Lying fallow

This was originally published on Patreon; it is somewhat expanded here. Most of my blogging is now on a platform that allows people to support the artists they value, so the artist can keep creating without as much financial stress. If you enjoy this blog please consider supporting me over on Patreon. For as little as $3 a month you can get all the great content you're used to, fun rewards, and the satisfaction of knowing you are both helping me create more art and making your appreciation tangible. Thanks.

One of the great gifts of my life is that I love my work. One of the great stressors of my life is that I love my work.

I work hard because I love what I do and I don't get to perform, teach, consult, coach, etc if I do not put in the day-to-day work of marketing and promotion, so I work most of the time even if most of it is unpaid and invisible to those who aren't working artists. Because the day-to-day work of being a professional storyteller happens in my home, it's hard to stop and disconnect, yet I can't afford to go away or go offline for very long or very often.

As much as I love vacation time, that's a kind of stress too, because I worry about what I'm not doing. In the need to find a way to step away from work, I remembered what it is to be fallow.

Fallow is defined as:

/ˈfalō/ adjective: 
(of farmland) plowed and harrowed but left unsown for a period in order to restore its fertility as part of a crop rotation or to avoid surplus production.

It is essential for the land and for beings to rest. To gaze out at nothing. To do something other than what is productive. I need to remind myself that fallow time is vital for the creative process, let alone for living a full life. Fallow time is different from vacation time in that it's about deliberately doing nothing knowing it is, in fact, a necessary part of creativity.

I now actually put down time into my schedule and walk away from the screen, the classroom, the stage. I sit on my back deck and watch the trees move in the wind. I read something that has nothing to do with work. I rest.

I forget this sometimes and am soon spinning in place, exhausted and depleted. This article helped me remember and inspired me to remind you that you may need some fallow time too.  Part of my work for this summer is lying fallow. I hope a vacation will be in the future and I hope it will be easier to relax into that time because I've practiced in my fallow time.

What nourishes you? How do you replenish yourself? How are you lying fallow?

P.S. I am co-teaching a class on finding and following the work of your heart, which includes thoughts about lying fallow. If you're interested but have questions please get in touch. I also have a limited number of discount codes. Thanks!

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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

Where do stories come from?

This was originally posted on my Patreon, back in January 2019. Most of my blogging is now over there; this week I'm musing on what it takes to coach effectively and how this is its own kind of story. For as little as $3 a month you can get all the great content you're used to, fun rewards, and the satisfaction of knowing you are helping me create more art and making your appreciation tangible.

Almost every writer and storyteller I know has heard, "I would love to do what you do, but I don't have any ideas. Where do your stories come from?" Science fiction writer Barry Longyear published the collection It Came From Schenectady as a tongue-in-cheek response, saying that he subscribed to a mail order service based in Schenectady and they sent him ideas monthly. I sometimes long to be as snarky, but the answer is a lot more complicated.

I find inspiration for stories in all kinds of places, from existing works to the overheard, from my life to the odd reaches of my own imagination. Sometimes these ideas bloom into stories with almost no effort. Other times it takes real labor to figure out what it is I really want to say. And every so often there will be an idea that lingers for a long time until it turns into something unexpected. It's this last kind of story I want to think about with you, today.

One of my favorite of my own stories is called Blood Woman. It's a dark, first-person fabulist tale that explores love, domestic violence, and what we might do to protect those we care about. The protagonist is a woman who bleeds rubies and cries diamonds. I don't tell it often because it disturbs audiences, but it has become a part of my Haunted: Stories for the Brave of Heart show. I love this story. I love the character, the images, the places it lets me go. It took years to uncover and I am so glad I gave it time to emerge.

Blood Woman and a few others are what I call "pearl" stories because, like a pearl, they start with a small irritant and take time to form into something meaningful. These are stories that start from a single, powerful image. The image stays with me for a long, long time and, if I'm wise and mull on it, it will emerge into a story in its own time. The narrative needs to slowly accrete around the image. The precipitating image in Blood Woman was a girl's arm with a scratch, nothing serious but the kind of wound she might get while playing, with a few drops of blood. A single drop falls from her arm and lands on the ground, shimmering. The image always included the sound of bells and the taste of salt.

