Artistic inspiration ambush: clean up your dirty mind!

Welcome back to your normally scheduled blog topic: The Artist’s Way... sort of. Can anything abou this blog be considered normal anyway??? Not when I’m at the keyboard… I haven’t blogged about the Artist’s Way for a while, so let’s get back to it!

Before diving in, I need to cover a few quick housekeeping items.

First, music biz Q&A part 2 is coming! Come visit on Friday for all the fun.

Second, I’ve had a ton of questions on crystal healing and Yoga, so starting next week, I’ll put up a whole new blog devoted to living yoga, crystals, holistic healing, herbs, and anything concerning mind, body or spirit. I’ll let you know the link.

Okay on to today’s blog, finding inspiration.

I don’t have a set formula for where or when artistic inspiration will strike me. I can be reading, watching TV, going through something in my life, joking with friends over dinner, hearing a talk at Church… All of these scenarios are full of ah-ha moments. Ah-ha moment: when the hand of inspiration reaches out and smacks you in the head and commands: “Make me! Create me! Give me life, a voice, a form.”

I’ve found artistic inspiration to be an equal-opportunity attacker with no compunctions or shame whatsoever. It invades my thoughts when I'm dead asleep, jerking me awake and plunging me into the midst of a new song before I even figure out where I am or what time it is. It steals my peace when I'm eating dinner or having a good phone conversation with a friend. "That would be a great lyric line!" pops out of my mouth at the most inopportune moments, followed by frenzied hunning and a mad dash for the nearest instrument. This is a familiar scene to all who know me--one they probably dread because it's usually followed by a long period of them being banished, and me hacking my way through the tangle of another tune or story.

But it likes to find me most often during my most private moments. Music walks right in while I'm stealing a moment of peace in the shower. I'm usually full of suds, enjoying a hot soak, and some solitude.. and the next thing I know there's this stranger sharing the shower with me, rocketing around inside my head going "Let me out! Let me out!"

"I didn't invite you in," would be my first response, but then again, that mental gate is standing wide open, even when I'm butt naked and dripping wet, running with a towel half-on for my digital recorder or a scrap of paper.

Anyone know if they've invented water-proof paper and pens yet? Not even the digital recorder can save me when the shower ambush occurs. Nasty, scandalous, dirty little sneaks, those ideas. And yet, so satisfying. :)

Whenever and wherever inspiration hits, it’s usually a head-on collision, an the only fatality is that of bordom. My pride might be injured, my mind might be pried open and lit up like Christmas, but you can bet that I feel better after I get it all out.

Keeping artistic inspiration locked up inside is, for me, like turning myself into a human volcano. Too many stifled ideas, and I promise you, Mt. St. Sassy will erupt and spew stuff everywhere with no regard for damages or bystanders. It’s far better to control the inspiration, direct and channel it, let it out all over paper instead of some poor friend’s unsuspecting ear.

I think it’s time we re-visit the Mental Neighborhood from a few months ago. Take a walk around your neighborhood and do inventory. Are there a few ideas you stuffed into hidey-holes, promising yourself you’d make time somewhere down the line to fix them up nd show them to the world. Is that a discarded idea I see being blown down the street like a piece of flotsome!

Grab a notebook and a pen (or a computer if you’re blind or a geek), and go clean up that internal neighborhood. Don’t litter by just dropping ideas all over the place, pick them up anddispose of them properly, onto a piece of paper, or nto a waiting instrument, piece of clay, canvas—whatever form you work in! The world likes new ideas, so throw yours out where they’ll have a chance to flourish!

A Need to Serve: Public service and art

I love volunteering, fundraising and serving in the community; it's one of my life's passions. I think it's one of the foundations of life--not just charity, but service. Giving of your money is very important, yes, but giving of yourself and your time is a completely different feeling. I've served in a wide variety of settings, from children's cancer organizations to homeless shelters, Yoga and wellness centers, hospitals, art classes for the disabled, animal welfare programs, blindness advocacy organizations, etc. If I have one regret in my life, it's that I haven't done more. The more I serve, the more I want to do. I'd love to travel overseas someday and do what I can for third-world countries. Whether I'm spending time with animals or people at shelters, offering a shoulder for moms when they just need to break down and cry about the latest chemo treatment or surgery, or if I'm singing to spread hope and raise money, I find so much joy and inner peace in serving. It empowers me--helps me understand that I can do a lot in this world; but it also reminds me that no matter how hard my life gets, it could always be worse. It makes me so grateful. I can cultivate empathy, joy, love, forgiveness, hope, courage, strength, humility, and fearlessness in myself and in those I serve. Service isn't just something to put on your tax deduction list, brag to your friends about, or feel good inside about (those are not good reasons to serve, and they'll get you about as far as the first time you put your fingers into a rotten grapefruit at the food bank.) I serve to learn, teach, grow, understand, give, receive and overcome. Serve because there is work to be done and you can do it.

