Off with the (yoga) fairies

So here’s the deal: I’m pretty immersed in the world that is yoga philosophy at the moment. It’s absolutely fascinating, if only because many of the teachings show that humans have been asking the same questions about the origin and meaning of existence forever. And they come up with fairly similar answers…

But my point is, I’m sorry, because it means I’ve neglected this space (not to mention a number of other projects). The training is coming to an end soon though, and I’m hoping this means I’ll get at least some of my brain back to talk and think about writing (amazingly, I’ve managed to get words onto paper, even if I haven’t been happy with them). I’m not sure where I’ll end up, physically or mentally, at the end of it all, once I’ve worked out how to integrate what I’m learning into my life. I may stay in Sydney, I may move back to Melbourne, I may go off travelling. For now though, I’m happy not knowing where I’m going. Which is a BIG change for me.

That said, I do have some plans forming. My big idea is one of them, I have another project on the go that I’m really excited about and will write more about here when I can, and I’ve got a few more hanging about in the wings.

In the meantime, my curiosity has finally got the better of me, and I’ve downloaded the Hipstamstic App for my phone. These are some shots I took in Newcastle while I was up there at the beginning of the week. Cool, huh?

A big idea…

… I’ve got one.

It’s funny, I haven’t spent much time over the last few weeks thinking about my writing — except briefly to bemoan my lack of it. I’ve been away, this last week, on a yoga teachers’ retreat, which sounds lovely and relaxing, doesn’t it? Well, it was lovely, but not so much relaxing. It was hard work, physically, mentally and emotionally. As is often the case though, with hard work came reward.

When I got back on Friday I felt spaced-out. It was surreal being back in my own life after four intense days of perception-shifting. It’s taken me a couple of days to settle in again. But just at the end of that head-in-the-clouds feeling came something of an epiphany. I’m working on an essay about food at the moment, and have been freaking out about how to narrow down what my research is discovering to a few thousand words. I suddenly realised last night that I didn’t have to. I could still write the essay, but then continue on, and turn this into a bigger project as well.

It probably comes as no surprise to people who’ve spent time with me that I might end up writing extensively about food. I love the stuff. I have a ridiculously fast metabolism, related to my thyroid condition that I’ve mentioned here before, and it means I’m constantly thinking about food and how I might better consume it so that I remain full for longer (and continue to enjoy it!).

Of course, it didn’t take long for the doubt to creep in. Who am I to try to write a book like the one I want to about food (more details as I work them out myself, I promise)? Surely there are already too many books about food on the market?

Valid questions, sure. But I want to write it, so I should just do it, and think about that stuff later.

So. It’s likely that there’ll be more food posts around these parts from here on in. Yum.

A Kick in the Pants

I feel like I need one, where my writing’s concerned. I mean, to be fair, I am involved in an incredibly intense yoga teacher training programme, which is gobbling up most of my brain space and generally proving to be wonderful. But still. I miss writing.

The programme for the Sydney Writers’ Festival came out over the weekend (and will be available in print in the Sydney Morning Herald on Saturday 17 April). I’m planning on going along, even if it’s only to the free events. And I’m really hoping that it will give me that little bit of a kick to get me writing properly again.

Fingers crossed eh?

Easter

Would you believe I forgot to take anything to write on while I was away? I hate packing and always leave it to the last minute, which nearly always ends in me forgetting something I really ought to have brought. At least I remembered underwear, I suppose.

And, continuing with the positive thinking, at least the little break from writing has me pretty keen to crack the lid off a pen when I get home. I’ve even found the motivation to bring out an old story again…

Happy Easter, whatever you’re doing (hopefully eating lots of chocolate).

Time management and creativity

I’m a bit all over the place at the moment. My brain has to spend time in so many different spaces; it’s starting to feel as though I can’t give any of them enough attention.

I missed the Monday Project deadline this month; I’ve not yet started studying for a Sanskrit test I have at yoga school next week; I’ve got four books on the go, a couple for an essay I’m working on, the third for yoga study, the other for pleasure, and they’re all just inching forward; I’m writing like mad most days, but I don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere with it; I’m doing a yoga asana practice most days, but not quite making it to a class.

What I don’t understand is how, if I’m only working an odd day here and there at my old job, I’ve managed to get to the point where I feel so overworked. Actually, I lie, I know exactly how: I push myself to fit more and more in and don’t give myself enough of a break (or one at all). But I don’t understand why I don’t learn!

My guess is that it’s just a matter of time. I’ll work it out at some point, hopefully. I’m bad at being patient, worse at being patient with myself. Sigh.

Meanwhile, I’m off to the Blue Mountains for a couple of nights this weekend, to hang out with my family and some friends, eating food and (probably) drinking wine. And relaxing.

Hope you have a lovely weekend, whatever you’re doing.

Exercises

I thought I’d join Sam Cooney, and mention creative writing exercises again.

I get stuck when I’m writing fiction. I get stuck with non-fiction too, but it’s not quite the same — I can usually just write my way out of it. Fiction is a different story. This is a made up person, a made up world. Half the time I start writing and I don’t even know what’s going to happen, or who these characters are so if I get stuck I’ve got nothing in the real world to go to as a reference. With non-fiction there’s always another bit of research I can do.

