Reflections of a returning traveler

I have considered a hundred different ways to start this post and have rejected every single one of them. Even now I wonder just what I should say.

How do I even begin to express the surprise of being greeted at the airport by what seemed like half of the Sign of the Dove Congregation and being swept up into hugs by people who were as yet strangers but would soon become closer than kin? How do I put into words their generosity as they gathered our baggage from us and carefully led us to the waiting vehicles with admonitions never to step in front of a moving vehicle because they don’t always stop for pedestrians?

How do I describe the darkness of that first night as we rocked back and forth up a rutted clay road, shoulder to shoulder, trying to take in what little I could see by the light of the headlamps? The blaring music as the Muslims celebrated their holy day? The armed guard as we pulled into the hotel? The excitement as we explored our temporary homes, weariness briefly forgotten, and found the perfect bed in which to rest?

Ugandan Sunrise my first morning.

How do I paint the wonder of those first rays of sun pouring over hills densely populated by homes built of intertwined branches, mud bricks, and tin? How the wide leaves of the palm and the plantains swayed gently while deep-throated birds I had not yet seen cried out in a manner similar to a chattering monkey?

A Ugandan field of maize (corn). Photo by Bruk Marsh.

 How do I capture the metallic scent of the moisture-laden air and the thickness of the red clay that clung to my every step, creeping from the soles of my shoes up to my ankles and dotting my skirts with its stain?

A woman prisoner who is also fighting cancer with no treatment.
The vast majority of women in prison are held unjustly,
often as the scapegoat for another. Photo by Bruk Marsh.

How can I convey the countless conversations I had with men and women from the other side of the globe who were just as surprised as I was at how similar we are when we look beyond common perceptions and view each other with the eyes of the soul? Of the shared grief and joy. The same hopes and dreams.

How can I express what went through my mind when a child asked me for a half-empty water bottle to take home because even when surrounded by water, good water can be hard to come by for so many? Or when women brought me a plate overflowing with food they’d carefully spent the day preparing and wondering if what I was being offered was worth a week of their own refreshment?

Storms are sudden and severe. This was after only a few minutes of rain.
Twenty minutes after the storm ended, the water was gone.

And the sounds! The morning and evening calls to prayer. The way the wind whipped across the countryside, bringing with it rain and thunder so monstrous in volume one could shout in her neighbor’s ear and still not be heard. The children shrieking “Muzungu!” and parading before the cameras, all begging to be seen, to be touched, to be known.

Afternoon at a Children's home spent playing games and singing songs. Photo by Bruk Marsh.

When people ask me, “What was your favorite part?” how do I pick a single moment? And how do I tell them that as thankful, blessed, and proud as  I am to be American, I feel as if I’m actually a stranger here and that my home is in that little village in Uganda where I know there are a score of people anxiously watching for my return?

Changing scenery. Changing perspective.

Change has come again.

Watery gray mist swirls past my windowpane as trees huddle and are slowly striped of their pride and glory. No birds dart from their branches this morning, nor do the deer shelter in the shade.

It’s as if the natural world has let out a sigh after a long day’s work and is slowly, carefully disrobing, relaxing, and preparing for a long, well-deserved rest.

Summer is finished. And so is my time at the lodge. Today I turn in my uniform and pick up my last paycheck. There will be no more rising before dawn to greet the bleary-eyed tourist with fresh perked coffee. No more jokes with the cook. No more laughs with housekeeping.

Unlike the scene outside my window though I’m not winding down. In fact, I’m ramping up.

Fall is my favorite time of year for various reasons. While the calendar says a year is coming to an end, I see it as the beginning. It’s most likely because that’s when school starts and new lessons are learned, but I like to think the Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam played a part is shaping that point of view.

The travel bug is always strongest for me in the fall.

I don’t want to sit still. I want to climb mountains just to see what’s on the other side of the valley. I want to drive long distances just so I can smell the earthy perfumes of new towns. I want to listen to conversations I don’t understand. I want to touch people I have never known.

This fall I get to do just that. And I’m going farther than I’ve ever gone before. Uganda.

It had initially been my intention to blog from there, but after some careful consideration I decided I’m taking my journal, pens, and a camera. I’m leaving the laptop at home.

It’s not because I’m scared of damage or theft, rather it’s because I want to be fully present as I serve alongside the people there and I can’t do that if I spend half my time planning what I’m going to write next.

A wise man once said, “There’s a time and a season for everything… A time to plant and a time to harvest.”

It’s nearing the end of our season of harvest here in the States, but there’s plenty of time to plant a few extra “seeds” of ideas. This time of year, I end up with ideas of plenty. I look forward to sharing whichever ones end up sprouting when I return home in mid-November.

Tenna' ento lye omenta, aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta.

(Until we next meet, may your ways be green and golden.)

30 Days of Thankfulness in Writing – Day 5: Improvising

It’s easy to focus on the negative in the world around us. In observation of a month many dedicate to counting their blessings, I’ve started a 30-day challenge in which I’ll focus on one aspect of my writing life for which I am thankful. I’d love to have you join by sharing about something that has blessed your own writing life in the comments section below. - Jen

Technically it’s the 8th day of the month, but between traveling for a few days and then forgetting my laptop power adapter, it makes it a little difficult to post. So rather than combining days I’ll stick with my original 30-day plan. What does it matter if I go into December? November doesn’t hold the license on Thankfulness any more than February holds the patent on Love, right? Which brings me to another aspect of my writing life I am thankful for: improvising.

Let’s face it — the best-laid plans always have an Achilles Heel, especially when technology is involved. Aside from losing my power cord, my car decided to go on the fritz even though I’d just gotten the all clear from my mechanic. And when visiting with family to celebrate a major milestone it is often frowned upon to hole oneself up to reach a daily word count. (Not to mention you also miss out on creating memories.)

Not writing wasn’t so big a deal. I had ideas and I’d jot them down in my notebook for later, but when it came to handling the car problems I wondered more than once, “What would one of my characters do in this situation?” I ask myself that question a lot when I find myself in a sticky situation. Would they panic? Would they cross their arms, sit down, and quit all together? Or would they come up with something entirely unexpected?

The answer was unequivocally, the latter. My characters would improvise. When a goal is blocked in fiction our characters don’t just give up. We’d stop writing (or reading) if they did. Instead they find a way AROUND the obstacle and then get back on track as quickly as possible. No matter what happens, what delays they face, they never take their eyes off their final goal or destination.

I recently started re-reading The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. It’s about a shepherd boy looking for his personal legend — a treasure he kept dreaming about. In one leg of his journey he joins a caravan to reach the Great Pyramids. There are plenty of obstacles to face along the way but as one of the camel drivers tells him, “Once you get into the desert, there is no going back. And when you can’t go back, you have to worry only about the best way of moving forward.”

Life is a lot like the desert. Especially the writing life. The way forward is rarely straight and direct. There are plenty of rocks to go around, pitfalls to be avoided, and thieves in the night to watch for (I’m looking at you, Facebook!). Sometimes life forces us to improvise. Like our characters, we can’t sit still. There’s no story to tell in that.  So I’m taking a cue from my favorite literary friends and will find a new way around these funky little obstacles. I’ll continue moving forward.

7 Ways to recapture your creative spirit

There are days when I feel as if my creativity is as elusive as Peter Pan’s wayward shadow. I can jump at it and try to corner it all I want, but just when I think I have it in my grasp, it wriggles away and I find myself sitting on the floor crying because I can’t make it stick. While I may not have a Wendy Darling to sew it back on for me, I do have a few tricks that help me get back to writing when I feel like I’ve lost my “shadow” for good.

7. Get up early and watch the sun rise.

The most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen was from the window of a plane. I watched in awe as the towering clouds took on a grape-juice-colored hue and slowly turned rose quartz pink. Then, in a flash of blinding light, I found myself staring at a sea of white that reminded me of pictures of Antarctica. I spent the duration of the flight donned in thermal wear, a thick parka, and hiking through the snow with all the equipment an explorer needs to discover a new world.

6. Get away from the city lights and stay up all night stargazing.

There are few things I find give me a shiver of delight the way the stars do on a moonless night. The fact that flaming orbs placed light years apart can, from our vantage point, create an image the entire world recognizes in the form of constellations just amazes me. As a young girl, I was obsessed with Greek mythology. I gobbled up every book in the library I could find on the subject and still remember many of the stories to this day, so for me, it’s like looking for old friends in the sky.

5. Play dress up with a child.

Both my mom and my dad would occasionally play dress up with us kids and attend royal balls, tournaments, or have tea with us in Paris. Looking back, I can’t think of a time I was more imaginative than when I’d put on my dad’s dress blues or one of my mom’s dresses. Last night I played princess with my cousin’s little girl, and her stories would have gone on late into the night had daddy not said it was time for bed.

4. Listen to live music outdoors

I love music! Even more so when I can see the performers in action. Earlier this month I was at Pike’s Market for the day and watched an amazing group playing outside the original Starbucks Coffee Shop; had I not been with a group of high schoolers, I would have stood there all day. Music captures the soul in a way that few other art mediums can, and during the summer you can usually find more than one festival or concert in the park to fill your creative spirit. If you find something you particularly like, get a CD and add it to your writing playlist for a burst of inspiration when the summer venues close.

3. Buy or borrow a book full of pictures of a place you want to visit.

I have several books about Scotland (a place I will visit before I’m old and gray!). The landscapes astound me and the mossy ruins lead me to wonder about the lives lived and lost behind those walls. I also collect postcards of all the places I visit and ask friends to bring me back a few when they travel. When I’m looking for ideas on how to describe a particular scene, I’ll often refer to the books and postcards for inspiration.

2. Make a collage of inspirational quotes that motive you (Or read old love letters…)

I personally don’t have a collection of love letters laying around, but I do have a few encouragement notes from a dear friend that I treasure. They remind me of my passion, and encourage me to press on when I’m struggling to find my way. I also keep quotes I discover around me. Some are on the white board in my kitchen; some are on my bathroom mirror. Still others are tacked, taped, or pasted around my desk and writing areas. Quotes remind me that I’m not blazing new trails in unknown territory and that plenty of others have made their way before me. If they can do it, well, so can I.

1. Pull out the first story you wrote and kept. (Ignore the inner critic and read it as you did the first time you wrote it)

Most of the stories I wrote as a child have been lost over the years (multiple moves will do that). But I do keep a couple of plastic file bins that I’ve filled with scraps and stories I’ve written since then. Pulling those out and reading them lets me see where I was and how far I’ve come. It also reminds me of the early excitement I had when I was first starting to write, and I find all sorts of “new” ideas to use in my current WIPs.

I’d love to hear from you! What helps you catch your elusive creative spirit when you need it most? Post in the comments below!

–Jen