Had I rushed the narrative I probably would have come up with something interesting, maybe a fairy tale about a spunky girl who finds her fortune, but because I waited I found a much more powerful story. It's one that took time to craft and create. Had I rushed, the image would have been a nice one, but not the central theme.

This isn't the only time I've had an image haunt me. I wish I could say I gave each lingering image time to become a pearl story, but I haven't. When I haven't the story is inconsequential and I often end up removing it from my working repertoire. When I do let the image take its time as it grows into a story, it might become something special.

This is, of course, not the only way I develop stories, but it is one of the more interesting and mysterious. The creative process requires us to trust ourselves and our instincts about our work; I can think of no better example of this than pearl stories.

Have you ever had a similar experience? What happened? I'd love to know!
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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

Owl by day and by night

There is a family of barred owls that live in the woods behind my house. Contrary to conventional wisdom about owls, I regularly see and hear them during the day. Their whowho-who-whoooo calls are, by now, part of the chatter of the neighborhood. My neighbors are talking I note and I go about my business, smiling when the tone of the calls changes to indicate prey or hunger or territory or sex. I routinely see them during the day, most commonly in the afternoon, sitting on a branch and observing the world or napping. They seem to do a lot of napping. By day they are my chatty, watchful neighbors.

This all changes at night.

Owl by night becomes more than a neighbor, but something of mystery. As dusk deepens, I recognize them more by silence. The soft rustle of a leaf or the sudden stillness of the smaller animals nearby tells me that owl is near. Occasionally something flies right over my head and I only know it's there when I feel the breeze and turn to see the vanishing shape in the darkness. Sometimes I hear their call, which often seems more wistful at night though sometimes it wanders into melodies that make me wonder if owls get tipsy.

Owl by day and by night changes too. So do all of the other creatures around me, including me, you, and everyone else.  Owl by day and owl by night help me remember that none of us have only one nature, one way of being. Our perceptions of each other change based on context. What we reveal changes the same way.
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Observations from the road

Travel is a big part of my work. Storytelling isn't a local experience for me; I teach, speak, tell, coach, and consult all over the nation and sometimes the world. While it's sometimes challenging, I generally really like it, not only because I love my work but because it gives me a chance to see places I might not otherwise visit. Whether flying or driving, there is always something to see, someone to hear, something to ponder.

I've started keeping a journal of some of the things I see and hear; I thought you might be interested in a few of these observations. I've scrubbed specifics, so no particular place or person is easily identifiable.

1. I am somewhere in middle America. I am hungry and don't have time to go searching for a sit-down dinner. Besides, I love fried chicken even though I feel guilty every time. I walk into a fried chicken joint near by cheap hotel. There are no tables, a few chairs for waiting, and a set of metal shelves to one side with a miscellaneous array of groceries. The only decoration is a poster of the American Olympic team and another of the local baseball franchise. Both have prominent American flags. The restaurant is owned by an Indian man, an immigrant. All patrons but me are African American; the owner welcomes them all by name. As I wait for my order a woman tells me she hates fried chicken except for the wings she can get in this place. "They're delicious here," she says. "I don't know how he does it." A family comes in communicating in sign language. The young man deaf and the man behind counter pulls out an illustrated menu so he can order. When my dinner arrives I take it to my hotel. The woman is right, the wings are delicious.
2. I am somewhere on the West Coast, taking a walk in a park with a playground. I see an older white woman holding hands with a small African-American girl. They are having an animated conversation and clearly love each other. The woman is wearing a "Make America Great Again" t-shirt. The woman glances at me and I smile, "Is she your grand-daughter? She's lovely!" The woman beams. "Yes, isn't she!" She and I start to chat about kids and I eventually say, "I know we live in divided times, may I ask about your shirt?" She looks at me warily then sighs. "I know. I think Mr. Trump is doing good things for the country. He's a business man and will make us great again. Just because I support him doesn't mean I'm a racist. I love my grandchildren!" I nod and we sit in the sunlight, watching her grandchild play.
3. I am driving through a Midwestern state. The land around me is broad and gentle. I can see plow marks in the soil and smell the fertilizer. It's a sharp odor and I want to wrinkle my nose, but this powers our agricultural landscapes. I see a plume that at first I think is smoke, but then realize it is dust from a truck barreling along a gravel road paralleling the highway. This is flyover country, but I love the details I can see from down here at ground level. There is an abandoned barn, collapsed more than the last time I drove past it. There is a farmhouse protected from the sweeping gusts by a stand of trees that are bent over from the constant winds. There is the road, ribboning out before me, endless and shimmering in the heat. There is the sky streaked with contrails that dissolve into long sweeping clouds, endless and blue and bright.

