Janice Hunter's Sharing the Journey — soul food and support for coaches, writers and homemakers

How Resigned Are You?

by janice on February 3, 2011

If you put your best foot forward, you will be rewarded. If you do your part, if you take one step toward expressing all the greatness that lives within you, the universe will take a hundred steps toward you. But you must be willing to take the first step.~ Debbie Ford

I was so tired of feeling storm-tossed and twinkle-less over Christmas that decided I was going to go back to basics and work really hard at separating what I can control from what I can’t. One of the things that came up for me was how resigned I was becoming about my own less than vibrant health and the dreams I was no longer pursuing. I realised, just in time, that I was dulling my awareness deliberately, using some really devious devices to disconnect my gut feelings from my ability to analyse patterns. Some folk self medicate with drink, or do drugs; instead of writing, I was drowning myself in daily drudgery, deadening my brain with chick-lit drivel and sedating myself with evening DVD’s. Writing opens me up and keeps me aware and open, so it’s no surprise that I hadn’t logged on for a while, or didn’t read anything that got me reaching for a notebook to jot down quotes.

One of the little bits of synchronicity I told you about in my last post was getting a Kindle from my husband and kids for Christmas. It got me exploring different genres, just to see what was available, and downloading dozens of free samples from books. It was like being given bags full of samples in a sweet shop! One of the books I went on to buy was Debbie Ford’s The Best Year of Your Life

If you need a wee boost to get your year started, it’s the kind of book I’d recommend. She writes with an uplifting style that inspires and sweeps you forward, and even if you’re familiar with the tools, tips and nuggets of wisdom she covers, it’s a refreshing way to revisit old favourites. After I finished it, I gave it to my daughter to read; one of the most frustrating things about teenagers is how resigned they become to what they see as the ‘bad stuff’ happening in their lives. Seeing the damaging effects of resignation in someone so young made me very aware that in my fifties, I have to fight even harder not to let it drag me down. Learning to let go leaves me with that beach holiday feeling of getting clean and clear. Resignation’s not the same, nor is it the same as being ‘realistic’; it’s creeping and inciduous and disguises itself as a variety of malaises. It sits heavy in your heart and saps your soul.

Most of us are unaware of the extreme resignation that is brewing just beneath the surface of our consciousness. The voice of resignation is a little different for each of us, but its tone usually sounds something like this: “Why bother? It’s never going to happen. I don’t have what it takes. It’s too much work. I don’t have time. I can’t deal with it. I don’t deserve it.” When we fall short where we had hoped to succeed, when our day-to-day lives fail to resemble our visions of what is possible, when our goals haven’t turned into reality, our hope for a great life begins to die, our senses deaden, and gradually we become resigned about our futures. Since most of us are unaware of this fact or don’t know how to deal with it, we wind up spending countless hours and much of our attention trying to cover up our resignation and fill the void that exists inside of us. Instead of making peace with our past, we develop addictions, create drama, and attract upsetting incidents in order to change our focus and avoid the painful feelings of not having expressed our potential. Resignation comes in many forms. It might show up as cynicism, sarcasm, or hopelessness. It can feel like depression, sadness, loneliness, or emptiness. Left unexamined, our resignation will continue to mask the real issues at hand while diverting us from fulfilling our highest visions for our lives. ~ Debbie Ford

If you dug deep enough, would you find anything that you’ve become resigned about, something that might be stopping you creating the life and the changes you crave?

Janice

Any comments...?

No More Jeremiads

by janice on January 31, 2011

*Since posting this, I’ve had several unsubscribe emails. At first I thought people simply didn’t like the post – it is a bit of a non-post - or the way the last three or four posts have made them feel. Then I had a sinking feeling; I mention below that I don’t want to return to writing regular blog pieces unless I can get back to writing them as well as I’d like to, as well as I used to. I reread the paragraph and suddenly realised I’d made it sound awfully final. Just so you know, it’s the jeremiads I don’t want to keep writing, the long lamentations and explanations about why I’m not writing. I do hope – plan – to return to writing, whether I post regularly or not, and to some healthier blogging, if I can manage it. I’ve tweaked the last paragraph, but thought I’d add this prefix, just in case it still sounds ambiguous. And if you do unsubscribe, please drop me a line and let me know why. It’s all life lessons. This post was important for me; it marks a crossroads as the domain’s up for renewal soon and I really didn’t know how I wanted to take things forward.

