Word Up!

You won't find much hip-hop slang in my vocabulary (though I did take a class in college called "Structure of the New York Mambo." More on that later.) But the title of today's post—which you will shortly see has a second meaning—is right "up" my wordplay alley, a delightful little stretch of road (that often elicits groans from my children) with Pun Place at one end and Double Entendre Drive at the other. All right, enough nonsense.

Among the plethora of promotions in this morning's email, one missive hit its mark: the Word of the Day from Word Genius. I don't recall opting in to their daily dose of definitions, but since I enjoy waking up to a word in my inbox other than "sale," "clearance," or the stress-inducing phrase "last chance," I will not engage in the interdiction of opting out, as that would constitute both a contradiction of the way I feel and a literal act of contra-diction. But to the point.

Today's word served up by Word Genius was "bugaboo." I recalled it as referring to something small we get stuck on, a sort of major obsession with a minor concern. The definition offered was more specific: an imaginary object that inspires needless fright, with a secondary meaning of a problem that persists. I immediately thought, how many of us, not only in our creative work but also in our everyday lives, suffer from the paralysis caused by persistent, unnecessary fear. I've written previously about fear being a choice, but that post prodded readers to find the courage to do big things; it did not directly address how the little things—the bugaboos that beleaguer us—stop us in our tracks.

If we want to beat our bugaboos, we have to start by deconstructing the definition. Beginning with "imaginary," we can conclude that bugaboos are not real. And if they are not real, they cannot have any real impact. Their power to plague us exists in our imagination, which means we can disempower them at will. What makes bugaboos difficult to deal with it is that they flow from the same source as our creative power. Imagination, and our ability to envision everything from future outcomes to fictive worlds, is our greatest gift. But like any potentiality, imagination has its dark side; it can cause both joy and torment. We can, like Captain Ahab in Moby Dick, feel our topmost greatness lying in our topmost grief. So if bugaboos thrive in the dark corners of our imagination, shining light on them is the way to send them packing.

One of my bugaboos was that I couldn't write these posts without the forced compression of an hour-plus-long train ride. Another was that I had run out of things to say. Another that still holds some power is needing to have a clean house before I start writing. And another is the thought-spiral we've all experienced that can sink any attempt at self-improvement: the anger, frustration, and self-loathing we feel for abandoning a discipline—one that made us happy—and the resulting self-flagellation that knocks us down even as we're trying to summon the strength to start again. But (and this happens to be the title of my upcoming memoir), You Have to Start Somewhere.

When I focus intently on the work I'm meant to do, when I shine my light on the goals glowing the distance, the bugaboos disappear, like shadows in the sun.

You don't have to be a genius to get rid of your bugaboos. Just do your work, and they'll run away all by themselves.

Word Up!

Pause, Refresh, and Pick Up the Pen

Recently a friend asked me why I stopped writing the blog. Before coming to dinner he'd read some of my posts (on top of others he'd read many months ago), and he let me know that my words were helpful. His question was as much a challenge as an inquiry, and I didn't have a single good answer. My stock response has been that when I ceased commuting by train to New York City, I stopped writing, because the hour-plus-long ride was the time I devoted each day to blogging. In truth, that is not a reason but an excuse, as I have ample time each day to consider, reflect, process, and proffer some paragraphs that help sharpen my focus and (I hope) inspire others to look at things in new and enlightening ways.

The thing about the commute was the compression it created—a short space of time in which I forced myself to compose, correct, and complete a piece of writing. I could easily set a timer while I sit in my home office—filled with light and set up for writing that isn't happening much now—and return to the discipline of delivering daily messages. I could easily set the timer, but I would find it much more difficult to summon the dedication and commitment, as those muscles have grown weaker during the time I've been away. Strength, of course, is the first attribute of aplomb, and strength is the quadrant of the circle where I will find the impetus to get me moving again, where I will (if I am still and listen) hear the whisper.

