I love New Year’s Day. I love thinking of change, options, ways to be healthy, and ways to grow. Yes, I’m one of those resolution makers.
I have to admit I don’t keep many of them. Or some, I’ve made and dropped and made again. So, in the long run, I’m keeping up.
This year I am considering my eating habits and working on eliminating sugar. I think I’ve tried this every year since I first read Sugar Blues about 100 years ago.
I am also considering adding more reading (fiction) and cutting my screen time. Oh I say I’m reading when I’m staring at my laptop, but glancing at headlines and flitting from page to page really doesn’t count.
Writing– I’m considering designating a time every day to write. See I’ve already started.
And see what I did there? These are all considerations. When I don’t happen to keep them up each day, I will bang my head against the table a little less. I haven’t failed since they weren’t absolute rules.
Speaking of failure. I turn 65 in June. I have a lot to consider before then. So this reading and writing will be a good thing.
I’ll let you know if cutting sugar from my diet was a good thing, too.
In my head.
I keep shaking it, trying to move myself out of the gloom. I think it’s the cold. Tomorrow, though it will rain buckets, and it’s going to be 80. Sweet.
But printing goes on. I delivered cards to Heather’s today and restocked the shelves at Water Street. I’m getting ready for my show at Skin Touch Therapy on May 3. Excited!! And I’m having as much fun learning Adobe Illustrator as I am with my presses. A geek at heart.
By the way, those are new journals with letterpress printed covers in Etsy and at Great.ly. I’m going to go write my gray day away. (Wish I could do the same for my hair.)
I’ve been having a hard time writing lately. My dreams are of presses and type, my spare moments have me reading instead of composing. The words roll around in my head. Until they decide to take some shape, I will ignore the guilt.
Besides artist and author, Nin was also a publishing entrepreneur. In January 1942, she sets up her own small press in a loft on Macdougal Street, and soon set out to print and self-publish a new edition of her third book, Winter of Artifice, teaching herself typesetting and doing most of the manual work herself.
I totally get this:
You pit your faculties against concrete problems. The victories are concrete, definable, touchable. A page of perfect printing. You can touch the page you wrote. We exult in what we master and discover. Instead of using one’s energy in a void, against frustrations, in anger against publishers, I use it on the press, type, paper, a source of energy. Solving problems, technical, mechanical problems. Which can be solved.
Our Wednesday writing circle at the studio is one of my favorite times of the week. I offer a prompt, we write for ten minutes, and then we share whatever has come out of that. Often for me it’s trash, nothing worth using. I am not a someone who can spin a piece of writing into gold without time and effort. Actually, “gold” is not how I describe any of my writing. But what does happen is a release of sorts, a letting go of whatever is on my mind.
Without the writing, I can ruminate on, analyze, and project my worries about a topic forever. Once the words appear on paper (or keyboard), they have morphed to a new place. I love this quote by Tobias Wolff– we all want to get things right. Writing helps us move forward with clarity.
“A lumbar laminectomy is also known as an open decompression and typically performed to alleviate pain caused by neural impingement that can result from lumbar spinal stenosis.”
Her yellow skirt, draped
long across scuffed boots,
followed her into the waiting room
where we sat in hard chairs
drinking cold coffee, watching
repetitive news on the television,
may I interrupt? she asked, raising
her hands above her head
if you need or want a prayer,
please come forward, we will
pray up here together, if you
feel the need, she said
I dropped my chin, stared at
the stain in the carpet while
the family of blond women
with red fingernails trooped up
making a circle around the woman
One by one they rose from
their chairs, and she prayed
for us all as I sat there glued
to my chair, wondering why
they hadn’t cleaned the carpet.