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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

The lucky shot

I have always loved the nature photography in publications like National Geographic. Those stunning images give the sense of being right there with the animals, plants, events, and places with a crisp immediacy and vitality. These amazing images have proliferated and are easy to find with a simple search; it gives the impression that those moments happen all of the time, that the shots aren't hard to get.

Ha.

As you may know, in recent years I've become more and more interested in photography. I have Kevin's good camera and use it often. My most frequent subjects are the birds and animals I see in our backyard and the woods beyond, though I'm also terribly fond of abandoned buildings and close up shots of things. Despite having a good camera, Annie Liebowitz' comment that her favorite camera is the one she has with her at the moment does me good to remember. It's a matter of timing and luck, not just equipment.

A few days ago Charley and I were watching a spectacular sunset from our back porch. I didn't have my good camera with me and was just present in the moment, watching the sky shift and the colors change. I'd been there for at least 30 minutes when our local owl flew by and landed on a nearby branch. I didn't have my camera, I had only my phone, and with it I captured what may be the best photo I have ever taken. Sure, it would have been better had I used my good camera with its wonderful zoom lens, but that wasn't what I had and sometimes you just have to leap for the lucky shot. Here it is, with no filters or post-production magic save trimming and a watermark.

The advent of digital photography means I take literally thousands of photos a month. Of those maybe a hundred are acceptable and a small handful are good. I'm sure those National Geographic photographers would say the same thing. It's a matter of being in the right place, at the right time, with the right mindset.

Is there a metaphor here? Hmm... something about using what you have at hand, being present in the moment, being patient, leaping for the lucky shot, failing again and again and still trying? Maybe. Yes, there is, but for right now? I'll love whatever camera I have at hand, I will watch, I will forgive myself for the poor shots and missed moments, and I will be present in the world. The lucky shot will come again for me, as it has over and over.

It will for you, too.

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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

Telling a story with #storyseeds

I post a lot here about #storyseeds, but it's a nice chance for me to think them through. As you know, many #storyseeds are single-shot prompts, with no connection to other #storyseeds or larger narrative framework, but I sometimes post sets that are intended to suggest another narrative. Tax day inspired just such a run.

I'm thinking about turning #storyseeds into a card deck, with some rules for play or just as a creative tool. What do you think? Would something like that interest you?

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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

Planting, cultivating, and harvesting #storyseeds

Many of you know I've been sending out near-daily #storyseeds for several years. They are short images or questions, crafted to spur the reader's imagination and maybe lead to new creative work. Truthfully, I started them as a way to spur my own creativity. It's a challenge coming up with something every day and it's keeping my imagination supple.

#storyseeds started as text only. Sometimes they would be interrogative:

What is that smell?

or

Name your superpower and why.

or

What would you give up to create the change you hunger for?

Other times they might be a teeny-tiny story, or a sentence with the potential to become one.

