Julie Unplugged

#SOCSunday: Writing Porch ~ Gone for Now only to Rise from the Ashes...

One of my favorite ways to play as well weekly places to play is writing whatever percs, Stream of Consciousness Style. In August I discovered a group of bloggers that love this, too and in a click of my fingers (and occasionally my heels) I find myself joining the fun at AllThingsFadra.com ~ if this thought appeals to you, check it out!

Every day I check into my writing porch on FourSquare. The only problem is my Writing Porch as it was doesn’t exist anymore. I was treating it as my refuge, my space for creativity that was half artist studio, half place to rest, and primarily my writing desk lived there. Throughout the year I would sit and watch the sunrise and the people of my neighborhood would go by.

It was the only “room” in my house where I felt free.

Unfortunately, one of my neighbors complained rather vociferously so I felt the need to take it all down and return my porch to a more normal looking (to the rest of the world) space.

This happened during the first weekend of October, six weeks ago, yet I haven’t mentioned it publicly until here and now. I think it was the photos I noticed on my Foursquare check in. They make me sad. My plan is to re-roll out my porch in the Spring with certain changes… not quite as eccentric and I will not do anymore painting or sculpting there.

I will allow myself to write out there, to rest out there and to be free out there.

It is strange when a neighbor does something like this. My neighbors have always been uptight. We have had issues throughout the years, but this was among the worst. They don't like my eccentricities. I wish they would come to know me rather than just thinking, "Oh, no, there she goes again!"

Now I write in my living room in the corner on an antique desk and Super Mario noises in the background, at least right now. I think talking about it actually started restoring my hope in it. I had talked about re-creating it, making it stylish and pretty. Now, it is definitely a white canvas, waiting for my artistic touch.

I will not let my ultra-conventional neighbors shut me down.

Period.

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post at AllThingsFadra.com
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

Sychronicity Rules the Day: Art Every Day Month Check In ~ Remembering Love Always Wins #aedm2011

I promised two days ago to write of the results of my audition.

I shared my sadness at feeling as if I had fallen out of love with Theatre. I had told myself only to audition for shows that are compelling to me. When I researched this play, I decided to audition because Eric had been asking me for months to audition AND the fact it takes place in an 18th/19th Century Insane Asylum sealed the "do this audition" fact in my mind.

After all, my AEDM and "Women's Sphere?" art project are all about mental illness & creative women across the decades.

First: I loved the audition process. I arrived (somewhat) in character. I had just washed my hair and let it air dry so it looked askew. I wore a grey skirt, very plain, a black shirt, very much not matching the style of the skirt, and I had a dull affect from the time I arrived.

In my ideal world, I wouldn’t have spoken to anyone as I waited but… these folks are all my friends so I spoke briefly before my audition.

The task at hand was to read an essay out of one of three books seemingly randomly selected and to read it as whatever mental illness you happened to draw from a bowl.

I got “depressive”. I am not sure if I clucked or not, it just seemed so divinely picked for me.

I picked up a book called TREES and found an essay by Henry David Thoreau about cutting down a tree.

My lover, Henry David Thoreau? Seriously? Depressive? Seriously? I can be a complete method actor with depression. I know it VERY well! Plus I had just visited Walden Pond. I knew his world – well, the 2011 version of it – and could easily do depressed and HDT all at once.

And in an English Accent, naturally.

I fell into character before the audition began and continued just until I was finished, when I was bouncing along ecstatically. I don’t think I have cried so much, ever in an audition. I sobbed, I dropped, I whispered, I ranted, I reached almost into screaming.

And after all that fun, I sang a surprising (and insane) medley of “The Sound of Music”/”Heartbreaker” by Pat Benatar. Yes, it was a blast. I’m too old to ever play Maria officially so auditioning as an insane version of Maria is ridiculously fun.

When I watched an old version of Marat/Sade, the Rossignol character was a man. I thought to myself, “I would like to play that character, too bad he isn’t a woman.” (I love when that happens!)

I have been slightly frustrated with my schedule.

Yesterday’s creativity was trying to costume Emma for “Alice in Wonderland” – NOT my favored form.

My Women’s Sphere art blinks at me, wishing I would speed up the process and get on with more.

Which I shall do, hopefully beginning today. J

One thing I have learned over the past few days is this: sometimes the schedule gets squished and squashed. Doesn’t make me a bad steward of my art or a failure at any challenge, it just means I took exactly the next step I was meant to at exactly the right time… and creativity takes different forms.

Sometimes that creative form is simply Mommying.