And this is one of the most important things my short story writing subject taught me last year: even if you don’t know at the start who your characters are, by the end you should have a pretty good idea. ‘You’ being the writer, not necessarily the reader. I think the piece has probably failed if the reader still has no idea at the end of the story. I’m someone who writes first and foremost about characters, and I’m a firm believer in the writer knowing far more about the characters and the situation than whatever it is that even makes it into the story. A writer who doesn’t write about characters, specifically, might have something else to say about this process, I guess.

But I think about my characters a lot. At the moment I have a set of about seven or eight characters that I write about continually. There are about four story lines happening there, none of them related. Ron and Audrey, for example, are an elderly couple I write about constantly. I leave them alone for a little while occasionally, but I usually end up coming back to them.

At the moment my notebook is full of entries that have me directly addressing Ron, asking him questions, telling him the answers (“Ron. You like to wear brown pants. What shirt do you wear with the pants? I think you’d wear a blue shirt”). It’s riveting stuff. Not.

But I think it’s important because when I sit down to write the actual story, everything I’ve already written about or to Ron will inform what comes out on the page.

A few tricks I’ve picked up here and there, from class and elsewhere are what get me through those times when I just feel stuck with fiction (writing to Ron seems to be a combination of all of these things).

The first is to take my character to a supermarket, which I’ve mentioned before. The choices a person makes in a supermarket are fascinating. Of course, this can be difficult if your character is someone from the 1800s. But I’m sure there’s a way to modify the exercise to take that into account. I can’t say I’ve had that problem yet, but I’ll be sure to write about it here if I do!

The second is to write letters to the character, and then write their responses back. Or to have one character write a letter to another character. Even if the letter-writing doesn’t form an important part of whatever you end up writing as the main narrative, I think it’s a useful exercise to see how characters interact with one another, and react to each other.

The third is to describe the space the character lives in, or to describe them in a place that they’re unfamiliar with. Both end up telling me a lot about the character.

Of course, if you don’t have a character to work with, all of the examples above are pretty much useless. But Sam’s got some good ideas about how to find characters. The only thing I’d add to what he’s already said is to write down any idea you ever have for a character. A friend of mine watched me do this the other day and suggested that I write my ideas in red pen, rather than black, so I can actually find them among the pages of black scrawl when I go looking again. Good suggestion, I think.

Paradise Updated: a literary event

Hurrah! A literary event in Sydney! Elena from With Extra Pulp let me know about this one last night, so I went along and got to meet her as well. We talked about writing, drinking wine and getting distracted by graphic novels. Lovely!

Mic Looby (who I know better from his Big Issue column) was talking about his book, Paradise Updated, with Ben Groundwater. We were treated to a reading from the book, describing one of the older, jaded travel writers; and the conversation largely focussed on what a terrible job being a travel writer really is. I’ve been as guilty as anyone, assuming that travel writing would be a great, glamorous job. When it’s explained more fully (think covering an entire country on a two month deadline) it doesn’t sound quite so fun.

Elena, having read the book (and reviewed it, in fact), has a slightly more informed and amusing review of the night up here. Hopefully there’ll be some more events like this one for us to go to soon!

Going off on a bit of a tangent for a moment, the venue where last night’s event was held also happens to house my preferred cafe to write in, so I was there this afternoon making notes and scrawling down outlines. I have high hopes for this place: a jazz quintet set up and played a set or two while I was there, and the beginnings of some kind of art exhibition became apparent as I left and tables full of wine bottles were set up. I’ll have to keep a close eye on this place.

I recorded a small snippet of what I heard at Da Caff (as I’m now calling it) to share here. Unfortunately I’ve got no idea how to convert it to the kind of file I can actually upload… so for now it’s sitting on my desktop. Any help in that regard would be greatly appreciated!

Eavesdropping

This afternoon I wandered up to my favourite writing cafe and sat myself down at their long wooden table with my notebook. I was fairly happily scribbling when a bunch of people sat down next to me (the table runs almost the full length of the cafe, so it’s a shared space). At first I was vaguely irritated, fearing distraction and interruption. But I needn’t have spent the energy being annoyed, because the group was some kind of creative writing course group, meeting up to talk and write.

So of course I eavesdropped. The teacher asked them to write a description of a character falling through the air without making reference to what they were falling from or where they were falling to. Five minutes, she gave them. Not pausing in my own writing I drew a line underneath my last sentence and wrote this:

FALLING THROUGH THE AIR: EAVESDROPPING ON A WRITING GROUP

The air is strangely like water: thick, moving around her body fluidly, letting her past. It is cold, the air, like the creek she swam in as a child, and she feels the pimples appear on her skin, running down her arms and legs as if spreading out from her navel. Her hair is all around her, her scalp has never been more alive. The rushing air cools it, the hair itself pulls at its roots, warming little pin pricks all over. She can feel the air under her fingernails and thinks, if she makes it out of this alive, she should cut them, they are too long.

Strangely she feels no fear, even though her heart pumps so hard she thinks it might break inside her body. Her limbs tremble with its beat and adrenaline turns her lips a bright, bright red.

The rushing air finds its way into her clothes, pushing them around and up behind her.

Funny how a chance encounter will get your pen moving. I wonder if they’ll be there tomorrow…