reframing

It helps me to watch some characteristic I want while I develop it through a character in one of my novels. I then let it evolve scene by scene. Optimism is something I've watched in one of my recent characters. Sort of a Pollyanna I guess, but not with the negative associations. I've always had a practical mind that searches for all the possible failures or bad outcomes as a way of preventing them before they happen. I think that was a young childhood survival mechanism in a troubled home.

Now as an adult, my characters come to me on the wind of the Muse, and teach me things that I need to learn to keep evolving in life. I am not good at a lot of things, and my characters in books often are good at one thing in particular that makes them stand out. When I watch them and record what they do, I feel like I grow a little bit.

I often feel that the stories in my head come to teach me life lessons, rather than stories that need me to somehow give them on to others. I think this is an important distinction as an evolving Fili, or Bard. In reframing the objective of my stories in this way, instead of obsessing over publishing them, I spend a lot of time writing for my health and for my loved ones. It's almost like watching TV at night except the broadcast comes out of my head. I am learning lessons this way, bit by bit, every night in front of the fire, with every page that unfolds and every story asking to be told.

Julia Cameron once said that writing is not about thinking something up, it's about getting something down. She likens writing to listening to a radio frequency that you can tune into every day. I feel that my stories come to me, and through me, with their own goals in mind. It is an animistic thought, that a story, a seemingly inanimate object, has its own goals. But I do believe this is the case.

It might be considered insane, if not for hundreds of documented examples of composers, writers and artists all saying the same thing. Cameron has listed several examples of people who have heard the Divine dictation (my phrase), so I won't get into that here. It is not my objective to defend this point of view but rather to build upon it. If we are listening to something coming to us for a reason, our view of why we tell stories suddenly changes. It becomes much larger.

bards, an introduction

"In the smoky halls of Celtic lords, the bards of old practiced their craft, weaving hearthside tales of heroes, battles, palaces, and princesses into intricate patterns of poetry. Chords resounded from the ringing strings of harps, and the warrior race they served was brought to silence, held captive by the power of the bardic vision. Through the bards, the Celts found in themselves a profound love of beauty, nature, and art. The bard's art was to weave magic from word and music--at once primal, wild, and yet sophisticated enchantment.

"The way of the bard is an ancient quest to understand the soul and bring about its growth." -- perfect opening words from The Lore of the Bard, introduction, by Arthur Rowan.

I hope to bring snippets to this blog about Bards over the next few days. I am learning about those bardic elements that create the perfect environment for enchanted storytelling and spiritual growth. So far, I have been stunned to learn that my path began in Music, and then turned to Anthoropology and the study of Myth around the world, and then finally into Storytelling. I seem to have been walking this path for some time without knowing it. This has been outlined in this tome I'm now reading. And I do call it a "tome" because it's a hefty volume full of good insights.

I will end this short blog with another line from the book:

... the great bardic gift of true-sight, which is the mark of the poet-seer.

Rumi

One of my favorite writers who wasn't at all concerned with publication is the mystic poet, Rumi. This year there's a Course being offered at the DailyOm exploring one of his poems a day. I've signed up and now I get a Rumi gem in my inbox each morning.

From Wikipedia, there is a tale of Rumi's inspiration to finally pen his poems.

After Salah ud-Din's death, Rumi's scribe and favorite student, Hussam-e Chalabi, assumed the role of Rumi's companion. One day, the two of them were wandering through the Meram vineyards outside Konya when Hussam described to Rumi an idea he had had: "If you were to write a book like the Ilāhīnāma of Sanai or the Mantiq ut-Tayr of 'Attar, it would become the companion of many troubadours. They would fill their hearts from your work and compose music to accompany it." Rumi smiled and took out a piece of paper on which were written the opening eighteen lines of his Masnavi, beginning with:

Listen to the reed and the tale it tells,
How it sings of separation...

I think that it's interesting that Rumi was inspired to act when his student and companion thought his words would make a good basis for troubadours and they would compose music to accompany it. Again we can see that there was no desire to pursue his work for monetary gain. His student's suggestion was that Rumi give poetry to troubadours for their use.

Admittedly, there is a touch of notoriety in this. Not just any person could give verse to troubadours. I'm sure Rumi was well-known by this time in his life, and his notoriety was well-earned. But it is not the same notoriety that we see on the pages of Us magazine and I think that is the difference.

Rumi's work was seen as art, rather than product. That's because during his lifetime, writing was considered an art, not a product. It was a different world then.

Knowing
Stop learning, start knowing.
The rose opens, opens
And when it falls
Falls outward.

- Jalal-ud-Din Rumi
(Translated by Andrew Harvey from A Year of Rumi)

Homer probably didn't ask, 'How do I get published?'

Homer probably didn't ask, 'How do I get published?'  To be fair, Homer was more than likely also more than one person, a mythic poet image that rose from a class of bards of the period who roamed the countryside reciting epics to the gathered crowds.  Even if Homer was a conglomeration of all the bards of his time under one eventual name, let's face it, they all still wouldn't have asked 'How do I get published?'

Why?  Publishing wasn't an issue in those days.

It's relatively easy to stop there with a simple declarative.  Well, publishing wasn't invented yet.  But is it fair to end the discussion there?  How long has the world been without the publishing industry as it is now known?  Agents, for example, are a very recent phenomenon.  Maybe half a century, a whole one if you're stretching the definition of 'agent' to include a person in authority, such as an editor interested in distributing your work.  Before there was a dire need to turn our writing into products for a publishing market, there was a very different way to write.  Even as late as the period in which Jane Austen or Emily Dickinson were writing, the world of words didn't work as it does now.

So, how did the world get on without formal publishing for millennia?  In his book, Building a Bridge to the Eighteenth Century, author Neil Postman suggests that when we hit a simple declarative we must ask ourselves:  Why?  Like Neil Postman, I am also a big proponent of going back in order to go forward.  And as I look back I have to ask myself, why didn't we have formal publishing - as in books being sold as products - for so long?

Today it would be easy to find your answer to this question.  You are a writer like I am so I won't insult your intelligence by providing my answer.  Anyone who hears the calling to write can and will come up with their own answers no matter what they read here.  Each author's journey is unique and if I insist that you use my answers, who is the better for that?

Instead this blog is where I would like to discuss the Old Ways of writing as an alternative to the modern way of writing.  Here we can see that the vestiges of this way are still alive, even reignited around us today.

The world is changing rapidly and the internet has created a new place where everyone and anyone now voices their opinion freely.  In this democratic age for the wordsmith, even vanity publishing is rapidly turning into proper self-publishing.  If not in print, blogs now saturate the internet, both good and bad.  All of this creates a modern-day Forum for the current human being to experience.  It's interesting that this new writing model is closer to the forums of ancient times than the publishing world we have worked with for the past few centuries.  I would like to embrace that change.

I was struck by an amusing notion while taking a drive last weekend.  If writing is sacred, then wishing to become a writer can be much the same as wishing to join a monastery.  Let's say a man wants to become a monk, and so he goes to the Abbot for admission to his monastery of choice.  The Abbot asks, "What's your reason for applying to be a monk?"

Much like the young writer who may reply, "I want to be published," this young recruit may say, "I want to be a famous saint one day!"  Somehow, I can just imagine the look on the Abbot's face when he hears that.

Once I began to approach writing as something far greater than a product of a marketplace, my point of view changed.  If I stood before the Abbot and he asked, "Why?"  My answer now would be, "I want to do good works."

writing is sacred

For the purposes of this blog, when I use the word sacred, I am using the term in a different way from the norm.  When I use the word sacred, it's not meant to be caught up in any one dogma or religious point of view.  Perhaps explaining what I don't mean when I use the word sacred will help: Writing is not mundane.  It is not every day.  It is special in a way that elevates it beyond shopping lists and jiffy lube invoices.  Writing that is sacred includes both Saint Augustine and Bugs Bunny.  They are both equally sacred.  What turns sacred writing sacred is the receptivity of the author to the inspiration of higher guidance or greater muses at play.