After all, I believe my children are my best form of creative expression there is!

Looking forward to reading/commenting/continuing!

Art~ love, Word~ love, Song~ love to each and all!

  Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot

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Julie Jordan Scott

#ROW80 + a Gratitude for This Process & YOU! Check in....

I almost decided not to post today.

I cannot fill this post with all the stuff I have done, though I have done a lot, actually… had some amazing a-ha’s via my writing, I have also had discouragements and set-backs.

Nothing horrible, just the perpetually piling one thing on top of another makes my inner critic start babbling, “Why the hell do you participate in stuff like this when you KNOW you are way too busy!”

Then I am reminded: I participate in #ROW80 and other similar activities because I love community. I love creating within community. I love inspiring and I love being inspired by folks who share my love for words, so even though I spent my writing time yesterday dealing with “Mommy-duties” (which had a couple drafts until they were complete) each of those moments invested are not only fodder for more writing – they simple were the best things to do in those moments.

I didn’t waste time, I certainly wasn’t idle. If I had to relive yesterday, there is only one small change I would make ~ but I would still have had to re-do what I did. AND THE MESSAGES Emma heard from my willingness to put my love for her into action are more important than typing a couple thousand more words into my WIP or editing another poem.

I did facilitate more #WritingCamp and I did read my craft books amidst the other stuff because I am smart enough and wise enough (two different things) to make the best use of the time I have available.

So, beloved ROW80 friends.

I guess the outcome of my check in for this part of the week would be something like: “I came. I wrote. I lived. I loved. I wrote more. I read. I report now, to you, not with my face in the dirt BUT with my shoulders back and continuing to be conscious of my ultimate goal: changing the world one sentence at a time.”

(And for those who read my Sunday update, my audition was successful as I landed the role of Rossignol, who is the Narrator of the show. She gets to sing and is a leader of 4 inmate/singers who help tell the story and set the tone. Should be interesting and FINALLY I get to sing again on stage.

Rehearsals start in December. I am sure I will report in via ROW80, as usual.)

I’m looking forward to seeing how you are doing via reading and commenting on your posts. Thanks again for your comments and encouraging words.

  Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot

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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott

Today, My Greatest Wish is..... (Joining our beloved #Wishcasting Community once again)

Today our wishcasting prompt was both enormous and so simple. I almost resisted it. What I find over and over again is that if I resist something like a writing prompt or a book title, chances are if I just write it or just read it, my life and my worldview will change.

This is how it happened today.

My greatest wish is that I continue to create with my soul and vision intact, keep taking steps forward and when I slip and slide, my love and self-compassion grows rather  than a finger pointing critic condemns.

I have so much yet to create, so many more lives to positively impact one sentence at a time.

I wish to continue to create world change one art project at a time, one friendship and connection at a time, one seemingly insignificant word at a time.

It seems so simple and so “not greatest” yet… it is.

Thank you for wishing alongside me today and whenever you do.

I love your words, your wishes, and your visions.

As you wish for yourself, my loves, so I wish for you also.

Join the Wishcasting Circle of incredible people at Jamie Ridler’s Studio by clicking this link.

 

 

  Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot

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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott

Two Mother-Poets of Note: Phillis Wheatley and Sylvia Plath: Featured in Women's Sphere? Art #aedm2011

Today I am featuring a different type of object for my Women’s Sphere? Project (which is being featured as my Art Every Day Month challenge) children’s blocks (circa 1940's and about 1 1/2 inches square) covered with the words (and in one case, a short biography) of two women poets who were also mothers.

For our first woman poet, there isn’t any documented mental illness, but little is known of her after an unfortunate change in circumstance.

Phillis Wheatley was the first woman “African-American” (I hesitate to use that term since she was brought here against her will and never had much in the way of rights) “poet of note”to be published in the Colonies. She was brought from Senegal, it is supposed, to Boston in 1761 at the age of 7 and purchased by a family as a servant to the wife/mother of the family.

She received special privileges when it was realized how bright she was, so she came to be treated like another child of the Wheatleys. She began publishing in 1767 and by 1773 was visiting London as quite a sensation with her just published book of poetry.

The Wheatley parents died within months of each other in 1778 and Phillis was freed: but remember, there were not many freed slaves at the time. She married a free black man a month after the Wheatleys died. She had three children: two died very young and her husband left her. With her third child in tow, she became a scullery maid in a boarding house where she died, in poverty. Her third child died hours after she did. She only published five poems after she was "freed".

