Commit

"The difference between involvement and commitment is like ham and eggs. The chicken is involved; the pig is committed." Martina Navratilova

This Sunday I'll be doing what I call a sermon (preacher's kid) on commitment at the UU Fellowship in Fayetteville, AR. Of all the churches I've attended in my life, I have to say that the Unitarian Universalists have treated me and mine the best. They are a welcoming congregation in every sense of the word--and they let me preach, too! I love standing behind a pulpit, looking out and loving the faces I see, "delivering" my sermon.

When I told my friends I would be speaking on commitment this Sunday, they were surprised. They have heard me speak on love, peace, community, gay rights. They've listened to a lot of my poems and basically heard my life story in verse. But they are curious about this commitment thing. Why now? What inspired this topic? I seem like a committed person to them, perhaps in more ways than one!

Part of the reason for my topic is that I equate commitment with love. We have to love something or someone a lot to be committed to it in a world where we can just move onto the next thing at the drop of a hat. We must be committed to creativity if we choose to write, paint, throw pots, or make music rather than be workaholics, zone out on TV, Face Book, or movies and video games. It's so much easier to admire, even buy, someone else's work than to make our own.

A wise woman once told me that a major component of commitment is simply showing up. We must be at our desks, our wheel, our easel, our bass guitar when we say we will in order for the Muse to know where to find us. The same is true of love. Even when the going gets tough, when we are out of sorts, or fear we are falling apart, sometimes the best we can do is to show up; and to keep showing up. So far, this bit of wisdom hasn't failed me. Believe me, I use it a lot.

My most recent proof of the power of commitment came through my daily journal (this is showing up). Now, I have been commited to the act of writing for many, many years. My filing cabinets are stuffed full of the proof of that commitment--poetry, short stories, a novel, essays, letters, memoir, songs, screenplays--you name the genre and you will find evidence of it in my drawers. (You know what I mean.)

However, I have not been as committed to getting my work out there as I have been to doing it. I have stretched myself thin trying to write, do yardwork, clean house, paint, sell books, cook and care for my family, including every bird on my 3 acre farmlette. They must have clean water and full feeders every day or they will fly away and I will never see them again. Ah, this is such an obvious metaphor for my fears that there is no need to say more.

Finally, months after a therapist told me as I complained yet again that I felt like a maid to "Get that image out of my mind and quit claiming that as who you are," I began to take her advice to heart. I am not a fast learner and have to take all advice into consideration before I act. It's my paranoid nature. Besides I'd been acting as if everything took precedence over my writing for a really long time.

Let me make it clear this is in no way the fault of my partner or anyone else. I was a compulsive cleaner before she ever came into my life. Besides, she had been telling me the same thing for ages, but you know how it is when it comes to attending to the advice of someone you love. For some reason, a complete stranger has more sway than the person who has lived with us for the past 11 years. Go figure.

So one morning I'm writing in my journal and I guess I had reached the end of my metaphorical rope. I just started writing: "I am not a housecleaner; I am not a yard man; I am not an entrepreneur; I am not a house painter or Mr. Fix It. I am a WRITER. I wrote this repeatedly. I am a WRITER and what I do is WRITE. And I will do WHATEVER IT TAKES to make this work for me in my life." Some of you who have attended AA like myself will recognize the "whatever it takes" line. It is an absolutely necessary promise. I wrote that entry in early June.

Now it is nearing the end of July. During that time I have received two new sources of income, enabling to me to contribute to my household budget and also to hire a little help with the things I find difficult to do now. I have enough to travel a bit, take some writing workshops, go on a solitary retreat now and again. I can concentrate on my writing and getting my work out into the world. I can write more blog entries.

A publisher showed up in my life and said "Sure, I'd love to do a book of your poems." So I'm pulling the poems together and sometime in September my first "real" book of poetry will be in print. I heard from a woman in the "Biz" and got some very good advice about my screenplay. The house isn't as clean. The yard needs mowing. The birds and and Leigh and I are fed, though. And the garden, weedy in places, continues to grow. We are all together and no one has left; not even the first wiener dog. In fact, I don't believe I've heard a single complaint. Only, "Go, Mendy, go!"

