Writer's Block: One Reason Why, The Three Things that Fuel It

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 12 April 2017 | 4 Comments

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     I have an output ratio of 100:1. That means for every word, idea or story I manage to force into words and out of my pen, there are 100 backed up in my body, getting restless and bored and clamouring to get out. It's exhausting and at some point it will be dangerous. Why risk exploding like a vowel-laden balloon when i could just sit down and open the tap? 

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Camera vs writer's block

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 28 July 2016 | 2 Comments

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Writing about myself was always a challenge, which is why I became a journalist and then a fiction writer. But like a river clogged with the silt of memories and ill-disposed junk, the flow of all my words became slower and more painful over time. The more space and opportunity I was given to write, publish and build my business, the more jammed I became. By this past spring, four books into our Nova Scotia love story, with two new authors in our stable and a fifth book on the brink, I was buried to the point where composing a tweet could be a daylong affair. School excuses took 30 minutes and three rewrites. Where there was once ease and confidence in my work, there was a suffocating pall of gloom. Writing was all I knew how to do, and now, I couldn't even do that. 

Then light appeared, first as a spark that encouraged me to drop everything and go to Hawaii in April, at a time when the dollar was tanking and my credit card was spiralling. Thank God I listened to myself. Ten days immersed in the energies and stories of more than a dozen amazing women coalesced into a pull forward and a beacon within. A month later, when I saw a blog post from fellow Hawaii traveller and awesome photographer Tanya Petraglia inviting photo shoots of 'creative collaborations,' the spark ignited into a flame of possibility. Creative collaboration: a perfect phrase for the creation of the Finding Maria series and the publishing company behind it. I had a business partner, but the partnership was far from being easily defined. He was generous with his story, which I gladly wrote as a gift for him, but then his presence seemed to fade like a shadow at midday when we formed a company and began the arduous task of selling our creations. You got this, he would call reassuringly over his shoulder as he dashed back to his own life, one he packed way too full for the new responsibilities of entrepreneurship, creativity, and, God forbid, friendship.  This 2-3 dance: one step forward, one step back, round and round, has gone on for more than a decade, ever since Finding Maria was first conceived. Yet, through the fog of fury I felt the distinct pull of a clear connection, that we were collaborators for a reason. Could images capture the words I needed to find? Several messages, an affirmative from my business partner and a few weeks later Tanya was in our presence, on our turf, with camera in hand ready to document this 'thing' of two people creating ... what? Stories? Books? Life?

See Tanya's blog of our adventure here.

As you can see, it was a picture-perfect day. What you may not see at first is that it accomplished exactly what it needed to do. It rolled over boulders of fear and frustration that had been in place for years, and tossed about stones that were newly planted, sharp and slashing. That was what I felt every time I sat down to write, a stone wall biting into my skin, threatening to crush me, while a stagnant trickle of festered fears hissed: forget all this, go back to where you were. Life needs to be defined, contained, controlled. Be safe, stay small, go back. And I blamed all of it on him, the person I call my business partner because I as a writer cannot find another phrase. In our actions and choices we appear more like strangers than friends, yet there remains this pull that brings us together and a conduit of knowledge flowing through us both that neither of us can define. I blamed him for blocking this knowledge, for his obstacle course of hoops and rules that he carefully crafted to keep his world safe while keeping our work, and by extension, me, at arm's length. The truth is, the photos revealed something very different, that I needed to see.

It is not him. It is me. 

I was given a chance to be an author and publisher, and I took it. I have the choice to remain in the partnership or leave. I choose to stay, because I continue to see an invitation to a life of enlightenment and adventure. If I want to get anywhere, though, I have to stop blaming others for how I feel and stop listening to the lurid hiss of fear. Does my business partner divert and avoid? Sure he does. But he also stepped up to be part of this photo shoot, knowing he was stepping into an earthhquake of soulful proportions. What did I do? What I always do: set it all up, fill my head with stories, then detach and cut the power. I have energy and insight to share, to break the 2-3 dance, to create the life I have envisioned. I have a voice. 

Do I use it?

