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May 1

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Announcing the Creative Construction weekly creativity contest!

When it comes to keeping the creative self alive, some of us need a little extra help making sure that our creativity doesn’t slip into utter dormancy in the face of other demands. Even though we know that being creative is one of the best ways to stay happy and fulfilled, we often put that aside to take care of our endlessly needy and ungrateful family members our cherished loved ones whenever the two compete. Adding domesticity and, for most, work life into the mix often results in panic attacks and depression head-scratching.

For those of us who need it, here’s a new way to lower the bar a little bit while finding a bit of motivation to actually produce. Each week, a new prompt will be posted at this blog. Use the prompt however you like. If you’re a writer, create a short prose poem, a single line of text, a haiku, or even a short story or personal essay. Whatever you want. There is no minimum or maximum word count. If you’re a visual artist or designer, incorporate the prompt into your work as literally or figuratively as you like. Submit a doodle if that’s all you had time for. And feel free to cross the lines. Maybe you’re a writer, but you happened to get a photograph that works for the prompt. Mix it up.

To enter, send your work to creativereality@live.com. Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of the e-mail. Artists and photographers should attach their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like–multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly contest, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.)

Each week, the winner will be announced on Wednesday, and the winning entry will be posted along with the prompt for the following week. And, because it’s nice to actually win something when you win something, each week’s winner will receive a $10 gift certificate to amazon.com.

Winning entries will be selected by me and a rotating panel of judges. All judges have professional experience in publishing and developmental editing as well as the world of visual arts.

For this week, the prompt is: “View from the window.” Use it however you like. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by midnight on Tuesday, May 6. Remember, the point here is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. (Brief caveat: I’m due next week, so if the winner and new prompt aren’t posted on May 7, I’m at the hospital hut-hut-hooing. Will take care of the post ASAP.)

Questions? Post them as comments and I’ll respond. Good luck!

Apr 27

3 Comments

Brittany: Complications

The fates are conspiring against me. I am just not meant to be writing right now.

First it was the tactical assault by toddler on my computer. So then I get my laptop, all prepared to write up a storm, and I’m diagnosed with polyhydramnios. That’s a long name for a simple problem. My body is making too much amniotic fluid–on the order of about 2 liters when normal amounts are around half a liter. I’ve been to so many doctor’s appointments in the last couple of weeks that I’m fairly certain doctors hear ka-ching when I walk through the door. These appointments have determined that the excess fluid isn’t caused by any health issues on my part or the baby’s. So long as I stay pregnant, there is no risk to either of us. However, the weight on my uterus could result in my going into labor at any moment. And when I do go into labor, the moment my water breaks, I will have to be heavily monitored because I am at higher than normal risk now of placental abruption and umbilical cord prolapse.

Meanwhile, my OBGYN says “try to stick to bedrest as much as possible.” With a 20 month old? Yeah, right.

I don’t think my OBGYN meant to be ironic, but “as much as possible” has been my mantra ever since getting pregnant with my first son. I try to write “as much as possible,” and spend time with my son “as much as possible,” be available as a wife “as much as possible,” go to the gym “as much as possible,” clean the house “as much as possible,” take time for myself “as much as possible,” see my friends “as much as possible.”  

There’s not a lot of “much” going on around here and a whole lot less “possible”.

During the snippets of the day when I do get to rest, I wonder about this. Obviously, I’m missing something–something other mothers have overcome. How do you make the most of “as much as possible”?

 

Apr 25

5 Comments

Kerry: Long time gone, catching up

It has been a while. Really. A long time. But now it’s time to get real again. Had my baby boy. 9 lbs. 6 oz. (same as Babygirl 15 months ago) The birth was traumatic and painful, but I’ll save that for another day. When they (the doctors) said the baby might get too big and get stuck in the birth canal, they weren’t kidding. Next time I’ll pay better attention. There won’t be a next time of course. Hubby’s getting snipped. But baby is beautiful and healthy and I seem to be recovering nicely, so all is well in the land of chaos.

