Category: Writing
The Allure and Hazard of Thing-Naming
I turned my rental cello in yesterday.
Growing up I didn’t name inanimate objects and I’m not sure I knew people did that until my daughter named her first car. Turns out a lot of people name their possessions.
At one point over the past year and a half, I remember giving her a name. I was attracted to her curvy, voluptuous figure and she seduced me with her deep sexy voice. We began our journey slowly, my fingers unsure and my hands untrained. With practice and discipline, we began to make beautiful music together and my partner called me her Cello Bella.
I turned in my rental cello yesterday and was caught by surprise when tears came to my eyes. I hadn’t expected that. I had made peace with my decision to focus my limited time on writing. As I caressed her one last time and expressed my gratitude for being my musical companion for the past year and a half, I wracked my brain trying to remember what I named her.
“You took good care of it,” the technician said after the inspection.
“Thank you, she was my baby,” I replied.
After finishing up the paperwork, I drove away and was glad I couldn’t remember her name because leaving her would have been that much harder.
I’ll Never Be Yo-Yo Ma
As I prepared to see Yo-Yo Ma at the University of Michigan last evening, I reflected on my own cello journey.
A year and a half ago, I attended a high school music reunion, 40+ years after graduating. The weekend was a magical mix of joyful music making, renewing old friendships, and creating new memories.
I’ve always loved the deep, resonant tone of the cello but having never played a stringed instrument, I’d thought my cello ship had sailed. During the weekend I met a classmate who had taken up the cello later in life. I was intrigued. Could I do it? Could I live in my beginner brain being the recovering perfectionist that I am? She said I absolutely could and encouraged me to rent a cello and find the best teacher I could afford.
Two months later, after pestering a highly recommended teacher, there I was, rental cello in hand starting lessons. He had agreed to take me on a trial basis, which worked for me because I wasn’t sure I live up to the commitment of daily practice or even whether I’d be able to play anything resembling a recognizable tune. After two weeks, we were all in.
Playing the cello is kind of like rubbing your stomach with one hand, patting your head with the other while you’re running and singing. There is so much is going on all at once, not the least of which was reading the Bass clef, my biggest challenge. I found myself dedicated and committed, slowly and patiently working my way out of Twinkle, Twinkle hell through Suzuki Book 2.
My cello adventure culminated by playing in a studio recital, in front of his students (18 and under), their parents, and grandparents (who were my age). It was both nerve wracking and exhilarating. I heard from more than one attendee that they were inspired by my performance, which was the icing on the cake.
Hearing Yo-Yo Ma last night made me a little sad that I gave up my cello lessons when I became a newly committed writer in November. With a day job and a long commute, there just weren’t enough hours in the day.
No, I’ll never be Yo-Yo Ma or as good as any second year student, but I’m grateful my cello teacher took a chance on me. I will forever treasure my very own cello journey.
Dreaming Bigger Dreams
Here I am, a month and a half into the new year, and I’m ready to dream bigger dreams.
While I’m still working on my memoir, I’ve connected with two writer’s groups, am trying to establish weekly group to write at a local coffeehouse, and I’m signed up for two local Writer’s Conferences.
It never occurred to me to submit any stories for publication until I read a delightful blog post by Nancy Julien Kopp about having been published in a Chicken Soup for the Soul book and being featured on the cover of her local newspaper. I hadn’t even considered that possibility.
As luck would have it, I had two stories in mind for an upcoming book and submitted them last Friday. Whether or not they are accepted, I feel a great sense of accomplishment in having written and submitted them.
Writing is a solitary gig so I truly appreciate writers who willingly share insights, resources, and wisdom. Thank you Nancy!
Podcast Parade: Super Soul Conversations with Cheryl Strayed
Before I cut the cable cord, one of my go to programs was Super Soul Sunday on OWN. I’ve been thrilled to discover some of my favorite shows are now also podcasts, including 60 Minutes and CBS Sunday Morning.
While searching for Super Soul on my podcast app, I came across a follow-up episode of Super Soul Conversations with author Cheryl Strayed. Cheryl had appeared on Super Soul Sunday in 2012, a year after the release of her bestselling memoir “Wild”. During her 2017 update, Cheryl admitted to Oprah that prior to the interview she had gone to GoodWill to purchase something to wear for $5, and earlier that week her husband called asking her why their rent check had bounced. Wait, what?!
It’s easy to look back in retrospect given all the bestselling success of Wild and the subsequent movie, and believe she was an ‘overnight’ success. Far from it. Like many other writers, Cheryl struggled to make ends meet working, raising her family, and fighting to find time to write. Being a newly committed writer, Cheryl’s story encouraged and inspired me.
Every time I listen to a Super Soul Conversation, I get something from it regardless of the guest. I’m grateful my commute gives me the time to enjoy different podcasts, and Super Soul Conversations is one of my favorites.
New Year, New Intentions
I’m at an age where I could retire from my day job, but I am my father’s child and work gives me purpose. I’m hoping to have established myself well enough as a writer so that when I finally leave the day job, I’ll have momentum and works in progress to keep writing and creating.
With the new year, I’ve changed my day job schedule to give me a day off every other week to enjoy 3-day weekends. So 2019 is the year to settle into a writing routine that works for me to avoid burnout, to keep working on my memoir, and explore fiction and new creative ventures.
Recently, I applied to be a driver for Lyft and Uber. My father worked as a shuttle driver until he was 83 and it kept him young. He thoroughly loved meeting and con
necting with new people, finding out what was going in the world outside his door, and exploring different parts of the city. Though it will be a very limited side hustle, I’m hoping it will provide fodder for my fiction exploration.
This year I also intend to connect with a local writer’s group, attend a writer’s conference, and continue expanding my blog. I’m committed to writing five days a week, whether it is just a quick note in the morning, an essay, or a blog post. I want to have more adventures, artist’s dates, walking meditations, and camping, lots of camping with my girl and The Bookends.
Remembering My First Furlough
The U.S. Government is shut down. Again.
I lived through the furlough of 2013. First during sequestration, I had every Friday off. That sounds nice, but my intern paycheck took a serious hit. With tightened belts and Summer turning to Fall, we hoped our elected leaders would do their jobs and pass a budget or a continuing resolution to keep the doors open and lights on.
In the end, I was one of the 800K federal workers furloughed on October 1st, 2013. After reporting to work to sign paperwork, I had a chance encounter with an older vet that brightened my spirits I described in an old blog post.
I thought I’d continue blogging through the shutdown but I frankly didn’t handle it well. Even though I had a job I’d be returning to, all the anxiety, frustration, and feelings of helplessness of being laid off in the 1990s roared back with a vengeance.
The 2013 furlough lasted 16 days and according to Standard & Poor’s, cost the U.S. economy $24 billion. There are no winners in the budget game of political football, and the American tax payers are the inevitable losers after the fumbled Hail Mary.
First Fatherless Christmas
It hit me like a gut-punch this week. In a year of firsts since my father passed, this would be the first Christmas without him. I crumbled at the thought, but sucked it up, stuffed my emotions, and went to work.
“Guess what I did Pa? I joined the Marines.”
“Guess where I am Pa? I’m in Vegas and I just got married.”
Yup, I was that kid that would turn a parent’s hair prematurely gray. My father was my Rock. No matter what I did or where I was, he’d respond, “You did what?!” and then want to know all the details. He was always a shoulder to cry on and a soft place to land through two divorces and the death of my mother, his first wife.
The cycle of life is inevitable but getting older sucks. I know I’m lucky he was in my life for 63 years but it doesn’t ease the pain of the gaping hole his passing left.
I’m fortunate to have had a lifetime of loving memories with the man I’m proud to call my father. This weekend, I’m taking a stroll down memory lane looking through pictures and watching all the 8mm movies my father took that I had digitized. It will be another first, watching our younger years without being able to call and reminisce with him. Please pass the tissues.
Book Look: The INFJ Writer
As a Psychology major studying Jungian personality theory back in the day, taking the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) was required. I like to know what makes people tick and the personality test developed by Isabel Myers and her mother, Katharine Cook Briggs nailed my type, Introversion iNtuition Feeling Judging (INFJ). I’ve taken the test many times over the years and no matter the circumstances, I’ve always been an INFJ, a rare 1.6% of the population.
I explored a lot of paths for personal growth and my bookshelves are lined with writing books, but I never could get back to the page. After Julia Cameron’s nudge at “Creative Reboot“, I began morning pages again. Then in a synchronistic surprise, the next day a new book appeared at the check-out table called “The INFJ Writer“.
Turns out a lot of writers are INFJs. In a brief conversation with author Lauren Sapala, I expressed my struggle to write and she responded that I’d probably have to get my memoir out of my system before I could write anything else. I devoured the book, reading it from cover to cover by the time I got home. Lauren speaks my language.
Soon morning pages morphed into a regular writing habit. I jumped into NaNoWriMo with wild abandon to write a crappy first draft of my memoir. Reading “The INFJ Writer” helped me understand where my potential roadblocks are and what I can do to navigate the emotional writing tides that sometimes threaten to swamp my progress.
I didn’t major in Psychology to practice as a therapist, but the knowledge I gained has served me well throughout my career. While the audience for “The INFJ Writer” seems like a small niche, I’m glad Lauren wrote it. The book inspired me to quit thinking about my writing angst and just start writing. Thank you Lauren.
Reclaiming My Name
In my first blog post, I alluded to my 1990s writing journey. As a professional woman, a mom of an adolescent, and a busy wife, I was working through a lot at the time. I became extraordinarily frustrated when the creative well dried up no matter what I tried. I’ve come to believe the universe was telling me I wasn’t ready.
I spent 31 years being married to two different men. I divorced for the first time after four years, taking back my birth name Sinness. I felt strongly about it at the time, and I didn’t want to be reminded of that failure. After 27 years of marriage to a terrific guy, sharing a daughter, and establishing myself professionally with his surname and my birth name as my middle name, the decision to retain his surname was easy. I had been known as my married name longer than my birth name. 
After a third marriage, this time to a woman, we explored changing both our last names to one we could share. After many philosophical ‘why do women change their surname’ discussions, we decided to retain our own names.
After I began writing my memoir in November, I faced the dilemma of whether I should consider a pseudonym or pen name. When my partner suggested using my birth name, I was resistant. Why? I loved my recently passed father dearly. Why was I opposed to using his surname?
I brought up the issue to my writing coach Lauren Sapala, the author of “The INFJ Writer”, and she nailed the reason…to reclaim my birth name. It makes perfect sense. I did not know who I was during my adolescence, early adult years, or even when I wrote one of my first poems in the 1990s. It’s time to make peace with my past and reclaim the surname I was given at birth, Sinness.
Deb Sinness, Author 