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They must often change who would be constant in happiness or wisdom. ~ Confucius

I surprised myself by doing a wee bit of painting last week. I’d offered to give my daughter some tips for capturing her features quickly in the self portrait part of her art exam, but I ended up inspired, transfixed, longing to do some ‘proper’ painting of my own again. Here’s the first eye I’ve ever painted; my daughter’s so beautiful, I could paint her all day long! The universe has a canny knack of nudging us with synchronicity, of healing us by reuniting us with our deepest desires to create and share something with love, whether it’s a meal or a beautifully decorated table, a painting, a patch of garden or a piece of poetry or music.

Today I found myself wanting to share the sea-twinkle in my daughter’s eyes. When I master the technology, I’ll post a clip of her singing. Her voice is as warm, clear and sparkling as her eyes.

I’ve not had a great year since the last time we spoke. There have been more funerals than weddings and christenings, more illnesses than recoveries and more redundancies than new ventures. In the last nine months, we’ve been badly affected by floods, ice, a volcano and freakish amounts of snow that brought most of Scotland to a standstill for the second year in a row. If you read my posts last year, you’ll know I have strong feelings about snow and the metaphors it evokes.

If you have the time, please have a look at that post; I just reread it and was stunned by my own quiet strength and faith in humanity. I’ve become almost unrecognisable to myself, and feel, with serene clarity, that if I can’t regain that kind of flow, that ability to find the perfection and learning in every situation, then there’s little point in me returning to regular blogwriting. The only way I’ll get better at writing and have something of value to offer you is if I write more of the kind of pieces I enjoy and fewer of the kind the blogging world tells me I should be writing. No more shoulding all over myself, and no more boring you with jeremiads when I long to get back to writing prose that resonates like a song, something you can enjoy.

I hope you’ll leave a comment so we can reconnect again, but if not, I’ll understand. Best wishes for a prosperous, healthy and happy 2010!

Janice

Any comments...?

Travelling

by janice on December 8, 2010

My son and I sat in the freezing car, muttering about my teenage daughter’s forgetfulness as dusk turned to dark. Running late as usual, she slammed and locked the front door, stowed her guitar in the boot, closed it with a thud then slammed the passenger door shut and handed me the jangling house keys.

I glanced over at my neighbours’ house and noticed a long, black estate car parked very close to their front door. The door opened and an elderly man in a dark suit emerged pulling a lightweight, collapsible gurney. On it, something black. A blanket? No, it looked waterproof, zipped up. Another man emerged . They looked up at me, alerted by the shrieking “No!” that had escaped as my hands flew to my face. They looked on with concern when they heard the sobs and saw us staring before I ushered the kids back into the house.

For several days, as the cancer had advanced through Maria’s limbs and organs, and the morphine had brought on terrifying hallucinations, I’d kept the kids away, encouraging them to remember the funny, strong and vibrant woman they’d come to know, the Maria who’d been a school teacher, political activist, hill walker and painter as well as a devoted mum, wife and friend.

But now they’d seen the stark reality; Maria in a bag, deposited gently but unceremoniously into the back of a hearse. For a rich life lived long and wide and deep, it was such a small bag. I knew then that her soaring spirit had moved on.

As the children sobbed in their respective rooms, I stood in the hallway unsure what to do next. My daughter had a music workshop and rehearsal to get to. As well as performing her own material, she plays guitar and co-writes songs for other bands, and with a gig coming up, her absence would affect everyone in the workshop.