I tried to pretend I didn’t have to write, didn’t have to be creative. I’ve put off painting for so long now, isn’t it easier to just let it go? Not really. I paint in my night time dreams, when I sleep long enough to have one. And I thought I could hide the fact that I sabotage myself and any free time I have. Now I’ll just be the “man” and own up to it. I did not just say that. Do men really own up to anything?

And I wanted to come across as the happy housewife (gag) with a remarkable relationship and children who love me. Ha! And ha again. I have learned, once again, how much my fourteen year old hates me this month, and how my relationship is held together by the frayed threads of a tattered past, and how my seventeen year old aspires to be a high school dropout, living with her illegal alien boyfriend in some ghetto apartment, and how my little angel Babygirl can throw tantrums with the best of the two year olds, refusing to speak in words, expressing herself only in screams.

So my last post was a rant against my significant other, against my life, against everything. I simply wanted to run away. I deleted the post the next day. I figured I should heed that old advice “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” I haven’t had anything nice to say for quite some time. I felt I could not trust my fingers, trust my mind, so I stayed silent. But I’m back. Even if it is merely to write a few words about my day, about the never-ending chaos that is my life. I used to embrace the chaos, smile, laugh a little and get on with it. Has three years in pregnancy and post pregnancy made me so bitter? Or is it my outstanding relationship and darling, loving, helpful children?

And a side note: the experiment in meditation: can I meditate while breastfeeding? No. I can however fall asleep quickly and awaken with drool on my chin, only to burp the little one, switch sides and do it all again.

This weekend we are having a birthday BBQ for my disgruntled teen who turns fifteen. We bought her a trampoline so our house would be “cool” enough to invite her friends to. We have spent $480 and the past two weekends taking her to a driver’s ed class so she can get her permit next week. Oh boy. We bought her a queen bed to replace her twin so she could feel grown up. All in the name of love? Sure. I figured we should spend some time and money on her so she didn’t feel left out when the new baby came. Avoid that jealousy thing. I failed.

Babies are a handful. Babygirl gives her new brother kisses by head butting him. Babyboy has his own issues, like not gaining enough weight, not having enough bowel movements, and spitting up too much. We take him back to the pediatrician every week to get weighed. I’m supplementing the breastfeeding with formula. I never seem to make enough, or something. But breastfeeding is so good for the little ones, I hate to give it up entirely.

Babygirl takes naps in her crib now. A positive, which leaves me a little time alone…to breastfeed and bottle feed the new baby. But, like now, Babygirl has been going to bed earlier, all by herself in her crib, and the little man sleeps, so I have a minute.

I have to wonder if art will again become more important than a nice hot bath? I know I can’t hide forever. I get e-mails from artist friends and the guilt builds up inside of me. It seems like a spend so much of my day hanging on the edge, waiting for that next something to smack me upside the head. Embrace the chaos, embrace the chaos. I’ll just keep telling myself that as I dream of cute young men, margaritas and the beach on the coast of Mexico.

Apr 22

2 Comments

Miranda: Infant versus internet…a losing proposition?

storkAn article in this morning’s Boston Globe has added to my anxiety about managing work, creativity, and a new baby. Last time I had a newborn (three years ago) I didn’t work as much as I do now, and I wasn’t quite as plugged into the internet. Even so, I felt guilty about the amount of time I spent nursing while typing with one hand, eyes glued to my computer screen instead of my beautiful baby.

I tried to tell myself that it’s not much different than staring at the pages of a book, but it is. When I’m reading and my kids talk to me, I hear them. When I’m staring at my laptop–either working, being creative, or goofing off–the machine seems to cast this hypnotic spell that enables me to tune out the rest of the world. Sometimes the kids have to jump up and down to get my attention.