You learn so much. There's a depth to giving of your time and talent that reaches into every part of your life. You hear homeless people tell their stories, the old folks at the nursing home love to reminisce about scenes from their lives that go along with the song you are playing... The feeling you get knowing that you've brought hope and new resolve to a family whose child is stricken with cancer--all of these things are proof that there is so much good in this world.

Once in a while I have to bow my head alone and cry when the things I've witnessed are just too heart-breaking, but if I can make some small difference, then I can keep picking at the lock until the door opens wide. Sometimes the work is back-breaking, frustrating, I feel like I'm getting nowhere, but I've always found in the end that the work was well worth doing. I've never once regretted serving, never found a better way to spend my time. I'm really busy, and making time to serve is often hard, but I've never regretted foregoing a few other activities in my life to go down to the center and teach a Yoga class for senior citizens. They can use the things we do in Yoga to help themselves get up if they fall, and Yoga will minimize injury when they fall. It may be hard to teach them in the class, but what I'm doing will help them and their families for a long time to come. Taking a few minutes out of my day to give a free singing lesson to a homeless child means that I'll get a little less of my own work done, maybe, but it's so worth it to hear her starting to believe in herself and leave her fear behind. I can't put a roof over her head single-handedly, but I can bring her some joy, and show her that she's loved, and she has wonderful gifts to give the world even though she may be penniless.

So why am I blogging about public service on my Artist's Way blog? Because the work that I do directly affects my art. The stories of people I meet form the basis for the songs I write; the experiences I have change my viewpoint, as I survey a finished piece. Everything you do in your life affects your artwork, I'm learning. Life is a circle, a balancing game--everything affects everything else. (Hey, I wasn't going for the Circle of Life song from the Lion King, but cliche... touche.)

I've given money to charities, and I will continue to do so as long as God graces me with the means, but for my own benefit, and for the benefit of those lives I can touch, I'll always give of my time and talents. When I was working my way through school, that's often all I had to give, but in the end, it was enough to accomplish what needed to be done. Sometimes I never thought I could do the things that came my way that needed to be done. I struggled, not believing that I could do anything to help, but knowing that I could not just sit still and do nothing. Ultimately, I learned the essence of the phrase "Where there's a will there's a way." But I learned a much more valuable lesson in the process. I learned that each and every one of us has something the world needs.

I've also been the recipient of service. More than once I've had to swallow my pride and reach out a hand to the world for help in one way or another. The world is full of angels and kind souls, who have reached out to me, and given me so much. When I was younger, I often felt very helpless. I received so much, but felt I had this huge debt I could never pay back. What could a blind woman do? What could I do? I didn't have money to give, or much of anything, I felt. As I began to accept the gifts God placed in my life, and as I learned to heed my artistic voice and God's role in my life, I began to understand that I did have a debt, and I did have the means to repay it. I had a voice; I had faith; I had wisdom and insight and courage; and I had love. What more did I need?

Life is give and take. We each give, so that in our time of need, we may take. I have taken, now I'm giving, and I'm sure things will circle around again. Be sure that when you are able, you give, so that when you are in need, others will do the same for you.

Your homework: Go serve. Find an organization in your area that needs your time. there's tons of them, so don't say "I don't know any." Then, make the time!!! Work, school, family--hello! Serving is a priority item on your to-do list. Sit down with your planner, and really look at your jam-packed week. If you really squeeze, I promise you'll find an hour or two in there somewhere--is everything on your priority list Really a priority or is there a little give hiding in there somewhere you just can't admit to? :-d

Serving your community is serving God. Get the family involved! Take a day away from soccer practice or school and go help teach art classes at the battered women's shelter, or go play with the animals at the local Humane Society. Go to the food bank and sort vegetables or pack boxes for them (they always need extra hands.) Serve dinner for the homeless; they don't just need you at Christmas. Don't just whine at dinner about a sad news story you saw... find a way to help! (A few of you reading this may want to pinch me for that last statement.)