No. I used the books as a shield rather than a map, created them as a means for him to explore his life, while completely shutting down to the fact that they also existed to help me explore mine. The stone wall I slammed into time and again was my yearning for authenticity, as chapter outlines and business plans for the creation and sale of fiction became confused with my vision of life itself. I was allowing life to unfold, the fear assured me, and when life didn't follow the script I conveniently hadn't written yet, another boulder of frustration rolled over what few words I could find. It was a nifty scenario that kept me small, sheltered, and safe, but increasingly miserable and isolated from my words, my voice, my essence. And I had only myself to blame. Bloody hell.

The photos showed it all, and through tears, blackness and emptiness I forced myself to feel everything they brought up: the distance between us, the isolation, the failure to thrive in a a decade of opportunity, the gratitude grown bitter from lack of sharing. I had to completely reframe how I approach our collaboration and our partnership. No more could I blame him for his choices. I have to take ownership of mine. No more could I hide behind the concepts of books and commerce. I have to rediscover and define myself, for me. And dammit, I can't even torment him about being short any more. A photo of the two of us, backs to the lens, eyes to the water, shows clearly he is just a shade taller than me. On another day, revisiting that photo, I noticed that the distance between us was not the unbreachable chasm as it had first appeared. We were closer than we were apart. Our stance, exactly the same. We even dressed alike. There is a connection, without a doubt, but not one I will label with carefully-chosen words. It is one I will identify by stepping into myself. 

Only these photos could show me that. 

As the boulders continue to shift and the concrete ramparts crack, the fears ooze away and words begin to flow. There will be much, much more written about these photos, this day, this experience. 

Where will it go from here? I have to say, for the first time since the writing of these books began, I really don't know. I only know there will be no going back. 

Thank you, Tanya Petraglia, for sharing your talent and essence with the world. A picture is worth so much more than 1,000 words.

Thank you all for reading. I hope to see you again soon. 

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Seed, Feed 'n' Weed: using stress to strengthen my spirit

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 14 July 2014 | 4 Comments

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In May, stress was winning I came close to giving up. Instead, I hit pause, and tried something new. And it worked. 

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Lessons from a clothesline

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 20 June 2014 | 1 Comments

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My basement clothesline now sags with dripping wet clothes. The forecast said thunder showers; I was swayed by the brilliant blue sky. So who do I blame: nature, myself, or this bloody Nova Scotia weather that changes literally in the blink of an eye?

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The Dark Side of the creative process

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 18 June 2014 | 3 Comments

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My lesson yesterday? The things that anger, frighten and frustrate are not minefields but diamond mines full of unruly bits that can be polished into a gem of a story. 

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It's Monday, raining and day 22: Give yourself a break!

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 16 June 2014 | 12 Comments

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Here we are on a weekend of self-nurturing and the lunch conversation is paused by a participant's plaintive plea: could she smell the coffee? No, no, she didn't want one, well, actually, she did but was on a 30-day regimen of no caffeine, no sugar, no junk ... you get the idea.

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Lessons from The Enterprise: Day 21

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 15 June 2014 | 1 Comments

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I always believed life's best lessons could be found in Star Trek and this weekend, it was proven to me. Sweet. But there was something even sweeter.

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Turn the knob, don't pull the plug

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 13 June 2014 | 0 Comments

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I'm really dating myself here, referring to dials rather than touch screens, but that's part of who I am, old. I also feel like a radio these days, needing to tune out but not wanting to lose the signals that enrich my life. It's like when the country hour comes on our local station. I can handle a few of these artists, actually enjoy the occasional tune here. If I turned the whole thing off, I'd miss the good songs. Or, if the tuning is nudged off-station, I don't pull the plug, I fine-tune the setting. On days when I need silence, I don't take a hammer to the radio, I turn it off, and save the rail for a day when the music is welcomed.

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A stiff breeze makes us stronger

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 12 June 2014 | 55 Comments

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Did you know tomato plants grow better in the wind? Me neither, but my son's high school science project gave undeniable proof. Then I got to thinking: is the same true for authors?

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Life experiences and a space to sort them in

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 11 June 2014 | 21 Comments

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Storage of our stuff is a multi-billion dollar industry in North America. How much do we invest in our head space? We pay hundreds for the perfect shelving unit to hold books (proper thing, of course!), ornaments and electronics. What about all those experiences housed in our body and mind: how much do we invest in processing, sorting and storing those? 

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