Obviously, I’m not alone. The Globe article, entitled “Connection Failure?” discusses mothers of newborns who are glued to their computers much of the day. The article raises several concerns: time spent on the web is associated with depression; mothers of newborns may be satisfied enough with their virtual connections that they stop trying to get out and establish tangible relationships; and worse, that Mom may end up more connected to her computer than she is to her infant. Pretty much a lose-lose situation for baby:

Mothers have always multitasked, from foraging with babies strapped to their backs to sewing, engaging an older child, or even cooking while nursing. Is Internet use any different?

“If you observe women who, let’s say, knit, their gaze is moving back and forth from the baby to knitting,” Rich said. “The Internet demands a lot more attention. You’re receiving and sometimes sending communication, so there’s sustained concentration away from the baby.”

Habitual Internet use while nursing, especially if the baby’s awake and seeking the mother’s eyes, concerns Rich. “It can be a real rejection for the baby, for whom you fill his or her world,” he said.

Ouch. For me, this time around–with so much on my plate, including a nonfiction book in progress (and four other children), I’m worried. I don’t want my new baby (or any of my kids, for that matter) to think of me as inseparable from my laptop. I know that my goal needs to be boundaries, but I’m not sure what that looks like. I have childcare in my home three days a week for my toddler, but I imagine that for the first four months, my childcare provider won’t be doing much with the baby aside from changing the occasional diaper. This means a lot of nursing during work time/creative time, as in, nursing while staring at the computer.

How have the rest of you navigated this mine field? How bad is the guilt? (Like we need one more thing to feel guilty about.) Does your family threaten to cut the cord on your computer? When you’re sleep deprived and you want to keep up with your blog reading while feeding the baby, what do you do? If holding your baby while typing your novel is the only way to finish your book, do you bite the bullet and hope for the best?

Apr 20

2 Comments

Bethany: The Fun of Letting Go

Life has been hellish lately.  And I don’t mean that in the Gosh-I-Just-Don’t-Feel-Right Sorta Way. No. It’s been hellish.  16+ hour work days, endless phone calls.  Teething baby.  Six Year Old Kid that feels neglected. And a husband who is still dealing with the unexpected death of his mother less than 4 months ago.  Not to mention a needless fight I had with my own mother… mostly due to my frustration with my current work situation. Does this have a thing to do with creativity?

You bet your ass it does!  When life is chaotic, my creativity goes down the toilet. In fact, one could say creativity just gets lost like everything else (routines, laundry, dishes).  And this spell with chaos is no exception.  So much so, I’ve decided to take drastic measures–I’m “quitting” all my works in progress.

Before you get all nutso on me, let me explain. I’ve been pushing myself to produce something (anything really) for a while now. Making myself sit at they keyboard and write until I felt I had written something decent, entertaining, and publishable.  And I think for the most part, I accomplished all three.  Though, from the rejections that I have received lately, apprarantly people in the industry don’t agree with me.  But that’s fine.  I’m all about going with the flow.   That is, until it’s no longer fun.

I started this book writing thing because it was fun.  I wrote fun stories, about quirky women, with lives as zany as my own and I hoped others like them.  Some did.  Other didn’t.  And still, more did. And didn’t.  In the end, I am right were I started.  Writing my fingers to a bone while my family sleeps and reaching for a dream.  Only in the last few months, I lost the fun part. I was so caught up in producing, I forgot fun.

Writing is fun. Most of the time.  And hell, if it is a really good story, it can be fun all the time.  At least until the 50th revision… but I am ahead of myself.  The point is, I’ve lost the fun.  And, man, if I am going to give up my blessed sleep for writing–I sure as hell better be having fun. So, all my current book ideas are headed for the file cabinet.  Virtual one that is and I’m gonna sit back and relax.  Let ideas come to me and see what will be next.

Hopefully a work schedule that finds itself a bit more sane, and a baby that will finally have teeth (and sleep!), and a son that enjoys being around his mom (instead of telling me, “Mom, you have your mean voice on.”).  Pray for me.  Because my muse doesn’t know a timetable. Nor does my work. And for this little “break” to work, they have to find a way to synch up somehow.  Or it won’t be any fun at all.