Propped up against a photo frame on the shoe cabinet, I saw the poem my daughter had printed out in rainbow colours to comfort Maria’s husband and family when the inevitable happened; they love Scotland’s breathtaking beauty as much as Maria did.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

I decided.

Still wearing my coat, scarf and boots, I stepped outside into the cutting cold of a clear, star filled night. I slipped the card through my neighbours’ letterbox, then stepped back into my cosy warm home and asked my daughter if she’d still like to go and make music.

Knowing Maria would want her to do anything that made her feel glad to be alive and grateful to have a gift, my daughter sniffed, wiped her nose, hugged me and nodded.

We left the house quietly, and got into the car. I switched on the headlights and the heater, reversed out of the drive and headed off.

Life is messy. I’ve met, loved and lost a lot of people along the way, but every time I’m left behind, it makes me even more grateful that I can still share journeys with the people I love.

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I’ve turned the comments off because I’m taking things slowly, getting used to being online again after my cyber hibernation. If I got any comments, I’d want to respond, chat and check out the Comment Luvs. For now, I’m content just to be writing again. Janice

Turning Tides and a Quick Catch-Up

by janice on July 11, 2010

We must be open to all points of the compass; husband, children, friends, home, community; stretched out, exposed, sensitive like a spider’s web to each breeze that blows, to each call that comes. How difficult for us, then, to achieve a balance in the midst of these contradictory tensions, and yet how necessary for the proper functioning of our lives. ~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh, (A Gift from the Sea – 1955)

Thank you to every one who commented on my last post. As often happens, this post began life as a reply. I decided to post it instead, for those of you who don’t subscribe to comment threads.

A few weeks ago, if I’d logged in and found those comments, so full of wisdom, compassion, understanding, friendship and appreciation, I’d have wept with the emotion of it all. But today, after a few sunny, pain-free weeks full of music and reading, what I feel is a surge of contentment and gratitude…and a growing – but comfortable – longing to get back to some balanced blogging.

I’m not ready for daily blogging or inbox safaris yet, but I’ve regained enough perspective and clarity to know that taking a step back was entirely the right thing to do. I remember a few of you ‘logging off’ for a bit in recent years and coming back stronger and even more creative because of it.

In the hundreds of hours I’ve gained by not logging on every day, a deeper sense of calm has helped me – and my husband – stay more grounded while we navigate tough financial times and our kids’ teenage turbulence.

Before I dulled my own shine by spending too much time at a table, writing and reading online and not living enough, my writing tapped into a part of me that was more aware, more open, intuitive, communicative and creative. I feel this offline break is leading me back there.

When I wrote my coaching column, the monthly deadline suited me, but blogging’s blurred the line between ‘writing’ and chatting. My best bouts of creativity follow a clear pattern: on fire > burnout > rest.

I’m not a slow and steady, constant, reliable kind of blogger even though I love community connections and always feel the need to creatively filter and pass on what I experience. Because I’m slowly becoming my old synchronicity-loving self again, I’ve recently ’stumbled across’ lots of expressive arts courses, events and opportunities that have excited me and my daughter.

The universe has also delighted me with surprise visits from FOUR old and dear friends and their families en-route to and from holidays in Scotland. This means my daughter can have real life outings with her long-distance friends instead of just texts and cyber relationships.

My son, still physically unable to pursue any sports or social events that involve activity, is an inspiration to all of us. He’s simply taken the imposed rest time to fill his life with other things he enjoys, and is brave enough to believe that if sporting friends abandon him during this traumatic phase, then their friendship isn’t as valuable as he thought it was. He’s the poster boy in this house for living the ‘It is what it is…’ and ‘What will be, will be…’ way of life.

Our garden’s still a mess after the winter ravages, but I’m feeling the benefits of having aligned myself with the seasons again. I’ve been noticing the sudden breezes before storms and appreciating all the summer flowers in my garden when they come into bloom. Simple pleasures, like sitting on the back doorstep, enjoying a coffee in the sun, have been flowing back in like gentle waves and restoring me.

