Singing and writing together

Taking a moment to write about a nonfiction book because I want to apply some of the lessons from my singing to my writing.

First. I've been doing daily vocal warmups and a bit of time practicing songs for... has it been three years now? At least two; and I've had a minimum of two breakthroughs with my voice: volume (the lid is off) and ease -- effortless extension of my range in both directions by several notes. I'll never be a solo concert singer, but ... well, I can relax and actually open my jaw now; I've got at least an extra half-inch gap between my teeth when I sing, though it *feels* like two inches (LOL), and what sounds to ME like a room's worth of volume. M. can hear me singing clearly through two closed doors while the shower is running. People can hear me when I speak in crowded places because I can support my voice now.

All that from weekly half-hour lessons and 15 minutes a day.

What kind of breakthrough could I have in my writing from applying the same approach? I've long tried the 15-minute practices Eric Witchey recommends, but getting myself to commit to that disciplined practice *daily,* with regular check-ins has been ... problematic. And such improvements in writing are harder to quantify, although "I'm not making the same mistakes in my short stories" would be a great first step.

Singing is easy because I can do my daily 15 minutes while in the shower, and my weekly lesson is scheduled. Perhaps if I link my writing sessions to my second cup of coffee (or to *earn* my second cup of coffee)... I shall try this beginning Monday. And I could take a half-hour on Wednesdays to think and read about craft.

At any rate. I just finished reading The Performer's Companion (subtitle: A Guide to Conquering Performance Anxiety). I'm reading it for my voice instructor, who got four books on performance in at the same time.

 Like Performance Power for Singers, which I read two years ago, I felt very much that I was brushing against concepts I'd read about many times before, or touched on in different ways: meditation, relaxation, visualization for success: discipline (although in this version, I'd say that last word came up the least; she emphasizes play rather than discipline, but to the same end). She also incorporates the Alexander Technique, which I'll shorthand as body awareness and good balance as contrasted to "good posture."

Author Sharon Stohrer spends some time reassuring the reader that performance anxiety is normal, and a certain amount of tension is essential to a good performance. Then she spends chapters on mental preparation, intentional rehearsal, performance prep, physical prep, nurturing your inner artist, tips for backstage and getting in the performance mindset, the value of investing in oneself (including the value of music to society) and a bit about the Alexander Technique.

She has checklists of suggestions in almost every chapter and strongly encourages the reader to try some or all, and to track what does or does not work in a journal, so one learns what works for oneself, because everyone's needs are different. She does make it clear that all of this is work, or at least an investment of time, and that it is a worthwhile investment one should take seriously -- and that it is of serious value to re-instill a certain amount of play into one's discipline.

And she makes the point that if you try all she suggests and nothing works, therapy is a valid and excellent next step. She or other singers have tried the things she suggests, and she uses many of them, and she still needed therapy, worked out her issues and was able to return to the stage. That in itself is a supportive and honest message I appreciate. All that practical, experiential background gives this book, which spends a certain amount of time on the emotional/performance balancing act and her own professional experience, a heft it might not otherwise have. Stohrer is helping her readers overcome anxiety and stage fright, so her focus on such emotional support is entirely appropriate.

 Other than a sample log, it lacks worksheets, although it is rich in suggested practices and exercises. It has a reasonable resource section. It does not push the Alexander Technique (the author is a practitioner), and does not get into that until the last chapter.

I have difficulty not comparing TPC to PPforS; the latter I remember as feeling slightly disjointed, and written as if the authors thought students would be encountering these skills (meditation, visualization) for the first time in their lives, but also broad and rich in ideas. It also felt... dated, somehow. Stohrer's book, with its references to 9-11 and  might feel the same away in another decade.

2017 in review

Did my year-in-review tracking today, with an eye to 2018 improvements. That was a full-day time suck, but it's a useful exercise. Horrifying in some ways, but ... the problem with going in 15 directions at the same time is you don't make much linear progress on any one project. You make a little bit of progress in a lot of directions. I'm adjusting to that being my style, although I am also learning that I can focus on one thing for a day/week/month at a time and actually COMPLETE something. Like this little review, which realistically took me six hours in part because I fell apart in tracking several times during the year.