Apr 19

2 Comments

New literary journal: Wild Apples

wildapplesWild Apples is a new literary/arts magazine being published by a group of amazing women–two of whom (artist Linda Hoffman and poet Susan Edwards Richmond) I interviewed for my book on creativity and motherhood.

Taking its name and inspiration from Henry David Thoreau’s essay “Wild Apples,” this twice-yearly arts and literary publication combines poetry and prose with the work of visual artists and photographers. Wild Apples brings together the work of artists and writers who are connected by the common threads of care for the environment, engagement in social concerns, and commitment to the arts and the ways they shape our world.

If you’re a writer, poet, artist, or photographer, check out the submission guidelines. Collaborative work is encouraged. More information is available at the Wild Apples website.

Apr 16

Miranda: Want to up the ante with your goals? Put your money where your mouth is

stickk.comYou may have heard of the new website www.stickk.com, which has been making noteworthy media waves. The site’s concept is that users are motivated to stick to their stated goals by putting money–their own money–on their success. While wagering cash is not required, if you set up your “contract”  accordingly, missing your goal can mean that an organization you preselected (one that you find distasteful) gets your cash. The user interface is friendly and appealing. Here’s an excerpt from a Boston Globe piece:

A new website created by two Yale professors asks self-improvers – anyone from smokers who want to quit to runners trying to get in shape – to post their names and promises for everyone to see.

Those who slip get black marks. Some additionally opt to put up cash wagers and agree to forfeit their money to a charity they choose, preferably one they don’t like, if they don’t live up to their pledges.

“What we’re doing is raising the price of bad behavior,” said Dean Karlan, a 38-year-old Yale professor of economics and cofounder of the site.

Since its launch two months ago, stickK.com (stick, as in “carrot and stick,” and K, the legal shorthand for “contract”) has attracted some 13,000 registered users, 5,500 of whom have signed contracts.

Registration is free. Find out more at www.stickk.com.

I’ve already registered, although I’m not ready for a hardcore commitment like this just at the moment. In a few months, however, I’ll definitely be creating a contract or two. Loose baby weight? Check. Finish book? Check. Start training for marathon? Hmmmm……

Apr 13

6 Comments

Alana: A room of my own

Thanks for your comments… know you’re right about my terrible (terrific) two year old… just thought I’d share a recent blog I wrote on how to write and be a mum…

Rooms of our own

Women didn’t even have the right to vote when Virginia Woolf first voiced our need to have our own piece of space in a Room of Our Own. A hundred years later and feminism has taken us beyond Virginia’s wildest dreams I imagine. Back then as a single woman, she was refused entry into a library without the escort of a male gentleman. Today there are few, if any, buildings we cannot stride into, and even have the chance of running should we so desire or work hard enough. However, one thing remains the same. How many women – and us mothers in particular – have a room to call our own? A space that is ours? A refuge from the hurly-burly tumble of motherhood?


I for one don’t have a room of my own. Not any more. Not one room. Not even a cupboard that locks or has room enough for me to hide inside (believe me, I’ve tried!). I have two daughters under two and a half years of age, and by two my eldest had discovered the delights of trying on my new red suede high heels (scored before I’d even worn them), could reach into the drawer and unzip my make-up bag, (I won’t go into the implications of liquid blusher on a cream carpet) and stand on the windowsill to reach across my dressing table to pull my necklaces and beads off the rack. But it’s not just the physical assault on my belongings, the loss of scared things that are mine (as every mother knows – a two year lives by the motto, what’s mine is mine, and what’s everybody else’s is mine too). It’s that little pocket of solitude, that tiny oasis of space, that miniscule crevice of peace, a place to run screaming to and slam the door shut should the desire overwhelm us. My daughters have it. My husband has it – an office at work, a shed, the study. Even the damn cats have it. But somehow between being a child and having a child, I lost the right of privacy.


