Blogging and my Paper Journal

This morning, I wrote in my paper journal for the first time since November. Hmm.

I've been keeping a paper journal since I was 12--and that doesn't count the tiny journal with a lock that I got sometime in elementary school and waited to have something important enough to say that it would justify being locked away between covers.

There have been years of lesser journaling--grad school, for example, will be the gaping hole which future researchers will have to piece together. Part of why I stopped journaling, of course, is that I had so much other writing and reading to do. Part of it is that I became a bit depressed, and my journaling slipped away, which made me more depressed--a tough cycle to break.

When I first read Julia Cameron's books (my favorite, still, The Realms of Gold), I decided to follow her demand of 3 pages of daily writing. I worried that the daily pages would mean that I didn't write any other pages, but I found that my productivity skyrocketed.

Those of you who follow my blog faithfully know that I tend to write almost daily. I write my blog entries as often as I used to write journal entries--on a normal week, 5-7 entries. I just checked, and my average blog entries are about the same size (word count, page count) as those 3 daily pages. So, my writing amount hasn't dropped off.

But my content has changed, obviously. I tend to save my paper journal for the stuff I want to write about which should not be public content. Not everyone shares my sense of boundaries, I admit. But there are work kerfuffles that need to be kept offline, relationship disputes and disappointments that don't need to be shared with the larger world, and I'm always mindful that future employers may read these online pages (although they'd need a lot of time to read everything that's online that has to do with me).

I have spent many years now, even before I started blogging, pondering the implications of our online lives and our offline lives. What will happen if Blogger is ever taken over, and I have to pay to do this? Or pay to get access to my back files? How will future scholars read our blogs (not just the delivery mechanisms, but in terms of how they take into account the public nature of blogs?).

For the first year that I started blogging, I tried to keep my paper journal in addition to blogging. But now I don't. I write what wants to come in any given day. If I have stuff I need to sort out (or I'm away from my computer), it's off to the paper journal. If I want to work on poetry, I do that. I try to blog on a close-to-daily basis, because I feel like I have faithful readers, and I want to keep having faithful readers. And I've found that my blogging often leads my brain to places it wouldn't have otherwise gone, and that leads to poems I wouldn't have written (or preserves ideas for me to cultivate later).

Still, I wonder if by blogging more, and paper journaling less, I'm less in touch with my deepest feelings. Part of me laughs at even thinking about that. I'm middle-aged, and one of the comforts of middle age is that I don't have as many tempestuous feelings that need to be sorted out away from prying eyes. What a relief! And if I find myself with tempestous feelings, the paper journal is always there.

State of Apple, State of the Union

So, it's been many years since I qualified as a techie geek, if ever I qualified. In middle school, for some reason, our school got a computer, and a core group of us learned to program in BASIC. Yes, I missed all instruction on decimals and percentages during my years of moving around, but I learned to program a computer. I know that language is dead now, but once I knew the thrill of making the computer do what I wanted, as it played Hangman with me.

These days, I don't often have the thrill of making the computer do what I want. I bow to the will of some unknown programmer somewhere and hope for the best. These days, I just want all the technology units to play nicely together.

I went to a technology meeting yesterday where we saw a presentation about SMART Boards and SMART Slates, and then I heard about the iPad. Frankly, the SMART Boards and SMART Slates I'd seen earlier had more of a magical presence. Maybe I'd feel differently if I held an iPad in my hands. On my old screens, it's hard to judge how much better the iPad screen might be.

I spent the afternoon catching up on some reading, making beef stroganoff, catching up on some poetry and retreat planning tasks. It was lovely.

I have no opinion on the State of the Union address because I didn't stay up to watch it. But truth be told, I almost never watch the State of the Union. Go ahead and talk about your plans. Wake me up when it's time for action.

I used to faithfully watch the State of the Union. I thought it was my duty as a good citizen. I remember in the mid 90's, the first time I turned off the State of the Union, how subversive I felt as I read and listened to old Suzanne Vega CDs. Then I wrote poetry into the wee, small hours of the morning, and I slept a contented sleep. Ever since then, I haven't tuned in.

Last night, I finished reading Nora Gallagher's The Sacred Meal. Gallagher is such a beautiful writer. Even if you're not a Eucharist geek the way that I am, you might enjoy the poetry of her writing. She talks about the first miracle of Jesus, at the wedding feast, turning water into wine. Then she says this: "In the clear water of our lives lies undiscovered wine. It is our charge, as men and women, as human beings, to commit ourselves to seeking and finding that heady spirit in our sisters and brothers and in ourselves. How to do that is probably different for everyone, but the first step is to know the wine is there" (page 66). For more on that book, wander over to my theology blog, where I wrote about it in more detail.

Then I read a bit from my print edition of the Qarrtsiluni journal's Journaling the Apocalypse theme issue. You can read it online here, but I liked it so much that I bought the print copy. What does it mean that I both love the Eucharist and hold the end of the world as we know it as one of my favorite themes? I see certain symmatries in that, but let me not wander into heavy theological territory.

Instead, I'll think about the issue of dead languages: dead computer languages, dead languages like Latin, dead languages in family units. Hmm. I feel a poem percolating.

Reading Outside My Reading List

One of the interesting things about creating a reading list is how many books I've immediately thought about adding to the list. Since I have several quick airplane trips coming up in February, and since I usually get a lot of reading done on a plane, I just ordered some books, some on the list, some not.

I ordered 36 Arguments for the Existence of God by Rebecca Newberger Goldstein after reading this review in The Washington Post. I confess that this book was already on my radar screen after hearing it reviewed (on Fresh Air? I'm pretty sure it was that NPR show). The Washington Post review made it sound like this book should be on my list for so many reasons: I love books about campus life, I love witty satire, I love books that dance with theology in a smart way. So, soon, this book will be on its way to me.

And if I like this book, the author has written several others. When I was young, I delighted in discovering authors with a long track record. So often I would fall in love with a writer early in his/her writing life, and it seemed like such a LONG time to wait until the next book appeared. Now, of course, the years zoom by, and the next book appears before I have time to read the last book. Sigh.

I'm tempted to add the Patty Smith memoir Just Kids to my list after reading this review by Elizabeth Hand in yesterday's The Washington Post. Hand says, "More than a 1970s bohemian rhapsody, "Just Kids" is one of the best books ever written on becoming an artist -- not the race for online celebrity and corporate sponsorship that often passes for artistic success these days, but the far more powerful, often difficult journey toward the ecstatic experience of capturing radiance of imagination on a page or stage or photographic paper."

Wow. One of the best books ever written on becoming an artist--well, that sentence will be the one that steers me to this book. That theme is one of my perennial favorites.

I often don't bother reading the books of authors who have been making the NPR rounds. By the time I've heard them interviewed on several shows, when I start reading the book, I feel like I've already read it. But perhaps I'll make an exception for this one. It's by the godmother of punk, after all.

So, here's a question for the day: if you were going to birth a movement (or be godparent to it), what would that movement look like? Let us all begin writing our manifestos! Or would it be the kind of movement that wrote manifestos?

Creativity Groups and Do It Yourself Retreats

Over at her blog, Kelli writes about her do-it-yourself writers' retreat that she had with her local creative friends and she offers great ideas--you, too, could have a writer's retreat with your friends this very week-end. No need to wait until you get accepted into an MFA program. No need to win that coveted spot in a nationally known retreat center.

I've often had writers' groups as part of my life, but as I read Kelli's post, I realized with a bit of shock that we haven't actually written together. Even during retreats where we wrote, we usually retired to our separate rooms to write. The majority of writers' groups of which I've been a part have been the workshop kind, where we arrive with our work written and looking for feedback or praise.

I found this exercise that Kelli describes intriguing:

"We also did 2 exercises where we would write and someone would say a word from a list of words we had created from books of poems. J & I each chose 5 words each from our chosen book of poems and R & A chose 5 words each from their chosen book of poems.

We put these words in a bowl then started with a phrase, our was something like "...years above the dizzying bridge..." from a Madeline DeFrees poem. We would freewrite then every 30-90 seconds, one person would draw a word from the bowl and we'd have to incorporate it into our poem. This makes you add things into your work that you might not add and stretches your brain. It's very hard to write the cliche poem if you're writing about flying and someone gives you the word "marsupial." It takes your poem to surprising places. (This is our group's favorite exercise at the moment.)"

I like the idea that they use books of poems. I like the idea of surprising additions.

I wonder if I could use this idea with my students. I've now moved most of my volumes of poetry to my office. If I used this idea, it would give my students a reason to touch the books and go through them. They are often so shocked to realize that poems exist in a book-length volume. I was too. For so many years, poems were what you read in anthologies.

Speaking of anthologies, one of the highlights of my yesterday was the chance to read my friend's short story that has just been published in an anthology of Asian American female writers (I hope I have that right). It was a beautiful story. I suspected it would be, but I've only read my friend's poetry. Her poetry takes my breath away, so I wasn't surprised to find that she's very skillful with narrative too.

I'm happy to have these kind of friends, ones with whom we can share our publishing victories. But reading Kelli's post made me realize how few creative communities I have now, groups that actually create together. I miss my old writing groups--well, the ones that worked I miss. The dysfunctional ones can go away. I miss my friends who gamely experimented with the creativity circles that I pulled together as I read Julia Cameron's The Vein of Gold. I miss the quilting group that I had a few years ago, the one that met fairly faithfully once a month.

Let me think some more about this. Let me send out my wishes to the universe and see what echoes back.

Happy Birthday, Virginia Woolf

I'm old enough to remember when not even Virginia Woolf was a certain member of the literary canon, although she was grudgingly accepted by the time I got to graduate school in the late 80's. When I was in undergraduate school, my professors were likely to present her as one of many female writers who were stark, raving mad, and therefore, not worthy of our attention.

When I got older, it occured to me to wonder why so many women writers were stark raving mad. Of course, reading Gilbert and Gubar's The Madwoman in the Attic was a huge help. No other book of literary criticism has meant as much to me as that one, and I don't expect that any book of literary criticism ever will.

I wrote my M.A. thesis on James Joyce, and it was interesting to read Mrs. Dalloway after that experience. We forget what a radical experiment those Modernist writers were engaged in: to try to depict human consciousness, just the way we experience it. As far as I can see, most writers in our day have decided not to make that attempt anymore.

As a creative writer, Virginia Woolf's essay "A Room of One's Own" has meant the most to me. She was so insightful in naming all the forces which have kept women from writing, and I have tried to fiercely guard against those forces. I haven't had children, and I've tried to always have some sort of job where money is coming in. I've gone as far as I could go in school, and I've tried to stay on top of the subjects where my lack of knowledge might be used against me. I have writing space that is mine, several of them, now that I think about it. They have doors that close--and lock, if necessary.

Of course, now in midlife, I begin to wonder whether or not the circumstances that Woolf observed early in the twentieth century are the same for us in ours. I think they are. If we're scrounging for money, we won't have time to create. If we have no inviolate space, it will be hard to create. Women who have children will create different art than those of us without children--or they may create no art until the children are older. When I was younger, I would have assumed that would be a great tragedy. Now, I'm not so sure. Maybe the art is richer.

No, if I was updating Woolf's essay, I'd warn about the insidious impact of so much technology that gives us so much information. I think that most of us don't have the kind of downtime that so many creative types need. We're all so plugged in. We may now have the money that Virginia Woolf realized that we would need, but those jobs that make us self-sufficient also drain away a lot of our time. We're always checking e-mail, always checking voice mail--and most of us don't have the kind of jobs where we really need to be present. Really, what will happen at the office if I check my e-mail 5 hours later? What crisis will there be? I'm not a brain surgeon. No one will be bleeding or dying--and if they are, that's responsibility goes to a dean's level person, not me.

We're frazzled and fragmented, but in such a different way than Woolf was. She was denied an education, denied entrance to the library, denied resources. We have more resources than we can ever consume in a lifetime. It's a burden of a different kind.

Happy birthday, Virginia Woolf. Thanks for blazing that trail that so many of us travel. Thanks for the notes you've left us to enjoy as we blaze our own trails.

Early Morning Ramblings and a Love Song to NPR

Yesterday morning, I slept until 7:30 a.m.--that's after falling asleep at 9 p.m. I can't remember the last time I did that. That's one way that I know I'm fighting off a cold, that and my scratchy throat, my awareness of my sinuses in a way that I'm not usually.

I also know that I'm fighting off a cold because my appetite disappears. I could go the whole day without eating.

I wonder if this experience is how normal people experience food and hunger. I spend my whole day thinking about food, enjoying the memory of my last meal, planning for the next meals, making myself hungry, eating. It's no wonder I'm carrying extra weight.

And today, I find myself awake early, after going to sleep later than usual (but still early, compared to most grown ups, at 10:30). I'm listening to an amazing interview on Fresh Air with Patti Smith. I've always found her interesting because she started life with no intention of becoming the godmother of punk. She was a poet. She said that girls didn't become rock'n'rollers back then, with the exception of Grace Slick, and she didn't have Grace Slick's voice. She didn't play an instrument. Her thick New Jersey accented voice wouldn't lead us to think that she could sing.

She says she saw herself as a performer and a communicator, and her first album was where she tried to merge poetry and rock, and to reach out to all the disaffected groups that she saw.

I've always been in love with music, and one of my alternate Kristins (as I think of, when I think of the paths I didn't take) is touring the country, playing everywhere she can get a gig, writing songs as the miles go by, picking up abandoned instruments at yard sales, and collaborating with interesting musicians of all kinds. It's wonderful to hear this interview.

One of the biggest advantages of the Internet for me is the ability to hear NPR stories that I have missed as they air. Now it's amazing to me to think back to a time where if you weren't listening to the radio, you just missed things that were gone forever--the same way, my students can't comprehend a world before VCRs, where movies came to the theatre, you had a narrow window of time to see them, and then they were gone, probably forever.

I've always written best with NPR talking in the background. I used to live in a place with an NPR station that was more classical music, and when the news programs clicked off, I'd try other forms of talk radio--but the shouting and screaming was too much for me (although I must confess a shocking addiction to Dr. Laura Schlessinger for a brief time)--and the commercials were jarring, with their change in volume, their sound effects--impossible to tune it all out.

I like having NPR on when I write, because when I hit a snag, I have something to focus upon, until I either call it a day or I figure out how to go on in my writing. I like having NPR on when I do other art forms, because I have something to listen to. I know that television works for some people, but I find the picture too distracting. I like having NPR on when I drive, because I have something to think about besides the miserable traffic situations.

I wonder if individual stations will soon find their donors not giving money because of the easy availability of programming on the Internet. Will NPR stations find themselves in the position of newspapers?

This morning I'm feeling better--not much of a scratchy throat left, just some slight congestion. Hurrah.

Soon it will be off to spin class, off to the office. But I'll take that vision of Patti Smith with me: poet turned musician turned godmother of punk. I'll think of roads not taken--or should I say, roads not yet taken, roads yet to be revealed?

The National Arts Index

If you're an artist who relies on the Internet to deliver your art, you'll be cheered by the recent report by the nonprofit group Americans for the Arts. If you're an arts group that relies on people to come out of their houses, to leave their computers, you won't.

I read about the report in this story in today's The Washington Post. It contains lots of information that you probably already suspected, like the fact that more people are getting their arts entertainment from their computers. It also contains some surprising facts, like more people are signing up to take ceramics courses. More people are also taking knitting classes, but that didn't surprise me.

The group found that a new arts organization is created every three hours. Every three hours! My first thought was hurray, Americans are devoted to the arts. My second was despair at all the statistics about who isn't going to which events: "Attendance at art museums was down 13 percent from 2003 to 2008, the index found, while audiences at popular music events were down 6 percent."

I'm glad I didn't follow my first inclination in college, which was to major in Arts Administration. I thought it would be a good way to combine my love of the arts, while giving me something practical to do for money. But I took an Accounting class, and that, as they say, was that. Blhh. I now wonder how my life might have been changed if I had taken a different sort of business class first, but I didn't. And it was 1984, and I was convinced that Ronald Reagan would detonate the nuclear bombs at any moment, so what I majored in didn't matter.

And here we are, twenty-five years later, still looking for that mushroom cloud. Well, I'm still waiting, but I realize I'm probably one of few who still occasionally anxiously scans the horizon for that telltale sign.

I can't complain too much about the Internet, however. I still think that the Internet keeps many of us artists more connected, both to each other and to potential audiences. I've bought most of the poetry books I've bought in the past few years because I love the blogs of the writers or because some of my favorite poets blogged about the books of other poets. I think that more people are reading my poems now that they're online, both on my blog and website and in online journals. Ten years ago, my poems appeared in paper journals with a distribution of 250 copies. How did those journals survive?

Well, as Steven D. Schroeder points out in a recent blog post, many of them don't. And in fact, the book itself may be obsolete. The Americans for the Arts report tells us that reading rates are plummeting. I know that many people are willing to say that in our lifetimes, books will cease to be published (except digitally). But I still love books as objects, much as I love LPs (those old vinyl records, for those of you who are too young to know the lingo). I will always hope for something that comes along to save them, even as I participate in the newer technologies.