Being more mobile and proactive these last few weeks has also given me a boost. It’s meant that I’ve felt brighter and more positive and even shed a few midlife pounds; I’ve done less of what I call ‘C’ eating (Comfort/Celebration/Consolation/Compensation/Convenience) and am feeling the benefit. I now have more energy to support my friends who are battling cancer and my dad who’s experiencing health challenges in his eighties.

I sense that a lot of you experience similar blogging tides and seasons. I wrote a newsletter article a few years ago called Ebb and Flow so it’s now fairly apparent that I was a ‘tidal’ writer long before I became a deciduous blogger. I’ve no idea when I’ll be logging on again, but in the meantime, here are a few questions for you to ponder before we meet again:

What are your creative patterns?
Do you ever get an icky feeling or a sense that your blogging’s straying out of alignment with your integrity or seasonal/tidal patterns?
If you took a blogging break right now, for two straight weeks offline, how would you fill that time? If the thought appeals, what, if anything, is stopping you?
What do you need more of right now?
What do you need less of?
What do you need to say NO to?
What do you need to say YES!! to?
What expands you?
What contracts you?
Do you ever C-eat? If so, what do you really need instead of food? What is food (or drink) a substitute for?

Thank you, once again, for being so appreciative of my desire to craft something constructive out of the ups and downs of my life and for making this a place I enjoy coming back to.

Janice

Any comments...?

Deciduous Blogging, Soul Gardening and Cherishing our Children

by janice on June 22, 2010

It is…the parent willing to nurture a child that will decide our fate. ~ Barack Obama, in his inauguration speech.

A few months ago, I coined the phrase ‘deciduous blogger’. It seems I have a natural tendency to take frequent breaks from blogging; my blog often lies dormant while I gather strength, ready to reach for the sun, put out fresh new growth and blossom again.

I used to have a love-hate relationship with blogging; I’d periodically succumb to blogweariness, not only from writing and commenting at length, but from visiting dozens of blogs every day and spreading myself too thin in an attempt to participate in supportive, reciprocal blogging.

In that depleted state, I’d become more aware of the tribal drums of blogging and the underlying currents of hypocrisy, egotism and exploitation that so often leave me feeling queasy. Now, if blogweariness or cynicism sets in, I simply have a break.

These past few months, however, I haven’t been going through a spell of deciduous blogging. I’ve actually been battling a wind that’s felled dreams, washed away blossom overnight and threatened to uproot me. My roots ache from having to hold on so tight, even though I know that every storm they weather strengthens them. Sometimes, letting go is simply not an option.

Despite a notebook full of drafts and a camera full of photos to share, I’ve been resting after a confluence of losses, bad news, family health problems, teenage exams, financial blows and a minor but confidence wrecking car crash. Even when I wanted to log on to explain, and to bask in the warmth of my online friendships, I spent a part of my time away virtually immobilised with back pain; sitting at a computer was impossible.

I’m a very honest writer and cherish authenticity and integrity; I believe in looking for the learning in challenging situations, but in two months that have included a short spell in hospital, doctors’ visits, physiotherapy, friends’ battles with cancer, and a medical diagnosis that threatens to blight my son’s adolescence, every bird, bee, cloud and sign from the universe has told me to lay low, rest, fill up the jug and focus on my own health and that of my family. That’s the only way I can replenish my soul and my writing so that some day, I can turn it all into something that might touch, help or resonate with others.

So often we advise extreme self care but are the last to practise it. I love my family, my friends and online buddies, but if I don’t take care of myself, I have nothing of quality to give – and this beautiful world of ours deserves the best we can give, not half hearted love on automatic pilot.

I hope to be writing again soon, here and at my Kitchen Table Space; a comment response I left there the last time I logged on formed the core of this post. I adore my wee blog; I built it with love, hard work, time, energy, laughter, tears and a genuine desire to connect at the heart, to contribute something of value to the world, even if it’s just a splash of floral colour on a dreary day. I don’t get writer’s block; when I have an overwhelming need to stop writing and start living more, to clean house and do some soul gardening, I’ve learned to listen.

