Tag: writer

The Creative

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I listened to the last peep show zoom call this morning with Bec Griffiths and Yan Palmer.  I learnt so much over the last 6 weeks. Here’s a few things that stuck in my heart and have been tormenting my brain to write them out of my head.

There were hundreds of conversations, questions during the zoom calls. I can sum them up in a few words’ creatives are brave, they are thoughtful, kind, generous, and also willing to be the hard qualities as well, vulnerable and awkward. Yes, it looks as though the creative person just posts photos on Instagram or hits send on a client gallery, collects the money(sometimes) and the work is done. Hahahah. No. Deep in my bones and each and every creative that I listened to invests a little piece of their heart in every art work. The thoughts, time, energy, and emotion to get to that finished work is immense. Firstly, the photographer or creative who offers their service in a business has sat down and specifically targeted you. Sounds creepy hey! It’s not. It is thoughtful.

The creative person wants to serve you and serve their creativity. There is a digging up of the creative’s own fears, own limiting beliefs, they invest in looking into their own heart with empathy, there is vulnerability in sharing themselves. The creative is constantly doing their own internal work so they can work with clarity, knowledge and imagination to best serve their art and client.  The creative thinks and feels into who their ideal client is, they base their business around creating a business and offerings of their art that their ideal client will fall in love with.  Fall in love with because, there is a piece of heart and soul in each piece, there is a deep and potent energy that is infused in the art and you the client connects with that.  Because when the creative is producing this work and wants to grow and expand and create with more and more people, there level of enthusiasm and energy is high and at times is hard to remember that not everyone is on the same page, not every person wants to create or explore boundaries and there is immense amount of work in building trust with clients. When you just want to say for fuck sake, I am a nice person, I take awesome photos, you are looking at my social media or website for a reason, we will have a great time, just book in with me.

There is a deep level of vulnerability, of feeling awkward, of stretching boundaries and being willing to be laughed at or feel stupid. Because for a creative person the art needs to be made. The deep calling to release it into the world then makes space for more art to flow through.

Each time a creative has to market themselves to sell themselves, launch a new piece of art or a project, promote a new offering, the practice of this is so exciting and so terrifying. Each time you do this, again it is your heart and vision being put on display.  When you hit post or send or exhibit the work in person there are feelings of joy and anticipation, pleasure and pride at your own work. Also, terror. But knowing that, to that end point, that finished piece it is from your heart, it is the creation that you are most at peace with, the art that you feel like you can let go of. It is an overwhelming feeling going down the street being celebrated on an extravagant float everyone calling your name in celebration then looking down and you are completely naked. However, these intense feelings are the driver, the stretcher of boundaries, the creator of new art work.

It is a life of forever exploring, refining, being transparent, building relationships, being imperfect, forever being curious and knowing your value. And even if your art work doesn’t attract the accolades or dollars that you hoped, you just create more, you dig deeper into you and your heart and you create what needs to be released into the world through your heart and vision.

Post 99

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Post 99

In nearly 100 posts, lots has happened. Winter to summer, school to school holidays, I was at the peak of working hard on my marriage.  Now we are still working on it but not in such an acute I love you but really do hate you way. Now it’s more of an I love you and can say to your face that you shit me kinda way and know we can talk about it.  I have learnt that emotions are what they are, and just to feel it. I had some really shit days in the beginning and fought them, there was one particular day that was really shit and I just laid out on my bed and felt it, it was awful and painful and I wailed. There have been other days that I have loved so deeply that I have felt that experience imbed in my bones. I am much more grateful for the people in my life, and I love them so. Still things I am scared of – like sharing my writing.

I have discovered that I love photography. I always did like taking a snap shot, so when my husband spent his tax refund dollars on a beautiful camera for me, I swore that that beauty would be used every day. I have discovered that I like the small details in a subject. A face, hands, eyes. I was taking photos of the beach the other day and they were nice, but it was just another beach. Then I sat down, squatted down and  laid down on the beach and took photos of the dune grass, the ghost crabs, seagulls, rocks, shells, jelly fish, blue bottles. At the Byron Bay light house I was photographing the blocks that made the lighthouse, the windows, the doors, the glass, the letterbox. My husband’s hands were an extremely popular post on my Instagram and received more comments and likes than any other post from this holiday. In saying all of this though, I still am not comfortable taking a selfie with just me in the frame.

I have become observant of my experiences, surroundings and people. I have become observant of conversations and what has been said. Some days I feel a bit creepy and purposely leave out some experiences because I don’t want to overstep the line. However, the more scary and emotional and cleansing the post was for me the more open, real, honest and raw I was with my writing seemed to be popular with my loyal readers.

