Tag: writing

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This Is a Book?

Is this a book? Yes!

In 2007 an artist I had met at a show told me about an art book exhibit in Lincoln KS, thinking I might want to enter. Of course I did. It was called “This is a Book? This is a Book!” The books were meant to be unusual, works of art, not your ordinary paperback or hardback book. They were made of all sorts of things, in a variety of ways. As the catalog (a handmade book) states, “No possibility is unexplored. These ‘books’ are serious or humorous; simple or complex; flat or dimensional; one medium or many; fact or fiction; funny or whimsical. Everything goes.” The exhibit of 50 artists’ works lived in the Lincoln Art Center March 2-April 30, 2007. After I got mine back, I entered it in our local Boone County Art Show, but since then it has sat unnoticed by everyone but me on a high shelf in my studio.

The other day I was looking for things to make an assemblage and I took down my book, titled “One Excellent Year.” I thought I’d share it with you here.

I had just had our back deck enclosed to make a studio and I thought it would be cool to use pieces of the old wood siding for the pages of the book. Of course there would be writing and I wanted it to be new. I settled on the idea of a sort of calendar, so each verse represents a month. The writing of that was a truly beautiful experience. I’d sit at the computer, close my eyes, and words would just flow in. It felt spiritual, in a way. A memorable writing session, for sure. I believe all of the writing took just that one day. I was truly in the zone. Unforgettable.

The collage is mostly scrapbook papers and then my writing, cut up into little bits. And then loads of polyurethane to keep it all safe. I left all the little nail holes and cracks unfilled, with a view to preserving the slat board just as it came off the wall.

The February and March pages

I could never let this piece go. I love the writing and the memory of writing it; I love the collage; I love that it’s made from pieces of my little house. It was wonderful to have it on exhibit, and to show it here at the bank show (NFS) but this was a true labor of love and it will remain among my most treasured pieces. It makes me happy.

As the June page, subtitled “Deep Happiness Settles” says, “And All notice that a gently spoken ‘Yes’ whooshes pleasantly through their mouths.” Yes. This is a book!

“A thousand dazzling Vegas turn bleak, when the soul shines with love’s labor.”― Abhijit Naskar, Honor He Wrote

“Work is love made visible.” – Kahlil Gibran

“Nothing is really work unless you would rather be doing something else.” – J.M. Barrie

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Morning Pages

This year as I celebrate 25 years of my card business, Ampersand Cards, I’m marking 25 years of self-employment and my life as an artist. This is also my 25th year of writing daily Morning Pages, a la Julia Cameron and her book The Artist’s Way.

I always verge on saying that her wonderful book changed my life, but I think it’s more accurate to say that her book inspired me to change my life. With her words in my head, I left a soul-crushing job and struck out on my own, with writing and art. I have never looked back.

So I began the daily ritual of writing Morning Pages. This is one of the key components in Julia Cameron’s instructive course. First thing in the morning you write out, in longhand, three pages (give or take) of whatever comes to you. It is a kind of emptying out, letting loose all the big and little threads of thought/feeling that are roaming around in your brain. It can be a great way to work through all sorts of problems and issues, too. It has been the best part of her teaching, for me. Not a discipline, as many people seem to think, but for me a daily ritual that is one of the loveliest and most welcome parts of my day. And this year marks 25 years of doing it almost every single day, wherever I happen to be. Most days I want to have just a few more moments.

I always write sitting up in bed, a cup of tea by my side, one or two dogs lying by me, the tree-filled east view out my windows. Perfect. But now that I’m older, it hurts my low back to sit like that. Ugh. I’ve tried a few things to make it better ergonomically but the results are only minimally helpful. To think of doing it anywhere else is horrifying! And there is absolutely no room in my bedroom for any sort of chair. Anyway, a chair. Really? I don’t think so. I guess it’s a little silly to carry on like this when it hurts, but nothing I’ve come up with is as satisfying. No, I believe I’ll trudge along as I’ve been doing. I only have to hobble for a brief while after I stand up. It doesn’t take that long to unwind my back . . .

When you find a thing that is just so satisfying it seems ridiculous to stop, doesn’t it?

