Diana Rajchel

This is part of my work in the Julia Cameron Artist’s Way series. The work this time is from the book the Sound of Paper. The responses are self-examinations and assessments based on work through a daily series of exercises. While I do keep some material offline as it can be very personal and jarring, I often opt to be fairly open about my experiences, both positive and negative.

I took a significant risk when I did this.

1. I’ve stayed on the artist’s way path for four years – I’ve even started teaching workshops for magical people based on Julia Cameron’s concepts.
2. I’ve started putting more pictures of myself up on Fat Chic. That’s risky – female social violence is nasty when you write for fashion, and the more marginalized your populous, the more nasty the feedback can get.
3. I’m braving interacting with the BBC RIGHT NOW to make something happen for the fan organization that I lead.
4. I’ve had the brass boobage (=cajones) to call myself a leader, in public, while female. More than once.
5. The book I’m writing? 8 years of research, a big, miserable part of my 20s, and I’m GOING TO PUBLISH IT.

Lagniappe: Publishing the Spellcasting Picture Book took some nerve, too. Especially since it was either really well received or viewed with outright horror. It’s even gotten a one star review from someone who concluded I have “merely dabbled with magic.” *snort*

This is part of my work in the Julia Cameron Artist’s Way series. The work this time is from the book the Sound of Paper. The responses are self-examinations and assessments based on work through a daily series of exercises. While I do keep some material offline as it can be very personal and jarring, I often opt to be fairly open about my experiences, both positive and negative.

Remember, just because it works for me does not mean I expect these things to apply to you. Even those with the same experiences experience those occasions differently.

1. Wicca. Something about converting  to Wicca brought me into my creative groove in a way nothing else has.  It got me writing, when the relentless pressure of my writing and journalism major was killing me creatively. Magic is definitely an element in nearly all the fiction I write, even in the straight realistic fiction novel I finished from Nanowrimo last November. There always has to be one Wiccan or other Pagan character who is so far from granola-crunching that she at least owns a pair of Fluevogs.
2. My mother. She’s my go-to villain; it takes art and pure evil to be totally selfish and still make yourself out to be martyr. My sister makes the conflicted villain, as she does egregiously awful things while convincing herself she’s “helping.” Not sure if I’ll ever touch her wildly inappropriate and frankly disturbing interest in the sex lives of people directly related to her; it was creepy enough when she told me someone she dated was lusting after me, and she seemed to be encouraging it. That’s prelude to one woman nominating another for sexual assault. Ick.
3. Minneapolis. It’s inspired a lot of non-fiction. I’ve realized I’m just not in love with the place, but it works. There’s a lot worth sharing here. But I have to admit, I’m quite infatuated with Portland now. The native Portlanders would probably not love that. And I can’t really go anywhere, although I’m looking closely at possibly applying for a writer’s retreat now that I’ve got a shoppable portfolio built up.
4. Pete C., my friend from college. We both said “I love you,” to each other in multiple ways that avoided discussion. We never dated. The most action we gave each other was a fraternal peck during one of those weird collegiate party games, because despite fantasies about doing more than that with him, the idea of actually kissing him made me want to hide under the card table we were sitting at. (The boys back then were generally not too interested in me. I get hit on more now than I did when I was “hit on-able” age.)  It was a rich, rewarding friendship. While I don’t think Pete cared as much about me as I did about him – if he did, he would have initiated some sort of contact after I left Lakeland, and I had my doubts while we were still in the same geographical space – it’s still a cornerstone for my most positive relationships with men. I’ve never had a friendship like that since, and I’m constantly trying to recreate it in my fiction. It’s been 12 years, and I miss him terribly. I have to admit though, I’m probably avoiding him just like I avoid my favorite uncle because of all the weight I’ve gained.
5. Dance. It doesn’t work its way into my writing much, but it’s part of my essential nutrients. I have to find some way to do it, some place to do it regularly. It’s like I’m half dancer, half writer, even if I’ve never really pursued dance performance.

This is part of my work in the Julia Cameron Artist’s Way series. The work this time is from the book the Sound of Paper. The responses are self-examinations and assessments based on work through a daily series of exercises. While I do keep some material offline as it can be very personal and jarring, I often opt to be fairly open about my experiences, both positive and negative.

If I wanted to, I could celebrate…

1. my new work process, that bookends revision work and fresh writing into an hour at the beginning and the end of the day. It’s working well right now.
2. at long last making a dent in the years of notes piled I have for Fat Chic. I have a long way to go, but I’m in the process of rediscovering my groove.
3. that I have the self-confidence to make MY projects my first priority and my volunteer projects my second and third priority.
4. that I am finally at a place in my life where I can actually get a weekend getaway.
5. my tomato starts are proud little green men, spiraling upward towards the plant light.

This is part of my work in the Julia Cameron Artist’s Way series. The work this time is from the book the Sound of Paper. The responses are self-examinations and assessments based on work through a daily series of exercises. While I do keep some material offline as it can be very personal and jarring, I often opt to be fairly open about my experiences, both positive and negative.

While the mending entry isn’t really a blog or journal prompt, it does prompt me. It comes at a synchronous time. It’s advice I’ve been given many times over, last and most aggressively in a job where expectations for me were too high and support was too low. The advice was good, even if I was given absolutely no room to apply it: slow down.

I don’t slow down. This year I’ve caught myself jumping the gun, going off half-cocked, not stopping to get more information, not checking information, forgetting to go back and read the whole conversation…and we all know my typos quite well, don’t we?

I get impatient. I skip steps. I forget things. I rush.

This never does me any good, and it’s really about the bridge of trust between myself and whatever may be. I am a religious person, so I call that divinity. Trusting things will work out. Trusting that whatever lays at the end of my actions, it’s still good.

When I slow down, things turn out fine. The problem is that I still equate better with faster. I think most Americans do. It used to show up in my music lessons – I would rush through each measure, flipping my fingers, blowing my horn, stepping on the refined details that make music music. I believed that the ability to play a piece as fast as possible was what demonstrated mastery.

It did not. Quite the opposite. It showed that while I could certainly play each note, I did not have the true artistry of a musician. I did not perform the music. I just played it. (That I never enjoyed playing an instrument was likely also a factor.)

I have been gifted two years to complete my manuscript.

Yesterday, I tried making paper again. It wasn’t quite the disaster of my first tries. This time I slowed down. I watched some videos (I admit I skipped through to the parts that covered where I was having trouble.) Paper making is an exercise in patience, messiness, and the perseverance to clean up. You have to squeeze the water out.

Today I have one mishappen piece of paper, one that has fused to a paper backing, and one still on the deckle frame. I said something to Mike about giving up, but I’m rethinking this morning. I just need to take my time, and I need to get a bigger sponge. If I slow down and stick with it in the moment, I can turn out some perfectly good paper, maybe a few more sheets per session. If I slow down at the beginning and lay down paper and plastic in the kitchen, I won’t have such an onerous mess to clean up later.

Also, I am trying my hand again at T-shirt surgery. Once again, it’s about the art of slowing down. There’s never a reason to sew faster when you do it for yourself – and in that slowness I can carefully, deliberately learn to measure, learn to decorate, learn to create. Maybe I’ll even teach myself how to sew button holes this year.