Monday, 13 March 2017
Following My Bliss And Believing The Doors Will Open
I returned from Manchester last night. Five days and four nights away. They were great days but I didn't have a lot of time for writing. And when I did have a little time I didn't have the ability. I return home and have no blog post written for today. So this will have to be it. I also returned with a couple of wonderings: I wonder, should I sign up for a course in improvisation? I wonder, should I aim at performing a stand up comedy routine somewhere?
I heard a quotation yesterday. “Follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be.” ~Joseph Campbell
His books are now on my wish list! Perhaps an improv course would be part of following my bliss. Perhaps this stand up thought is part of it too. Or perhaps they are doors I didn't know existed. Doors that would lead through some circuitous route to something I don't imagine. This year is a year for writing. And that for me is following my bliss. The doors will open. I will end up in an unknown place.
I told the person I'd been staying with about the quotation. She said, "Yes, that's true!" as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I start to see it in her life. She's following her bliss. Putting in a lot of hard work and devoting her life to her bliss. She could make more cash if she didn't. She could be more "respectable" in the eyes of some people if she didn't. But then she wouldn't be so happy or fulfilled and would know she wouldn't be living as herself. Yes, it's been hard work and it will continue to be. But what I've noticed recently is that doors have been opening unexpectedly. I believe there will be lots more doors for her, lots more occasions on which she tells me, "I've just been asked if I want to do ..." I could look at others around me too and see the way they follow their own bliss. It's not about money. It's not about a big house. It's not about career chasing. The doors might lead to such things. Or they might not. What they do seem to lead to is a deeper smile within.
But for today. I should write something today. More than one thing. "Thing." I need to find a better word. I don't just want to write a "thing." I want to write something of more substance than that. Not a thing. A story. A myth. A poem. A play. A comedy routine. An autobiography. An opinion. A fact. Shakespeare didn't present Macbeth or Hamlet by telling everyone he'd written a thing.
I'll work out what to write later. I have returned with some ideas. One is based around fortune cookies. Another is a command to write about glitter, rainbows and a ferris wheel. I have been explicitly told not to take that into dark places and include murder. It's just as well I've been told because I'd already worked out how the murder would take place. And then there's Haycock the Rainbow Pony and her experiences with the EHCP. I also have lots to write from Writers' Cafe sessions. That novel to write. Possibly a children's novel too based around secret rooms and homophobia. I have a monologue to polish. A story to edit. Items I'm meant to be submitting to see whether anyone will publish them. And this week I have to apply for something that I probably won't get. That's okay. I definitely will not get it if I don't apply and won't lose anything through the application process.
Whatever I write it will be part of my plan without a plan. And it will be following my bliss. While there might not be a door opening today, there might. Perhaps I have enough doors opening already if I can only dare to walk through them. Perhaps it doesn't matter that today it feels more like walking into a blank wall. Perhaps it doesn't matter if the wall is blank. Not if I carry a pen to write or to paint with.
Oh, and there's a doll house story to write too. I'd forgotten about that one. I need to write down ideas more consistently. Before going away I'd been eager to write it. I'm still looking forward to it. Maybe that's something for today. A doll house. A ferris wheel. A writing down of ideas. And a damn good tidy because my writing room is a complete mess. I've not properly tidied it since returning from Manchester last time.
But for now this is today's not-writing writing post. I have to publish it in a minute. It's a place-holding. It's a cipher. It's an update on part of where I am, ten weeks into this writing year. Next weekend I'll attend my second performance poetry workshop. The following week I might get to a performance evening. Put myself forward for the open-mic slots because I need to be doing that. This week I'll be at an acting session. Applying for this thing. Maybe I'll submit something too. Reach the point a friend reached - she's aiming for at least one hundred rejections this year. And I will write. Write. And write some more.
Because this writing thing is part of my bliss. And I want to follow it. And discover the doors.
I'm already seeing doors. Which leaves me with two questions: Which doors are the right ones and which are only imagined? and, Will I have the courage to walk through lots of doors in this year of writing?
At the close of the year I will let you know.
The photos were all taken on a day on which I was challenged to take pictures of door handles and door knockers.