These things may seem transient, short-lived to you, but if you can take a homeless child's mind off the fear and the pain for a few minutes by helping him color a picture, or you can sit with an aged woman and squeeze her hand when she talks about her days as a young girl overseas... You're helping. You'll know it deepin your soul, you will feel it when the work you are doing is helping. Putting food on a plate at the soup kitchen, cutting your hair for Locks of Love... you don't see the end result of the work you do, but do what you can in the moment, and put the rest in God's hands.

Then, apply that principle to your artwork. Do what you can in the moment, and put the rest in God's hadns. His hands are much bigger than mine, and can hold so much more. When my art enters His hands, I feel this incredible weight come off my shoulders, and I know it will flourish and be more than I could ever make it alone. When I give my art to him, which can sometimes be very hard and frightening, it always turns out for the best.

How do you let go and "give it to God?" What public service have you done that inspires your creativity and your art? What makes you feel God's presence in your life? Share, so others can grow from you.

doing the dream--God's footprints in the sand

It's past midnight on a Sunday night. I just got home from watching chick flicks (Jane Austen bookclub namely), at a friend's house. I've had a busy week, but that's no excuse for not keeping up with my Artist's Way stuff.

Time to check in after a little over two weeks of Artist's Way work: how am I doing?

I have to say, this stuff works! Have you ever read The Secret, by Rhonda Byrne? It is one of those trendy self-help books that claims it can solve all your problems by teaching you "the law of attraction." What you put out comes back to you, basically. A friend introduced me to it a couple years ago. since I'm into the Tao and Yoga, I read it for purely amusement... or that's what I thought. Then, as I pondered what I read, and started really researching and thinking on the Tao, and upon lessons offered in my Yoga journeying, I began to see the truth and the wisdom in the words. Put a thought or a wish out there, and you don't need a gini to make it happen. What you need is positive thinking, courage to believe, and conscious work toward your goals. IT doesn't make every dream come true on your time table. (You are not in charge. God is.) But it does happen. If you pray, it is the veritable answered prayer. If you call it the law of attraction, it's your change manefesting itself. Whatever you call it, karma, reflections of thought... It works. .

Before you write it off, try it and just watch what happens. Don't expect the universe to bow to your every whim (nothing about life would be a surprise then, and things would get really boring). But the things that have happened since I started the Artist's Way are just too coincidential to be all chance. Or, as Skif reminds us in Mercedes Lackey's Arrows of the
Queen (great read by the way), "Once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is conspiracy." For me, these prayers have far exceeded the conspiracy stage, and it's just on to plain miraculous. Only God could dream up this stuff, and make it happen like this.

A good friend called me this week, and told me about an Irish fair happening this weekend. I went online to check out the band list and see if there was anyone going I could network with, new or old. Just by chance, a band I used to sing with was going to be there. I was excited to catch up with them, but I really wanted to meet some new musicians--(drop a few demo CDs and cards... make nice...). It was just chance that I walked in to the LA Irish Fair, and there they were. We literally ran into one another! We haven't seen each other in well over a year. They invited me to reunite with them for a couple songs, and i was a bit unsure of it, since I haven't done their music since the autumn of '07, but once we got onstage together and got the vocal blend going, it felt like I had never left. All the old music came back with just a little memory jog, thankfully. Our voices sounded great together in spite of the time and the sound system, and even though there were carnival rides and bagpipers nearby, you could have heard a pin drop in our pavillion during the last verse of each of the acappella songs we did.

I've been offered a small business opportunity that's a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I can't talk more about it yet, but this is the chance I've been waiting for, and I'm going for it.

So many other things have happened recently that have just brought my mind to bear on how much things change for the better when you stop the mad rush of chaos and actually pay attention to your life and what you want out of it. I wasn't necessarily thinking of performing again with The Muses, but I have been wishing there was a bigger Celtic presence in Southern California, and thinking a lot about how much I miss playing the music I love so dearly. Low and behold, the Celtic Arts Center has a jam session every week just a couple miles from my house! They have a Gaelic choir, and tons of other opportunities I've been missing. Just goes to show what happens when you leave yourself open to possibility.

We let ourselves get so caught up in what I like to call the "what-the-world-wants" insanity. We rarely stop, turn in, and listen or respond when we do hear something. Those things we want, those conversations we feel we should have... we become so good at putting them off for a better time.