“For me starting the day without a pot of tea would be a day forever out of kilter.” ― Bill Drummond, $20,000: A Book

“Pages clarify our yearnings. They keep an eye on our goals. They may provoke us, coax us, comfort us, even cajole us, as well as prioritize and synchronize the day at hand. If we are drifting, the pages will point that out. They will point the way True North. Each morning, as we face the page, we meet ourselves. The pages give us a place to vent and a place to dream. They are intended for no eyes but our own.”― Julia Cameron, The Miracle of Morning Pages

“Think of your pages like a whisk broom. You stick the broom into all the corners of your consciousness. If you do this first thing in the morning, you are laying out your track for the day. Pages tell you of your priorities. With the pages in place first thing, you are much less likely to fall in with others’ agendas. Your day is your own to spend. You’ve claimed it.” ― Julia Cameron, The Miracle of Morning Pages

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Keeping Body & Soul Together

Oh, for a red marker! Or some white paint! Or both!

Twenty-five years ago at this time, Ampersand Cards was just a baby. I was going to be doing other things to pay the bills for a long time to come. For awhile, I worked as a freelance editor.

I have always been a proofreader. Out and about, I often long for a red pen so I can provide a few instructive marks on signs, menus, billboards, etc. I know I’m not alone in this. Let me say that we do not appreciate the term “grammar police.” But I know what I know. I remember attending Parents’ Night in the cafeteria of the junior high school my son was about to attend. The sign above the speakers’ heads read: Today’s Lunch – Hamburger’s and Fryes. Really? Oh my.

Anyway, I miraculously found the perfect extra income–editing courses for the Center for Distance and Independent Study at the University of Missouri. The courses were written for high school and college students. I could do it at home, on my own schedule, and it was interesting, sometimes frustrating but at times hilarious work. I edited cultural anthropology, modern French literature, intro to educational statistics, and world geography, among others.

But the apex of my career as an editor was Latin. The director had just said she didn’t have much for me at the moment. She was casting about for someone who could edit a high school Latin course. Well! It just so happened that I had taken four years of Latin in high school! She was flabbergasted. Yes, two years of Latin were required at my aforementioned, highly disliked all girls Catholic high school, followed by two additional years of language.

Because I’d found Latin so difficult but had enjoyed the quirky nun who taught it, I’d opted for two more years of Latin. Yes, Kathleen, why make the smart choice of studying useful Spanish or gorgeous French? Why not, instead, choose the thing you already know you dislike? Mon dieu! Now there’s a mistake I’ve always regretted! To my deep disappointment, the quirky little nun did not even teach Advanced Latin! C’est dommage. I soothe myself with the thought that Latin was good for my vocabulary. And Semper ubi sub ubi is always a fun Latin joke. In case you didn’t know, it is translated as, “Always wear underwear.”

So there you have it. While figuring out the intricacies of launching a greeting card and art business, I kept body and soul together by editing courses aimed at the edification of people in various situations who were prevented from attending a class. Now that is something worthwhile.

I taught piano at that time, too. I was well aware that if I hadn’t had these skills, I would never have been able to leave my job and strike out on my own as I did. Ampersand Cards might just have been a blip on the screen, rather than the vast conglomerate it is today. Lucky. I’ve just been lucky.

“Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.” ― T.S. Eliot

“The first draft reveals the art; revision reveals the artist.” ― Michael Lee

“A person who wrote badly did better than a person who does not write at all. A bad writing can be corrected. An empty page remains an empty page.” ― Israelmore Ayivor, How You Can Write Your Dream Book

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Baked Alaska

I made Baked Alaska for our Christmas Eve dessert this year. Mmm.

A dreamy, imaginative girl, I held Baked Alaska up as a symbol of the life I might one day lead as a writer, with an apartment in New York City, trips to Paris, and exotic dinners in fancy restaurants. This was loosely based on movies, music, and my mother telling me about Baked Alaska. It sounded exotic, sophisticated, and divine! I don’t quite remember her circumstances, but I’m fairly certain she must have had that pleasure before she married my father and gave birth to us seven kids in the short span of ten years. As a single woman, she had a fun-loving group of girlfriends, took some wonderful trips with them, spent all the money she earned as a secretary on beautiful suits, hats, and travel. It sounded as if she, my aunt, and their friends most likely treated themselves to a few luxuries on those trips.

Paris! Paris! (The brooch is of the Eiffel Tower.)

My mother played the piano and as a girl, she had dreams of one day being a concert pianist. I imagine that her dream, much like mine, included a polished, sophisticated life, though she never spoke of that. I remember her playing certain pieces as we lay in bed at night–a Chopin waltz, “Anitra’s Dance,” from Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite–both of which I later learned. She would not have described herself as dreamy or imaginative, no, but I think I came by those traits naturally. I bet she pictured herself living a very different life from what she ended up living, as did I. I know she didn’t have as much luck or as many choices as I did, to fashion her own life as she wanted, though.