I had been slowly chipping away at my dream. My intentions were good. I had been writing for years. Yet, it was my courage and commitment to claim the WRITER I am; for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health that helped me make the final turn. And quite suddenly, within six weeks time, all these things began to fall into place. And I swear, laugh at me if you will, I feel for the first time beloved by God, or the Great Creator, or whatever you call your Higher Power. That is the truest blessing of claiming my commitment.

I wanted to tell you about it because I don't want you to waste any more time. Who are you in relationship to what you love, your dreams? It is a marriage; no less than the one you have to your life partner. It is a vow taken to create your own happiness, your sense of fulfillment, your absolute joy in being here, now. It is a right relationship to the Creator who endowed you with certain gifts. Waste no more time. Who are you? To what are you committed? Say it out loud. Write it down. Do it now. Change is waiting for you to make the first move.

Art and Fear

It's the Sunday morning before HOWL, my monthly open mic poetry reading celebrating women's voices in Fayetteville. I should be preparing for that event, finishing up poems and cleaning up an essay I'm reading in concert with 4 other women from my writing group, Hen's Teeth. Instead, I'm writing a blog post which is long overdue, but probably could have waited until tomorrow. Still, when the spirit moves you, move!

I have borrowed the title of a book I highly recommend, Art and Fear, as the title of my blog post today. It's a phrase that any artist, new or old, highly acclaimed or just starting out, can identify with. (I realize that sentence ends in a preposition but I must continue.) This is the sort of thing I'm talking about. (See, did it again) Sometimes we must move past our fear of writing according to grammatical rules and simply write what needs, what is driving us, to be written.

The book, Art & Fear: Observations On The Perils (and Rewards) of ARTMAKING by David Bayles & Ted Orland is a remarkable book; really, a necessary book for all those who create art of any kind. Making art is scary--of that there can be no doubt. Even an old-timer like myself, writing and encouraging writers for years now, gets shaky when something new is on the horizon. Bayles and Orland say that uncertainty is as much a part of the creative process as imagination. They call uncertainty a virtue, in fact. "Uncertainty is the essential, inevitable, and all-pervasive companion to your desire to make art. And tolerance for uncertainty is the prerequisite to succeeding." (p.21)

Why am I dealing with this now? Sure, I've encountered my share of uncertainty all along this journey through writing and reading my work. But in 18 years, I've never published a book of my own. Chapbooks, sure. And 3 CD's. I've had my work published in other magazines and books. But I have never had a fine-bound book of my very own. I've always worried that my poetry was meant for the stage instead of the page. People needed to hear it to appreciate it. Whether this is true or not, I never gave them the chance to buy a copy of my poems and read them alone in the privacy of their own homes.

Now, all that is changing. I have had an offer to publish a book of my "hit singles" from the past. Most of these poems were written quite awhile ago, when the dam first burst, and poems came pouring out of me with enough force to create electricity for hundreds of homes. I've read them, truthfully, all over the country and even in South Africa. They have been heard on CD in places like Iraq and Afghanistan. But nothing has ever frightened me more than putting together this book of my bard-like poems. How can I stand beside published, acclaimed, academic poets and assert with confidence that my work is just as important, no matter how different, as their work is?

Really, I am scared shitless. I am completely uncertain about how my work will be received in this new format, much less accepted. Who will want to buy or read my book when they have all these highly recommended prize-winning poets to choose from? (Darn those prepositions.)

So I am trying to develop my "tolerance for uncertainty." I've done well, so far. I was able, even when just beginning to write, to stand before a group of people and read and perform my work. But I come from a family of preachers and my courage and confidence before an audience seemed inherited. My hands didn't shake for long before I was enjoying the limelight like the ham I am. (Apologies to Dr. Seuss.)

But a book; a book where folks could sit down and read and criticize my work carefully. I mean, appreciate my work. Yes, appreciate every word and nuance; each image and metaphor, repeatedly if they like. This is the way I must look at the outcome. The way I will look at it as I pull these poems together, edit, and hand them to my publisher. And, of course, continue reading Art and Fear on a daily basis.

You'll be hearing more about my forthcoming book, expected "out" in September. I will give you the title now so you'll know where to look: It will be called "A Little Lazarus" from one of my partner's and my publisher's favorite poems. The rest is still a mystery, even to me. So you'll have to wait, breathlessly I'm sure, for the outcome.

Your uncertain, but determined author,
Mendy

Link to find out more about the book "Art & Fear," and/or to order from an indie bookstore.