If surviving cancer three times has taught me anything, it's that there will never be a better time. That old proverb of don't put off tomorrow what you can do today! You'd better believe it, and heed it, and please, act upon it! When I was told this past summer that I'd have to have neurosurgery to remove three brain tumors, I felt like the world had come to a screeching halt. I was shattered inside--scared, angry, sad... I didn't know if I'd get another chance to do all the things I still wanted to do. I put those feelings aside, and just did what I had to do in that moment. I just fought the cancer, loved my family, lived for nothing but the moment I was in, and treasured that moment, good or bad. I've never been one to take life for granted, but I'll never forget the lessons I learned this summer, or the things I learned about the people in my life. IT took living in the moment to a whole new level for me, and made me see some things about myself and those I love I hadn't wanted to face. I find that when I live like that--open to possibility, reaching for the things I want--life goes into full bloom. I'm not the greatest at this; I lose sight of what's important quite often, but when I do things right, I'm always amazed to watch what happens.

I've always had my mind on what's ahead, what could be, what I could have done better. They call this vriti in Yoga. Our mind is like a two-year-old, or a colt in the field. Mind likes to run everywhere and get into everything, but it rarely likes to sit and stay in the moment. It's planning or remembering, never just doing the dream. I finally reached a point where I grabbed the little hellion and said: "Si'down, mind, and shut up! Live right here, right now!"

So, what would happen if you took that dream of speaking another language fluently, and acted upon it, instead of sitting on it. What about that portrait you've always wanted to paint, or that instrument you've always liked but never tried to play? I bet it looks and sounds a whole lot better when your butt isn't smothering it. We all have these things we want to do, but there's always some reason to keep using them as mental cushions instead of making them realities. Don't you think those dreams are there for a reason? Is it so hard to believe that those dreams you have held for so long might be things God plantedin you and expected you to nurture and grow?

Hello!

He would not have put them there if he didn't want you to take care of them! Dreams are like flowers, or fields of wheat. You sit on the seed, it's dark under there! It's not going to do anything but wither and die under your backside! Give it water, room to grow, and light, and you can feed yourself for months on the fruits of the field, or walk in your garden for hours with the smell of God's plans for you in the air. How cool would that be? Just a suggestion! Get up off your dream, and do it! Today I was sitting in Church, and a missionary got up to speak. He reminded us that living life is like going up a down escalator; if you stop, you go backward, and you watch the things you want drawing farther and farther away from you. You have to work twice as hard to get to where you want to go.

He read us the footprints poem. A man is standing on a beach, looking back at the footprints he made in the sand throughout his life. For most of his life, there are two sets of footprints in the sand--his and God's. Then the man points to the places where there is only one set of prints in the sand. He turns to God and says: "During the times when I was lowest in my life, there are only one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, would you abandon me and not walk with me?"

God says: "I did not abandon you, my child. I love you. Those are the times when I lifted you in my arms and carried you."

Amen.

A Visit to the Hall of Heros in the Memory Museum

I confess, this week's Artist's Way work has been very hard for me to sit down and do. I keep finding other things to write or read. I'm in the middle of designing my website, applying for a business grant, rehearsing for upcoming shows, blah blah blah... Everything takes precedence over me opening doors for myself. Unacceptable! It's 2:00 in the morning, and I've finally logged off the website, closed the ebook I was reading, put aside the notes on the lyrics I was working on for my latest song... I've parked my butt in the chair, poured a fresh cup of tea, and I'm face to face with time. *hides eyes*

Today, we're taking a field trip to the Memory Museum. More specifically, we're touring one wing of the museum: Sarah's Hall of Champions. Please make sure you turn in your permission slips before you board the bus, and stay with your group... I refuse to chase you down if you get lost in there! I'm your tour guide, not your chaperone! :-d

Every tourist likes to visit local museums, right? My museum looks like an ancient Scottish castle. Some parts are crumbling away, teetering on the edge of the cliff, slipping slowly toward the ocean far below. Other parts jut sky-high, grandeur in every fluted parapet railing and tower turret.

As we approach, griffins beside the heavy bronze and oak doors spring to life and glare at us from heavy-lidded eagle eyes. A docent sitting nearby on the bench treats us to a broad smile. "Scratch the one on the right on the head, and he might stretch a wing to you," she advises with a wink. "but beware, the one on your left might snatch you up in those lethal talons and bear you away to his lair if you annoy him or don't feed him a bit of your lunch. Watch your back pocket, he might try to steal your.-- Oops, sorry. So much for your chocolate stash. I was trying to warn you. Come on in before anything else happens. Please don't feed the ego-griffins, thank you. We're trying to keep them on a diet..." Her voice is lost as you enter the building and the doors swing softly shut behind you.

