Writing

Writing and Littles

Writing and Littles

Samantha Gratton

It’s one of those nights where if I don’t write now I’ll probably burst into a million letters and commas—and especially em dashes.

So often I feel like a writer without a home. Not without a literal home because we live in an adorable little rental (emphasis on the “little”) in my favorite part of town (hence the reason why we might not ever leave). As a writer though, I don’t always know where I best fit.

My writing floats throughout the internet searching for meaningful pages to land on and hopefully, for eyeballs to read it and hearts to connect with. I work with publications who print articles featuring my very own byline and clients who want some ghost writing with their names at the top—both of which enable me to type away and even earn a few bucks on the side. But it doesn’t always feel like mine. Then this blog, this space, is technically my own. But I can get caught up in who my audience is or which friend, family member, or potential client might misinterpret my spilled out thoughts or carefully crafted post. My inhibitions take over, and I quarantine my words and expressive phrases to my mind or perhaps a google doc.

Almost seven years ago when I first started this blog called Moving Peaces it was to document a potential cross-country move. “Moving” was obviously for the literal move at the time. Then “Peaces” was my ever-so-clever play on words while also giving a nod to a desire to live peacefully despite my fears of the unknowns.  Now, I can’t imagine moving away from this house, let alone across state lines anytime soon. Instead my movement is small but constant as I chase around a toddler and tend to a newborn. And peace? Well sometimes it’s found in the mere moments when both kids are sleeping…before I remember I need to do more laundry or finally take a shower.

Some days I feel the thoughts rearranging into complete sentences or concepts in my head, but my hands are too full to type. Other days my mind feels so numb and tired that by the time I have the opportunity to write, nothing comes to mind. Yet if asked what I do for work or where my core creativity lies, my reply comes swiftly, “I’m a writer.”

Life is full of different seasons, and I try to live in the season I’m in at the moment. Sometimes seasons last a few months, while sometimes they last a few years. Right now I’m unmistakably in the season of littles. Little hearts, little hands, little (and big) messes. Which also means little time, little opportunity, and little energy left at the end of the day. At times, it feels like only a little bit of me as I wrestle with what I prioritize and what I let go of when facing my current limitations and obligations.

Writing is one of those things that feels so innate to me, yet in this season it also feels fleeting.  As I strive toward a better understanding of where my writing belongs, I also have a few little hearts to care for—hearts belonging to littles, who belong to me. So perhaps I’m the writer currently in between assignments, or in a different season, or caught somewhere in between the lines. Yet somehow I know—deep in my bones—that one day this writing will find its proper home.

 

 

In it to win it

In it to win it

Samantha Gratton

I think sometimes we ask why we do what we do and if it’s a worthwhile endeavor when reflecting on our choices. Many evenings the past few years I’ve considered the same two options: I could spend time writing or I could lay on the couch and watch TV. One feels easier than the other…but is it because there’s less risk? There’s undoubtedly less potential reward to merely consume instead of create. 

Writing fills me up as I pour out the words and thoughts. Yet at the same time, it depletes me. It takes my time and energy, but with it also some of my hopes and dreams. Aspirations of connecting with a wider audience or building toward a bigger project. When said like that, it’s hard not to say, Where’s audience? Where’s the awards? Where’s the blog sponsorship or book deal?

Simply put, they aren’t there in spades. Will they all someday show up out of thin air? Probably not. Will they ever come after years of effort? I don’t know. Is it still worth it regardless of the possible accolades?

It’s nice to know what we’re working towards. Goals give us direction, purpose, and motivation. But even if I want a larger audience or awards or a monetary deal to transpire, can it still be good without those? You know, as is.

Married to a musician, we’re constantly asking ourselves if the amount of time, money, energy, and even physical space that is devoted to music is justified. Likewise, I second guess myself when it comes to writing here on my blog or for a random publication or on yet another word doc to metaphorically collect dust while stored in the depths of my hard drive. Sure, it’s great to pursue your passions, but we have a family and friends and jobs and responsibilities that need tending to. At what point do we sacrifice what we love for those things (and which is which)? Conversely, when is it worth continuing to press forward despite the sacrifices required…even without a payoff guaranteed on the other side?

For instance, is it enough to just compete in the Olympics if there’s no way you could even come close to the podium? Should you be in it to win it? I can’t help but think about Olympic halfpipe skier Elizabeth Swaney. If you didn’t see her run in PyeongChang, it was entirely lackluster and she received the lowest score by a landslide. People have a lot of opinions, and it’s hard to even say if what she did was admirable or embarrassing. On the one hand, she technically made it to the Olympics but on the other hand, some may say she didn’t belong there at all. Was it an accomplishment or was it a completely foolish waste of time?

Then again, isn’t it still an enjoyable hike and experience up a mountain even if you don’t reach the summit? As a rather unaccomplished hiker and climber, I feel confident in saying, Yes, yes it is worth it. But I only go on a few hikes a year (if that), and rock climb each week to squeeze in a little healthy exercise. I never aspire for more than that. Therefore my level of effort and ongoing mental consideration toward hiking/climbing is likewise reflected. Is that the difference? Having completely grounded and realistic expectations of my progress and no wild dreams or creative passion tied into it?

