Writing Our Way Home blog

How we can see beyond our beliefs (dark moods & irritability)

noreply@blogger.com (Kaspalita Thompson) — Mon, 28 May 2012 07:57:00 +0000

Kaspa writes: Human beings are covered in stories. But there is something else as well. It is possible to be connected to the world in a clearer way. A way in which we project less of our own stuff onto the world and see it more as it really is...

That's a bit of a metaphysical start to the blog post, and I'm pausing here, before getting more metaphysical, to relate it to a real experience I had recently.

Last week I was away taking part in some intense psychotherapy training. In the last session of the last day another participant shared some childhood memories, with great tenderness and emotion. As they talked I felt a great welling-up of emotion in me, and some memories from my own childhood, when my parents were separating, bubbled to the surface.

I was able to share a little of those memories in the group but I came away feeling it was the start of some other process. Since the end of last week I have had vivid dreams, and increasingly dark moods.

Looking back I can see that the experience in the group last week was like a reset button being pressed on some of my deeply held beliefs about how I am in the world. Things around being rejected, or judged and the counterpart to that: despairingly wanting the world to leave me alone.

The dark moods and irritability this week have all been around those themes too, I see them as the death cry of these beliefs, "Please don't let me go... "

What we're selling will hurt you. Want some?

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Sat, 26 May 2012 07:26:00 +0000

Fiona writes: It might not hurt a lot. It might just be a vague uncomfortable sensation, or five minutes of soft sadness, or a flash of embarrassment. It might be the stirring of anger or a shiver of fear in your belly.

But if you don't feel a TEENSY bit uncomfortable at least once, mixed in with the joy & insights & connection & deliciousness (did I mention joy?), then you can ask for your money back.

“Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth”
~Pema Chödrön

This is the difficult-to-describe stuff I talked about in my post about coaching last week. What we offer here at Writing Our Way Home is an opportunity to approach your own truth.

I sometimes see us human beings as being made up of many layers. These layers form like crusts as a result of experiences. We mould ourselves & adapt within our network our relationships. We protect ourselves. We make mostly subconscious decisions about 'who we are'. Sometimes these crusts are as tough as a giant tortoise's shell, and sometimes they are deep deep down near our very foundations. They are often almost invisible. They can be rolled up and squashed in as tightly as the petals in that peony.
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Interview with Maria Ross: Author & Marketing Muse

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Fri, 25 May 2012 07:08:00 +0000

I met Maria Ross over at She Writes, and we talked about Kindle marketing. One of the exciting parts of being a writer! But the things she talks about in this week's creativity interview are much more important...

Welcome, Maria. What drives your creative work?

I’ve always loved a good story. I’ve pursued many passions - acting, writing, marketing – that all come down to communicating a great story in order to engage, delight, move, anger or provoke an audience. Words are powerful when strung together in just the right way to exactly the right person and precisely the right time – and relish the challenge at getting better and more efficient at this art each and every day. And this also means I adore witty banter, a good conversationalist and a well-timed zinger!

What would you say to yourself if you could go back in time and meet yourself at the beginning of your creative career?

That’s a hard one, as I’ve been creative my entire life. From dancing and singing at age 6 to acting as a child to doing plays and writing in my adult life – even to creating marketing campaigns within my career. It never even occurred to me that creativity would not be a part of whatever profession I chose or path I traveled down. If anything, I guess the only thing would be not to be afraid to spotlight your creativity even in the business world. Now more than ever that is a skill that is highly sought after.

I'm coming out as a...

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Wed, 23 May 2012 11:52:00 +0000

Fiona writes: I'm coming out as a coach.

I was just sitting in the sunny garden doing some soul-reading, and it occurred to me that I don't talk very often about my work with my coaching clients.

As well as a coaching practice I have a psychotherapy practice, and I'm so meticulously protective of their confidentiality that I hardly ever mention here that I'm a psychotherapist. But coaching is different, and I suddenly feel like I want to talk about what I do.

But. Coaching (and many other forms of 1:1 support) is notoriously difficult to talk about. What IS it?