Inside the main entrance of the museum, a hush prevails. Huge paintings in gilt frames hang before you on a long stone wall, lit by a skylight above. I know the faces well. Come this way and let me take you on a guided tour of my hall of heros. No, don't go down those stairs! That's the hall of bad memories and villains... that's for later.

Today, let's go wander up this curving staircase to the first balcony. That woman in the gorgeous portrait with the soft knowing smile and the eyes you'll never forget... that's my Mama. See those hands, so small and gentle? They're more delicate than mine, yet I still marvel at the strength in them. She's elegant, yes, her hair covered, her face care-worn but alight with inner beauty. I haven't seen for twenty-five years, but when I'm stuck on a hard line of music, I remember that small smile that starts with slightly parted lips, and ends with the gentle upward curve of the corners of her mouth. It begins in the depths of her eyes, and shows up before you know what hit you.

But here, in this next portrait, she's not smiling. She's not crying; she's just standing with her hand outstretched--guiding, comforting, leading, supporting. My mom can do all four of these things simultaneously far better than anyone else i know. When a choir teacher told me I didn't belong on stage my freshman year of high school, Mom was the only one who said I knew where I belonged, and no one else knew that for me. "Only you can do what you need to do." she told me that night in my room before I got up and sang despite the warnings of that teacher. I've never forgotten those words. "No one else will be you for you, Sarah."

In this next picture she looks like she might sprout wings and breathe fire. When she gets that tone in her voice, I feel about two inches tall. But I always deserve it... We each have to learn life for ourselves, but moms are *never* wrong. Or at least, if I'd listened to mine, instead of doing my own thing, I would have saved myself a lot of pain. But I would have missed some very important life lessons, too.

Yes, this next one is the last big picture in this gallery. I hear they're planning to add a few more later on... But in this one, we're standing on a balance, clasping hands across the distance. She's watching with that same smile, but her eyes are a little sad. She nows I'm on my own now, but neither one lets go. She can't guide me by the hand as she used to, but my mother still guides me by the heart. She's my greatest hero, an angel walking this Earth. There are so many people looking up at her standing on that balance. They all need her and love her, but sometimes she's so busy watching me and hoping she won't fall that she doesn't know they watch her like that, with admiration and gratitude in their eyes.

Around her gallery, fountains splash and dance, casting rainbows from prisms suspended above the pools. Motes of sunlight pierce through stain-glass windows, and the scent of lavender and black tea fills the air. Soft cello music plays, and peach-colored tapestries of silk hang against the cold stone walls. It's a beautiful place. A table set with a delicate tea service glints in the afternoon sun. Hummingbirds zoom around jasmine and hybiscus flowers trailing on an arbor near the low table. Steam rises from the teacups. Mom passed her philosophy on to me that a cup of tea can cure anything wrong with the world. I wish we could linger here, but there's still more to see. Come on.

just down this corridor is another gallery. In here, you smell ginger and molasses. Peter and the Wolf themes play from a live chamber group seated in a circle at the center of the room. Snowflakes fall through the air (the special effects in this place are fantastic!) Over in the corner is a big pile of red and gold Autumn leaves for you to play in, and a grand piano with music on the rack sits in the opposite corner. The window over the piano looks out on a summer garden full of blooming fruit trees. The tick-tock of all kinds of clocks suddenly stops, and as you look up, they all begin to chime. But it's not a discordant sound; they all somehow go together--the cuckoo, the bong of the grandfather clock, the ding of the french clock, the chime of the little Big Ben, and the soft ring of the antique weighted clock sitting on the mantlepiece of a blazing fireplace. Above the mantle rests a wonderful painting of a sweet-faced, well-dressed woman. She sits in a dark blue wing chair beside the same hearth you see before you. on the hearth sit three wooden ducks with their heads turned at commical angles, as if they are inspecting you curiously. beside them sits an old ceramic porch dog, his mouth open, tongue lolling, with a few pieces of popcorn stuffed into his mouth by a sticky-fingered granddaughter. The lady's hands are folded primly on top of a book, and she gazes out at us from steady, clear eyes, her lips set, her back straight.