I have zero regrets about the life I’ve had. Oh, I guess I wish I’d been more adventurous when I was young, traveled more, lived larger. I ended up living very far from my heart’s friend, the sea, but here where I am, I have a truly lovely community of friends that I would not give up. No. I did what I was comfortable with, began to love nature far more than I did as a young woman, and found ways to live a creative life with my three wonderful and amazing sons. I have a small house that needs many repairs but which is filled with modest treasures that I and others have created. It’s not in New York City or Paris, but in humble, lovely-in-its-own-way, Missouri. I have a small piano and a somewhat ragtag group of piano students. I paint. I write these letters and you, my darlings, read them. I even figured out how to make Baked Alaska right here in my own kitchen! It’s a wonderful life.

Inspiration comes from surprising places. This week it came in the guise of a dessert that got me thinking about my childhood, my mother, the piano, and my many dreams. That’s the beauty of writing. It takes you on a journey.

“Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.” ― Anna Quindlen, How Reading Changed My Life

“Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you.
You must travel it by yourself.
It is not far. It is within reach.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know.
Perhaps it is everywhere – on water and land.”
― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

“For me, becoming isn’t about arriving somewhere or achieving a certain aim. I see it instead as forward motion, a means of evolving, a way to reach continuously toward a better self. The journey doesn’t end.” ― Michelle Obama, Becoming

If you’d like to see my new paintings online, go quickly here. They will be there through January 5, 2023. (Good God! 2023 already!) Be sure to click on the thumbnails to see the whole picture! If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Collecting Dust

My well-worn copy of The Artist’s Way

I believe I’ve mentioned before that I write each morning. Ever since 1998, when I read The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, I’ve been writing what she calls Morning Pages. It’s just a way of clearing your mind for the day, writing whatever comes up without trying to write well or be pithy or profound. I write on looseleaf paper and I guard this routine selfishly. The odd day when I miss might be because I have to leave the house super early to catch a plane (obviously not often)–but that’s about it. People tend to think this shows great discipline, but I do it because I love it. It’s a routine that I adore–in my bed in pajamas, sun rising out my window, cup of tea on one side of me, dogs on the other.

Some of my Morning Pages. Some!

So I’ve been doing this for 24 years. You can imagine the amount of paper. I usually write at least 3 pages, often more than a ream of paper each year. After my aunt died and we read every scrap of her handwritten notes, I was in a panic to clear mine out. Not just minutiae, there’s also a lot of petty grievances and complaints in those pages. What if I got hit by a bus and my family read all of that?

But the pages had piled up again. This winter, I suddenly developed an allergy to dust mites. Well, I had been saying that if I was allergic to dust, considering the state of my home, I’d already be dead. My bedroom and studio are filled with things. Far too many things. Books, papers, clothing, pillows, scarves, shoes, jewelry, art, art supplies, piano music, tchotchkes, heart-shaped rocks, etc. Thus, those two rooms, especially, are very difficult to dust. So I hardly ever do it.

The other day, sneezing like mad, too miserable for a planned road trip, I attacked my bedroom. There sat piles and piles of Morning Pages, some in binders, some just loose and stacked, going back to 2008, gathering loads of dust. Ugh.

But what to do with them? Paper. I had to recycle. But what if those workers who go through the recycling started reading? I could just imagine one saying to the other, “Listen to this!” Laughing, casting aspersions on my very personal ramblings. No, I could not bear it. So I sat for hours, mask on, tearing the pages in half before taking four garbage bags of torn pages to the recycling center.

I considered holding back 2020 and 2021, each of them much more than a ream of paper. But why? For historical reasons? Would I ever read them again? Would I want to read them? I often think I’ll go back and pull the best parts of them, the pages in which I really was writing something interesting, discovering something or other, recounting some important moments or days in my life. In the end, I tore up those, too, and off they went.

Marie Kondo would be proud, but only a little. I have miles to go before I stop sneezing.

“Edit your life frequently and ruthlessly. It’s your masterpiece after all.” Nathan W. Morris

“Tidying is the act of confronting yourself.” Marie Kondo

“Clutter is often the result of so many good intentions.” Becky Rogers

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Anniversary!

You may not realize it, but for me this letter represents a momentous occasion. This is my 52nd MerryThoughts letter! Thus, I have sent out a letter every single week since this week in 2020. Yes, it is my one year anniversary!! I just happened to wonder the other day how many of these I’d written. Very timely, since it turned out there had been 51! I must have had an inkling. And having looked, I can now celebrate one year of MerryThoughts letters.

