arrived while I was up the ladder and we spent the rest of the afternoon happily in an upper room on the set painting away. It made it so much fun painting with her, talking and getting to know one another. At first we were painting on opposite sides of the stage when she asked me what I wanted in a guy. Mind you, we were not alone so another man and woman heard the whole conversation as well. I know what I want, the deal-breakers if you will, and at one point, I think it was after "a sense of humor", the woman breaks in with, "You ask too much!" Now quite honestly folks, it is not too much. Isn't it better to know what you want and look for it then take anyone that comes along? Cheryl thought so too.

After leaving the theatre, I hurried home, packed an overnight bag, and headed up to Ridgefield, Washington, to spend July 4th with Deanna. As planned, we drove her car to the Delta Park park and ride to take the Max into Portland as parking would be horrifically hard to find. We got off in China Town and walked along the Riverfront with an excursion to a pub for a beer while we waited for the fireworks to start. The fireworks were really pretty. When I was growing up, we always visited the firework stands and lit off fireworks at home but what I really like are the big ones shot into the sky. We found our way to the amphitheater and watched them from there, packed in a crowd of people.

As we had been walking around, we had noticed a lot of different cultures represented and all different races. I thought about that as I stood in a park of wall to wall people. We were all so different yet as Americans, we were together in unity watching the bombs go off in the sky. What drew us there together? What is so attractive to all of us that we unite for one night? Those bombs were originally lit off in a fight for freedom, a fight to live as a free people. I wonder if we still fight for that freedom, if freedom is something we still seek out. I'm not talking about political or bodily freedom, but the freedom inside. For nearly a year, I have been thinking a lot about what freedom means and what a free life looks like. Freedom is making your own decisions apart from what the culture and media says. Freedom is even going past the religious rules and listening directly to God. Freedom is realizing the world is full of color and we are free to explore. Freedom is not being afraid. How many of us live in chains but don't know it? How many of us carry guilt and shame when we could be free? To some extent or another, the answer is all of us. But we can all be free, we can fight for it, we can break the chains. In America we celebrate our political and bodily freedom on Independence Day, or "Stick it to the British" as Deanna calls it. (We both love you British.) But we are still not free. Emotionally, spiritually, we still pay unfair taxes on our souls. Our forebears saw freedom and knew they wanted it. I have felt freedom and it has grown inside me and let me tell you folks, from what I've tasted so far, I know without a doubt, freedom is worth fighting for.

This video is out of focus at times, but it's the last part of the fireworks I saw last night and really cool.


365-09 #185