I hope you’ll bear with me while I tentatively dip my toes back into blogging waters.

In the meantime, here’s a video I’d urge you to watch if you’re an educator or have kids, nieces, nephews, young neighbours or grandchildren. As you know, I’ve had an organic, patchwork career which has included teaching, so I really resonated with Sir Ken Robinson’s latest TED talk. (I posted his 2006 TED video here when I started out blogging.)

In this latest talk, he discusses principles and beliefs that my husband and I actually live by when it comes to our kids. (To read more about how we try to nurture their talents, please check out my piece called Sharing the Journey.)

The poem in Sir Ken’s video is also deeply personal and special to me; used in this context – and because of the pain both my kids have been through these last few months – it had me in tears. I logged off weeks ago to cherish my loved ones and my health and I’m glad I did. I posted today because I wanted, more than anything else, to connect with you again.

Janice

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Any comments...?

How to Write like Adam Lambert (revisited)

by janice on April 26, 2010

Sorry I haven’t been writing or visiting blogs for a while. The volcano in Iceland turned a spur of the moment week away into an expensive and traumatic travel saga! We were very lucky; hundreds of thousands of people were stranded further afield in much more difficult circumstances, but the two day journey across France, the English Channel, England and Scotland was exhausting and we’re still a bit disorientated from the effects of sleep deprivation. It’s chastening to remember that most of the planet’s inhabitants are this tired all of the time and never have the luxury of a holiday in the first place.

We did have a fantastic time on the actual holiday, though, and I hope to share some highlights with you, but posting will have to wait while I decimate dust bunnies and catch up on email, laundry and sleep…

In the meantime, for those of you who are enjoying my blog-birthday wanderings through the archives, here’s another post from my first month of blogging in April last year. It’s one of the best pieces of advice to blogwriters I’ve ever written. Coincidentally, Adam Lambert was recently a mentor to this year’s hopefuls on American Idol, and he gave some excellent advice. He’s a consummate performer and his voice thrills me, really hits the spot.

See you soon. ~ Janice

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How to Write like Adam Lambert.

We watch American Idol every season, a small nuclear family sitting in a Scottish living room, eating pizza, my husband and I drinking wine, all of us enjoying not only the talent, but the stage-managed drama and entertainment of it all. It cuts across the age gap and gives us common ground to discuss.

This year, Adam Lambert has been our favourite from the start. But here’s why he got me thinking about writing the other day.

Talent alone is not enough.

Millions of people want to sing or write, to touch hearts with their voices. Millions would love to make masses of money from doing it, too. But what makes some people stand out?

Adam Lambert started young, that’s clear to see, and I reckon he’s had the support of his loved ones since the moment he figured out what he was born to do. I loved when his dad pointed out, against a backdrop of childhood photos of Adam dressing up and performing, that he was never much into sports.

He’s not a new phenomenon. He’s put in hard graft, earning a living from delivering Broadway performances every night, week in, week out. Maybe he even failed a few auditions along the way and learned from those, too.

He’s honed his talent with hard work and determination, and has learned how to command a stage, create presence and connect with an audience.

He chose to go the American Idol route, confident that the time was right. Impeccable timing and choosing the right platform are crucial for all artists who want to take their work to a wider audience.

He came to the show, daring not only to be different, but to be himself and different. The hair, the earrings, the painted nails, they’re simply symbols that say I’m not afraid to be me.

And just when we were getting used to that, the hair got slicked back and the image changed, just to mix things up.

He’s been versatile, experimenting with a variety of styles yet always, always letting his unique brilliance shine through.

Sometimes understated, sometimes over the top entertaining. That clear, haunting, passionate voice, that core of self-belief and keen sense of what he wants to do, where he wants to go and who he wants to connect with – it comes out in everything he does.

My teenage daughter sings, writes and acts. Some Idol performances get her ranting or raving, others leave her indifferent. But Adam Lambert’s performance of ‘Mad World’ – a song that she herself sings – stunned her, left us all transfixed.