This is my mother's mother. grandmama took me to symphonies and concerts as a child, and exposed me to all kinds of classical music. She encouraged me to play make believe with the ducks on the hearth and the old porch doggie. Grandmama always brought me along when she went around the house to wind the clocks with her. We'd walk under her fruit trees and look for ripe fruit. (My favorite was the crab apple tree just because I liked the funny words "crab apple.") Grandmama was a musician herself, but she died of brain cancer when I was twelve, long before I came into my own as a full-fledged musician. Before she passed away, she had a very special medallion made for me that bears the words "live, love, laugh" in tiny Braille dots, dripped as molten gold. I've never forgotten those three simple words, and I think of her and ask her to stay beside me whenever I perform. If I do have a guardian angel, she looks and sounds like my Grandmama.

on the other side of the room, near the pile of leaves and the snowman (sorry, I forgot him when we walked in) is another painting. This painting is of a tiny woman with the cheeriest smile, and the merriest eyes you've ever seen. in her lap sits a ball of yarn, a half-finished blanket, and a pair of knitting needles. Children crowd about her as she reads from an old book with an apple tree on the cover. A shaded lamp casts a golden glow on her walnut skin, and makes you want to curl up in that blanket she's knitting and listen to her story all day long. Behind her in the painting, a porch window looks out on a green lawn sloping down to the blue-green waters of Pleasant Bay, cape Cod. the edge of an old weathered baby grand piano is visible in the right-hand side of the painting, and to the left, you can just make out a bookshelf, and a child's fingers fiddling with the tattered edges of one of the bigger volumes.

This is my other grandmother. Grandma Outwater is the ultimate super-grandma. She could beat her grandchildren on a ten-mile bike ride, ski the steepest slopes, race us on the beach, and tell the best stories. With her hands over mine, I learned to knit and bake, pack snowballs and feed chickens, catch fireflies and explore the keys of a piano. She, too, took me to orchestral concerts, and played records of ballets and concertos for me. She taught me about Papa Haydn, beethoven, Tchaikovsky and Vivaldi. Sitting in her kitchen eating cookies, I met Choppin, and mozart, and Bach and Schumann. She made them come to life for me, sit across the table from me, and fill my ears with their musical stories.

I'd love to stay here all day and play, but there's still one more place I want to show you. Just up these stairs and through this maze of years...

We enter a long gallery with vaulted ceilings and more sky-lights. A jazz band sits on a stage at the far end of the hall playing songs that make you alternately sit and think about life in the sumptious-looking leather sofas along the back wall, or get up and dance beside the stage. Along both walls are portraits--of teachers and friends. There's Andy in his boots with that unstoppable grin. I learned to be an eternal realist thanks to that veteran audio engineer. He taught me life is hard and no one will believe in you if you don't know you've got it in you ahead of time. "I've never heard of a blind audio engineer before, but if you want it bad enough, you'll make it happen. I have no doubt, sarah," he said.

There's one of my high school teachers. "You're blindness isn't a hardship to you, Sarah. It's a challenge to you, something you just make the best of." He told me.

There is an old choir director, a stern hard expression on his face after I confronted him about losing a solo. "I pick the best singer for the music, Sarah. be the best for that song, and you get the part. Sometimes you've got the voice, sometimes you don't. welcome to music."

There's my friends teaching me to dance, to move and enjoy the stage. There are Tori and her mom reminding me to have faith, and gently unclenching my fingers from the choke-hold I had on my shame. They gave love like the sun gives light. There's Jason singing "Don't stop believing" when I wanted to give up. There's Rob and Bren, Kate and Troy and Makenna standing beside me as I fought to get better this summer....

And we've reached a stretch of blank wall... waiting to be filled by more heros. WE've missed pictures, and I'm sure we'll come visit again, but you've met the stars of the show. Some spots are darkened, as if a picture once sat there and has been taken down and moved. Yes, of course that's happened. Life changes, people change us, some stay and some go. Some you'll meet deeper in the museum some other time. For now, it's time to get out of here.

Hey, aren't you in luck! As we walk out, there will be a gift shop on your left. stop in there, and buy yourself a few extra minutes. What a precious commodity!

Take your few minutes out to a nice lunch, or a quiet afternoon in the park. Sit down, just you and your "free" time that you just bought (love that paradox), and explore your own museum of time. Don't go to the cavern of the villains and bad things just yet. Walk the hero halls where the champions of your art reside. Remember them, visit their faces, remember their voices, re-live their influence on your life. Replenish yourself from their words or their actions. Take heart from what they sacrificed for you, or helped you do. Then, through your own words and actions, without consciously trying to do it, build yourself a gallery in someone else's Hall of Heros. And don't look at me like that! It is not that hard to do! Go see for yourself.

