What Painting Buddha Taught Me About Writing

From the time I was old enough to color, I wanted to paint. I kept saying “When I get older, I’ll paint.”

I guess I’m older now. It’s been poking at me with more persistence than normal. When I sunk into the mental process of deciding what I wanted to paint, I found myself drawn to the East.

I’m not religious, but I am very spiritual. There’s a clear difference to me. I see religion so often as a vehicle that carries people farther from the Divine instead of closer to it. They seem to get so wrapped up in coffee and cake meetings that love, compassion, and appreciation of the diversity of creation elude them. I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work, but if you study world religions that’s so often what happens. Each group thinks the rules they follow are the right ones and everyone else is simply misguided. Some religions are more tolerant of different thinking than others, but arguably any structure by its nature secretly (or not so secretly) feels right.

For me, Truth strings through them all. I have always been keenly aware that there is an amazing Source greater than me and yet somehow connected to me. My goal is to strengthen my alignment with that Source (or God or Creator–all names seem insufficient and okay at the same time) daily and by doing that, to evolve the world in a loving way rather than one filled with hate, discrimination, and fear. Simple, really.

Recently, I watched a documentary called “Inner and Outer Worlds.” It showed how to keep our inner worlds balanced in an outer world that’s constantly whirling about Tasmanian-Devil style. While watching, I found myself (as I have at various times in my life) drawn to the images of Buddha. The stillness and space of the images. During this same time frame, my husband had been looking for a Buddha picture that had been given to us from his dad years ago.

The signs seemed clear. I knew the Buddha would be my first painting and it would be for my husband. For a flash I was reticent about launching my introduction to my new paint class as the “Buddha Girl.” I live in more of a “crosses” kind of town right now. I’d be way better received if I were to paint an angel or Jesus on the cross. I suspected my Zen bend would make the other people suspicious of me. Not one to live according to what people think about me, I let it go as quickly as it came. After all, if I can’t be who I am at 50, I am certainly not connecting my inner and outer worlds well at all.

So I brought my many Buddha shots to my paint class. I flipped through them with my instructor and settled on the one above. I was excited that my new paint teacher, Sandi, said I could paint this in my first class with acrylics. That meant I’d have it in time for our anniversary. I felt the reactions from other painters. Some were intrigued, others suspicious as I’d suspected. Sandi was enthusiastic and highly creative. I knew I’d found a teacher who would let me play and develop my own creative channels.

As I brushed red on the white canvas, I thought about how similar painting is to writing. You start with a blank page. Tabula Rasa. From that, you create something wholly different than white. Ideally, anyway. You pour out part of your soul. You add color and contrast in characters and places you create. Your inner world has found a visual path to the outside.

While the first layer dried, I thought about the role time plays in the creative process. If you try to rush things, it can get goopy.But my real epiphany came while watching Sandi at work. One of the other painters had asked her to help paint an “eye” on a child painting she was making of her grandson. As Sandi dabbed her fine brush around the pupil, she talked about how every painter should paint portraits because it makes a person so observant. I loved the metaphor, eyes being windows to the soul and all.

So goes writing. I especially love watching comedians who write their own material. I’m an avid follower of “Last Comic Standing” for just this reason. The way the current comics are able to create humor from their fine-tuned powers of observing the mundane causes Roseanne to say nearly every week, “I love your ability to find a new slant on the mundane.”

That’s the sweet spot of creating anything. We all have it inside us. If only we quietly observe, we have all the material we need to create a masterpiece.

Damn _oogle

It’s one of those things you don’t really know how much you miss until it’s gone.

Here’s the story. Shortly after I signed a contract to write two manuscripts with a real live deadline and not just a self-imposed deadline, my “g” key went out. When I say out, I mean I can make it work if I pound on it really hard with the tip of my left index finger. The problem is I type pretty fast and almost always omit it on the first hit.

Because I was pretty focused on turning said manuscripts around in a dauntingly short time frame, I didn’t want to take my computer to the computer guy. I kept pounding away, hoping magically my key would decide to get off break and join the rest of its keyboard friends. It didn’t.

I found myself accommodating. What word can I write that does not use THAT key? Hmmmmm. Yep. That one works. Still, it’s amazing how many words require a “g.”

I looked at the positive side of the situation. Here’re some upsides of a defective g.

1. At least it isn’t a vowel.

2. My left index finger muscles are now REALLY strong. Like if there was a left finger muscle competition, I’d totally take it.

2. I’ve learned not to take my “g”–or any other key for that matter–for granted.

3. I’ve learned the keys pop off and that a Q-tip and alcohol provide good temporary remedy. (Careful not to break your key.)

4. I have formed a new appreciation for consonants.

Still, I needed a fix. I ran through several troubleshooting paths. I checked out the forums, more on accident than on purpose. (Damn, Google.) I looked at the Lenovo website. I tried to understand the Lenovo website. I decided to “Live Chat” with the Lenovo person on the Lenovo website.

This ended up being more like a “Live Write” then a “Live Chat.” Just as well.  “Really,” wrote Radesh. “All you need is a new ‘g’ key.” Radesh send me to a disconnected number for my new g.

