Meet the Critics: Breakthrough Challenge for what’s left of the week of 10/05/16

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Credit: http://keeyko.com/?p=211

We have carried our stories, photographs and videos since childhood. And we carry much more. We carry The Critics, the voices that tell us that we mustn’t tell/show secrets; no one cares about our vision; it has all been said and shown; we will never be as good as (fill in the blanks); we are geniuses who don’t really have to improve at our creating; creating is too hard – so why begin at all. When I teach face to face in a writing circle, I ask my students to enter into an imagining that teaches them what Critics they carry.

You won’t fully meet your Critics by simply reading this post. I invite you to enter into the work. If this is not the right time for you to take part in what comes next, stop reading this post and come back when you are ready. You will know when it is time. You may have found yourself blocked. You may be bored with what you are making. You may decide to give up altogether. And, maybe, just maybe, you remember this post.

Step 1: Find a place where you will not be disturbed.

You might want to invite a friend or friends to take part in this exploration with you. Shut down all your tech devices. Have a notebook and pen/pencil with you – and a timer. Get comfortable. Set the timer for twenty minutes.

Step 2: Sit in silence.

Sit with how you feel when you find yourself unable to create. When you begin to drift from the sensation, breathe and return to the feeling. Do you feel tense? Jittery? Scared? Uncertain? Do you want to use a little something to take the edge off the feeling?

Step 3: Let the feeling intensify and notice where it is in your body.

Press your hand to that place and push on it. You may find that the physical sensation has words connected with it. My students have felt pressure on their shoulders, tension in the region of their heart, cramping in their hands or jaw.

Step 4:Listen to what your body tells you.

Avoid trying to make the feelings or the words go away. When the timer goes off, write down what your body tells you – where the discomfort lies, what words seem to go along with it. Where are you constricted? What are the words? Where and when did you first hear them?

Step 5: Set the timer again for 30 minutes and write a letter to The Critics.

Avoid asking them to leave you alone – that makes the tension and the words more powerful. Tell the Critics that you no longer need them and anything else you need to free from your mind.

Step 6: This is the hardest part – thank The Critics for one gift they have given your creativity.

The first time I did this experiment with my students, I met a cruel teacher from my childhood. She had made fun of a notebook I had created to keep my free writing in. She said, “Why would anybody waste time on something like that?” She said those words in front of twenty-five other students. That day, I vowed that no one would ever stop me from making/writing again.

This experiment is powerful. You may find that you want to write about what you have found for a few days; you may want to talk with friends about what you learned.

Please write us about how this worked for you. We – and our creativity – are shaped by the voices and actions in our childhoods. As long as those early influences like buried and unknown, we are influenced by them, sometimes for creating, sometimes by being silenced.

And, here are pieces from Theresa Soures and Carole Milstead in response to prompts

Theresa:  Prompt:  Four people eat together outdoors on a gorgeous Autumn day. Where are they? What are they eating? Is there a complication that is not being addressed? The four sisters gathered around an outdoor cafe table overlooking Avila Beach. Raising their wine glasses to toast their once again sharing time together, they gazed at the coastline where they shared a lifetime of childhood memories.  Three were sisters by blood.  The fourth, having grown up across the street as children, was a sister of the heart.  As children, their parents would gather the families and head to the coast to escape the heat of the summer.  The destination was a dirt floor shack with no plumbing, no water and a memorable outhouse .  Avila was different back then.  The few businesses scattered along the seashore were funky beach shacks renting inflatable mattresses, grocery stores cooled by electric fans and hot dog stands where they tasted the most scrumptious snow cones of their lives.  Not today.  Following a major fire, the entire community had been razed and reborn.  Today Avila is a bustling tourist destination with something of an “uppity high brow” attitude.  At least that was how the sisters felt.

“Remember when” preceded every sentence.  “Remember when our mom’s rented the row boat, got drunk and lost one of their oars?  We could hear them laughing across June Lake and they just rowed in circles until those pissy folks at the June Lake lodge had to drag them back to the dock.”  “Remember when we made the bowling alley and the shooting range out of their empty Gallo wine bottles and Busch beer cans?”  “Remember when we would have those sing alongs with Gila accompanying with the accordion?”  “Remember when we would come home from the beach and they would line us up to be hosed off.  The only chance of getting warm water was to be one of the first in line.”  “Remember when?”

