A Tribute

The County-Jerry and Rex (year unknown)

Travelinma is 10 years old today.  Ten years ago, my friend Jeff Kirlin encouraged me to begin a photoblog.  He had started one and was having lots of fun.  Having just returned to Maine following my first trip to Costa Rica, I had a slew of really great shots. Exotic location plus perfect lighting equals engaging photography, right?  So, on May 7, 2007 I posted a guest photo of a questzal taken with my camera (Panasonic-pocket type) by Ricardo the guide that led us into the Rain Forest on a search for the bird and other creatures that showed up like a sloth.

I had thought of myself as a writer until sometime in high school when the
English teacher marred by piece with a red pen. He offered little encouragement and frankly, I was a bit angry and discouraged. My image of myself as a writer was tentative. In college, my professor Jay Hoar who was a Civil War buff and writer helped me as we wrote volumes and read and read. When my twins were two, Jerry supported me in applying to Stonecoast Writing Retreat.  Lasting a week or two, that experience changed my life.  At that point, I hadn't done much writing beyond professional pieces like IEP and Assessment Reports as part of my teaching job until my youngest brood could fend for themselves.  Again encouragement from a friend Lynn Bonsey led me to the Maine Writer's and Publishers Alliance and my mentor, Susan Hand-Shetterly.  Without nudges, Travelinma would not exist as it is today.

For a long time, I continued to photograph my life, but the desire to marry image and words gnawed at they thirst to express myself in ways beyond photography.  Travelinma chronicles family-in good times and in challenging moments.  Travelinma seeks answers.  Travelinma shows the evolution of a woman who rediscovers herself with every new day.  Travelinma supports those dealing with loss.  Travelinma shows the frailty and the uncertainty of life, as well as the possibilities.  Travelinma records love.

Travelinma is likely to outlive me. Just think of that! Depending upon the technological format that my grandchildren will encounter, it is possible that they will learn about their grandparents and their aunts and uncles living during this time.  On that day in May a decade ago, never did I imagine that a blog, my blog would mean so much.

Happy 10th birthday to my creation, Travelinma.

Happy

                                                     -Barbara Keene (Graphite, Watercolors) 3/17/14

Why do I do it?  I wonder as I push the tiny brush around the paper.   I have no formal training. The results are not always pleasing either.    Holding a paint brush, a graphite pencil or a ballpoint pen to paper does something to me emotionally.  I am happy.

Against darkness I push the heavy carved wooden doors opening to sunshine.  The outside seems all the more brighter compared to the dark, solemn corners of the church.  Parishioners stream out and onto the granite steps squeezing passed me, some making gentle contact. Suddenly the humming that vibrates within turns into song. Church is over.  I am singing and I don’t care who hears me.  Adults mingled in small groups down the steps and onto the large area leading to the curb.  Small children shrieked while they raced playing tag, running in and out of the crowd. If only I could sing.  Always. Forever.

In my decades on this earth, there have been periods of my life which have been disappointing and have filled me with anguish and sorrow.  Emotions have weighed me down and kept me there.

As I push the paint brush and pigment along the paper, I think of Sundays when I sang.  Actively creating keeps me alive.    It is the process, not the final product that makes the difference.  I don’t sing much anymore, my voice cracks, idle.  Mostly, writing has become my song and sometimes, I drag out the sketchbook and find myself deep in the creative process.  Humming-a song comes to mind and I elevate to song and find myself happy.

Realizing Potential

This post  may appear to be all about writers and the challenges that they meet, yet it conceivably  appeal to any individual who is trying to capitalize on their full potential whether they be an athlete, a mechanic, a fashion designer or a doctor.  Love what you do and work at it. (I am not sure why the formatting is off and I cannot seem to fix it.  I hope the short lines will not detract from the message.)

I have an inferiority complex that may very well destroy me. My perception of myself changes

daily depending upon how firmly my feet land on the floor as I get out of bed. And with that, I rise

as an over analyzer, forever questioning myself and the world about me. Good mother? Bad

mother? Spiritual being? Imposter? Writer or not?

A few months ago, life happened and I stopped writing and ceased posting to my blog after nine

months of daily writing and posting. Just like that. I stopped. I became consumed in nursing my

son to health after major surgery and supporting another as he transitioned to another state, far

away from us for the first time in ten years. Kids are resilient, I think it was me that did all the

shuffling and adjusting.

One month turned to two months. I became restless, edgy and a bit frightened. Would I ever be

able to regain my stance as a writer and a blogger? Is writing a phase that holds no passion or

gusto in my life? Who the hell am I and what do I really want in life?

A month into a university course on writing and mentoring writers, I still sputter and write with

many false starts. The online community has not motivated me to consistently create. Right

now the writing mentor, needs inspiration. So, I turn to a classic collection of essays on writing,

that is Bradbury’s Zen†in†the†Art†of†Writing†(1996.) Desperately, I seek a lasting fire that will burn

away all doubts. Tall order? Yes.

