Central Illinois Writers Group on Facebook

I just set up a group in Facebook. The name of the group is Central Illinois Writers Group.

Hopefully, this isn't just another one of my attempts to find the Holy Grail of Writing in something outside of myself. I have another post on this blog about my pursuit of the Holy Grail; in that post, the Holy Grail I referred to was the attempt to find the "right" book about writing that would release my muses from hiding and set free my innate writing talents. Consequently, I have a couple boxes full of books about writing and not a single book on my shelves that I have personally written.

Between the search for the perfect book and the Facebook group was my registration for an online creative writing course. Of course, the course came with a textbook (as if I needed one more book about writing.) Worse, the book is the only source of information for how to improve my craft unless you count the other online students who have the same textbook that I have.

On a more serious note, I do have a great deal of confidence in the power of a group. Magical things happen when people come together that couldn't have occurred otherwise. When I think of this group-magic, I'm inclined to have a visual picture of the members of the group and I can hear their tone of voice and read their body language and facial expressions.

I've contacted a few people about starting an offline (face-to-face) group and have had enthusiastic responses until we discuss the actual getting together. I think the problem may be that they are on their computers with their Facebook groups and don't have time to go eyeball to eyeball.

It was over fifty years ago when the psychologist, Rollo May, said, "Communication leads to community, that is, to understanding, intimacy, and mutual valuing." Today, May might have said, "Communication leads to Facebook." I don't know if he would have included the rest of his original statement.

It remains to be seen whether or not the community made up of social networks leads to understanding, intimacy, and mutual valuing. We should hope that they do because there is no shortage of them and the numbers will continue to grow.

Their growth may validate another quote from Rollo May. "It is an old and ironic habit of human beings to run faster when we have lost our way.

(By the way, I took the above picture of the writing table in Lincoln's Home in Springfield, Illinois. It is the only home that Lincoln ever owned and the one that he anticipated returning to at the end of his presidential term. There are only a few items in the house that actually belonged to the Lincolns' and this writing desk is one of them. Most items in the house are from the Civil War era. It was well worth visiting and I will be visiting Springfield sites again soon.)

Dear Mr. Vidal

I'm currently reading Gore Vidal's memoir, Palimpsest, published in 1995. I can't imagine anyone having a more interesting life than his with his many personal, political, and literary connections. However, an interesting life must also include unhappiness different than that of an ordinary life. If there is no difference in the weight of unhappiness, there is a qualitative difference.

The thing about unhappiness in the context of an interesting life is that it has a sting that reminds a person that he or she is very much alive and that there is a discrepancy between where the person is and where the person wants to be.

The unhappiness in the context of the ordinary life is more like a case of having chiggers than having been stung. Chiggers have to be choked out, killed, suffocated, or covered by nail polish (the usual home remedy.) Then, the nail polish serves as a constant visual reminder of the ungoing assault. Of course there's the itching and the scratching, neither of which are particularly attractive for the scratcher or the observer.

Unhappiness in an interesting life resembles the sting of a bumblebee. A sting requires having the stinger removed and healing then can immediately begin.

One has to wonder about the accumulation of scar tissue at the site of the stinger, assuming that, as in real life, the person having an interesting life is stung more than once. Would that layer of scar tissue protect a person from future assaults or invert the pain at a deeper level rather than merely the surface level if the attack was by chiggers?

Perhaps, Mr. Vidal will provide the answer to that question before the last paragraph of his life.

Let's pandiculate!

Pandiculate may or may not be a verb. In any case, it has very little to do with a panda and, if it did, the meaning would be obscene.

According to dictionary.com, pandiculation is a noun and pandiculated is an adjective. There's no mention of a verb, but there ought to be. The noun and the adjective refer to the instinctive stretching (as while yawning) or is used to describe something that is stretched.

Pandiculate must be the verb form meaning to stretch. As long as this word is apparently my own creation, I am going to expand its meaning (to pandiculate its meaning?) to include going beyond one's comfort zone, to reinvent oneself as smarter, more important, and more, uh, pandiculated. To pandiculate is to be more useful, to more of service.

This was the message to Americans in Obama's Inauguaral speech. Beyonce tearfully said, "He makes me want to be smarter." I want Beyonce to be smarter, too, smart enough to not degrade women by looking like the women that some of the rappers are degrading. Anyway, I do understand what she was saying. I'm sure many of my own generation said something similar after John F. Kennedy said, "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country." This country has been yearning for a leader that asks us to give up our childish ways, to do something for one another. In other words, we should pandiculate.

So, let's pandiculate!

The Biggest Loser

The "You on a Diet" doctor/author got my attention

I was watching PBS when it featured one of the doctors of "YOU" fame (You: an Owner's Manual, You on a Diet, You Beautiful You.) It wasn't Dr. Oz; it was the other one. Let's call him Dr. R. So, Dr. R. said, "If your waistline (measured across the belly button) is larger than xxx (nevermind what that was; I don't want to fully self-disclose), then your health is as much at risk as if you were just told that you have breast cancer." Then he went on to say that if a woman received that diagnosis, she would want to immediately take some action, anything that is required. (He had a similar paradigm-shifter for men, but I don't remember what it was.) I have heard all the health crap from my own doctor, heard it in the media, read it in articles, but this statement by Dr. R. got my attention.