One more post and I have done my 100, it wasn’t in the time that I wanted to do it, so feel that is a bit of a fail. But big wins for me was that I was published in one of my fave magazines Womankind. And, I had the privilege of interviewing awesome women and want to continue to do so and be a collector of women’s stories.

Day 65

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Day 65

Annual Grandparents day at the school today. I generally am uncomfortable at these school events, however today my anxiety didn’t rear its ugly head. The primary school years are closing in fast for my little family, the end of next year I will start paying two lots of school fees at the local catholic high school.  Today my boy lead me around the art displays, I chatted and laughed with some of the parents and teachers and one that has been around my family for 12 years, I also spent time with Mum, she raced to the school on her lunch break to spend time with my boy on Grandparents day. The Montessori philosophy, “help me do it myself”, was holding strong today, the wonderful parents that volunteer at the school had art / craft activities set up, one activity was to decorate a triangle that would be made into bunting for the school to use. The only way to make the calico piece of material pretty was to sew something onto it. My husband can attest to my non-existent sewing skills, he always laments the fact that he hasn’t got the 1950’s housewife that cooks and sews and knits in her heels and make-up.   However those buttons were sewn on the little piece of material in the shape of a “T” and they looked good. With confidence brimming over at my new found handiness I then embroidered “TE” on it as well.

I submitted a week’s worth of writing to Womankind magazine for a competition they were running a couple of months ago. They enjoyed my writing and it is to be published in Issue 10 of the magazine. Issue 10 was to be in newsagents and other retail outlets today, I searched the two outlets that I know stock the magazine near me and no one had it.

I started reading a new book on my phone via the kindle app, on my tea break today. “An Italian Journey: A harvest of revelations in the Olive Groves of Tuscany by James Ernest Shaw. I am only 35% into the sample, but his descriptions of the people and the place has me wishing I was sitting in a Piazza sipping palpation inducing coffee, not in the fluro lit room with air conditioning blowing like the arctic, forcing down international roast.

End of day 65

My stomach is sore from laughing so hard this shift. The last four shifts I have worked with the same lady, this never happens our eight hours a day have featured a wide range of characters and our conversations are getting funnier, louder and more shocking that later the night goes on.

Look at the concentration on my face in the feature photo! That button was going on.

Day 28.

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First day of school holidays today.  My boys are always a bit feral for the first couple of days of holidays. That’s ok. They are tired from a massive term at school, sport and coming down from the stress/high if being on the go for 8 weeks. So yeah this morning was attitude plus and pushing boundaries.

My hubby took the covers off our bright orange 1975 Valiant, and we took Val and the kids out for fish and chips.  We went to Bribie, ordered fish and chips and spread out on the wide concrete steps that line a section of beach and enjoyed the greasy meal, while watching people fish and others coasting along on the calm blue/green water in their luxury boats.

This afternoon I sat with my bestie, her husband, her Mum and her mums partner eating rocky road and drinking red wine.  Not only was my cup full of red wine, but so was my heart at the wonderful, funny conversation, that then turned into me interviewing my besties mum for my #mesistertribe. Can’t wait to write about her, an amazingly interesting woman.

When I got home from my afternoon of great people, wine, chocolate, conversation and an abundance of mozzies. I found messages from Daphne my #mesistertribe feature from yesterday, liking the post I had crafted about her  ( thank god). Because we all know how much I stress about those posts.

My heart is full today.

End of day 28

Curled up on the lounge next to my hubby typing this on my phone.  My thumbs are killing me.

My feral, cranky children where delightful after spending time near the sea water.

Day 13

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Day 13.

 

Spent this morning at the beach on a date with my husband. This was after the boy’s had been dropped at school and before my husband had to work. We went to Mooloolaba where this weekend the Ironman world championships are being held.  They event organisers started the set up for the event today. So there was streets closed and fencing running along paths and some beach accesses. This was all fine, we were happy to have an extra-long walk along such a beautiful stretch of the coast. We went for a swim in our togs with our winter bodies, alongside all the beautifully fit, toned and tanned international ironmen and women.

I spent the afternoon at the Montessori school, where my youngest boy goes to school, watching the Italian assembly that is held every year. It is Maria Montessori’s birthday today so her special day is celebrated with a Montessori expo, with gelato as a special treat.

Cricket season started for us this after school today, first training session of the season. All the boys are excited to be back and enthusiastic to start. From now until March, cricket will dominate in our house.  That is a good thing and a bad thing.

Today is a short one blog post. It is 8.07pm, I have to start work in 3 hours and I have to get ready for that and try and get a quick sleep in.

 

End of day 13.

So glad I went for a swim this morning, felt so refreshed and energetic after my freezing dip.

Need to stop typing and get sleep.