At one point the oldest sister remarked, “Do you realize we are about twenty years older now than our parents were then?”  Laughter was followed by silence.  So much had changed.  Only two of the parents were still alive and one was in a rest home, barely hanging on.  The beach community had changed.  It would never be the same.

As their stories continued to flow and tears of laughter were dabbed from behind their sun glasses, they commented on how perfect the fish and chips were.  The Sauvignon Blanc was ideal.  The cheesecake amongst the best they had ever experienced.  Live music from the band entertaining at the local Farmer’s Market carried through the air.  The warmth of the Fall sun loosened the stiffness in their shoulders.  They all agreed that it was a mail order day.  Avila Beach had changed.  They had changed.  The world had changed.  They didn’t like the changes.

After an hour or so, following their second glass of wine and as they licked the few crumbs of cheesecake from their fingertips, they all admitted that in truth, the changes were good.  They liked them.

 

***And, from Carole: 

I’d nearly forgotten the moment and the place where this adventure started. I was traveling alone in a familiar part of the country. This part of the state is covered with solidified lava. Many millennia ago this planet was still shuddering with volcanoes as well as huge dinosaur feet passing through. Now large lava flows crisscrossed the landscape. Dinosaurs had gone leaving evidence they had been here in places.

      I was sitting in a camp chair outside my tent watching birds flit about in juniper bushes. Every now and again a jackrabbit busted loose with a race against himself across the open space. I was the only one at this campground at the moment. I knew by the weekend it would be full. It was fall and the temps had cooled down so being outside was pleasant. No scorching sun. Breezes passing through were soft and smelled like warm evergreen trees. People would be wanting to enjoy this weather after a long hot summer.

     There are hiking trails throughout this park. Some just cross the small valley where the campground sits. Others trails take hikers up into the lava fields. Trails through the lava can be a bit tricky. It is easy to get turned around and lost. It is a good idea to go with one of the park guides. I had spent some time in this park over the years. I felt pretty confident that I could go hiking alone. I was planning to get up at day break and start out in the cool of the morning.

     Just as I got up to find a sandwich for dinner, a car load of not so young adults arrived. They chose a spot closer to latrines to camp. After getting set up, one of them decided to come over and get acquainted. Fine by me. I am not anti-social.  We talked about the summer, the area, and other light subjects. Her name was Gertrude. She said to call her Trudy. Trudy liked to hike. She wasn’t keen on going with a group of people. Besides the guides only worked on weekends. This was a week day, so no guide anyway.  Somewhere in this conversation I found myself offering for her to go hiking with me. She accepted and agreed to be up at first light. And she was.

      I told Trudy that I had noticed another trail that not many people followed. I told her the hiking might be just a bit rougher than most of the others. She was game. We checked to make sure we had plenty of water and snack bars in our back packs.  Then we set off following a well-worn trail into the lava beds.

      After hiking for nearly an hour we came to a Y in the path. The main trail veered off to the left. We stayed on the smaller trail that intertwined through a bunch of lava piles that formed sort of a barrier. It was higher than Trudy expected. I had been here before so I knew they were there.

      Not far from the where the trails separate I knew there was a lava tube. I told Trudy I had planned to explore the tube. She thought it would be fun. So we picked our way down into the narrow tunnel made by cooling lava. There were enough places where the roof had fell in so we did not need flashlights all the time. It was interesting where the sunlight hit how many plants and flowers grew there.

     Of course, we were constantly listening for the telltale sounds of rattle snakes or even javelinas, a type of wild pig. I told Trudy that none had been spotted in this area in a long time. Park rangers tried to trap and relocate them as they wandered into the park. But every now and then one or two would show up. I carried a side arm to protect myself from them and rattlers. We finally reached the end of the tube. It opened into a circular area that was full of green grass and wild flowers. It was surreal and beautiful at the same time. Someone had found this place before as there were remains of a cabin and corral off to one side. We had walked about four hours before reaching this space. We rested and then explored it a little further. We found a small artesian spring. It was unbelievable how cold the clear fresh water was coming out of the ground. A small stream flowed from the well, its banks covered with lizard and bird tracks. Another area we found a dinosaur walkway.

       By the time we realized we needed to start back the sun had moved across the sky. We began the return journey back through the lava tube. By the time we reached the campground it was dark. Truth be told, we just lost track of time.

 

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