Then I watched The Biggest Loser last night and Bob the Trainer (kind of like Bob the Builder but taller and thinner) looked straight at me and said "America, why are you watching this show while eating ice cream? Put it down!" And he kind of yelled at me a little. So, I put the lid on the jar of peanuts. (I know better than to keep ice cream in the house.)

By the time I was watching Biggest Loser, I had already written a "food plan" to automate my eating as Dr. R. had suggested. Peanuts were on my plan as a snack. (Chewing reduces one's appetite and peanut-snackers lost significant weight during a study at Duke University. To rationalize further, I eat very little meat so I need the protein.) Nevertheless, Bob did not have to repeat himself. I heard him the first time, so I didn't have another bite to eat for the rest of the evening.

Julian the Trainer yelled at me too, but I think she is so hot and so cool (makes sense to me) that in my fantasies, she and I could share a banana split. However, neither Bob the Trainer nor Dr. R. are my type (yes, I do like men but not necessarily those two.) I'm not attracted to authoritative men, but I usually respect them as long as they remain authoritative and not too authoritarian. So, I respect both Bob the Trainer and Dr. R.

I also found it appealing that the Biggest Loser had pledged to donate to the nation's food banks, matching the pounds that Americans pledged to lose. I was conservative and pledged to lose 20 pounds by the end of April. I didn't want to fail in meeting a larger pledge because Bob the Trainer might yell at me again.

If you can be supportive in my weight loss without yelling at me, I'd like to hear from you.

Analyzing My Motivations to Write

The following are responses to questions that I came across in a book about writing:

As a creative outlet, writing keeps my brain and spirit synchronized. Sometimes my brain is very active with cognitive busyness, but it does so at the expense of my languishing spirit. At other times, my spirit lifts as if on wings of a fairy while logic struggles in vain to be productive.

Writing is like doing a puzzle or solving a riddle; it's about making the pieces fit. Writing fulfills my need to have a project in the works. To complete a project would create a deficit; I don't like feeling that I don't have something in the works. So as long as I don't complete anything, I don't feel deprived.

My motivations for writing include the hope that readers would find a new way of thinking, be touched on an emotional level, would laugh, and/or be entertained or motivated to action as a result of reading what I've written.

Regarding the past, I wanted to be an "author" when I was a little girl; I always said "author" rather than writer because I thought an author creates, and a writer "just writes." Oh, if only I had been correct that a writer "just writes." Or maybe in that simple view that children have, I really was correct. My current delays, hesitation, and procrastination in writing are because I've forgotten that a writer "just writes."

Regarding the future, in response to the question, "What do you do for a living?" I would like to say that I "just write."

I don't know that I have expectations for fame or money. If I truly believed in the attainability of those goals, I would be writing more as well as more often. I wouldn't turn down money, but I don't think I want fame. I would have at one time, but now I think I'm content to sit back and watch others thrust themselves into the limelight.

I don't think I write in order to work through any lurking demons , but I do find that insight occurs as a natural by-product of writing. But, no, I don't think that's my purpose in writing.

It's becoming a bit clearer to me that I would like to make money from writing. I think there is a certain reluctance, a Bohemian mindset, that wants to deny this, but given the options of fame, money, or processing trauma, I'll choose money.

Also, I do like the reactions of others to what I'm writing. That's probably a part of why I wanted to write a blog. Sometimes when I write, I'm writing "to a reader." Sometimes the reader is me.

In summary, my reasons for writing are 1. as a creative outlet 2. having a project to work on 3. touching others 4. getting others' reactions 5. money

It would be more pragmatic, if I reversed the priority of my motivation to write: 1. money 2. getting others' reactions 3. touching others 4. having a project to work on, and 5. as a creative outlet.

Interestingly, at the center of each list is the desire to touch others. So, there you have it. If you have read this far, you must be at least a little touched, one way or the other.

Inexplicable Indignation

Occasionally, I have seen someone "blow" for no apparent reason. Things were going along fairly well, at least in my mind, and then "the blower" initiates the inexplicable indignation with the words "I cannot believe this." Obviously, the blower does believe it or believes enough of it to become the black hole that sucks the energy out of anyone within hearing distance. Next, the person spins around asking "Do you believe this crap?"

This scenario has become a common social interaction especially in the workplace. In the workplace, there is a captive audience (itself, a universe of potential black holes) and a lot of crap.

I usually respond to the "blower" in mild support, nodding and uh-huh-ing while hanging on to my mouse. So long as I have my hand wrapped around the mouse, I am connected and safe by virtue of numbers. Everyone else in the world who has a hand wrapped around a mouse at that moment is my ally. The real danger can occur when the blower cuts a co-worker away from the pack and herds that person toward the hallway.

In the hallway, not only is the co-worker alienated from allies and, therefore, vulnerable, but now other energies will be sucked out into the hallway contributing to the toxic mass and all hell breaks loose.

This may very well be the true nature of hell: toxic gasses of inexplicable indignation.