Our second poet is what I would call a Celebrity Poet. When I spoke of this project, many of the women I shared it with immediately said, "Oh, ofcourse you will feature Sylvia Plath." Naturally, I am.

Compared to the relatively unknown Phillis Wheatley and earlier featured Charlotte Perkins Gilman, I almost feel like Plath needs no introduction. She was a phenomenon yet what strikes me, each time, is her love for her children.

I feel exceptionally close to her for several reasons: she attended Smith College where my daughter is currently in college. She was born in 1932, the same year as my mother, and died in 1963, a year after I was born. Her son, Nicholas Hughes, who was born in 1962 as I was, committed suicide in 2009.

I will add more about her life in entries yet to come.

The blocks are still incomplete and there will be more: I simply wanted to share my progress which, at times, feels unbearably slow.

Tomorrow, there will be more, and news of the results of my audition for Marat/Sade which I mentioned Sunday.

  Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot

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Julie Jordan Scott

Remembering Love for One Art Form; Researching for Another Art Form. Day 13 Check in #AEDM2011

It is day 13 of Art Every Day Month and I'm clicking right along.

I didn't do any tangible work toward Women's Sphere? yesterday, but I did do some research and read of many writers and poets I want to feature.

Right on the heels of Sara Teasdale's plea came Sylvia Plath, sort of the Grand Dame of mentally ill writers/poets/moms. When I learned they both committed suicide within two weeks of one another on the calendar with thirty years between them.  That sealed the deal. Some Sylvia art will be coming this week.

(Need to find some used copies of her books!)

Yesterday was fantastic creatively because I remembered "Oh, this is why I am in love with theater!" I auditioned for Marat/Sade and had an absolute blast. I am being much more selective with what I audition for, but this was sort of a given that I audition. My friends Eric and Michelle are directing. Eric has asked me many times to audition or be involved with his work and nothing has worked out since the phenomenal experience with HamletMachine which was a long time ago now.

(This is me during the filming of Hamlet Machine in March, 2010)

It was one of those "Casting is secondary - this brought me back into the FAB feeling of Amore vis a vis Theatre" moments. Last week I attended an art show at the same theater and when I sat in the empty audience chairs, I had to fight tears. Its been a necessary six months away and indeed, may be longer - but it felt good to be out there, participating even momentarily, again.

How is your art coming along? I look forward to sharing more of my Women's Sphere? art in the days to come... perhaps with some sewing and photography throne in for variety.

  Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot

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Julie Jordan Scott

#Row80 Sunday Check In: Back in the Keyboard Saddle Again! Whooooaaa, Nellie!

Wow! Two ROW80 Posts This Week!

Contrary to last Wednesday, I am running in circles with my arms up in the air, a la Rocky Balboa in the original Rocky.

Today is a nice, light on the “hafta”s day, so I plan to spend a lot of time in R and R with my kids + at the keyboard.

One a-ha I have had is I do really well in micro-writing-chunks. Today I worked on my Sunday Stream of Consciousness post, gave myself a theme aligned with my Art Every Day work and came to two distinctive “a-ha’s” in five minutes.

I have been doing WordSprints and #Wordmongering this week where I line up several WIPS (my main WIP or blog posts, etc) and hack away at each goal in much shorter than the 30 minute or 60 minute time period.

I’ve been consistently writing between 800 and 1300 words in the half hour #wordmongering and more than 2,000 for the hour long Wordsprints.

Not only that, I am building great, encouraging relationships via just stepping in and participating. I love, love, love writing in community.

Don’t you? Isn’t that one of the reasons we are doing #ROW80?

I’m looking forward to seeing how you are doing via reading and commenting on your posts. Thanks again for your comments and ra-ra Julie words…

Now, for the specifics of my week.

Writing/Craft

Write: I had an exceptionally stressful week, stuffed to the brim with activities that kept me away from the keyboard and yet, I didn’t do too horribly.

WIP: I WILL glean from past works this week. TRULY! Wait til I report in this Wednesday. You will be astounded!  J

Edit: POETRY: Work on editing one poem daily – not up to snuff here, but I have been WRITING more poetry which makes me VERY happy. I wrote a first draft of a poem for an upcoming Dueling Poets episode… and loved telling my fellow dueler I had started. He tends to wait until the last minute…

PROSE: I did pretty well with this even though I was so busy!

Read: One poem a day. I am still managing this one.