Bradbury reminds that a writer needs to love the work. Passion, love and fun fuel the flame. So I

question: Do I hold passion in my writing life? The answer is not always. Will the passion, love

and fun come with the discipline that is necessary to write volume daily? Am I destined to write

short little posts and sometimes a few verses of poetry? Does fear hold me back from my

potential? Bradbury suggests, “Writing at least a 1,000 words daily.” (p.15) My lack of discipline

is evident in my failed attempts to maintain weight loss, exercise and write everyday. Is that a

fair comparison? I think so. Writing does sustain me. It feeds my creative self and gives me a

voice. Do I have it in me to care for myself my physical, emotional and creative self? That is a

hard one. I struggle as I busy myself taking care of others. But Bradbury, the mentor states, “To

fail is to give up.” (p.146) I cannot give up. Most importantly he notes, “(Writing) reminds us that

we are alive and that it is a gift and a privilege, not a right.” (p. xii) I mustn’t screw it up.

One technique that worked for Bradbury was to simply start the day with a list of nouns that

came to mind. From this he chose one and wrote at length. He seemed to have an incredible

memory, but mine is shaky at best. I wonder if this unearthing of memories came from the

discipline of writing volume each day? He discovered while questioning his worth, “...thinking

myself bankrupt, ignorant, unnoticing, I wind up with….plays, essays, poems, and a novel…I was

rich and didn’t know it. We all are rich and ignore the buried fact of accumulated wisdom.” He

adds, “We never sit anything out.” (p. 120) Further, “Quickness is truth. The faster you blurt, the

more swiftly you write, the more honest you are.” (p.13) Bradbury believes that, “eventually

quantity will make for quality.” (p. 144)

To feed the muse, Bradbury emphasizes that, “...we must have always been hungry about life.”

There is that passion, that love that zest that will feed the writer. Can I sustain a hunger a

passion? I think so. Synthesizing the wisdom that Bradbury shares with what I have come to

discover about myself is that the key to my writing life is to continue to keep a Gratitude Journal.

This is a repository of snippets of tastes, sights, sounds and memories in my life that may

otherwise go unnoticed. I am simply recording my passion, my hunger for my life, my world. It

is when I go about my day with my eyes opened to the blessings that I have in my life, that I can

notice the hunger I have for my story, my unique take on the world. Bradbury outlines the

importance of: WORK (daily volume writing, subsequent drafting), RELAXATION (trusting the

creative flow) and DON’T THINK (just do, write swiftly, blurt thoughts onto the page.)

Interestingly, Bradbury grew as a writer throughout his career with the help of many mentors. He

makes mention all through the book about how particular publishers, editors and others helped to

shape the future of his writing life by recognizing the potentiality in Bradbury in ways other than

how he defined himself. For instance, he never saw himself as a playwright, but became one

with encouragement from another. No matter how seasoned a writer you are, it is nearly

impossible to venture forth without the clear vision of another. Everyone must move about this

world with mentors.

“It is a wise writer who knows his own subconscious...not only knows it but lets it speak of the

world as it and it alone has sensed it and shaped it to its own truth.” (p. 152) Do I have the

courage to feed my truth? Time will tell.

Through the Brambles

                                                                       

Lately, I have been thinking about how I handle stress, disappointment and life's surprises-of which I have had many.  Grit?  It is always a question as to how much I have.  It seems that I have more when I have accessed my resources and supports than when my reserves for "curve balls" has been depleted by lack of self-attention.  It has long been my contention that not only do the daily habits of a spiritual being like praying, meditating and engaging in kindnesses support each soul, but for me, creative pursuits contribute greatly to my well-being.  That is why I write.  It sounds corny, but it feeds my soul.

Writing for the purpose of posting to my blog has become a habit.  The hard part is working on other writing projects that require long term effort, persistence and facing the fact that I don't always know what I am doing as I tread on new territory.  My motivation for my current project is to honor a strong woman who became my dear friend, an unlikely pairing. Part of what thwarts me is the fear that my words will not do her justice.  Part of my fear is that my memory of her remains unclear, foggy. When I think of this project there is a mix of excitement, apprehension and pure fear.  It is easier to think plenty about this project than to plunge ahead and give it a go.  I am hopeful that with all my supports at the ready and by creating a plan for persistent effort, I will find my way through the brambles.

Striving for the Impossible

Scattered on the wooden floor,

Balls of

Half written messages,

Rejected

Discarded,

Not good enough.

How does a mere eight years

Of life,

Solidify

The need,

The desire

For perfection?

It makes for 

A

Sad 

Existence.

Always disappointed

And 

Always a

Disappointment.

Lesson in Brevity

This headshot was taken by my 13 year old.  She has taken some of my most favorite photos as she has a good eye for composition.  Along with the headshot is a mini biography three to five sentences in length.  It was not easy. Comments are welcome.  Here goes:

Barbara Keene is Trenton Elementary School's Reading Recovery/Title 1 Teacher and a mother of eight.  As a 2013 Maine Writing Project Fellow, she is among the newest Teacher Consultants. Barbara enjoys long walks in the forests of Maine, strolls along the Atlantic shore and paddling at Donnell's Pond with her dog Rex. Her writing is fueled by her love of EB White whose writing makes the ordinary extraordinary.