Vows

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Vow | a solemn or earnest pledge or promise binding the person making it to perform a specified act or behave in a certain way (Collins dictionary).

A guy  I work with recently got married, and of course posted the wedding YouTube video to Facebook. I cried into my porridge and wrecked my work makeup.  It wasn’t the Bali garden setting, with the view of the ocean over a stone wall, or the flowers that adorned everything or the trendy macramé curtain that framed the couple beautifully under a wooden arbour, that had me weeping. It was their vows. Vows that were their own words written with thought, truth, humour and love.

When I was a bride to be, all I wanted was to marry Scott and have his babies. With everything in me down to my soul I wanted to be the wife to my first love.  I wanted the traditional Catholic Church wedding, with the white dress, standing before God, family and friends being tied to Scott forever. The Catholics have their own script and order of service for the wedding ceremony and at the time I was okay with that. The only thought I put into my vows was that I would not vow to “obey”.

The day of our wedding, I couldn’t wait to get to the church, (I was 20min early). Walking with my Mum on my left and my Dad on my right, and my sisters walking in front of me. I smiled and waved and said hello to family and friends, as I walked towards my guy in the black suit looking like he wanted to vomit or curse me for taking so long to get to him. When I finally did reach him I couldn’t take my eyes off him, all we had to do was say “I do” after the Priest recited the words and vows that bound us.

Priest: Scott, do you take Melinda for your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?

Scott: I do.

Priest: Melinda do you take Scott for your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?

Melinda: I do.

After 15 years of marriage, the words that I vowed to live my married life by seem shallow, weak and immature. (That opinion is coming from a place of experience, time, hindsight, trials and love).

I wish I would have had a heart-to-heart to the women in my family, extended family and friends about being a wife and the relationship of marriage. I was so young the concept was of marriage was romantic and exciting. I wish I had my Grandmother, mother, and aunties share their wisdom and insights into being a wife.  What is the joy in their marriage and the difficulties in their marriage?  In hindsight I would of crafted deeper, authentic words and my own personal promises instead of; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

Mumma at the beach

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Dressed in cut off shorts, t-shirt and jumper, big sunglasses and blonde pixie hair that I ran my fingers through before leaving home. I Embrace my inner lizard and climb the wooden rail and take up a spot on a sandstone rock to soak up and enjoy the little bit of warmth the winter sun provides, while my family surfsin the ocean below. All the surfers and body boarders look the same in with their black wetsuits and white boards.  I am nervous with my boy’s out there in the expanse of ocean, but they love it. They don’t care about the size, temperature or being the small, amateurs amongst the adult locals.
A woman in her late teens dressed in cut off shorts exposing a leg tattoo that skims her knee, long hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, a jumper with bikini straps hanging out the top,  her little boy on her right hip and her left arm full of towels and bags followed her partner carrying a surf board down the wooden steps to the sand. She sets her load down on the sand, strips off her jumper, and starts unloading a bag with a hat  and board shorts for her little one. Her little guy starts walking in the car tracks lining the beach.
Looking at the ocean I am silently cheering on one of my boys as he catches a beautiful wave all the way to the beach. (Lucky I didn’t loudly cheer like I wanted to. It was not one of my boys.)
A few minutes later in between a stream of surfers and body boarders, another family walked past me baking on my piece of sandstone rock. 
A woman in her late twenties dressed in jeans, shoes and socks, jumper, scarf and a backpack. Her partner behind her with a little boy and surf board in one arm and towels and a bag in the other. The lady shakes out a towel and has a seat.  The partner sets down the little boy, towels and bag. Arranges a towel for the little boy, grabs his surfboard and runs into the surf.  The Mumma pulls out a phone and an Ipad, she hands the Ipad to the little boy and starts tapping on her phone.
As I watch the ocean and try to identify my family, little boy one runs to the edge of the water and plays tag with the waves, I can hear his belly laughs as the waves almost touch his bare feet. Next to him his Mum writes with a stick in the wet sand.
My husband catches a great little wave and flings himself into the water as the wave ends.  I know that it’s him from the colour of his wetsuit and the way that his foot sticks up as he duck dives. 
Little boy two runs to copy little boy one, his mum puts down her phone, picks up little boy two places him back on the towel with the Ipad and dusts off his shoes.
My littlest boy comes out of the ocean, with a slight purple hue about him.  I peel myself off my rock and meet him at the stairs. He is frozen and can barely speak, but tells me he had heaps of fun and runs to the car to get changed. 
As I try and find my other boy in the crowd of surfers,  little boy one races away up the beach with his mumma pretending to chase him.  Little boy two hasn’t lifted his head from the Ipad screen.   My littlest one comes up behind me and puts his freezing cold hands over my face and laughs his little head off.