Writers' Heaven

How often do we get the opportunity to occupy our comfort zone? (Not thinking in the sense of Occupy Wall, Bay, Main and other streets now.  Stay with me.)  I mean occupy as in filling up our entire comfort zone  with, and being engaged in, something that is so satisfying, it moves us.  Hmm.  Occupy to the point of being moved.  And, we might have a few comfort zones but, I'm talking about that special one; the one you'd refer to as the zone.  Truth is, depending on our particular situations, we don't get such an opportunity very often.  What to do?  What to do?  If it means that much to us, we have to make these opportunities; make the time to indulge in and bask in and revel in that zone.

I don't know whether this has ever happened to you, but, over the past couple of years - and, more so, in the past few months - it has happened to me.  It's that phenomenon where, you publicly express your desire or preference for something and, all of a sudden, you become aware of like things around you.  Once I finally knocked some sense into my head and woke up conscious to the fact that my not being a published writer does not make me any less of a writer; once I recognized the fact (read: fact) that I had to write or suffocate; once I nodded my head in agreement with my handsome inner editor that I was not in love with the idea of writing (though, what a lovely idea, eh?) but the act of writing - and that the act is hard, grueling, at times frustrating work that might not even be rewarding except in the relief and satisfaction that the words on the page are exactly the words you wanted to get out; the story you wanted to tell...  Once I got all that out, or done, or in, I began to see opportunities to help me on this journey.  Folks around me - beside my sis @MizDurie, my harshest and gentlest critic, and my mother @jawil7, my biggest fan, in whose eyes none of my writing is ever crap (Language! Sorry, mother!) - started talking to me, and getting me to talk, about my writing.  In time, encouragement came from other quarters like Twitter - people whom  I'd never met before, but seemed to realize what my writing meant to me. Imagine my joy when I saw a comment on one of my posts from @grammakaye the other day!  Precious little things like that...

And, bigger things, too!  I long ago signed up for alerts to communications courses organized by my workplace.  Imagine my delight when I saw one for Creative Communicators! I registered. The long and the short, turns out I had registered for writers' heaven!  And I didn't have to die or anything!  It was a glorious day spent occupying my comfort zone.  And, people who "get it"; who get "this writing thing" were there.  Do you know how much of a relief it is not to have to explain the wherefores (read: whys) of yourself as a writer?  It's surprising how light that makes you feel. The facilitators, @imruthwalker and @gwynnscheltema, gently helped me discover, hitherto yet unknown (to me, anyway) abilities within.  (It was like that time I went to audition for that ad, and the casting director asked me to convey a particular emotion.  It was not until that moment that I knew I could cry on cue!)  So, there we were, in writers' heaven.  It was a mixed group - folks at different places on their own journeys.  We shut the doors; shut out the rest of the workplace - and the world.  We locked ourselves away and made ourselves at home.  Home.  Just looking at that word, knowing the weight of the meaning it holds in relation to my writing, brings tears.  I have a bit of a reference to a Robert Frost's poem on my Twitter account.  But, the desired quote from "The Death of the Hired Man" says, "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in."  I live in writing.  It's a haven for me. (The Lord knows what I mean; He gets it.) It's that place where, if they don't take me in, I'd be homeless...

I'm glad they've taken me in.  Who's "they"?  Doesn't matter.  At this moment, though, "they" just might be my alter ego which has an alter ego - which isn't me!  The little voices in my head must be them plotting how to get out.  Periodically, I pay them some mind, introduce them to my handsome inner editor, and, as soon as we transcribe their stories, they go quiet again.

'Til next time.


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro