Category: Lists

February reflections

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February Reflections

  1. What felt good this month? This month passed in a flash! I won’t say it’s been easy, but a few things that felt good involved small actions that directed my energies outside of myself. Being a fiction writer doesn’t offer many opportunities to directly serve or (even interact with!) others, which is something I struggle with, but these actions made sense for me, right now: I donated blood (first-time), and will donate again, because I can—(At the clinic, I kept thinking of that slogan “It’s in you to give”; it felt like an uncomplicated way to be helpful); I’m in the midst of helping organize season three of The X Page: applications are open now to refugee and immigrant women in Waterloo Region, who are interested in storytelling—please spread the word!; I enjoyed Tuesday morning conversations with my grandma, who lives in Indiana; I got more involved at church; and I had fun sending out daily messages for two weeks to my word of the year group, as we did a “tea cleanse” together. My days are spent mostly inside the same rooms of the same house with the same people; reaching out felt really really good.
  2. What did you struggle with? Apparently, I struggled to remember this question existed! Somehow, it got lost while writing the original draft for this post; I’m answering it today, March 2. I struggled to figure out how to support my children, all living under this same roof, while also offering them independence, autonomy, and the “right” amount of responsibility. Are my expectations too low, too high; do they have enough opportunities to separate from me and be with their peers? Teenagers need their peers, a lot. The pandemic has made these important years for developing independence very challenging to navigate (and it wasn’t easy in the first place). So, parenting. That’s been a struggle, and these micro-decisions, made daily, weigh on me.
  3. Where are you now compared to the beginning of the month? I’m okay. It feels like spring is in the air … but not quite near enough. I’ve been working steadily on a writing project, and have heard from my editor with a revised timeline for my new novel: all good! Within the waiting, I can still be productive and find focus and hope.
  4. How did you take care of yourself? This one’s a bit tricky, at least this past month. I’ve got solid habits and routines: I practice those daily; sometimes they bring me joy, but sometimes they’re just plain shoring me up, which is often what they felt like this month. Self-care has looked like this: Rarely drink alcohol. Exercise most days. Stretch often. Eat homemade food. Give myself permission to veg. Tell my body how awesome it is (this is more important for women raised in the 1980s and 90s than you might realize!). Play the piano: I’ve been doing this almost every day, and it’s freeing and fun.
  5. What would you most like to remember? That I like reading novels all in one gulp! Take a Saturday, Carrie, and just lay on the couch and read a novel from start to finish. It’s the best escape imaginable. (Just finished Lily King’s Writers and Lovers; and before that, Jess Walter’s The Cold Millions.)
  6. What do you need to let go of? Shame. The fear of doing things wrong and offending people. The fear of being unworthy, or embarrassing, or flaky, or foolish. It would be so lovely to give myself the gift of trust. I’d love to enter the world freely, messily, making mistakes and owning up to them, and learning from them; getting back on the horse, again and again. I need to let go of my craving for acknowledgement and permission. And just get on with doing the work.

xo, Carrie

January reflections

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January Reflections

  1. What felt good this month? It’s February 1st, and the beginning of January seems eons ago. I’m grateful to my cartoon journal entries for recording the emotional ups and downs — but especially the ups. Otherwise, I might forget that January was a productive writing month, for example, or that our family looked forward to fun activities, which brightened the overall dulling effect of our generally similar days. In January, I’ve started charting out daily/weekly aspirational goals in my notebook (a messy page of activities that I can check off): these include things I value but might not otherwise prioritize, like reaching out to friends and family, or reading, or playing piano. I’ve been giving myself permission, and even incentive (three cheers for reward sheets!), to follow through on aspirational goals that have little worldly value, but feed me in every other way: spiritually, creatively, and in relationship with others.
  2. What did you struggle with? Career stall-out; stasis. It helps that there’s been a spotlight in Canada on the plight of artists, including writers, during the pandemic; I’m not the only one with a pushed pub date, or other delays and disappointments. But here’s the thing: the struggle has felt surface level, ego-level. Underneath, I’m full of hope and belief in my writing direction, in the research I’m doing, and in nurturing this life-long habit of curiosity and exploration, no matter the outcome. Process interests me, rather endlessly. So how could I complain or worry, when I’m able to tick through that list of entertaining and enriching daily aspirational goals and activities?
  3. Where are you now compared to the beginning of the month? I have no idea. This question is impossible! I’m relieved that the US has a new president. That happened! I’m a month older than when we last checked, and I feel essentially the same in terms of goals, hopes, dreams, concerns. I waver between, it’s going to be okay, eventually, isn’t it, right?, and, be here now, that’s what matters. I live in the latter as often as possible.
  4. How did you take care of yourself? I’m trying to notice my irritating flaws (pretty easy to spot when confined in tight quarters with five others + dog), name them, and laugh at myself when I notice I’m going down one rabbit hole or another. Should it irritate me so much that Kevin leaves the cupboard doors open? Or that people let the dog out but never back in again?
  5. What would you most like to remember? That I can trust myself to make decisions that support those I love, and myself, even when the conversations are challenging.
  6. What do you need to let go of? Timelines. Control over timelines. The paralyzing idea that I’m losing time to this pandemic, that my life is suspended in some fundamental way; that as the months tick past and nothing changes, I’m aging past relevance. Whoa, I’ve named a lot of fears here. Now to let them go … I think the checklist of aspirational activities helps with the letting go: when I sit at the piano and play Bach, I don’t think, you are wasting time. I just sink into the moment and concentrate on what I’m making, and feeling, and hearing, and experiencing — time travel through music, connecting across the centuries with other minds and hands and ears. And these moments are always available, maybe even especially right now! I’ve only got to give myself over to them, and let go of my need to predict the future. (BTW, this is my favourite question, every time! It’s so cathartic to name the thing that needs letting go, often something that catches me by surprise. I highly recommend answering it for yourself, and all the better if you write it down.)

Onward into February!

xo, Carrie

PS Here’s a sample aspiration chart …

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My most recent list of categories goes like this: cardio; yoga; get outside; stretch; extra exercise; piano; cartoon; nap; read; meditate + “Source” (my word of the year, 2021); write; transcribe; revise; research; grants; cook/bake; clean; orders; family time; friends; sibs/parents; fun; thankful; X page.

A journal in cartoons and captions

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Everyone looked after me all day. My favourite part was going around the table and hearing what everyone considered to be the thing they were most proud of in 2020. (Mine was painting my door yellow, and transforming my office into my studio.)

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I’m glued to Murdoch Mysteries, a Canadian show on Netflix that thankfully has about a thousand episodes (give or take). When I learned there were many seasons yet to watch, I ran out of my studio hollering: “Winter is saved!”

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Kevin’s new year’s eve bonfire kept burning out last night. “I smell like smoke,” I told Heather on our starting-the-new-year-off-right walk. We came upon a statue that was like a horror movie, a man’s face replaced with an owl and maybe a possum (?); squirrel and duck for hands. We laughed so much.

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We drove to Claire’s farm to pick up eggs and meat, and Claire showed us the pigs in the barn. Back home, we started a new 30-day yoga cycle with Adriene, called “Breath.”

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Strange what my pen and hand tell me—not always what I want to hear. Mostly, I walked with my family this morning, on a spontaneous walk through fresh snow. But this was how I felt, trying to reach across the barriers of self/other.

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Welcome to my studio. I enter this small warm room, close the yellow door, and feel—welcomed in. Happy to be here, at this desk, to look out these windows, to feel excited, wondering what I’ll find today?

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I’m trying to read a book before falling asleep, rather than scrolling the news on my phone. My theory is that my dreams will be better, more interesting. But last night, the children in this book found a dead dog and my sleep was restless; tired today. (Soundtrack on repeat: “Exile” T. Swift and B. Iver)

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It’s a lot to ask, that stories drop into my hands from their perfect mutability in my mind. I ask for grace and energy, I ask for a stronger work ethic, I ask for magic; but it’s desire I need, to answer longing with scratches on the page.

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Yesterday, as Trump’s followers over-ran Congress, I was doing that terrible thing where I was watching a livestream on my laptop, scrolling my phone, and texting people, as if by consuming too much information, I’d find an answer to the question—what is going to happen?

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I promised myself I’d sit down and draw even if I felt completely empty. That would capture the day too—an empty page, some pen scratches and scribbles.

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My drawings this week all kind of look the same, I told Kevin on our after-dinner walk with Rose. Not much is changing. We are in liminal space—waiting. Not transition, but waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

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Today I made a list of things I want to do every day: go for a walk, the longer the better;  burn and create energy with intense cardio; yoga; cartoon; play piano; afternoon tea break. I’d also like to meditate and read; and of course write. And cook. (But not clean.)

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Good news: started my day in my studio and wrote part of a story almost immediately! Not-bad news: I can’t draw cars. This one looks like a bus, sort of. Above: me and Nina going for a walk, early Monday morning tradition.

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Panic attack reading news of a stay-at-home order starting Thursday in Ontario. Felt like I was drowning. But what changes, I asked? Put on headphones and draw—follow pen into memory, shape, imagination. You’ve got resources. Sources.

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Sidewalks slick with ice, we walked, skated, slipped, slid on a short dog walk after supper. Waiting for us to pass was a fox in the little park across the street. It sat perfectly still, alert, focused on our presence, till we were gone.

*

And now we’re all caught up. What do you think of my new journaling method? I’m on month two, and I’ve noticed a growing interest in attempting to draw background and setting, as well as figures. I’ve noticed, too, that this exercise slows me down and changes the flow of my attention, no matter what I’m feeling.

xo, Carrie

December reflections

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December Reflections

  1. What felt good this month? I’m writing this on the last day of this month, which is the last day of this year, and a long winter waits ahead. This month, the advent calendar activities kept me going, surprising and fun; it made every day a little bit special and that was the kids’ doing: their creative suggestions powered the joy of the advent calendar (mine were terrible! dull, pedestrian, I would never have thought up surprise ice-cream outings or wearing someone else’s clothes for a day!). We also ate some very good food; and I wasn’t the only one to cook it! Angus cooks for us once a week, and he made my birthday dinner (three-cheese lasagna with roasted veggies). My siblings and parents also made and shared food with each other to celebrate Christmas. I loved sharing stories with writing friends this month too.
  2. What did you struggle with? Mostly I’d accepted in advance how different this holiday would be, and that helped. But I felt unexpectedly blue on Christmas Eve, missing our family’s rituals. I missed silly things, like straining for the high notes while singing Christmas carols with my siblings, or watching my mom open gifts, which wasn’t quite the same on Zoom. I missed serving a big turkey dinner to a very full table (I mean, our table was still pretty full, since I live with five other people, but you know what I mean).
  3. Where are you now compared to the beginning of the month? The same. I think? I’m feeling a bit apprehensive about the next couple of months, hoping we can keep our boat afloat here, and stay hopeful and optimistic and healthy, mentally and physically, and not go stir crazy. I usually enjoy January — the quiet after the holiday storm — but there’s been a lot of quiet already. In any case, I’m giving myself a break, a holiday, right now. I know our routines and healthy habits will return to us soon enough. For today, I’ll enjoy some sloth and debauchery (on a small scale).
  4. How did you take care of yourself? Daily drawing and colouring. Getting outside every day. Spin and yoga. Not too much caffeine. Afternoon cup of tea. Reaching out to friends. Finding things to look forward to, including planning to sponsor another refugee family with a neighbourhood group, hopefully in the not-too-distant future. Adding new songs to my playlists, listening to artists that are new to me (Freddie Gibbs; SAULT; Open Mike Eagle; Jay Electronica; Rina Sawayama; Bleachers…). Reading fiction. Doing crosswords and word games.
  5. What would you most like to remember? That I can have fun, be fun. That even when I’m feeling down or discouraged about being a writer, some part of me is still excited about the stories I’m discovering, and the characters I’m getting to know.
  6. What do you need to let go of? Getting things right. I like the cartoon project because there’s always something wrong with it, the caption is worded awkwardly, or I’ve drawn the perspective all wonky — and that reminds me that my purpose in life isn’t to be perfect, but to dive in and get messy and do what I’m here to do, whatever that may be: whether or not I signed up for it, whether it makes sense or not, and even if I couldn’t possibly explain its value, or argue for its importance. It isn’t up to me to know what will matter or be meaningful. It’s up to me to be kind, sensible, attentive, alive to the world around me, and to witness and respond. Also, to love the flaws.

xo, Carrie

How to step into the river: personal artistic practices

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Two years ago, I was preparing to teach the graphic-art-based creativity course at St. Jerome’s, which was really a class about developing an artistic practice, setting goals, and staying open to how a project may change and grow as it unfurls. There’s discipline, the verb, and discipline, the noun, and together they sustain an artistic practice. The hope is that the practice will hold and develop over a lifetime, unique and personal: a pathway into the flow, a mindset, a series of ever-renewing explorations that feed on curiosity and feed curiosity.

If all things flow, I can never step into the same river twice; yet I yearn to find ways to fix experience as it flies. That’s the paradox of being alive, existing inside these breathing time-stuck human bodies: how to occupy the liminal space between immersion and interpretation, how to dance between these ways of being in the world; liminality is what art emerges from, the desire for engagement mixed with the need for something more than preservation — for response, for improvisation, for metaphor, image, song. My practice(s) is a way to step into the river, and also a means of capturing what’s here to be found.

I started a new notebook this morning. To mark the first page of each new notebook, I trace my hand and write my birth date and today’s date, a ritual I learned in a Lynda Barry workshop. As I traced my hand this morning, using a brush rather than a pen, I thought: I love the artistic practices I’ve created. They are cobbled together from different times, teachers, discoveries, experiments, using different mediums, tools and technologies; and they do change as I change and adapt, but they are unique to me and durable.

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I love writing by hand, even though I don’t always use it as a method of writing new material. There are easier ways to write, but some stories and reflections call out to be discovered by hand.

I love the playfulness of crayons, which I’m using in my current daily drawing project, begun on December 1st as a month-long trial, and which I’m considering continuing into January, maybe beyond. (I’m also considering scanning these cartoons + captions and posting them weekly on the blog; this will only work if it’s easy. That’s one of the principles of my personal practices, the ones that have stuck: they’re easy to maintain, the materials are easy to acquire, the technology is easy to access.)

I love my studio, this lively yet meditative space that I use daily, which is a retreat, a place I look forward to being in, comforting, cozy, tidy, organized, small, contained yet spacious (the high ceiling, the white walls).

There isn’t much movement out there. We are locked down again in Ontario. There isn’t much movement anywhere, on any front, not in my own personal or professional life. But in this studio space, on the pages of these notebooks, there is movement. There is a river ever-flowing, into which I can step, and be transported.

And that is a gift.

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My project ideas for 2020 have changed quite a bit; some came to fruition, others vanished almost as quickly as I’d conceived them. Now, I’m planning my projects for 2021, and looking forward to sketching out new ideas and goals on a fresh index card, and glueing 2020’s into this latest notebook. How will 2021’s projects grow, change, develop? Only time will tell. But they’ll exist, in nascent form, in ripening and in bloom, inside these notebooks, in crayon drawings, in pen, in Scrivener and Word files, and here, online. Sharing what I’m making is an important facet of my practice, too; thank you for being out there.

If you’ve got a moment, drop me a line or leave a comment and tell me about your artistic practices, what you’re doing right now to step into the river, both to enter the flow and to fix experience as it flies.

xo, Carrie

November reflections

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November Reflections

  1. What felt good this month? This month has been a bit of a blur, and I’ve spent half of it thinking it’s already December, but there have been some genuine highlights. Unexpectedly warm weather early in the month made possible some spontaneous outdoor gatherings. I’m especially grateful that my siblings and I were able to gather with both my dad, and my mom. The last time we gathered together with either parent, all of us, was last Christmas, and we know this Christmas will be challenging. So that was a real gift. Another highlight was watching Kamala Harris speak after the election was declared — especially awesome because we watched outside in our backyard shack with friends. I’ve been looking after my physical body, with physio, chiro and massage, and daily stretching and exercise. While I wait to hear back from my editor, I’ve been writing new stories using cues learned from Lynda Barry. And I continue to connect with friends in person, outdoors, which keeps me going.
  2. What did you struggle with? This month was better than last, in terms of my mental state. I seem to be more settled into established routines, and accepting of this liminal state we’re all in. In some strange way, I’m thankful to be in a rather unambitious mindset at present, and therefore don’t have specific goals that are being thwarted by the circumstances. Nevertheless, I’m trying to use my time fruitfully even if I don’t know what will come of it. I’ve noticed that it cheers me to share what I’m doing with others; if I have any goal, it’s figuring out ways (perhaps new and creative) to share my writing, meditations, stories, photos, cartoons, musings with others. I’ve also loved getting opportunities to read and comment on and engage with other writers’ work. Reciprocity and community feels critical to a sustainable path as a writer/artist. I need to foster more of that, somehow.
  3. Where are you now compared to the beginning of the month? Better. At the beginning of the month, the American election was weighing on me, plus I was feeling pretty bummed about trying to invent a Christmas experience in a pandemic. But my awesome little family has been brainstorming and getting creative, planning for different kinds of celebratory and brightening activities, throwing out expectations and starting fresh, which is a wonderful gift in and of itself. More on this in a future post. Basically, I’m feeling sturdier than I was at the beginning of November. Calmer. (Although my daughters have both informed me, separately, that I’m the most impatient person in the house.) As I reflect on this, I realize that I’m looking forward to things without wishing everything were different; let’s call this stage “acceptance.”
  4. How did you take care of yourself? Plugging into my Lynda Barry Spotify playlist, drawing, writing. Tara Brach meditations. Being kind to my body. Getting outside. Remembering to text friends. Checking into literary events on Zoom. Sibs nights. Popcorn and shows with Kevin (this month we watched Ted Lasso, The Morning Show, and we just started Steve McQueen’s Small Axe). Redecorating the living-room with Kevin (a work-in-progress).
  5. What would you most like to remember? That I am alive in my body and in my mind. That connecting with others is the necessary spark to feeling and being alive (especially thinking of this in the context of my writing life). That I love reading, responding, editing, digging into ideas and images. That food for the mind is as necessary as food for the body. That the jolt and challenge of the unexpected encounter is something I’m often missing right now, and craving.
  6. What do you need to let go of? Good intentions. That just popped up, and I’m going to let it stand. Maybe what I mean is, I need to let go of superficial attempts to be helpful, and respond and act from somewhere deeper, more grounded, more raw, more real instead. I’ve been saying yes every time it feels like it’s coming from a place of genuine yes-ness! (And saying no when I know the answer is no, no matter how painful or uncomfortable.)

xo, Carrie

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