One of my favorite classes from high school was Creative Writing. It was the first time I wrote and designed a menu - a skill I didn't know at the time I would turn into a full-time job, and the first time I learned about Satire, reading A Modest Proposal.
If you haven't read it, it is a satirical essay written by Jonathan Swift in 1729, suggesting eating children as a solution to the problem of poverty in Ireland: "For Preventing the Children of the Poor People in Ireland From Being a Burden to Their Parents or Country, and For Making Them Beneficial to The Public." He puts it this way:
"I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well-nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled..."
I didn't enjoy the Satire module. I don't even remember what I wrote about - I didn't get the point of writing something that wasn't true, and I didn't have much of a sense of humor. The story disturbed me; but I suppose that is the whole point - a job well done by Jonathan.
I've been pulling from my lessons in Creative Writing as I embark on a new 100-Day Project, as developed by Yale professor Michael Bierut. I recently came across an artist named Suleika Jaouad; she published a new book this year called The Book of Alchemy, writing about her own 100-Day project while undergoing cancer treatment at just twenty-two years old. The idea was simple: Starting tomorrow, do one creative act that you can repeat for 100 days. She turned to her journal, something that had always brought her comfort in times of turmoil. What started as a creative act for survival turned into a global phenomenon when she later turned this idea into an online community during the pandemic called The Isolation Journals.
In her book, she compiled 100 journaling prompts from people of all walks of life - authors, Olympians, musicians, prisoners. And she has extended an Invitation for her readers to embark on this journey with her, to which I have accepted. You can find my 100-Day project documentation on the Instagram.
Today's prompt helped me come out of a period of writer's block, written by Michael Bierut himself following a short essay about how he developed this creative habit concept as a New Yorker during the wake of 9/11:
Write about a time when you began doing something daily, be it a creative endeavor, a new course of study, a form of exercise. What prompted you to start it? What obstacles got in your way? When you felt resistance or missed a day, what called you back? Now reflect on what you gained from it and how you might apply that knowledge to a new daily creative practice.
I hand-wrote three pages this morning, as suggested in Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, and it called me back after some resistance and missed days on The Hidden Gospel.
Write about a time that you started a new daily habit:
Two come to mind. The first is becoming a morning person. I've never been a morning person, but I've always wished I was. In fact, I've even prayed that God would make me a morning person. The 5am club has been sitting, unread, on my bookshelf for years. I love mornings, but I've never been quite able to catch them before this year. I am so grateful to say that finally, at 31 years old, I am a morning person.
The habit began after I sold my business. It's amazing to me how much energy your body uses by carrying around stress, secrets, and overwhelm. I used to lie in my bed for hours, surpassing all three alarms, begging for 'just five more minutes' of not having to think.
After the sale, my mind was off-loaded of such things as food orders, payroll, and accounts receivable. I had energy again, and I needed to creatively channel it; rather - I couldn't not create something in my newfound free time, like an inherent instinct that must be scratched. I started doing what I had always told myself I'd do if I had the time. I started writing.
All of a sudden, I was able to see my story on a page, zoomed out, and it started to make a little more sense to me. It was exciting to see what was revealed when I started putting the puzzle pieces together. And most notably - I heard so clearly from God in a way that I never had before, in a sort of dialogue.
I started writing short essays on Gospel narratives that I found throughout my day. When I had an idea, I would write about it and title it "Part I." Four parts followed, though I didn't already have the concepts mapped out. I waited for God to reveal something that Inspired me.
For example, one day I picked up a coffee table book on Monet's waterlilies, a souvenir from my trip to Paris. It was Good Friday, and the sky was dark and dreary.
"Claude Monet ultimately believed that an object was born in Light."
I recalled the sermon I heard from just the night before. It was about Light. So an idea was sparked, and I titled it "From the Canvas to the Cross", finding Gospel parallels in famous painter's artwork.
I had the first artist, but I didn't know who the other four would be. I started looking, noticing, and seeking out clues. My husband had recently bought me a "Starry Night" Vincent Van Gogh Lego set. Bingo. Part II.
I was pleased to see that the instructions booklet included information about the artist's life, and even provided a QR code to listen to a podcast while you build. I learned so much about Vincent that I had never known, and was amazed. I saw dozens of parallels - not only in the Gospel Story, but in my own story, navigating mental health struggles and an almost obsessive need to create as a means of communication to the world. I learned so much about myself and felt like I was taking my place as a part of something larger than myself in my creative endeavors. I felt understood, seen, and connected.
The other three artists were revealed to me in a similar God-wink way. And so, we danced.
Oh, and for the second daily habit that came to mind - never missing a day of taking my antidepressant medication. The side effects are a bitch.
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