Yesterday I said that I am often called to write against my wishes.  I quipped that the Muse needs me because I have digits and it doesn't.  I wasn't joking all that much. It's not that far from the truth.  Stories come to us more than we come to them.  Fiction, non-fiction, poetry or song lyrics; it's all the same in the eyes of the Muse.  This is why your daily shopping list is rarely inspired by higher forces, but certainly why waking at two o'clock in the morning with a story idea cannot be anything but.  Then there are those times when you are struck by inspiration while writing your shopping list.  The common denominator is the inspirational force.

In ancient times this inspiration was considered the divine source at work.  Divinity was part of the world view of the times.  It was a very different world than today.  My first hurdle was to look divinity in the face.  If I were to go back to the ancient ways of writing and do them any justice, I had to alter my concepts of the divine.  I made the conscious decision not to wear my spirituality on my sleeve however.  What matters most  is that I keep an open channel to the inspiration that comes.

Here, I would encourage anyone to think about this shift in consciousness as a writer.  Explore it with your own mind.  Take the brass scales and weigh it for yourself.

it's all right to step over the cliff

Today I feel a bit like the Fool of the Tarot Deck -- ready to walk off the cliff in pursuit of something I find a little risky and by undertaking something most likely to be difficult.

These are troubled times when fear is always around the corner. I recently lost my job, married and moved across country and re-designed my life.  But it is times like these where one must enhance their courage, embrace some risk-taking, and face the creative expression needed to open up new areas in life. There is much cause for concern these days.  But there is just as much wonder, awe, and curiosity. We never know what's in the future, but like the Fool, we must blindly go forward.

Quite by chance, I discovered the public library in my new city and felt instantly wealthy at the notion that I could check out a hundred books at any given time.  I only reached a record of thirty-three books at once.  But more importantly, even if unemployed, I allowed myself the time to invest in a new future.  I was looking into anything but writing, knowing I could use it as a transferrable skill.  I wanted to keep the field wide open.  No matter what I chose to check out, I was amused to see the path always came back to one major interest:  Putting words on a page.

And by the time I saw this trend I was busy researching lily ponds and terrariums and . . . I just put the books down.  I gave up on terrariums and went back to my roots.  I began to read about the origins of the written word.  About the power of words.  I began to rediscover the sacred roots of writing, one dusty tome at a time.  These tomes were discovered in the folklore section, the art history section, the poetry section, and in places you wouldn't expect -- even lily ponds and terrariums.

Words have always chosen me, often against my will.  I could just say I am a writer, but that phrase is inaccurate to the experience.  It's more realistic to say that words come with a club and drag me to the computer; held hostage to their great new ideas because I can type and they don't have the necessary digits.  Words are always there, good times or bad.  There were times in my career when I was paid handsomely for my work -- enough to purchase a house had I been wise.  And there were times when I was quite happy to live off soup and Saltines, trying to crochet with re-purposed yarn, only to be suddenly accosted by words that would not wait, and who did not care if I ever saw a penny for what they dictated to me during that evening.

By now it is almost cliche to say that the Muse is fickle and cannot be controlled.  But as much as I've heard it, I've meditated upon that fact very little during my long career.  The Sacred Muse cannot be controlled, it can only be invited.  It does not operate on the dollar sign.  When I considered a title with subheading for this blog, I was tempted to:  The Way of the Word, or, Why I Write It Anyway, Knowing It Won't Sell.  A close contender was The Way of the Word: A Starving Gal's Vicious Cycle.

Tough, wry perhaps, but that is the truth of it for many writers.  I know I'm not alone here.  In the beginning, words were sacred.  Those chosen by the Muse to carry out The Great Story did not have to sing for their supper; it was because they sang that supper was therefore provided.  They were recognized descendants of a great tradition and the guests of eager Kings or Chiefs.  They carried all the epics, long genealogies, sagas and myth.  They wove clans together by the mere act of storytelling.  They were the carriers of identity, large and small.  Their words carried the same power ours do today.  We are the same creatures, though the world has changed, we carry the same responsibilities.

Some things I will be looking at here on this blog include: the power of words; the nature of storytelling; the role of the storyteller; ancient ways in a modern world.  In this world, I am a beginner.  I welcome you to come step over the cliff with me