When I was young I had my own bedroom. Poster laden walls and heart patterned curtains with secret hiding places for furtive writings and diaries stuffed with longing. As I grew up and chased life in a tirade of exciting adventures I had many rooms, in many houses, in many towns, in many countries; rooms that, when all was said and done were mine to close the door on, and say goodbye to the world. And then, when I had wilted, recouped, rested, regathered, I could throw open the door again to say hello to world, myself intact and recovered.


I only ever actually owned one of those rooms – well, three to be precise if you included a bathroom and kitchen/lounge area – and that was the best room of all. Mine, all mine. Well, mine and the cats. I can still just grasp that glorious feeling of how good it was to wake up on a Saturday morning, the blinds still down and hiding me from the outside, the door still bolted to keep me safe inside, as I languished indulgently in my space, alone to decide how the day would proceed, with space to just be. But no sooner had I secured my room (s) of my own, than I invited someone in to share it. Our love took over and we moved on to own multiple rooms together in a sorry house that whispered of many stories untold. Now I own several rooms, but none of them are mine; no part my husband doesn’t share (and clutter), no area my daughters don’t ransack. I don’t even close the toilet door anymore – that intimate moment of privacy too has been stripped away by an insecure toddler. And since giving up my full time desk-job to look after the family and pursue a freelance career, I no longer own an office where people would knock to enter and I could choose to welcome them, or not.


Now don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t change one second of motherhood (well, ok there are about 30 seconds I might exchange) but here I am. 37. A mother and writer. And for the first time in my life I have no room to call my own. I write at the dinner table amid dollops of baby food and smidgens of egg yoke and between piles of ironing. I was deliriously happy recently when my husband grudgingly allowed me to store some old crockery in the shed so that I could have a whole half cupboard of the dresser to store my laptop and writing. A whole shelf! Who needs diamond rings when you can have a whole shelf, I ask you? When I surveyed a bunch of mum’s recently about their thoughts on motherhood, one of the strongest moans was lack of privacy and personal space. And I don’t think we even dream of anything grand. All I want is a little corner of the house that belongs to me; a place where all my piles of ‘stuff’, and notes, and ‘things’ can congregate together in harmony. I’d like to feel I belong, rather than have bits of me scattered around the house in every available recess like a hobo in my own home.


But for now I suppose I must create my own ‘room’, my thinking and writing place. My solitude must take place amid the hectic squealings of motherhood. My creativity must fight its way through the mundane acts of domesticity. I must claim my room where I can; in my head; in the car as I wait for the lights to change; in between the nappies and the boiled eggs and soldiers; in bed as the moon recedes and little voices have yet to break the silence of the morning. And maybe one day I will have a room again; one that’s just mine. With a door. A soft door that’s knock is mild and not intimidating. A gentle knock that I will gladly say ‘come in’ to. Because I can.

Apr 11

1 Comment

Suzanne: My interview with Leza Lowitz

My fellow American-expatriate Leza Lowitz came to Japan around the same time that I did. I met her after finding her name in a literary journal and writing a letter to invite her to submit to an anthology of expat fiction I’d cooked up. She was extremely helpful. She contributed a story to my anthology, The Broken Bridge: Fiction from Exptriates in Literary Japan, and passed on the names and addresses of other expat writers that she knew.

Since then, Leza has gone on to publish an amazing fifteen books (!) to my three. These include translations, anthologies, poetry collections, and a short story collection. She’s also written a screenplay and won an impressive array of grants and awards. Right now she’s working on a memoir about adopting a Japanese child in Japan, yoga poems, and a novel or two.

My interview with Leza is now online here.

Apr 10

1 Comment

Alana: Introducing myself!

Thank you for the invite to join this wonderful group of writing mums. I feel like I’ve just walked into a room of old friends having just been on a holiday with a bunch of strangers. At last, people with my problems – and my ambitions! Thanks for the invite Miranda, and if it suits everyone, I’ll bring along a bottle of wine, put on my Abba CD and kick back with you girls for a while.