Somehow writing is different. Music is different. Although I’ll never be a painter or sculptor, I assume that’s different too. It’s more personal and protected in a way. Hence the continued questions and thought toward the value and worth behind my thought and energy devoted toward creativity. But then are those questions themselves worthwhile or are they merely excuses to hide behind? Honestly, it’s easier to just turn on the TV at the end of a long day. Rather than deeply consider the potential to create something of significance or obscurity, I watch someone else’s stories unfold on a screen and feel a mix of rested and restless.

Eventually, something seeps out, because you can’t hold back creativity forever. There we circle…back and forth, the cycle of self-doubt and fleeting satisfaction.

The question remains, is it worth it?

What I should be doing

What I should be doing

Samantha Gratton

I should be doing something else right now. Maybe it’s cleaning the kitchen, maybe it’s client work. Or maybe it’s as simple as getting dressed and brushing my teeth for the day.

There’s stuff to do. Things to read. Even more to write.

Why then do I sit staring at this blank canvas these days before moving on to things that pay or things that need cleaning or things that have seven more seasons of 40-minute-long episodes?

Do I take on more client work because it’s what I want to do? Or what I need to do? Do I prefer writing for them because there’s structure provided or an audience guaranteed?

I love writing, but lately, I don’t know what to say. By the time I get around to thinking of what it is I might most want to relay, the sound of distant cries increases in intensity. Suddenly, nowhere in our house is quite so distant.

So I wait. I wait for something big enough, important enough to write about. I wait for a moment when the work is done and the baby’s asleep and the house is clean. I wait for a reason to dust off the digital cobwebs on my blog.

And when the stars align and all of that is finally in place — I freeze. I look at my work and say, this isn’t good enough. It’s not strong enough to be the piece that sits at the top of the page for however long until I next get my moment.

I shouldn’t be writing about my inability to write freely these days. I should be writing about the injustice of racism and how videos from last weekend’s events left me in tears and outrage. I should be writing about taking a stand…but also, not having to do so on Facebook for it to officially count, lest we be caught up in a modern-day “If you love God…” forward email chain.

But if I’m not going to speak on all that, I should be professional and show my range of skills. I should show off some recent client work or write in a way that could attract the work I like to do. Write just like all the other articles I read and think, “I should try to do that too!”

If not professional, at least make it witty and fun. Share a little piece of our life or cute photo or something, right? What the heck is a blog for if it’s not to share some personal life with the world wide web in hopes of gaining a few new followers?

Is this blog still a thing? Should I give in and let go of the domain as the bill threatens will happen if I do not pay in 60 days? Take it off my portfolio website and just say, “trust me, I write”?

No, that isn’t the answer. I’ve got to keep going. Keep tapping the keys with my unusual yet somehow surprisingly effective self-taught typing ways. There’s more to work than getting paid. There’s more to the internet than showing off, seeking approval, or spreading hate.

There’s no one moment to act, do, write, or say. It’s over and over–again and again. Continuing to live and plod on, letting the tasks become habits. Those habits move toward discipline and eventually, a way of life.

So continue I’ll do.

It Is Time to Write Again

It Is Time to Write Again

Samantha Gratton

After months of writing very little, the need to write has returned. But the time to write? Who has the time?

Admittedly, my time is limited. My last post shared the news of an expected addition to our family. In the time since then, our sweet baby boy arrived on the outside. For the past two months my brain and my efforts have been focused on three basic needs–eat, sleep, and clean (you know, cleaning all those messes babies make…because let me assure you, my house is far from clean). Blogging has been so far from my thoughts that I completely forgot my login password to get in here, which is simply ridiculous.

Yet, the need is there, and so the time has come to return to writing. The lack of writing has added one more change to an intense season of transition for me. I need to write. Even if no one reads it or knows what to do with my writing, it must continue in some form or fashion. I often think back to hearing blogger/author Seth Godin share on a podcast that he writes each day to speak truth in his life. For me, writing is often piecing together the lessons and questions in my life. Writing helps me to solidify those thoughts and feelings. Writing challenges me to dig deeper into what I think and to process what’s in front of me.

So much of the past few months and year has overwhelmed me. Writing about it felt daunting and vulnerable. Writing about anything else felt empty. I didn’t know what to tell people when they asked what I wrote about. My life? What I’m learning? During that time I drew inward and had less interest in sharing either of those things. I wasn’t ready for the questions or commentary. I didn’t feel the need to share some of my thoughts with the vast invisible public that is the internet.

So I continued to wrestle with what to write about. Should I find a topic that was easier to describe? A theme or a direction that would be easier to relate to? As time passed, I didn’t have an answer. Frankly, I still don’t know the answer or where to go from here. But maybe the lesson or thought of the day for me is that we don’t always have the answer…but we do need to keep moving forward.