International Be Positive Day

Robyn Campbell and Sharon Mayhew, two of the loveliest children's writers and friends I know, have declared today International Be Positive Day.

It's a day to be positive, to encourage one another, to share the happy, through twitter, Facebook, and your blog.  Will you join us?

I walked this path in Laguardia, Spain last May. When I think of this place, I think, here, is where dreams seem possible.

The dirt is thick sandy desert rushing into shrubbed meadows, lake, then mountain rock. There are jungle green grape vines, technicolor sky, and storybook clouds.  Nearby, a gardener tends to his roses, and they are larger and brighter than any other I've seen.

When I think of this place, I think dream big. I think, it is possible for the sky to open up to us, for us to see how endless it really is.

Do you have a place where it feels possible to dream bigger?

Okay To Dream

In the late hours last night, I found myself reaching an end. I completed another set of revisions for RABBIT ISLAND, a book that has sent me flying on both real and metaphorical rollercoasters for years, a book whose title I can not seem to shed because it's so rooted in this place that I can't imagine the unimaginative title any other way.

Yesterday, I sat with my boss, Jeff, as I do each week and though the meeting is on our calendar to discuss a weekly status, the discussion is never quite about where we are, but where we wish we, that is to say, our company, our industry, this 'business' of play (I work for a toy company), could be.

Over the years, he and I have stood in conference rooms and pitched endless ideas to bored listeners. We've been dismissed and berated more times than we've been encouraged.  And, while I've often grown weary and retreated, Jeff, instead, continues to fly off on zig-zag paths, what if, what if, and soon he thinks we don't just have an idea but a movement, a musical revue with booming ensemble spectacles in the third act, and I never quite know how we get to Rockette kicks and jazz hands (you'll have to ask him) but I always end up thinking, Okay. Yeah. Yes. Let's go. 

Our discussion yesterday turned towards people, to the leadership of our company, and we wondered what it would be like, if we walked into a room and instead of the eye-roll, the bored sigh, the I don't know, I don't really get it, do we really have time for this now?, we received a help me understand, or, a why don't you try this, or I have an idea! How about...

Last night, I thought a lot about this, about hope, about possibility, about the people who encourage creativity rather than suppress it.  I thought about how it trickles, how one sarcastic, snide comment shifts an entire conference room of people, shifts the culture of a company of hundreds.

I wondered if I have let others stomp and whine and no no no too many times. I thought, if I had to look towards leadership, I'd better look towards Jeff, who will go anywhere, who will piggyback any idea and ride it just to see where it goes.  I thought, I have to be that person to others. I have to be open, kind. I have to shift the mood another way.  It has to start with me.

When I reached the final sentences of my novel, last night, I felt hopeful, a feeling I have foolishly suppressed in the past. Sometimes it's hard to hope, to let yourself wish for things but, yesterday, after I saved the document, then emailed it to myself, watched it pop up bold and new in my inbox, I thought, it has to be okay to dream.  We have to open ourselves, and others, to that possibility.

Writing When the Sun Comes Up

Since I can remember, I have written late at night, after all else is completed and the day is done. In recent years, this has meant that the clock will tick towards 10pm and I'll finally sit down on my little couch, fling my knees over the arm of it, and begin.  It also means I'll go to bed very late with a fever of words and I will not fall asleep until something inside me simmers and slows.

In the aftermath of the Sandy storm, I was given a rare week off from work.  I researched, wrote and cooked most of each day.  I read before bed, then fell asleep quickly.  For the first time in years, my sleep was heavy.  I woke up rested. I remembered my dreams.

My restful sleep may have had something to do with the fact that I did not have to go in to the office. But writing during the day also meant that my mind was far more peaceful at night.

As a result, I've decided to make a significant shift; to reverse my writing life. To write in the morning after I rise with the sun (well, in these days, before it.)

It's only been a few days since I began the experiment.  I'm not sure it will be an easy transition.  I have always written very late at night. Since I was a little girl. My parents would go to sleep and I would turn my light back on. Writing has always been a secret in the dark. Just for me.

But since I began, I realize the ritual is symbolic. Writing is the first thing I do.  Not the last.  I wake up happy, knowing I have given myself the time to be with my secret, to do what I love.

We'll see how this goes.  I don't know how I'll feel at the end of the week, how my body will react to new hours of sleep, how I'll fare for the hours I need to be at the office and the freelance work that awaits me when I get home.  But we'll see.