Coming around now to the real answer to my friend's question, it is clear that I didn't stop writing because I stopped commuting; I stopped writing because I stopped listening. I closed my ears and closed off the receptive—and vulnerable—part of myself, perhaps to block my anger and disappointment over losing the job that brought me to New York each day, perhaps to avoid the grief that came from losing my mother a year and a half later. Or perhaps because I thought—not felt (because I was not in touch with my feelings), but thought—I was done. I still wonder now if I have anything to say, but I never worried about that before, even on those mornings when I didn't have an idea before I got on the train. I always knew it would come to me, that all I had to do was find the strength to start, the patience to keep going, the wisdom to let the voice take over, and the grace to give the voice—and not my ego—credit for the result. Part of me longs to begin again, and part of me is afraid I will fail. But I can't succeed if I don't try. So, it seems, you will find me here a little more often as I stretch my muscles and work to get myself back in shape.

Refusing to listen is form of numbness, a poor attempt at self-protection that only results in isolation. If, as the musical artist Kate Tempest says, "Connection is the antidote to numbness," I need to connect, reconnect, let go, and connect again. It's no coincidence that the linked post on connection, written more than ten years ago, is about my mother, about her sitting with me on the train while I am writing, about sharing a space quietly, wordlessly, with someone you love. The post is fully self-aware, of everything from the idiosyncrasies of my writing process (which I notice as my mother observes me), to the effort she and I both made to remain connected while living 900 miles apart. I had to let go of my mother a little more than four years ago, but when we have fully connected with a human spirit, we never actually let go completely.

My mother loved my blog and always encouraged me to keep writing. And so, to keep me going, I will imagine she is sitting next to me, on an imaginary train, speeding along on imaginary tracks, heading for the very real destination called imagination. And as I turn to her, I will smile.

Introducing Christmas Lake Creative

Every writer is different. But we all face the same challenges: seeking inspiration; finding time to write; maintaining a daily discipline; getting–and implementing–helpful, supportive feedback on our work; moving finished projects into the commercial world; and developing a community to sustain our careers. Taking classes at a writers’ workshop seems to offer a solution, but . . .

. . . most workshops fail to address our critical needs.

• They are educational, not inspirational (classroom vs. community)

• They offer a confusing array of beginning, intermediate and advanced classes (Which one should I take?)

• They don’t provide a safe environment for personal exploration and experimentation with our work (negative feedback can be soul-crushing)

• They are more interested in profiting from your attendance than promoting your progress (opportunities to read, publish, and pursue commercial connections are crucial to a writer’s success)

• Their faculty is limited to local writers and teachers (exposure to top-line creatives is the rocket fuel writers need to achieve lift-off)

“The very best stories, the ones that captivate us under the author’s magic spell, are those that acknowledge truth through indulging imagination, transporting us to a fresh yet familiar place, a place we’ve traveled to in our own dreams—the world of what would be.”

— Thomas G. Fiffer

With Christmas Lake Creative, we set out to create a community that meets your real needs as a writer–a magical place where inspiration flows, your craft advances, your confidence builds, and you meet people who can help you achieve your creative dreams.

Our workshop space is part of a historic home in Westport, CT, formerly inhabited by a famous artist. With high, beamed ceilings, a beautiful stone fireplace, and French doors leading out to a three-season deck overlooking Christmas Lake, writers can move easily from a clean, well-lighted workspace to nature and back again. The space is conducive both to focused work and the fun of conversation and camaraderie with other creatives.

Our approach to education is simple. By engaging in the creative process, you will learn. Our focus is always on your strengths, with gentle guidance on areas of craft and work habits where you have room to grow and improve.

The workshops we offer are genre-based and open to all levels of accomplishment and skill, because we believe that beginners benefit from rubbing elbows with experts, and vice versa. All writers are encouraged to supplement workshops with individual coaching—to provide mentoring, help with motivation, and address specific needs. Your first hour of coaching is included with the first workshop you attend. (Coaching is also available to those who do not attend a workshop.)

As we grow, we will be offering open mic nights for our writers, an annual anthology where writers can publish their work, special events featuring A-list film, television, and publishing creatives, scholarships, and writing retreats. Stay tuned for more on these exciting developments.

Our goal as founders of Christmas Lake Creative is to see your creative dreams come true, and to share in the joy of your success, because we had some small part in helping you make it happen.

Join us by registering for a workshop today!

Semper deinceps! (Ever forward!)

Thomas G. Fiffer

Julia L. Bobkoff