My Ode to Sundays

I haven't gone to church in a few years.  But Sundays are always quiet for me.  I never listen to rap or punk rock on Sundays (which are staple genres in my iTunes).  I have to listen to Coltrane or Nick Drake or something equally as calming and respectful of the day.  I turned on T.I. this morning.  For two songs.  And turned it off.  I opened my balcony doors and listened to the birds and water instead.

Growing up, Sundays were always special.  We'd come home from church and my mama would make roast beef, potatoes, carrots, and rolls.  Lunch was usually followed by an afternoon nap.

But my favorite napping place -- in all of the world so far -- was on the floor in our sunroom when I was growing up.  The carpet was grass green (It was the 80s.), and there was always a patch of sunlight on the floor big enough for all of my family to "pitch pallets" (or put blankets on the floor), and sleep in the sun.

At the risk of sounding like a total weirdo (Wouldn't be the first time.), this afternoon, I slept on the floor of my apartment in a patch of sunlight.  Franklin (my dog) curled up beside me and snored.  Before I fell asleep, I thought of how simplistic this act was, and how profound the joy for me.

Regardless of whether I include any religious elements or traditions into my Sundays, they will always be holy and reverent for me.

That said, I have never liked Sunday nights.  When the sun sets on Sunday, it's not the new week starting that I dread, but grief for the passing of the last week.  Yeah, that sounds dramatic.  And "grief" is a strong word.  But that's what it feels like in my gut.  Mild mourning.  'Cause what's more relevant to mourn than the passing of time?  Time that's spent wholly enjoying your world?  And Sunday nights epitomize the passing of time.  They knock me around sometimes, dude.  Make me realize how much this life is worth living.

Yeah, so I'm waxing poetic or whatever, and you're thinking, "Isn't this blog supposed to have something to do with writing?"  Right.  Absolutely.  Here's the thing: I haven't written anything more than emails and shopping lists in forever.  Too long.  I haven't wanted to, and I don't want to force myself to write.  But this Sunday, there was nothing I'd rather do than to write this post.  I sat down with nothing in my head to write, and came up with this: My Ode to Sundays.

Think of Kasey as she travels with the rest of the crew to film our new documentary in Ethiopia this week.   If, perchance, you want details, here's our site.

Something to Ponder

"How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." ~Henry David Thoreau, Journal, 19 August 1851

"Now and then, it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy."  

                                                                                      -- Apollonaire

Don't Ask Me to Explain

“I think that I am better than the people that are trying to reform me.”  Goethe

Confidence, self-certainty, cockiness.  In looking at some of my favorite authors, authors that have changed literature and its genres, I believe in the necessity of possessing a know-it-all attitude.  Why?  Because honestly, an author should be his own worst critic.  If your own work of fiction (or poetry, nonfiction, etc.) passes a thorough and honest self-evaluation, then the opinions of outside critics and reformers will be of little consequence to you.  That's not to say that a writer should ignore all external criticisms; however, these external criticisms should be weighed against your own instinct and intuition.

(I'm a huge believer in utilizing intuition while writing.  I'm a huge believer in not thinking too much during the first draft.  I'm a huge believer that analyzation can cause paralyzation.  Thinking too much leaves a writer open to inconsistencies, especially when creating a character.)

James Joyce linked the artist to God, stating: "The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails."  In other words, the artist is himself beyond the reproach of critics and readers.  But only after he has honed his art to a point of self-satisfaction.

To A Young Writer

I am currently reading a nonfiction how-to writing book by Joyce Carol Oates called The Faith of a Writer. In the chapter, "To a Young Writer," she opens with: "Write your heart out. Never be ashamed of your subject, and of your passion for your subject."


I like the idea that she presents, which is to let your subject be your focus, instead of yourself. Self-consciousness will never get you anywhere, and neither will self-centeredness. Use your subject as motivation to keep your writing a constant process.

Sometimes I have found myself being ashamed of my desire to become a professional writer, and other times I have used it to define myself in a crowd. I think it is better to constantly keep the focus of my career in the material itself, rather than my abilities as a writer, so that I can continue my work regardless of what stage of self-loathing I am currently in. (As deadlines approach, self-loathing kicks in to high gear and causes a unique hurdle for me to overcome.)

Is this a feasible option for writers? To put their faith in their subjects instead of their own abilities? Does it seem even possible?

A Humble Welcome

Someone asked me once why I was pursuing a career in creative nonfiction writing. My answer to that was somewhat vague, since it is always hard to pinpoint which parts of my being make me want to write. My family’s history, my life experience, my point-of-view, my challenging childhood – all of these things contribute to why I want to write. They responded with the question, “Then what if someone had a charmed life growing up?” My response went from vague to direct.

There is no way that someone with a charmed life would ever want to write nonfiction.

This statement is not to exclude but to explain the personality of a writer. To be a successful writer, you must possess a keen sense of feeling and experience to be able to convey that feeling to another. This does not mean that a woman cannot write about a man’s experience, or vice versa. As a reader, what seems to me to be the most authentic means to tell a story is through honest writing.

I hope you find inspiration here and will be able to relate to the experiences that Lauren and I have as we pursue our common goal of writing honestly and successfully. (And to one day be published, for goodness sake!)

Sincerely,

Kasey Ray-Stokes