I’m a mum of two from Dublin, Ireland – one is 2 and a half and the other is 10 months… yes i know, I’ve told my husband he’s not allowed to even pass me on the stairs for at least another year…


I gave up my high-octane job after I had Daisy, and despite loving being her mum, i morphed from being the workaholic Iron Lady to the housework weary Ironing Lady. So I began to write. Ironically having kids has allowed me to fulfill my lifetime ambition of being a writer. I now write regularly for parenting magazines (although that makes me sound like a full-blown freelancer – the reality is I write when they sleep, and when I can’t sleep) and am attempting my first novel (note the optimistic use of ‘first’!).


Some days… most days.. I feel like a piece of my daughters’ playdo – uber elasticated for easy pulling in every direction, and maleable enough to morph into different shapes when the demand requires – mum, wife, cleaner, cook, writer, daughter, friend, mum, secretary, engineer, mum, daughter-in-law, mum, neighbour, houseworker, shopper, planner, mum, hugger, play friend, teacher, ……. me?


Every second of every day has a specific task dedicated to it – the nano-second my babes are down for their lunchtime nap (my greatest achievement was getting them to sleep at the same time!) I’m at my computer writing until the first squeak on the monitor pulls me back to the day job.


My novel takes a back seat so much of the time, it might as well be in the car behind. My mum and my husband tell me to slow down, and calm down, and sit down, and MOST IRRITATINGLY OF ALL tell me not to push myself with the book. I need to rest. Yes i do. But i can’t rest for needing to write another line. I have to get off chapter 5 for god’s sake – it’s been 4 months!


I have the same angel / devil on my shoulder arguments as you Miranda – should I rest and forget the burning (more like smoldering) passion in me, or do I plough ahead and write the damn thing? Every day when I’m beyond myself with exhaustion after another interrupted night (we’ve all been sick pretty much without break since the week before Christmas) and I look enthusiastically at the computer but gaze longingly at the sofa, I can hear Oscar Wilde sidle up to me and whisper his famous quip: “The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of one’s trousers to the seat of one’s chair.” Clearly he was a man. With no kids. I write standing up, on the loo, in the bath, in my head as I wait for the traffic lights to change and in between verses of the Wheels on the Bus.


Anyway, I’ve turned into one of those irritating people who turn up at a party and hog the floor. Just wanted to say I’d love to join your group, I understand, empathise, and share your struggle and hope we can all get a few words written in the next wee while. Every little helps….

Apr 10

6 Comments

Miranda: Another perspective on rejection

Those of you who receive the Glimmer Train newsletter may have seen this already, but for everyone else, here’s a reassuring take on rejection from Catherine Ryan Hyde, author of Pay it Forward among other novels. An excerpt from her article:

It might sound like dwelling on the negative if I say I received 122 short story rejections before my first acceptance. But, for writers just starting out, it’s important to hear. If you know I was rejected more than a thousand times while placing 50 stories, it might be hard for you to justify giving up after five printed slips….Just about every one of my rejected stories has gone on to be published. Without further revision. Some were rejected a handful of times. Others garnered over 50 rejections before finding a home.

Hyde offers several reassuring reasons for why submissions may be rejected. Her full article (it’s short) is online at Glimmer Train.

What’s your own personal quota on submitting before you “shelve” a piece? Five, ten, twenty–no limit? Personally, if a short story I wrote isn’t accepted or doesn’t place in a contest, I look at it again, revise, and send it on out. I like the feeling of having stories in the queue somewhere–sure, the chances of publication or winning are usually small, but it’s a numbers game. You certainly can’t sell or win if you’re not submitting. If you believe in what you wrote, keep it out there.

Apr 9

1 Comment

Lisa D.: Author Interview

I thought a few of you might be interested in the interview I just conducted with How Not to Write a Novel authors Howard Mittelmark and Sandra Newman.  They weigh in on writing, editing, finding an agent, and even the upcoming U.S. presidential election.  The interview, like their book, is both hilarious and informative.  I posted it on my own blog at http://damiandaily.wordpress.com.

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