We felt we’d had a glimpse of genius. The pain, the passion and the experiences he distilled into every syllable connected straight to that part of the soul where empathy lives. He made an already beautiful song his own. He made it an anthem.

He sang like a part of his very soul would die if he didn’t. I wish more people would aim to do that in their writing.

Some days I feel myself wanting to scream at fellow writers that it’s not all about the money, the fame and the glory. When you’re hard-working, passionate, driven to hone your talent, your gift, your life’s work, till it’s gem-bright and brilliant, the money follows.

Make people cry. Make them smile as they sit alone reading your words. Stun them into silence. Make them say Wow! with wide open eyes and gaping mouths. Don’t settle for mediocrity or pander to the people who pay. Be brilliant. Be yourself. Be your best self.

Any comments...?

Still Loving Fleet Foxes

by janice on April 16, 2010

I had big dreams, when I created this blog, of filling it with music for you to discover and enjoy. As I’m still enjoying the blog-birthday indulgence of rediscovering my archives, I wanted to share his post with you. It’s the second musical post I did. The first was Falling Slowly, but I hid that one in the archives. I haven’t become technically adept enough to install a jukebox in our wee café bistro yet, but please explore the links in this post if you weren’t around this time last year. If you were, please bear with me, or join me on a meander through memory lane! I still adore ‘Fleet Foxes’.

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Fleet Foxes

I have a strange, intense relationship with music. It affects me so much that there are periods where I choose not to listen to any at all.

Some music from my past is so special that I deliberately avoid it; I don’t want the potency of the memories eroded by constant exposure.

Other albums, tracks and voices can unlock memories so dangerous and painful that I prefer them to stay locked up in deep, dark, distant caverns, never to be visited again.

If I listen to new music during moments of intense emotion, it will be coloured forever by that moment. So I like to be alone, to choose where I am and what I’m doing the first time I listen to a new CD.

I enjoy music on the radio because the playlists are out of my control. Music comes and goes as the charts change. I take the good with the bad and the DJ banter. But sometimes, I hear a track that makes me want to rush out and buy the whole album.

That happened with the single ‘Mykonos’ by Seattle band, Fleet Foxes. I now own the CD, the eponymous ‘Fleet Foxes’.

‘Mykonos’ is haunting. It made my ears prick up the first time I heard it; so unusual, so uncommercial, refreshing and different. It had a unique haunting ’sound’ of its own, a distinct colour that had nothing to do with the lyrics. To be honest, I didn’t even register the lyrics. The harmonies and travelling rhythms made it a soundtrack for a ‘road trip’ movie yet to be made!

The CD hasn’t disappointed me either. More weird, unusual, difficult to define tracks that connect straight to the soul and bypass the brain. Guitar pieces reminiscent of early Leonard Cohen; a whisper of pan pipes; effortless, vibrant vocals and harmonies that reminded me of Gregorian chants, church spirituals, Neil Young, Aztec Two Step, Blue Grass music, British folk, the Beach Boys and something poignantly late 60’s early 70’s. Folk rock, bluesy ballads, a bizarrely timeless and eclectic yet somehow contemporary symphony.

Some of the sunny, soaring choirboy vocals and harmonies feel like they have…halos!

What can I say. It’s the first time in months that I’ve been moved to blurt to my husband “I’m going to get their album!” before even listening to sample tracks. He bought me it to celebrate my blog launch.

Maybe I’m way behind everyone else here, but I just wanted to share it with you in case it’s new for you too.

Please give it a try. You can listen to sample tracks from the Fleet Foxes album or download it on MP3 here You can also download ‘Mykonos’ for free here. Just scroll down to the ‘listen to samples’ section.) I’d love to hear what you think.

I’d also love to know what your last spontaneous ‘must have’ music buy was!

Any comments...?

Light at Winter’s End

by janice on April 12, 2010

The kids are still off school on Easter break, so I’m taking some more time away from the blog to enjoy them and explore the world a bit, like we did on our staycation last summer. They’re growing up so fast it’s terrifying.