The Battle of the Blurt Monster

I'm back to blogging after a weekend in San Diego spent with family. The occasion (a funeral for a relative) was sad, but it gave me the chance to spend time with family I haven't seen in years. My family is very spread out, and we try to reunite every couple of years for a big reunion in Cape Cod, Ma or Big Bear, Ca.

Anyway, I'm back home in Burbank, and was asleep, but an early-morning phone call got me out of my bed, and now i'm up tackling more work... and blogging. :-d For these twelve weeks, I consider blogging part of work, payment to be made to self. I've decided that nurturing my inner artist (ah the hippie/inner therapist in me rejoyces at those words) is a good investment.

Week one of the Artist's Way tackles several issues, and the first big one aside from morning pages and the artist date is... (maestro, fanfare please): ladies and Gents, may I present... the Blurt Monster! *horrid stench fills the room, and everyone present cringes in horror as an ape-like, grasping, slavering thing from your worst nightmares shuffles onto the stage, glaring malevolently about him from squinty watery eyes.* His modus operandi? Blurt, squish, roar. (Thanks, Seth for devising the mating call of the Blurt Monster... care to put eh Latin translation up? Like veni vidi vicci for the blurts?) :-d

(stage whisper): Blurt Monster is your subconscious if you're into psychobabble.

Blurts are negative things you say to yourself, especially during the process of creative expression.

Examples of blurts:
I just do this for fun, I'm not a professional
I'm not that good
I'm going to hurt people around me if I give all my time to art--it's selfish
I must have an ego problem if I think I can make something the world wants to see or hear
I'm too old/young to do this
So-and-so said I couldn't or shouldn't do this, so why do I still waste time with it?

Etc, Etc.

You get the idea. Remember that mental neighborhood I took you on a tour of in my first blog post? Blurts live there. They lurk in murky corners, waiting to see a pretty new virgin idea waltzing merrily down the street, alone and unguarded. They just love to pray upon unsuspecting young ideas, dragging them into the shadows and beating them until they're helpless, quivering lumps of fear and misery, with no life left in them. Blurts are ruthless, hungry, cunning brutes that feed upon destruction, and are hell-bent on keeping the streets they haunt dark and deserted, empty and unfriendly.

What do they get out of all this? Absolutely nothing--just another victim. They're not payed to destroy, nor are they after power, food, thievery or pleasure. They're just there to capture and torture good ideas.

Enter: The affirmation task force. These are mostly average little, ordinary-looking guys, over-worked, under-payed, a bit hard up and seldom responsible for the spectacular take-downs you see on the news. But they pride themselves on being a formidable force all the same. They valliantly face off against rampaging blurts, fighting with only there presence. They don't chase down the bad guys, go out in a blaze of glory, or carry ten zillion gadgets and gizmos on their belts to do their dirty work, they just rely on their constancy, and their existence.

Think back to chemistry or physics class. Yes, I know, we're all artists here. for some of us, saying we remember physics or chemistry is a big stretch. Some of us sat slouched in our chairs, daydreaming or doodling. And you were probably oggling that cheerleader in the front row with the dark hair, wishing you could--um--paint her portrait? Yeah, that's what they call it! A few of you were busy sizing up the nerd in the corner, wondering how much you'd have to shell out of your allowance to get him to do your history report, leaving you free to use your fake ID to slip into that bar downtown to jam with the new band and show them a few of your tunes...

"Hey, earth to artist!"

Oops. let's pay attention to the teacher for five minutes, shall we?

Ions are positively or negatively charged. A negative ion cancels out a positive ion. When the two come together, they unite, creating a whole of two particles--they bond. They can and do also repel each other. Where one exists, the other cannot be present. It has to leave. Just like our attention span...

It's like that with the blurts and the affirmations, except it's not a law of physics, it's something you have to work at. You are the employer of the affirmation force, but you are also the parent of the blurts. You don't punish the blurts, and their bad behavior and reckless habits prove that you have been more than lax in their discipline.

Yes, blurts are like teenagers. The longer they go unsupervised, the more trouble they find, but when you step in and set them straight by means of the blurt force and proper punishment for rule-breaking, they slowly begin to straighten up and fly right. Any good parent makes an effort to find out what goes on in a child's world... so let's take a look at the average evening in the life of a blurt.