From Jan. 1 through winter solstice

Classes: 

       Afrofuturism with Tananarive Due and Steven Barnes. 

       Eric Witchey's Fiction Fluency (long form), 

       Short Story SF Weekend with Nina Kiriki Hoffman at Blue River.

OTHER social/professional stuff

     MV writing retreat. 

     Regular Wordos (put four? stories on table), crit group and Scriptwriters' meetings.

     Wrote with Nina, Erin, Alexis and others both virtually and in person frequently; Accountability txts with Erin

READ MORE BOOKS THAN LAST YEAR

     23 novels/novellas (two manuscripts), four anthologies and one nonfiction 

       (Started but failed to track short stories read; would like to do that better next year)

Finished rewrite of one novel in October (first pass)

     Read it aloud in Nov/Dec and came up with a list of last revision passes for issues identified, including dialogue and world-building. (Tracked 358 revision hours for 2017, including ss revisions)

Wrote a novella draft (36K) during NanoWrimo.

Total new words in 2017: 90K; roughly 1.5k a week.

     Submitted for publication six times.

     25 skill building sessions, 108 critiques of other's work (flash, ss and two novels).

Total of 715 writing related hours in 2017 

      (does not include reading, but a place to improve; that's a mere 14 hours a week in 50 weeks. I'd love to blame that on bad tracking but I don't think I can. It's probably a good thing I can't track how many hours I spend on FB, Twitter and PvZ. I might ought to try).

NON-WRITING STUFF, summary

Took myself off antidepressants when they stopped working.

       Avoided any major crashes (pulled myself out of a few minor ones)

Meditated semi-regularly 

     (average of once a week; could be better). 

Walked and worked out some. 

     (I need to up the frequency of workouts and walking mileage next year for my mental and physical health)

Started physical therapy that has really helped my shoulder, back and elbow.

Worked on learning French (and started an attempt at Japanese)

Learned 20-ish new songs between choir and personal work; regular vocal practice.

      Improved my range, volume and clarity. 

Political work: several protests, vigils, many letters, emails and calls to legislators; donations. 

     About 31 (tracked) political acts. (more in 2018). Crocheted about a dozen hats. 

Two large-ish house maintenance projects completed.

Did fun and supportive stuff for friends and took some time for self at coast and in E.O.

     (more forest time next year please)

ECLIPSE!!!!

PARIS!!!!! and Iceland!

Back to meditation

Once I start meditating again, I'm always stunned that I resisted for so long. 

It opens up a quiet space in my head and lets me stay there, when chaos and overwhelm threaten. That's so damn useful. 

First I fall out of the habit: no time. Any of dozens of excuses, until it's been a few weeks. Then I find myself actively avoiding meditation, convinced I'm hiding from something horrible; my body and brain are going to tell me I need to turn my life upside down. Or that I'll be embarrassed for being deliberately blind to something obvious.

And sometimes I'll discover the latter, but, yannow, it's all part of ME. Meditation doesn't demand action. It just lets me hold knowledge in a quiet place so I can decide what to do about it instead of being bullied by self-recrimination, buffeted by indecision and self-loathing and the sense that the world is blowing up in my face and I don't know what to do about it.

Meditating doesn't tell me what to do, but it does help me step away from the rather useless "vibrating in place until I melt down" reaction. It would be useful to remember that.

Musings on Paris and Place

We've been back from Paris and Iceland for almost two weeks now, and I still haven't processed the experience.

We crammed in three days at the Louvre, one at L'Armée Musée, one at the Palace and gardens of Versailles, one at the Rodin Museum, a half day in the Jardin de Luxembourg and of course visited the Cathédrale de Notre-Dame, the top of the L'Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. Shopped. (AND I read three novels and started on a non-fiction book. Need to post separately about those; they were all excellent).

And ate.
And walked, and drank. Took too many photos. And I looked at things, looked and watched and listened.

Then culture shock! We stayed in Reykjavik for two nights on the way back. On our full day in Iceland we visited the black sands beach, the remains of the glacier on the volcano that stopped European air traffic a few years ago, and nearly a dozen magnificent waterfalls.

And ate. I'm gonna have to do a separate post on food.