My garden is full of wild onions, tumbleweeds, and dandelions.

or

You find a note on the mirror. "Don't look behind you."

or

"I can never find shoes in my size," grumbles The Monster, "It makes me think there is an anti-monster bias in the fashion industry."

Lately I've been experimenting with #storyseeds that include images. I'm really enjoying this because it's giving me a multi-layered challenge. Not only do I have to come up with the seed itself, I need to find a way to enhance it with an image. Sometimes the image is integral to the seed as in these:

Other times not as much. While the image supports the seed it isn't the key part. This particular set of #storyseeds were part of a set released over one week, intended to suggest a longer story.

I'm also offering expanded, multi-part #storyseeds over on Patreon. To see those go over to my Patreon page.

I find planting and cultivating #storyseeds has given me a great harvest of ideas. I hope it has for others. Stories rarely emerge fully formed like Athena from Zeus' forehead; they often need to be tended and cared for as they grow. When we pay attention, the potential for a story is everywhere.

As I mentioned in the ideas, images, and story seeds entry in my book, From Audience to Zeal: The ABCs of Finding, Crafting, and Telling a Great Story, "Storyseeds are all around. Ask yourself questions about why the world is as it is. Pick one thing and wonder about it. Maybe your next-door neighbor has a secret. Maybe they are really a minotaur...or used to be a prima ballerina. Maybe they are looking at you and wondering who you really are."

Which leads me to ask: Who are you? What are your #storyseeds? What are you cultivating?

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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

The world through my eyes - adventure day

I went for an adventure a few days ago. Adventures are good for my spirit. They help me feel both minuscule and vast, connected to the world in a deep way and still observational of it, as well as offering me glimpses into the unknown. I decided to explore parts of the Twin Cities that are new to me and I found wonders.

I posted some of these photos originally on Instagram, but here I can explore them a little more thoroughly. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into my adventure and (more than that) I hope you have adventures yourself.

Adventures are about looking at the world in new ways.
Looking up in the lobby of a historical building.

They are about the details you see when you look closer.
The skylight.

They are about watching the watchers.

And finding beauty.
The ceiling in the hallway of the historical building.

Beauty that is in the details as well as the big picture.
Mushrooms in an asian market.

They are about cherishing the contrasts in the world.
This is my favorite picture in the bunch. It was taken in a Hmong market and shoes skeins of embroidery floss, used to make traditional art, and modern shoes.

Sometimes adventures bring unexpected friends.

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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

#storyseeds

As you may know, I've been posting #storyseeds on Facebook and Twitter for several years. These are little creativity sparks. I've shared longer, text based seeds here before, but I'm trying something new. I've begun making them image focused and it's really fun. Having to think through an image and seed has been sparking all kinds of ideas for me, so I wanted to share them with you here. I'd love to know what they might evoke!

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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

You can't go home again

This past weekend I returned to Sharing the Fire for the first time since Kevin died. We were both deeply involved with this conference, and the thought of returning filled me with dread for quite a few years. I had tremendous trepidation about going back this year, but decided I may as well find out if I could.

It was both easier and harder than I anticipated, as so many things are.

On the one hand, it was wonderful seeing people I care about whom I haven't seen in years. I did a good job of planning for something that would be stressful so when it was, I had a safe place to hide and people who took care of me. I didn't have to bark at anyone, which was something I had genuine concern about since so many people say well-meaning things that are actually hurtful.

On the other it was yet another marker, another way of noting that Kevin has been gone for five years now, which seems so very long. It was another way of noting how much things change and how little they change. It was an enormous marker of how I have changed and not always in ways I would have hoped.

It was hard and good and hard. So it goes.

I expect I will return next year, now that I've managed it once. I don't expect that it will ever be easy.

My gratitude to all who helped me through. As it is with most things, I wouldn't have made it without you.

p.s. I posted a ghost story on patreon, one that is largely about Kevin. There is a video teaser here, and you can support me (and therefore have access to the story) here.
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www.laurapacker.com
www.thinkstory.com
(c)2018 Laura S. Packer