Through this month-long period I had every intention of getting the computer into my very competent computer guy as soon as I’d submitted my manuscripts. He was fairly certain I’d need a whole keyboard and I trust him.

I wanted to be ready with my new keyboard as soon as my projects were submitted. When I went to order it, though, I wasn’t even sure what model my laptop was. I couldn’t seem to find it on the hardware or software. While I was in town one day, I took my laptop and decided to swing by Office Depot and have the computer guy there tell me which keyboard I needed. Office Depot had gone out of business.

I went to the other office supply store.

Teen helper: “Can we help you?”

Me: “Can I speak with the computer guy?”

Teen helper, after consulting in huddle with other teen helper: “That’s Brandon. He’s on his break. He only has 3 minutes left.” She stared at me like I had a spider on my forehead. “You can wait if you want.”

When Brandon emerged from his break, he was about as helpful as an ant. “I’ve never seen one of these keyboards be replaced.”

Thanks, Brandon. Something tells me next time I go to this office supply store it may be gone, too…

Having finally hit the wall, and eager to get moving on a new project (involving lots of gs) I called my computer guy. He was very busy that day and apparently did not get the emotional SOS that I was sending in my pre-office supply store text.

I had Googled the Lenovo site while waiting for Brandon in an attempt to find a working number. I decided to try Lenovo again (since they were so helpful the first time.) I asked Siri to call on the way home. I was rather surprised when Navas answered on the first attempt. Maybe my luck was finally turning around on this whole “g” thing.

We started talking. He seemed very eager to help. Finally. He said he could help, but needed me at my computer. Made sense, but I was driving. He said he’d call me back in 20 minutes when I got home. Wow. What customer service. I got home and opened my computer. Navas called as promised. He told me this was an easy fix and he knew what to do. We just needed to get in there and do one really quick thing.

Before I knew it, Navas was inside my computer running a scan and asking questions. Then I realized this was not Lenovo, but some third party entity named iYogi that had jumped into the Lenovo website somehow and now he was inside my computer. (DAMN, GOOGLE!) I could tell by the distraction techniques he was using that this was no good. I SOS-ed my computer guy on my cell: “HELP. Some dude’s inside my underwear drawer–I mean, computer. How do I get him out?”

Michael (computer guy) has the patience of a saint. “Just sign off. Or power off.” He’s so smart.

Michael walked me through unraveling any damage that might have happened during my self-help session. Between my husband and I (more him than me) we got things back to normal. Everything, that is, but the g key.

Hopefully, tomorrow will find that problem solved. We ordered the right keyboard on Prime after we finally figured out between the three of us which one to get. (Get those drones already, Amazon.) I’m hoping I’m but moments away from an impeccable g.

Me to husband: Is Mercury in freaking retrograde or what?

Husband, after Googling: Yep.

Damn Google.

 

 

Artists Unite

For the past week I’ve been surrounded by all things Green. John Green, that is. I’ve been a fan since the Looking for Alaska days. I saw him speak at the Century Plaza shortly after I read that at a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators Conference. Quiet and unassuming, I remember. And funny. When I saw Fault in the Stars at B&N a few months ago while trying to decide how to use a gift card, I picked it up. Good choice.

Even though I write young adult fiction, when I read John Green he seems to be writing a different genre, more evolved somehow. He seems to capture something I find elusive and I’d explain what that is except since it’s elusive, I struggle. I often close his books, saying out loud to anybody who happens to be in the room, “You, John Green, are the master.”

And while I love his work in general, I think Stars is my favorite. It feels like it comes from a place of pain inside him. I since that with authors, when they’re holding back. I find it brave when it’s there. While he gives the author disclaimer in the front that it’s a novel and he made it up, the thing that doesn’t feel made up to me is the rawness of emotion.

When I picked up the recent Time magazine to read the fascinating cover story “The Transgender Tipping Point” featuring Laverne Cox from my all time fave, “Orange is the New Black” series, there he was again. (I’m looking at Orange and I get Green.) In the article, Lev Grossman wrote about how Green’s Stars emanated out of a stint he’d done as a chaplain in a pediatric cancer center. Yep. Pain.

Then came the film release which was an amazing adaptation. We saw it last night and I definitely cry-cried. You know, that gasping-for-air-as-silently-as-possible-while-wishing-I’d chosen-to-skip-the-mascara crying? That’s the one. I thought back to Grossman’s interview wherein Green was on set watching his novel come to life. When a scene happened, all eyes turned towards him to observe his reaction. While he said he didn’t play a role in input, that felt like collaboration at its finest to me.

In between the bookstore, the Time article, and the film, I happened to be watching Ellen and there was Ansel Elgort who plays Augustus Waters talking about the film. (How he got through the whole interview without mentioning John Green was personally insulting to me.) He talked about how as they’d go from city to city promoting the film hordes of people would be there. Green had both tapped into the young adult consciousness and become, along with his brother, a social media genius in the way he’d played out the book tour. (The movie “Chef” is a “how to” on that, by the way.)

Watching creativity manifest in this way inspires me. First, in the mind of a true artist like Green. Then, in the process of creating visual art with the film. Choosing what to play up and take out is such a skill.  Next, in the acting of the character Green imagined. It’s pure magic to watch it all happen and I’m grateful for the artists that make it their lives to make magic.