My brain's too full. I want some conclusions from the trip, something more valuable to me than just rest and relaxation, and I'm not coming up with much. An attempt:

   -- my parents picked up a lot more from their service in Paris than I knew. I know very little of their lives in France. I saw some of Dad's gestures and expressions in the faces and bodies of older Parisian men. That was comforting and disconcerting. Paris was reflected in some of Mom's cooking, but I already knew that. She always told me she'd truly learned to walk in high heels in Paris, because of the cobblestoned streets; walking on them made that far more real and more astounding.

   -- the constant reminders of WWII surprised me and touched me in a way I hadn't expected. The plaques honoring those students and residents who died defending Paris as the Allies fought their way in had all been decorated with flowers. Oh the feels. I finally lost it in the army museum. I'd watched a video that included a clip of boys moving sandbags and a woman in her work dress and flats shoveling to help build up defenses that day -- and then I stepped into the Holocaust room.  It's small and concise and given the direction the current U.S. "administration" is headed, all too relevant. Do you know how *many* camps there were?

  -- Paris is very much an international city, but I'm not sure I'd call it a melting pot city. (caveat: we barely left the central core of Paris). I saw a lot of Hindus, Black people from various walks of life (as well as both residents and immigrants), people who I think were Indian, and some Pakistanis. Most of the darker-skinned people I saw were in blue-color jobs, service jobs, or what I call desperation-sales jobs; standing outside museums and tourist areas hawking trinkets no one buys. The sanitation workers were black; their supervisor, white. The maids were white and black, the office staff white. The Louvre had staff of color in more "white-collar" positions than I saw anywhere else.  There was a trio of black women who worked together at the Louvre; one had shin-length pink dreads, another a massive "do" of white dreads and the third with a different, though not quite as eye-catching style; if I remember right it wasn't dyed.  I wondered if the vivid hairstyles were a "if you can't be bothered to tell us apart can you at least distinguish pink from white from black?" statement; they didn't look anything alike but ... listening to the black women in my own community, that doesn't matter. I can't say I saw many Asian-descent residents, but I'll admit I was focused more on black faces. I saw a ton of tourists from China, Korea, Japan, likely other places, both in the Louvre and at Versailles, especially.  The trip to New Zealand and this trip convinced me I have a lot of work to do on my language and facial recognition with asian cultures.

   -- Tried to speak French, but nearly everyone replied in better English. I finally continued speaking my crappy French because it was the only way it was going to get any better. Mixed success there. It was frustrating because we were there as Macron was taking power, and I wanted to hear what the average Parisian worker thought about all that, and despite some great eavesdropping opportunities, I got nothin'. This is what resisting making mistakes in front of actual humans gets you; I was unwilling to humiliate myself in the States taking lessons when I could learn from an app. So I didn't get everything out of the experience I wanted, and my French is reading-only. That's useful; I could read museum labels. But not nearly as good as it could have been. An excellent reminder that I need to Go For It and Risk My Ego more in order to make long-term progress.  

 -- I should tease apart some of my feels about the "world culture tour" that was the Louvre visits. I need to go back through the photos I took a second time.

-- Also tried to pay attention to fashion, because it was Mom's passion, and ... Paris! ... but the deluge of tourists, residents and changing seasons meant that I saw everything from shoulderless wedding dresses to miniskirts to nearly full hijab to heels and T-shirts and jeans to running suits to skirts and blouses. The subtleties that might be "this year's fashion" passed me by in all that. There was a particular length and weight of scarf it was hip to have, was in several suit-shop windows. Men's suits were more tailored, and if I'd been interested enough I could have figured out what was different about them, I suppose... but women's clothing was too varied; too much to sort through for my overloaded orbs. Although I did take a picture of a heavy navy iris-print women's suit with capri-length pants and equally tight and short sleeves. The fabric was amazing. The suit ... was fashionable, I guess. It's a look I hope does not catch on.

  -- As much as I enjoyed Paris, and I want to go back, I didn't relax until the trip's eleventh day, when we were on top of the Arc. I felt at home, finally, or like I'd crossed off the last "biggie" on my list, or maybe I was just lightheaded from the exertion and glad I could finally admit I had some version of walking pneumonia. (oh, yeah. Six to nine miles a day and coughing myself awake all night). In Iceland I was at home almost immediately. M. told our guide, who was nervous about me being so close to the glacier, that I was pagan and water was my element, or something to that effect, and it's true that the water and the land felt real to me. I kept thanking spirits/the land/the water/the volcanoes for our safe passage, but I wasn't worried about our safety, it just felt like the right thing to do, to be grateful and honor the land. The only place I felt that way in France was at the Crypte Archéologique, where we went under the streets near Notre Dame, and in a few places in the Louvre. Actually, there was a  park near the river on the island that Notre-Dame stands on that felt... old, in the same way that Iceland feels new and alive. If that make any sense at all.

 -- It has been hard getting my head back into work here at home, both the novel and the short stories. Part of it is that I feel insignificant after all that pummeling by world culture and world issues. But  I also have been feeling overwhelmed by the experience and needing to put it in some context, to actually think about it and appreciate it, before I can move on. Hopefully this musing helps that somewhat.

Baseball bats are not my friends; why am I itching to use one?

Hm. Two deadlines whooshing past. Might be time to regroup.

Am stuck on scene/chapter 7 of the current revision. There are some big decisions I haven't made about characters and I'm not exactly sure where to proceed. Proceeding with a big flag that says "come back and fix this later" might get me through it.

Didn't write a blog post in March. A lot of things I didn't do in March, a lot of other things I did without planning for them.

Self-hate is on a back burner, but self-dislike is building. Anxious and angry, like I'm in a perma-triggered state with very little focus capability. Keep telling myself that is not healthy and keep reading the news anyway. Wishing I still had a pell in my backyard I could mushroom a stick on. *sigh*

Am I doing too much and not giving myself enough refueling time?

I am:
revising a novel, taking an online writing class with homework and an upcoming weekend writing workshop, trying to sell some short stories, taking part in two critique groups and a monthly scriptwriter's gathering; trying to do weekly political actions (calling representatives, writing and sending postcards, writing letters to the editor, donating money); learning french for an upcoming trip; taking voice lessons, singing in a choir (recital and concert both this month); trying to get off antidepressants (which involves daily meditation, exercise and healthy eating to avoid ... bad things); maintaining my basic household chores and little else (grocery shopping, keeping the cats fed, cooking at least four dinners a week, unloading the dishwasher, cleaning litter boxes and doing my own laundry, mostly. House is not really getting cleaned.); hobbies such as crocheting, small games like luminosity and PvZ and solitaire. I'm reading two SF novels and trying to keep up with my mag subscription short story reading.  I track what I do every day because otherwise I'd forget I'd done anything at all. I try to spend time with friends once or twice a week.

I've also been spending a lot of time keeping up on FB and Twitter, which frankly have been eating as much time as some of the above.

I have not been out in the woods in ages. (It's been winter, but still). The few walks I've been able to take in nature-esque settings have been heavenly. I can't remember the last time I was in a museum. The last art show I went to, a gallery showing of a friend's work, was last year and I still haven't hung the piece I bought.

I have to learn about the happy world of VPNs because of the f*g money-grubbing for-sale legislators in Washington. Probably should have done all that five years ago, but... *sigh*

Jesus, this sounds like first-world whining in paradise.

Keep making minor epiphanies in meditation and losing them. Life is perfectly fine right now. I have a roof over my head, enough to eat, a stable financial situation, good friends and a civil relationship. It's spring and everywhere I look I see bright colors (and just today I've seen everything from power-outage-level winds and hail to gorgeous sunshine).

I just feel like there's a critter inside me scrabbling to get out and ... *partner interrupts, takes me to dinner, we have a nice long conversation* ... it must have been a hungry little asshat, because it is much calmer now. Still there, but but not as desperate. Weird.

Early 2017 lessons

A few things I've (re)learned since the last blog post.

Anxious, nervous energy is really good for exercise. Put another way, exercise is good for working out anxieties and nervous tension.

Making big decisions and acting on them takes a huge weight off and allows creative energy to flow.

Unusual and untried foods make bad rewards because if you're disappointed or don't like it, you feel like you've wasted a reward. New things should be tried for their own sake. Just for, yannow, variety. It's a thing you could try.