I confess, my craft reading has been bad this past week. I have looked at the covers of the books and thought “Oh, I want to read!” yet I haven’t cracked them open. L

Creativity as a Practice:

Fantastic! I even auditioned yesterday (enjoyed the heck out of it. I remembered why I love theater!) and my AEDM project is taking shape nicely.

It was a teaching heavy week. Held a session of writing camp and on Saturday I facilitated A Time to Write at the Art and Spirituality Center.

Social Media

Weekly: Write no less than five blog posts weekly . Yup!

Biweekly: YES! Both #ROW80’s. Wishcasting. SOCSunday. Woot Woot!

Daily: I have been visiting more AEDM posters. I have commented #ROW80 though I need to be like Ryan and visit more.

Thank you, all, for your comments on my blog posts.

My version of AMEN: REMEMBER I WRITE BECAUSE I LOVE IT and… Word-love has the power to change the world. One sentence at a time, we are having a positive impact on this beloved planet.

Until Wednesday, Word-love to you all!

  Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot

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Julie Jordan Scott

#SOCSunday: Motherhood is a Precious Gift ~ New Awareness in 5 minutes of writing

I love Stream of Consciousness Sunday. It starts me on my writing path for Sunday... usually Sundays are days I prefer to spend a restful day with my children, laced with writing and creating art.

I had a couple breakthroughs in this very short five minutes.

Stream of consciousness works. I hope you'll join in at AllThingsFadra.com

 

Motherhood is a precious gift. I tried for years to have babies. Three years before Marlena, who was  stillborn. It was fifteen months after to have Katherine, her younger sister who was born Christmas Day. I believe that was a gift from God and her elder sister, especially since I found out I was pregnant Mother’s Day weekend. Emma, another couple years – if you add the time spent trying for a miscarried baby.

Samuel was my anomaly: one afternoon of sex = my only son.

Go figure. He really wanted to be born, I suppose. He was meant to be born.

I started on this theme when I discovered two related and depressing facts. Please read on, though, because it might have something to do with you or it might make you want to read poetry.

Just stay with me.

I discovered this morning that Sara Teasdale and Sylvia Plath committed suicide within two weeks of each other in the winter of 1963. Sylvia Plath’s Son, Nicholas Hughes, was born in 1962, like me, and committed suicide in 2009.

I am working on an art project: actually creating a body of work, that centers on the horrible loss of women artists and writers due to mental illness AND the women who pulled through and continue to serve those of us who also have depression or bipolar disorder and in many cases, are also mothers.

The other day I dropped Emma off at school and on the way we were both crying. I sat at a corner, about to turn, and broke the law to call a friend and try to calm down. I left a message something like this, “I feel so guilty about my genes. Emma is Depressed, like I am, and Samuel has Autism, which also flows through my veins. How did I do this to my children? I am a horrible mother… I don’t deserve them.”

Maybe I was meant to be infertile so I wouldn’t pass this stuff along to unsuspecting embryos.

And then I look up and read the work of some of the women with Mental Illness. Somehow their legacy, even the ones who committed suicide, inspires me.

Strange, I know, yet I also feel important.

Motherhood (and mental illness? Could it be?) is a precious gift.

 

 

 

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post below.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

Now…

1. Grab the button

(it’s over in the sidebar at AllThingsFadra.com)

2. Write your post.

3. Link up here.

  Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot

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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott

HOME: Means different things to different women: Women's Sphere? Art Continues

I am haunted by an experience.

I am haunted by the image of the experience.

I am haunted by these themes during Art Every Day Month: Women Artists and Writers who left us too early, primarily due to mental illness - mostly depression.

I love cemeteries. I know there is a schism between those of us who LOVE cemeteries and those of you who think cemeteries are fine, from far away.

The cemetery I am using thus far in “Women’s Sphere?” is one of the most unique cemeteries I visited. I was couchsurfing in Connecticutt . My host, DeAnn, who I also visited recently in Vermont, took us on a quirky tour of her town, including the historic site, Connecticut Valley Hospital.

A bit of history: “The Connecticut Hospital for the Insane was formally opened in Middletown in 1868. Two years earlier, Middletown had granted the site to the State for the establishment of an asylum to accommodate Connecticut's mentally ill. By 1896, four groups of buildings had been erected and the institution was one of the largest of its kind in the country.”

What fascinated me most, though, was our last stop: the cemetery where there were rows and rows of graves. These graves were marked with numbers, not names. These were nameless, unclaimed mentally ill individuals who died without anyone. They left behind…. Numbers.