The blurt monster is the ring-leader. One little blurt gets out on the street and reports back to the leader that a great victim approaches. Monster Blurt and his cronies all gather round, drooling and scratching themselves, sloshing their feet in the gutter puddles and spitting at the nearby boarded up shop windows.

and then they see her. Beautiful, vulnerable, alone, innocent. A fresh new idea, racing for the edge of the slum, eager to escape and make her way in the world...

The gang moves. They surround her. They appear out of the dark night like phantoms, just following at a distance, making chills race up Idea's backbone, making her brush hair out of her eyes and glance uncertainly over her shoulder. She trips on the uneven cobblestones and loses her footing for a moment.

That's the sign. they move in, closing ranks until she is encircled. She wrinkles her nose at the ripe odor of her attackers, and looks for a way to pass. They begin to tease and taunt her, calling her names, putting her down, all the while, tightening the circle. Then they begin their assault, kicking, punching, pinching, pulling hair... worse, much worse... if they are not stopped.

A patrol of affirmations turns the corner and sees the altercation ahead by the dim glow of captain Affirmation's flashlight. His stride becomes purposeful, and his partners fall into step behind him.

Captain A. jogs up the street, but in the commotion, none of the blurts notice the newcomer. Our good captain puts two fingers in his mouth, and whistles shrilly, causing several heads to turn, and a few pairs of piggy little eyes to widen in surprise and consternation.

"back off," Captain A. plants his feet, and stares down the nearest blurt. "What's your name, boy?" he asks the filthy street urchin.

"Name's Not-Enough-Money. What's it to you?" the boy scuffs his warn old shoe back and forth against a loose rock in the street in agitation, but his mutinous eyes lift to glare with defiance at the cop before him.

A slim young man dressed in worn jeans and a faded cap steps from behind Captain A, and holds up a badge. "Read it and weep, boys," he says slowly, pointing to the silver lettering on the badge. "My name's Sergeant Start-Small."

Not-Enough-Money's eyes widen in fear, and his blotchy face goes bloodless. He shudders violently, and raises a fist. behind him, a few blurts turn and shamble off up the street. Captain A. lets them go. He just doesn't have enough officers at the moment to catch all of them tonight. He'll settle for a few big ones. he wishes, not for the first time, that his force was bigger and that the budget allowed him to hire on more cops, and pay his officers more. Life on the good side is never a picnic.

Serg. Start-Small pulls out cuffs. He and Captain A. come forward and arrest the trembling perp. He begins to scream obscenities, but Serg. SS tapes his mouth shut and leads him away.

Captain A turns to the next scoundrel. "And your name?"

"Wher'm-I-gonna-find-the-time, you sodding piece of--"

Detective Make-Time flashes badge, pulls cuffs, and wrestles his opponent to the ground. Other officers find their targets and move in for the take-down.

The Affirmations finish their work and return to the station. Here's where things get dicey for our Captain and his men. They can't make many assault charges stick to these kids. You, as their indulgent parent will come down in the middle of the night to the jail and bail them out. They'll be back out on the prowl tomorrow, ready to make more trouble, unless you let what you've seen tonight motivate you. Now you know what really goes on; you're dillusions have been punctured. Take a good long look at the grim reality of the situation, and for the sake of the community, properly parent your children!

Meanwhile, the timid idea lies helpless where they left her, bloody and broken. Who will save her, or will she become an empty husk, a lifeless corpse left to rot there? Tune in tomorrow to find out.

Your assignment for today:

Your mission, should you choose to accept it: catch a blurt. Do a ride-along with Captain A and his team, and go out in your own mental neighborhood looking for your local blurt gang. See if you can apprehend them in the act of killing an idea. Take the blurt down with it's positive counterpart: I can'ts with I cans, I don'ts with I dos, I'm nots with I ams.

Don't forget to do the paperwork on your arrest when you get back to Affirmation HQ. File your report as a comment to me on the blog, or write it down wherever you keep your private thoughts, a journal, or your own Artist's Way notebook. Now that you caught your blurt (your thought) getting out of line, find some way to keep it from happening again. There might be a slip up or two, but go online, or talk to friends, and help your blurt with his homework. It keeps him off the street. Read an article about an 84-year-old grandmother publishing her first book, or a paralyzed college kid playing in the marching band. Listen to your friends' words of encouragement, and don't be afraid to let the blurt sit and stew in jail. It's called living with the consequences of your actions, and it's a mighty good lesson for a blurt to learn. Negativity only begets negativity, so make that wayward blurt-kid of yours mend his ways!

Good luck on your mission!