What time of day do you write?  Have you ever made a significant adjustment to your writing schedule?

Patience (Or the Making of Something, Like A Dream)

Patience is a problem for me. 

My desperate plea yesterday is a symptom of that impatience.  Of course, I can not expect an entire novel to reveal itself to me instantly.  Of course, I shouldn't label it.  I should go with it.  The process is going to take the time it always does and I'm fortunate to have that time at all.

I'll admit I spend a lot of wasted energy, panicking, thinking When am I going to get there? 

Yesterday I learned that a good friend at work (and in life) is leaving the company. I have known this was coming. She's been nurturing a kind of dream for a while, spent time taking classes and workshops, getting the necessary certification, meeting the right people, investing volunteer time.  Her process has been slow but steady (as the turtle taught the hare.)

Together, we've tested the limits, took too-long lunches to walk the Highline, circle Madison Square Park, and lounge in the secret garden-- there is one in this concrete jungle but, as the name implies, I can not tell you where it is.  We'd find ice cream and Indian food and, through it all, talk about hopes, make big plans. 

I'll miss her but I'm happy to have walked a small part of her journey, excited to see where she'll go next.

I think desire is easy.  Once it's been found, the I want this comes without any effort at all.  It's the making of a dream that takes time.  I'm learning this.

Just as I'm learning every day to be patient.  It is very (very) difficult for me.  But things come.  Not just to those who simply wait but, I think, to those who make.

Man On Wire

I know this documentary, Man on Wire, came out years ago.  Somehow, it stayed on my radar all these years as a film I wanted to see but never saw.  I always remembered the blue cover and the tiny figure of a man, just a speck in the sky.  I finally saw it the other day.

For those who haven't seen the film, it's about Philippe Petit, a wire walker who crossed (danced, tip-toed, conquered) a wire between the top of the Twin Towers in 1974.  The film follows the journey from idea to execution.  It is illegal to do such a dangerous stunt.  To hear from the men and women involved in this enormous undertaking is fascinating.

Two 'images' struck me in the film.  Both, just anecdotes.  One from Philippe himself.  He sat in a dentist's office and saw a photo of the planned Twin Towers in a magazine.  They hadn't even been built yet and he envisioned a wire between the two.  A wire he decided, at that moment, he would walk.

The second from his girlfriend at the time, Annie, who said Philippe had decided she would be his girlfriend, sent flowers, chocolates, made phonecalls, showed up at her door and asked for endless dates until she agreed.

This kind of certainty impressed me.  To know what you want, to have such a singular purpose, and chase it until it is yours. 

I thought it was an appropriate sentiment to bring to a new year. 

Have you seen the film?  Anything you wish you chase in this life?

The 'I Made This' Room

Last night I had such a wonderful dream. There was a house I didn't know. An older couple I didn't recognize. Tyler spread out on the couch with pen and paper in his hands, writing. (Was I writing a press release? Tyler asked when I told him about the dream.)

The couple asked him if he needed inspiration, if he needed to go to a special place so the words would flow easier. And so they took him to what they called the 'I Made This' room. We made everything in here, they said. From the furniture, to the mosaic tiled floors, to the paintings on the walls. Nothing from a store. Nothing allowed in the room unless they, or someone they knew, made it.

Make something here, they told him.

When I woke up, I was so happy. I knew how special those people were even if I didn't know them. I thought how funny it was that Tyler was the one writing and I was no where to be found.

And I thought, someday I must, MUST have an 'I Made This' room. When I get one, you're all invited to make things there.

But I better work on my non-existent carpentry skills. Or you'll have no place to sit.

Dream A Little Dream

All right people, I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I had to relay this dream I had the other night. Think of it as a public service announcement to all those querying.

In the dream, I had received an e-mail rejection for the novel I am currently writing. Which is only 17K in a first draft and is obviously no where near the query stage.

Anyhow, this is what the rejection (in the dream) said:

Dear Melissa:

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to read your manuscript. Unfortunately, I am going to have to pass on the novel.

I actually enjoyed the read very much and considered offering representation. But when I got to the last page, there was urine on it. I find the fact that you peed on your manuscript very unsettling and I just couldn't get past it.

Thank you,

[Real Agent's Name]

So there you have it folks. Whatever happens, resist the urge to urinate on your novel and send it out. It will only lead to heartache. Now you know.

Ever have any weird dreams about your writing? Or peeing?