Among these, I am sure, are plenty women who had postpartum depression or psychosis, brilliant young women who lost their minds in late adolescent and most probably, some women signed into the hospital by husbands or family members who may not have even been mentally ill. This was the 19^th Century, after all. Women couldn’t vote or own property or make their own decisions.

Women were, primarily, chattel.

For these women, this was there adult home where songs were left unsung, words were left unwritten, stage plays never found an audience and paint brushes forever packed away, out of reach.

This piece, you may notice, has a home in the heart in the middle. It is the tower representing the Yellow Wallpaper towel. In actuality, it is the writing tower of Nathaniel Hawthorne who was tormented for different reasons.

This is The Yellow Wallpaper House from yesterday and the HOME piece and my cat, Constance, lurking outside. I found that to be a poignant metaphor.

This is a photo capturing What's Now and What's Next. The spiffy item underneath home... oh, I remember when Country Kitchens were the thing and these were everywhere. Anyway, now it is turning into a memorial for Sara Teasdale, first woman recipient of the Pulitzer Prize. She was a melodic, sentimental poet who some appreciated and some scoffed.

I love her and her work. When I was working on "Home" she kept coming into my

almost pleading with me to include her.

Sara Teasdale was born August 8, 1884 in St. Louis Missouri. She died, a suicide, on January 29, 1933. This date is actually twenty nine years to the day from my birth. Intriguing… yes.

 

Follow me on Twitter: @juliejordanscot

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© 2012 by Julie Jordan Scott

Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS & this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she finds the passion & the interest.

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#AEDM2011 Day 11 Check In: Unexpected Art from In The Waiting Room

Some of my twitter friends read that I slept 11 hours last night, which I felt was poetic since it is 11/11/11 today.

I had convinced myself I hadn’t created any art until I remembered sitting in the waiting room at my therapist’s office. He stood me up. That has never happened to me before, so I sat in the waiting room and wrote. My theme for Art Every Day Month? Depression, and the women writer and artists who suffered with it. Some of these women lived, some of these women died at their own hands. I figure my writing here fits into this theme.

I figured I would share it here, along with some old photos of me crying. Yes, those are actual tears. I was such a faithful self portrait taker for a year that I was sobbing and I caught it, on film. Depression is something I live with daily, and I have chosen to not allow it to defeat me.

So – the crying photos are not from the present though the writing – including the poem- is present.

“No one speaks in this waiting room. No eyes lift up hoping for mindless conversation. Everyone knows what everyone else is here for and none of us are necessarily happy about it. My eyes hurt. I would rather sleep than be here.

“A woman comes out of the hallway door which leads to the offices. She is wearing a well coifed  version of a jogging suit. Her face is red, eyes glassy from tears.

“She attempts to slink out, unseen. Her neck was lifted up and suddenly she reminded me of a rattle snake, on the move.

A Poem is Born: The Day My Therapist….

Still we wait. Four of us. Woman

#Three in tennis shoes (for fast exit?)

Her eyes scan the magazine whose

Cover proclaims, ‘Lose 43 pounds!’ (so specific)

Daughter, probably 14, reads Cosmopolitan

I could declare, randomly, “I can drink some

Hard liquor and run from here, (quickly…)

Wearing my New Balance or Nikes or some

Ubiquitous no-name knock off.”

I spot a camera in the corner of the room ~

I wonder what it sees. (I wonder if it is testing us ~)

“Wait til one of them freaks out and then go

Rescue and love the “Oh, Lordy” girl who

I notice has splotches of yellow on her shirt.

No, it wouldn’t be me to freak out.

My WASP training is deep (and wide.)

“Never make phone calls before 9 AM or

After 9 PM. Don’t freak out in

Shrink’s offices. For God’s sake. (CONTROL!”)

The woman sat in the waiting room, her

Best Western pen from Concord moves

Up and down, down and up. The woman

Thinks “This ought to be my therapy”

And indeed it was, and has been for a long time.

Anxiety moves up her spine escalator

It halts between Women’s Lingerie and

Boy’s Apparel, Sizes 8 – 20. She measures

Her options: keep standing still or

Walk up or walk down

Choice making stunted lately

She stands stuck, between the floors

Tapping her toes in the gritty stair,

She finally decides, “My therapist

Has stood me up” and leaves, grabbing her

Co-payment on the way out."

~ ~

I have had so much stress lately, I am exhausting myself.

So what if I slept 11 hours last night? I needed it.

It is 2:44 pm and I feel tired again.

And I promise my next Art EveryDay Month will include some “in the moment” visuals. 

  Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot

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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott