From the Rejection Files...

Okay, so I’ve had various versions of this blog post lurking inside my computer for months. The first one came across too gloomy, but my revisions all sounded like those “You can do it!” pieces that frankly irritate me.

So I decided to write a poem. Why? For one, I’ve been brushing up on my poetry lately, so my mind’s already in that mode. Also, I think I can manage more frequent blog posts if I choose to write them in verse.

Anyway, here it goes.

Layers

With shaky finger, racing heart,

Novice Writer taps the pop-up

message, and learns they’ve been

“Denied!”

Another gets a postcard punch

or envelope they inked and stamped

and hoped would never find its way

back home.

Pathways blocked, dreams denied,

some will toss their hands with

nonchalance belying pain—

and just give up.

Yet others,

hurt but spurred, with things to prove

(or nothing else worthwhile to do),

change, recast, create anew

and more denials come.

Through all the pinpricks, ego slaps,

True Writer doubts but carries on

as layers thin as onion skin,

thicken bit by bit.

Then suddenly, SUCCESS!

Hope and light surround the body,

fires kindle in the heart,

dreams begin to ponder

heights unknown!

That is, until that day arrives

when someone yanks the plug—

and hope and light and dreams

will end...for some.

Yet others,

bruised but driven, pricked but prodded

answer “No!” with earnest work.

Achievement may be redefined

but still they realize over time

“Denied!” might simply signify

“Not yet.”

The Lost Art of Walking

“Walking is a great way to boost your creativity.” I remember hearing that for the first time at a writers’ conference fifteen years ago (yes, I’ve been attending them that long). A Stanford University study recently backed up the claim, which doesn’t surprise me, since I’ve used walks to untangle my brain and put it back together again for as long as I can remember. Now that I work part-time and have two whole weekdays free to write, I usually break up my writing session with a long meander through the wooded trails behind my house. Not only do I think about what I’m writing, but I plan the rest of the day, pray, meditate, think lofty thoughts, and just enjoy the nature around me. I’m always back home before I know it (probably because my mind’s all over the place), returning refreshed, hopeful, and usually with a new idea or two. I’ve been even struck by the occasional “Eureka!” moment.

Me thinking deep thoughts while hiking in the mountains.

But it’s got me thinking—what about walking just for walking’s sake? Actually, what really got me thinking about it was a very old article outline I dug up while clearing out my files. It was going to be called “The Lost Art of Walking,” and I pitched it to a few women’s magazines—particularly the ones that seemed to have an article literally every issue titled “Walk Off the Pounds!” I had intended to explore the idea of just stepping through the front door and walking one’s own neighborhood, something that people seemed to do a lot more in the olden days (well, at least in the movies).

Nowadays, if you’re caught roaming the neighborhood without a dog on a leash, a baby in a stroller, or at least wearing some kind of exercise outfit (and preferably carrying hand weights), you might get a few peeks through curtains or side-eye glances from people heading to or from their cars.

Don't mind me. Just taking a stroll.

Really, some people will assume there’s something wrong with you. I remember chatting a while back with someone in law enforcement who referred to “the walkers” as if they had obvious mental issues. Now it could be that he was talking about people who exhibited additional troubling behaviors, but I’m sure there are plenty others who right away just think, “Okay, now why is this person just walking around the block for no reason?”

This is why we get into our cars and drive to designated walking places, or at least try to appear that there’s a good reason for us to be out walking aimlessly.

But we miss out. It can be quite interesting and fun to see how different things look from on foot as opposed to through a car window. Recently I took an extended walk through the rather large office park where I work. I decided to make a big circle and literally got confused on my way back to my building because things appeared so…well, different.

“You mean to tell me that picket fence has always been there? Huh...”

You not only notice things, but you also feel more connected to your surroundings. Think about it: If more people strolled their neighborhoods, those faceless, nameless beings we call neighbors become human. And after a while, we would notice when there really is some strange, suspicious figure lurking around and not go calling the cops prematurely.