Epically bad shit is happening to someone, somewhere, ALL THE TIME. It doesn't stop because I stop paying attention and it doesn't stop because I do pay attention. Taking a break from the deluge of bad news in order to maintain my sanity does not add to or lessen anyone's pain. It's a necessary and essential piece of maintaining one's ability to respond to outrage. For all I know sixteen more effective workers step up when I step aside for a bit. I just can't allow the rest to turn into paralysis or ostrich mode.

Rage is really unhealthy and hard on the body.

Some things cannot be reversed. Oil spills will desecrate water and land for my lifetime and the lifetime of those who rely on those resources for body, mind and soul.

I am not an effective advocate in fights where I feel we've already lost.

There are things I can do.

Given enough time water wears away rock.

I need to read more. Reading really helps clear my mind, takes me into others' imaginations and helps me find insights I would not have otherwise seen.

Working the balance

 Saturday I went to the women's march in Portland. Sunday night I settled in to read a chapter or two of a book I'd started and finished it at 5 a.m. Got up at 9:30 rested and satisfied.

Those two acts are related.

I got drunk Saturday night -- not on purpose, but because I hadn't eaten much all day and had wine when I got home. It felt like a good celebration for accomplishing something I felt I ought to do with all the mixed feelings it engendered. 

There was disquiet: I wanted to share in the emotional excitement that many of my fellow protestors had, an "old home week" sense that "Yay! We're pulling together to fight again!" I do not begrudge people obtaining the positive emotions they need to stay active. 

But it felt almost indecent to me, given the stakes. 

I didn't see that happiness in any of the faces of the women of color I saw. With some exceptions, they all looked grim, determined and tired. That disparity jarred me. They have so much, much, much more to lose than I do. 

I took a vacation from political work (which involved many acts and songs borrowed from the civil rights movement) after the anti-gay activists were defeated in Oregon. Very few women of color felt they had that option; they have been busy protesting police violence and other nearly-as-lethal forms of discrimination without such a break. 

So I also felt guilt mixed with a determination not to let other women down: an echo of the sense I didn't do enough during the election, including dealing with the racism among fellow white women; and a reaction to the "where the hell have you all been" and "I hope to hell you all show up again" feeling I got from some other protestors. (I know some white women have been involved all along. I haven't been).

There was exhaustion: I juggling those emotions on very little food in the cold, and more wearingly I spent a full day surrounded by other people. (Had I been carrying a sign, one side should have read "So bad even the introverts are here.") 

Finishing Ms. Cherryh's book early Monday morning left my brain with a very settled, satisfied feeling. Everything was in order, the plot points and all its characters were accounted for, and the bad guys had gotten their comeuppance -- all in a way that allowed for future novels. It was *complete.* A good novel is a very satisfying thing. My brain felt like it had had a delightful meal complete with dessert. 

Very little is settled or satisfying in my life right now. Political action can bring a certain satisfaction, but it also carries vulnerability with an backwash of futility and despair. I have to manage that, deal with it so I can continue to act. 

Writing feels almost exactly the same way. I'm writing better than ever, when I allow myself the focus and the time. But there's also a sense of futility: I'm aging faster than I'm completing anything and who knows if I'll ever publish? (And how can I if I don't finish and submit?)

Political action feels like an endless long-term project in which I can easily make mistakes I can't fix, AND I can never see how much headway I'm making.

Reading and cooking give me a sense of completion that is short-term and stabilizing. 

Crafts and hobbies bridge the two: most are longer-term projects that result in a concrete end product I can hold and enjoy, or at least a finish line such as a concert (ready or not). In the choir I sing with, we aim for 80 percent or better as individuals. At that level we can carry each other to a beautiful and moving performance. A too-narrow focus on perfection can actually detract from performance.

In my writing craft, much of my struggle with lack of completion is the sense that what I currently have isn't good enough. If I want a sense of stability and accomplishment around my writing I need to give up the sense that it needs to be perfect before I send it into the world.

And I need to maintain a balance in my life in other areas so I can continue to act politically, consistently and over the long haul. 

I need to fix the holes in MY work so I can do THE work.