On Day 30 of Verb Tribe, this was our prompt:
Gather up all your writing from this class--all those paper bags, all that filler paper. Take a photo of
everything you have done.
And then burn everything.
Writing is process, not product.
I couldn't do it. I'm a keeper. I rationalized that I wanted to make a piece of art out of them. Reality: I was attached to outcome and product. My proof. I took photos of every page. I made blog posts out of several of my favorites. Then yesterday, weeks after this prompt, I shared this with my Tribers:
I've been clearning for the past few weeks (cleaning and learning) letting go, giving away, repurposing. I gave my mom's shells to a young woman I had seen doing crafts in front of a local cafe. Huge letting go. Today, April 1st is the anniversary my husband and I celebrate; the day we met twenty-nine years ago. Last night at midnight I tapped the final words of my screenplay—a year long endeavor wrapped in the last 31 days of March. All of these moments coalesced and today I was ready to release my words to the elements.
I clutched my pages to my chest all the way to the grill on the patio. Dear God it's like letting go of a child...
I lit the brown paper with my Zena Moon matches and whispered a prayer to my muse and the universe and my dead loved ones. Here is my offering. Here is my heart—be gentle.
Once the pages caught I was giddy with seeing the colors and patterns and reading words before they ceased to exist. The brown paper bloomed into a fiery rose and cooled into an ash cabbage before wisping away on the breeze. Gorgeous. Exhilarating.
Realization dawned. I could burn my book and start again. Knowing that the story was IN me was a breaking open AHA moment. The phoenix rises from the ashes. I am grateful I waded through resistance to gift myself with this glorious burning moment.