Klaus and I have been taking regular strolls in the 24 years we’ve been married. We’ve gotten used to the stares. Now, I’m sure some could stem from the fact that we’re an interracial couple, but I’d like to think a lot of it is just the surprise of seeing people out walking for no reason—no leash, no sweats, no stroller. Although now that we live in a neighborhood bordering a wooded trail, the stares have mostly changed to greetings from other walkers.

Wherever life takes me, I’m going to keep on walking as long as my legs can carry me (and then I'll roll). It’s good for my mind, soul, and creativity...and maybe one day those pounds will “walk off,” too!

My Sensory Experiment

I describe things for a living. As a by-product, my personal writing just oozes with sensory language and detail, right? Not exactly. At work I have to be succinct and economical, since creating TV descriptions for the blind often involves shoehorning stuff between lines of dialogue. In a way, that suits me just fine. Over-the-top, flowery prose isn’t really my style anyway.

But I’d like to change that. At least somewhat.

Recently I stumbled upon some really good descriptive and sensory-filled writing that left me wondering if my prose is perhaps a little *gulp* flat. After coming to terms with that painful realization, I decided to develop a plan of action. And since I have this thing about making lists and checking off boxes, I figured I’d do just that.

Checkbox #1: Get out and engage.

I knew that sitting at home and looking at life through a flat-screen TV wasn’t gonna cut it. There’s no smell-o-vision yet (although I do remember hearing rumblings about that as a kid), and you can’t reach out and touch that oak tree no matter how close the camera zooms in. If I wanted to increase my sensory vocabulary, I’d have to get out there and engage my senses.

Although my Germany trip is already two months behind me, I still recall the feeling I had running my fingers along stone walls built in the Middle Ages. I remember the rich, fluid song of Amsels (blackbirds) and the smell of coffee mingled with those German pastries I’ve been yearning for each and every morning since I’ve been back. It’s impressions like those that I need to build up in my mental library, ready to whip out at any time to enrich a future story.

Breakfast at my favorite German cafe.

Of course, there are things one can do at home, like paying attention to how it sounds when you wash your hands. I literally did that while drafting this blog and came up with “splash-gurgle-trickle-splash-gulp...” It may need some refinement, but you get the point.

Checkbox #2: Reflect.

On the old Bob Newhart Show (the one where he plays a psychologist in Chicago), Carol the receptionist dated a guy who considered himself a writer. He would carry a pen and pad with him everywhere he went in order to jot down things that inspired him (which he would later turn into awful poems).

Now, I’m usually not one to stop and chronicle my every little life experience. I’m not even much into photos. But there is something to be said for living consciously.

Even if I don’t record my observations right away, I should probably think more about what I’m seeing, hearing, touching, and smelling as I go about my daily life. I can always take time later to jot down those insights and perceptions that have lingered, the ones I just can’t get out of my head (like those German pastries).

Checkbox #3: Hone the senses.

Last week I came across a bayberry tree. How did I know it was a bayberry tree? It was on a nature trail that had signs identifying many of the trees and plants. The sign described the leaves as “fragrant when crushed,” so of course I had to pluck one when no one was looking. I crushed it, smelled it, and vaguely remembered chewing or sniffing a twig of some other tree a few years ago—either a birch or sweet gum. I was curious about how the two scents compared, so I made it a point to investigate that one day. Maybe I’ll do a blind sniff test and try to find the most precise words possible to describe the differences. Haven’t done it yet, but it’s on my list.

Checkbox #4: Write more poetry.

On a whim, I signed up for a four-week online poetry retreat that involved writing a poem a day, Monday through Friday, based on a short lesson, prompt, and examples. I initially regretted that impulse buy, because by the time the retreat started I’d been stressing out over some changes at my job and some issues related to my novel (which, by the way, is on its umpteenth revision) . But I’m so glad I didn’t bail out. Poetry is a great way to push the boundaries of descriptive language. Don’t want to brag, but I was amazed at what I was able to come up with on some days. That, along with some positive comments from fellow participants, gave me a much-needed boost of confidence in my journey to write more descriptively.

Anyway, that’s my initial plan of attack. I’m going to keep on finding ways to improve in this area, but honestly, I’ve come to realize that it’s often just a matter of—wait for it—stopping and smelling the roses.