My first letter, “Out for a Walk,” can be found here. You might recall that it was about walking with my dog Miles at Grindstone Nature Area. No surprise there. That letter represents a commitment I made on that date, November 18, 2020, to write and send out a letter once a week. My son Peter had suggested the idea, and I loved it! And now look! I’ve done it for a full year. The great thing is that it has been a joy for me to do. Oh, some are easier or more difficult to write, and some weeks I find myself wondering what I could possibly write about. Sometimes there’s a bit of anxiety when I barely manage to finish in time (which, for me, means Monday morning). Still, this writing, this reaching out and connecting with you who read them, has been pure joy. A romance.

I took this photo one year ago this week.

I have said that the letters give me a purpose. Not that I have no purpose otherwise, but it’s another fulfilling thing that I’m doing. I feel lucky that I can do this, lucky that people like you read them, luckier still when people write me back. I am committed to sending one every single week and that in itself feels fulfilling. We are more alive, more connected, and more in the world when we make a pact with ourselves or another person to do a thing, I feel. While I have not liked working for others, in jobs, I do flourish within parameters I set for myself. So on most Sundays I can be found at my computer, happily writing.

When my friend Pam died at 49 of pancreatic cancer, I wanted to do something creative to mark her untimely passing. She was a gifted poet, and I admired and enjoyed poetry, so I decided that I would try to write a poem a day for 49 days. As it turned out, I did it for well over a year. Those poems are all here, too. Some of them made their way onto cards or art. They vary wildly from serious to silly, but I absolutely loved writing them. And my writing flourished within my self-set rule that I write a poem every day. Somehow, the commitment to write gave me freedom.

And I took this photo today, one year later. Similar idea!

So even though I haven’t been great at commitment in some other areas of life (we won’t speak of it), I’m pretty good at dedicating myself to things like this. And I’m here to say that these bargains we make with ourselves can bring with them many gifts. Because of this particular contract, I’ve reconnected with an old friend; corresponded with acquaintances in deeper ways; received lovely praise from many others; developed discipline with my writing (a thing I already loved to do); and been graced with the fulfillment of doing something meaningful every single week for the past year.

What fulfills you? Where do you find meaning?

“Freedom is not the absence of commitments, but the ability to choose – and commit myself to – what is best for me.”― Paulo Coelho, The Zahir

“If you don’t write when you don’t have time for it, you won’t write when you do have time for it.” ― Katerina Stoykova Klemer

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems on my here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Floating

Poems float above my head just out of reach

and though I can touch some pretty words

(peppered besotted bauble dangle)

they fly away before I manage

to pull them together, wanting

I can only guess, to stay free.

And no amount of coaxing will bring

them together, not today, not by me.

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Leaving the Nest

Young hawk has left the nest perhaps

only for a trial flight but I hear it crying

at the front of the house this morning.

When Peter stood for the first time

on his own clinging to the edge of the

toy box he turned to me with a look of

panic at what he had done.  What now?

his small face seemed to ask.

A writer I admire died last night

left this world I hope without panic

though she loved all that it held.

I hold now to her earlier advice

about knowing what you love so

that you can do a great deal of it.

Peter now moves easily through the world

India China Africa Iceland Europe.

The hawk will one day leave the nest forever

soar and wheel as its parents do now.

And I?  I will continue to write.

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The Tuba Player

Walking through the meadow I heard

a distant familiar sound no bird no bark no human.

I stopped to listen.  Could it be?  Out here?  Bagpipes?

Indeed.  Following the drone I found a lone bagpiper

who quit when I arrived packed up ignored my shy applause.

No kilt, no delightfully odd look, decidedly unlike that

strolling tuba player who once captured my imagination

blowing old standards:  Button Up Your Overcoat

Good Night Irene, Moon River, Over the Rainbow.

Oh I could have fallen right in love with that tuba player!

Chose instead to write him into a little something

of a love story, charming whimsical and spare

leaving my romantic notions perfectly intact.

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Poet’s Block

On this day

no blanket of snow with

all its incumbent imagery

no thunder and lightning

no despair

no longing

no wish denied or fulfilled

no boundless joy

no guilt or recrimination

no pithy phrase

no piquant thought

no grand metaphor

for a life lived or unlived.

Just the impatient poet

(if poet at all)

tapping impotent pen

to paper in abject futility.