writing process

Three ways I think about writing when I'm not writing {Just One Paragraph 13/30} /  by Christina Rosalie

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I show up to write a paragraph tonight after watching Silver Linings Playbook. It was good, though it wasn't what I expected, and now it's later than I expected. Still, I've done this small practice for enough days now that it feels like a habit. Enough days that I show up even late, just because. My fingers following words across the keyboard, right out to the edges of my thoughts.

I scribble notes as we're talking; our weekly conversation about the book we're gradually outlining. I draw lines, connecting notes, a geometry of ideas. Pattern recognition. I try to reconcile myself with the fact that I still don't have make enough time to write regularly for this project. Then I try make up for it by thinking about it in all the in-between times, my iPhone full with audio notes, driving to and fro. I haven't transcribed them yet.

I mow the lawn in concentric circles, my thoughts circling with me, sifting, growing steady with the repetition. Then it surfaces: the fiction story, the one that I read a snippet of aloud to my writing group, so rough that the characters barely lift off the page...and yet. I can't shake the characters. They have the makings of a story that matters. Next I catch myself thinking, "Why am I thinking about this fiction stuff, when I've got so many other things I should be writing?" I catch myself. Should. I make plans for fiction. Hours of it. Fuck should.

Just one paragraph /  by Christina Rosalie

We haven't seen each other in months, even though for the past six month's my friend M. has lived here. Time passes like that. A blur. And then she texts, "let's make sure to meet up before we leave. We're leaving on Friday." And so I put aside other pressing work, and walk out into the warm air to find her.
Soon we're sitting on a bench on Church Street sipping cold drinks. Condensation forms on our glasses, our fingertips wet as we gesture and laugh. The air is humid, heavy, bright with sun. The thermometer climbs past 90.
She tells me she's planning on traveling for a while: camping wherever she and her husband land for the night across the West, and so I say, "blog about it! Keep a record."
I can see the way she flinches just a little, and also smiles--like I've dared her to do something, even though mostly I said it because I want to go along, vicariously, across the West, campsite to campsite. But I get her reaction. It's so hard to start after you haven't for a while. Hard to get past the inner critic that says, "It should be better, more clever, more crafted, more intriguing." Hard to just show up and write, keeping a record as the moments unfold. But that, truly, is the wonder of what a blog can be at its best. Unvarnished, real-time evidence of a life as it's being lived.
So many of of my clients have the same challenge in one way or another: they imagine the bigness of starting, instead of the smallness of it and so taking the first step becomes tremendous, daunting, bigger than life. They imagine the end result: a thriving blog, a booming business, product flying out the door, and the path from here to there is inconceivable. But the truth is, nothing begins with grandness. Instead, it begins with small act of showing up. With something small. With a single step. And so I say, "Just write one paragraph a day."
She grins like sunshine, because that's how she is. She gets out her phone and writes herself a note. Just one paragraph.
Starting is the hardest part. Even with the small micro-goal of a single paragraph. But the challenge is all in your head. The minute you start, things happen. Your fingers moving there on the keyboard will lead the way. Your mind will slip into a groove, or find a pattern or answer or riff.

But to begin, just a paragraph. Just that.
Driving home in the evening I think of our conversation again, and feel the weight of the dare: Just one paragraph blogged every day.
I know I haven't been showing up here regularly either to record the moments, my process, the glimpses into my life as it happens, and it's something that I want very much to do this summer. Yet like everyone, I have excuses. Many of them very apropos: I'm writing elsewhere online; I'm working on a fiction piece; I'm drafting the outline of a book; the heatwave makes it hard to concentrate for very long; the kids are under foot; my work days are filled to saturation. Non really hold water.
So I'm putting myself up to the challenge (and you too!) to blog a paragraph every day for 30 days. For me, it will be the last 30 days in this house. Next month on the 20th we move. Then school will start soon after, and new routines will emerge. But until then, 30 days. 30 posts. 1 paragraph.

Are you in?

I've had a few people ask for badges for this little project, and so here you are. I'm thrilled that so many of you want to join me! It will be worth it. Promise. (Also I can't wait to see what you share every day!)

Just One Paragraph
Just One Paragraph

An ending & a beginning /  by Christina Rosalie

The world is suddenly green. The drenched trees lost their blossoms as quickly as they bloomed; petals fell like a party dress to the grass. Now everything flutters with the minute iterations of leaves. The grass is suddenly shaggy and surprisingly long; as though it’s from a Jack In the Bean Stalk fairy tale while hummingbirds zip among the rain drenched azaleas and lilacs fill the air with heady sweetness.

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This weekend big things are happening. A Field Guide To Now on Kickstarter is ending tomorrow. 28 hours left. (Become a backer if you haven’t. This is IT!)

I’m leaving on a weekend adventure today with my camera and some pretty shoes in tow. I won’t be here when the project time runs out, but I want to tell you how grateful I am. I am astounded, joyful, terrified, delighted, eager. This is such a big deal… and YOU made it happen.

Thank you.

xxxo!

I want to tell you things... /  by Christina Rosalie

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I want to tell you things. I want to capture moments and pin them down, and preserve them like the fragile wings of the butterflies we sometimes find dead along the roadside at the end of summer.

I want to tell you about the fragrance of peaches. The way they melt in my mouth, the fragrance filling every crevice of memory and consciousness with the utter sweetness of late summer. They are a thing to behold, peaches, now, when you can cut them in half, twisting so that the fruit separates easily from the pit and the skin slides off like a party dress.

I want to tell you about the way the house smelled like blueberry boy bait this afternoon. Cakey and heavenly, made with freshly ground flour and local berries.

I want to tell you about the fat green watermelon resting on my counter, its round rind a map of green and pale stripes. It will split open easily, revealing the red fruit and dark seeds. Watermelon is summer. Summer is red sticky juice running down little boy’s chins, and spitting seeds, and sitting on the front step with big slices watching the storm clouds come. In the garden our own sugar babies and moon and stars are ripening, their leaves like ruffled skirts creeping over ground to fraternize the long girlish legs of the corn.

I want to tell you how everything is always one thing and then another. How a morning can be good or bad, and so the day will go, always sort of unexpected. Always abrupt and unfolding. Every day is a small surprise. I am struck by this again and again: that being alive sometimes feels so fickle and permeable, each day a handful of pebbled moments bumping up against each other in god’s pockets. The mountains are blue. The day ends earlier. The clouds come. They bring rain. I wake up with a headache wanting to cry; but then there is the fragrance of roses by the stoop, summer peaches, watermelon, boy bait on plates with forks and crumbs.

I want you to understand this, because I want to understand it too: that today can be anything. That it can be lost and reclaimed a hundred times.

* * * I also want to tell you thank you for your comments on my last post. I loved reading every single one. Loved discovering some new blogs and old favorites and all the amazing goals for August that you have. I want to come here daily, post things, share snippets, but the hours are never long enough. Never. I’m falling behind on my word count, though I’m typing frantically to keep up (just above 12k today.)

And oh, the headache that is this morning. Sigh.

What are you up to today?