In the meantime, there’s a piece called Track of Light over at my Kitchen Table Space that you might enjoy if you have time. I hope you’ll pop over for a read and leave a comment, even though I won’t be checking in till after my cyber-break. The photo below is one I took on the day that inspired the post.

Have a great week! If I do log on this week, feel free to shout “Log off, you addict! Go sit outside and get a sunkissed nose!” If I learn how to work the schedule function, I may schedule a few older posts from the archives before I log off, but if not, see you soon. ~ Janice

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Some Insights on Editing…

by janice on April 6, 2010

In this post, from April 5th 2009, I explore what editing – and editors – mean to me, as a wife, columnist and life coach. I also offer some tips on writing – and editing – with authenticity.

A Faithful Hand

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor to measure words but to pour them all out, just as it is, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keeping what is worth keeping, and then, with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away. ~ George Eliot

These words smiled up at me when I first discovered them, slipped a hand in mine, waiting to be taken home and shared with my husband.

I rarely write about him; I often refer to him, and to incidents in our family life, but to write about my love for him would be to go too deeply for comfort into the depths of my own being. After decades of devotion, it would damage something precious to try and unpick and examine the threads of the tapestry our life has become. Sometimes, words don’t go far enough.

Imagine the holy place that speaks to your soul in sacred silence, the sun, the sky, the sea, the earth, the breath of inspiration beneath your wings, a parent’s unconditional love, a child’s smiling eyes full of unquestioning faith and devotion, the way your best friend feels like home. The precious details of your day that make you rejoice to be alive. Anything that gives you a glimpse of God and can only be expressed in a prayer of gratitude.

That’ll give you some idea of how blessed I feel.

Is there anything or anyone you feel you can’t do justice to with words?

My favourite editor…

It’s no concidence that my husband is the first person I trust if I need the pre-submission draft of a longer piece checked. There are no ceilings when it comes to his belief in me. I could get a million negative comments from others, but as long as I liked a piece and he liked it, I wouldn’t wobble and crash.

He’s more well read than I am, and devours books on every topic without prejudice. He has a sharp eye, a longing for clarity and an ear that appreciates writing that flows effortlessly, regardless of sentence length. He likes authenticity and originality, passion and purpose.

One thing he does hate is pretentiousness. To hear him say “It’s good. You write well.” makes me feel like I’ve come home, and if he doesn’t like a word or a phrase, I just say, OK, and go to work on changing it. No fuss, no pain, no ego.

My Child Writer…

I write now like I did when I was a child. I have no cruel inner critic when it comes to my writing. I get the same pleasure when I edit as I do when I’m spring cleaning, redecorating a room, gardening or packing essentials into the smallest bag possible, ready for the simple pleasures of a beach holiday. I edit my own work like a child joyfully knocking down sandcastles, knowing the sand and the sea will still be there tomorrow. And when a piece is done, my heart knows it like a child does when a colourful crayoned picture is finished and handed over, and a sweet voice says this is for you.

My problems begin when someone else wants to edit my work.

What I need from an editor…

I can only work with editors who have talent but no egos, people who are so comfy in their own skins that they don’t need to get any gratification or power trips from suggesting changes to another person’s work. I like editors who edit for the same reason I write – because they care, and would find it impossible not to. Coaches want to see a person become the best they can be; good editors feel the same about a piece of writing.

But that’s where personal opinions make editing a minefield for me. In most cases, if you have an editor, it means they have the power to choose whether or not one of your pieces gets published. If your main aim is to be published, then you have to accept that they’ll be superimposing their own paradigm of “the best it can be” over your work, using their preferences and their criteria.

That’s OK if they love the bulk of your work, expect even more from you and agree with you about what you consider to be the best you’ve done so far.

What works for me…

I’ve had four editors in VOICE, the coaching newsletter I write for. Three have brought their coaching talents to editing, which has both raised my game and spoiled me for other editorial styles.

