It's been all monumentally, simple moments up on the hill. Summer has basically come and almost gone while I wasn't looking.
The shutters are still a project. Lying half painted and waiting. I have to admit I'll give them credit they don't yell at me like other inanimate objects. Like my laptop. It whispers all the time. Words, words, words. The shutters wait with a quiet confidence that I'll return and they'll be all firecracker red in no time. The laptop, it sometimes shutters a little in fear. As if all of time will pass by and the words I was meant to write will rest inside of me for all time.
I'm listening in the quiet places. Somedays I live another life instead of writing. Somedays I fill the plastic pool and buy a watermelon and pick up the Charmings (the duo that makes up part of the wolf pack when all the littles are together.) and say HEY - WANT TO HAVE SOME ZAZA FUN? And they act like I walk on water, that I have superpowers, that I am someone really important. Higher ranking than any queen or diplomat. Then they climb in my car and I take them to the pool and cut the watermelon and they stand in one foot of water with watermelon slices, red juice running down their arms and grin at each other and nod their hands like - IS THIS NOT THE BEST LIFE EVER???? Zaza is fighting something and a little under the weather but they don't need to know this and in this moment - it is the best day ever. And then we watered flowers and drew pictures and played with trucks and lit sparklers on the front porch and watched a movie. And that was a very, good day.
Life still opens up slowly up on the hill. The fog lifts and changes shapes, finds the trees, climbs higher. On my better days I'm up in time to watch this show take place. It settles me and sets the tone. Breathe it says. Just breathe. And God says things. Like yes and I know. And, just breathe.
I'm on the road now which seems to be my natural state of being. Wheels moving across the asphalt where they can just keep on moving like we'll just drive into the hereafter if we don't slow down. I've snuck off to a coffee house because the house is still sleeping. Mama and cousins so as soon as I open my eyes and say thank you God I'm still breathing, the world is still spinning, gravity is not lost - I think COFFEE like I need an IV fix, pull on jeans a shirt I've worn three days running, grab laptop bag and find the closest coffee shop. It's a new one for me. I so long to head over the bridge and park in St. Andrews where writer friend Tony Simmons hangs but I'm sticking close to the family this am. So I'm at a new place. Finn's it's called. Attached to the old Mr. Surf's. A hangout of my teenage years.
There's a guy talking Jesus. I know this because he has said Jesus a few times and then mentioned Corinthians. I gotta say, he looks healthy. That kind of tan and juicing healthy that some people look. Not like vampires that have been up late singing King of the Road at Cousin Deb's backyard Karoke bar. I bet he went to bed at an earlier hour. Now I notice praise music is playing on the speakers. They have soy candles for sell and raw almonds and hemp seeds and bottles of wine for sale. This is good. All of it is good.
I put in earphones and play David Gray's Babylon. Again. It's my new over and over and over song.
And read a few pages of Always We Begin Again. The tiniest of books. Evidence that the weight of words isn't measured by the length of them. I make a note to read the meditation, Each Day on the air on Clearstory Radio next Wednesday. Being back on the air is like slipping on an old coat. One I've missed and get to remember brand new all over again. It's a strange little mixture of words and songs all celebrating living a creative life with soul.
The news. Greece hurt me. People driven to cliffs to try to find the sea, to escape. Families clinging to one another in a last embrace knowing they will die. Found that way. A thousand million words couldn't say more to me than that image in my heart which spoke volumes of all that we hold dear and love and the best of who we are. One last embrace.
Today is my friend Fran's Birthday. She happened to be mother to one of my best friends, grandmother to three gorgeous girls who continue to bless my life just by knowing them. But she was also a friend with open arms, a great supporter of so many authors. A lover of story, a compassionate, passionate person full wonder. She was - and still is - a part of the magic that makes up my life.
Today I hope you find the magic that makes your life worthy of every blessed minute we have here together. I'll be back soon.
Peace and promises,
For months now I've had an itch, an inkling, a constant whisper that I needed to just offer a pop-up creative class for writers and other artists. For those who might not be familiar with the term 'pop-up' it's simply a short handed way of saying it wasn't there and now it is. Seemingly overnight, inspiration hits, the muse speaks, and we all benefit.
I was invited in what seemed like a spur of the moment flourish to speak at 'pop-up' secret group of creatives in the Nashville area. Secret because you had to be a member of the closed group and maybe nominated or added by someone who knew you. Then and only then could you receive last minute invitations to a party, dinner, gathering of like minded cool creatives from all corners of Nashville. So overnight - there is this guy - who sends out an invite and oh, about 40-200 million people show up the next night. POP-up. My invite - I showed up not certain of the group because hey - they could have been strange in all the wrong ways… except I really trusted the person who suggested me and was going. Turns out - they are AMAZING people from all walks of life. Scriptwriters, movie distributors, directors, film-makers (ok, so it's a little wonderfully movie/TV heavy), storytellers, writers, and PR people.
On the drive home I thought - yep, the pop-up has its place. At least for me it means I can guide a class without spending a year planning it.
THE LOW DOWN
Between shootings in Paris, bombings, and threats of nuclear attack from North Korea, ping-pong news about talks about war and peace around the world - ships on the move from Russia, Fleets getting ready - hmmm, this heating up of crazy - I've never been more convinced that the creativity of good people is more needed or in demand. I've never been more certain that storytelling is our lifeblood, and that partnering with the divine in that telling is a sacred act.
All that being said: What is it that would help you get to the next level in the writing of your script, novel, song, or story? What would it take for you to go home and actually pick up your paint brush, get out your easel? Turn off your phone? Who needs to tell you that you don't have to wait for the perfect day, hour, life to embrace that sacred space inside you?
If you are a professional who has hit a wall in your creative thinking - this is for you.
If you just want to add a little jazz to the great work your already doing - this is for you.
If you are at the end of your rope and feel like you are going to just die if you don't simply begin somewhere - this is for you.
It has been my experience in traveling, creating, writing and speaking for more than 20 years now that it is conversation that make people bloom.
Often the Q&A after speeches provide the greatest opportunity for learning and creative growth. The reason being those Q&A's and conversations is a two way street, and the room becomes a roundtable.
One week from today I'll be hosting a gathering for those who would like to take part in a new series:
The Sacred Art of Storytelling.
Teaching and Creative Conversation:
Where: Capitol Coffee Company - Bellevue, TN
When: Friday, April 28
To claim your spot email Tomi Wiley at firstname.lastname@example.org -
Leave it All Behind. Renew Your Muse
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