As editors, they’ve had important things in common: they share their praise and support easily, they have all accepted that I hate tracking, that I freak out if they write their own suggestions all over my work and that the first thing I need to have before I’ll start re-editing a piece is their gut feeling about it. If they don’t love an article, it’s much, much easier for me to create a new one from scratch; I hate having to make so many changes to a piece that it no longer feels like it’s mine. I’ve been lucky enough to receive a lot of editorial emails beginning with “I love it! There are only one or two things I was wondering if you could maybe consider changing.”

The editor who ‘fired’ me, a coach whose own edgy, sarcastic writing I didn’t enjoy, loved writing her ‘improvements’ all over my pieces with tracking, but didn’t like lyricism, long pieces, Scottish spelling or me. One of my favourite pieces, Birdsong, was published intact because I’d got to the stage where I said to her “Take it or leave it but don’t dare change a comma or a word.”

My favourite editors have discovered how I operate best. They’ve learned that I will edit happily for days for the fun and the dialogue, but that I don’t respond well to blunt criticism of my work or changes I haven’t made myself; I react like a fiercely protective parent and the stunned, hurt child whose crayon drawing has had red pen corrections scribbled all over it.

This is why I’ll probably never be able to be a copywriter, a ghost writer or a freelancer. I know this attitude may make me look like a primadonna, but please believe me, I’m not. I love hacking my drafts to bits and trying to polish them to perfection but I stop when it’s no longer fun or when I feel like I’m ripping the heart, authenticity and spontaneity out of a piece. I know all novelists and freelancers need good editors but I think a special kind of editing is necessary when the writing is deeply personal as well as creative self expression.

That’s why I would happily adhere to a blogger’s requests for me to change something in a commissioned guest post. As a blogger, you are your site’s creative parent; you’re reponsible for whatever goes out on your site, and I respect that.

Be your own editor…

Before you send a piece anywhere, be your own editor, your own supportive coach who asks good questions. Editing is writing, an inextricable part of it, so find your own metaphor for helping you love it. Imagine chipping away at a sculpture like Michaelangelo, trying to reveal the work of art you know is within. Imagine it’s like gardening, or packing a small suitcase for a holiday or spring cleaning your house from basement to attic. Before we pack or garden or declutter, we need to know why we’re doing it, and what we hope to reveal or achieve.
Who are you? Clean up your own personal stuff. The hidden you, the real you, will be revealed through your writing, whether you want it to happen or not. Is this a person you’re happy for the world to meet? Ask What does this piece say about me? every time you write, even when the piece is based on the needs of your reader. Remember that everything you write on the internet will be visible for all time. Write something that your grandchildren won’t cringe at.
Ask yourself if your writing is a vehicle for passing on useful information or if visitors enjoy the experience of being with you and your work as much as the information they take away. If it’s the latter, don’t be too quick to edit your quirks, personality and passions out of your presentation.
Learn where your own lines are drawn and how far you’re willing to cross them to have a piece appear in print. Integrity is priceless.
Imagine that everything you write forms part of your resumé. It’s OK to see proofreading as part of your editing, but fresh eyes and ears and leaving some time and space before proofreading is vital. I find it helps to print a piece off then go through it with a pen, pretending that it’s not my work.
Be clear about who your reader is; honour the bond you create with each and every individual who takes the time to read your words.
Love and respect yourself with the same unconditional devotion you give your loved ones. A piece of the divine universe is trying to recreate itself through you and your writing. Scrub up and let it shine through.

How do you feel about editing and being edited?

(This was supposed to be a birthday ‘card’ for my husband, a simple quote, but as often happens, something flooded in and overflowed. He didn’t mind, though…he’s my very own Colonel Brandon.

The current IAC VOICE editor is Linda Dessau, a writer, creativity coach and expert on music therapy. My previous VOICE editors were Angela Spaxman, IAC President and leadership coach, and Barbra Sundquist, a respected coach certification mentor coach.)