I could say, 'Well, we have a conversation for forty minutes and then my client gives me some money.' This is one way of describing what happens.
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The day I lost everything & how you can lose everything too

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Mon, 21 May 2012 15:17:00 +0000

Fiona writes: I stepped onto the train platform and felt for the strap of my handbag.

My rucksack was there. The present for my friend Heather was there. My tube ticket was there. Where was my handbag?

My handbag was gone.

I'd travelled early that morning from Malvern to Paddington, and taken the tube to Charing Cross on the way to my psychotherapy supervision training. I was half an hour away from the Tibetan Buddhist centre where the training would take place. Without my handbag.

I went into action mode. I ran after the disappearing tube to see if I'd left it on my seat - nothing. I walked quickly to find a tube employee - who sent me to the mainline station, who sent me to lost luggage, who said I'd have to call Paddington lost luggage. As I walked I racked my brains. Could I remember taking my handbag from the first train? I would rather it had been stolen, to save my embarrassment, but I had a horrible feeling...
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Interview with Roman Krznaric: Cultural thinker & author

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Fri, 18 May 2012 07:30:00 +0000

Today we are honoured to be welcoming author Roman Krznaric to our series of creativity interviews. Roman is a founding member of the School of Life in London, and his most recent book, How to Find Fulfilling Work, in which he quotes Fiona talking about Writing Our Way Home. The book came out last week and I look forward to reading the whole thing.

Roman, welcome. What drives your creative work?
A disastrous cultural inheritance from the Renaissance is the idea that creativity is about originality. We have in our minds the image of geniuses like Michelangelo, who was worshipped for his stunning originality, which seemed to be a divine gift from above. But I think that is off-putting for most of us, and makes us feel that if we aren't being brilliant and original then we are lacking a creative streak.

Rather than originality, I think creativity is more about self-expression. Cooking can be creative in this sense – it's not about inventing some amazing unknown dish, but just putting something of yourself into it, even if it's simply adding some extra topping to a frozen pizza so it resembles a Jackson Pollock painting. So my writing is driven, in part, by a desire for self-expression. I read my work out loud not so much listening out for original ideas, but for whether it 'sounds like me' and expresses my vision of the world.

I'm especially interested in how we can make our lives more fulfilling and adventurous in ways that also contribute to social change. That's why I've dedicated much of the last ten years to the subject of empathy, which I think has the capacity to do both. And it's also why, in my new book, How to Find Fulfilling Work, I quote Aristotle saying, 'where the needs of the world and your talents meet, there lies your vocation'. He's advising us to discover that place where personal fulfilment and social value intersect. My creativity, such that I have it, is directed towards exploring this intersection.

Kittens & Death: Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Tue, 15 May 2012 20:47:00 +0000

One of our most visited blogs (after a recipe for a five minute chocolate mug cake) is 'kittens and death', about getting a pair of new kittens soon after the death of our cat Silver.

I don't know how people find it, or whether it gives them what they're looking for.

On Friday, we took our now-grown-up-kitten Tsuki (the sleepy one in this old photo) to the vet. She'd been off colour for a week or two, sleeping while her brother played. After she had two coughing fits we became worried and wanted her checked out.

The vet listened to our symptom list and felt around in Tsuki's neck for some time. She looked a bit worried. She asked us more questions. She compressed Tsuki's chest. She looked more worried.

She said that her particular symptoms could be an infection, but they pointed worryingly towards leukemia. Her face showed us how serious this would be in a young cat. She gave her an antibiotic injection and told us to come back first thing on Monday morning to see how she was doing - maybe they'd get a chest X-ray done sooner rather than later.

We took her home. I looked at her sleeping, and wondered if she was already riddled with cancer. I wondered how much time we might have left with her. I worried about her suffering. I watched her like a hawk all weekend. I started missing her. The way she jumps up against our legs to ask for strokes. Her ecstatic rolling in the sun. Her loud motoring purr.

Kaspa is away this week, and so I took her in on Monday on my own. I chanted to myself for the half hour before the appointment in an attempt to keep the panic at bay. We sat in the waiting room, Tsuki shivering in fear, for another half an hour.

Our kittens will die one day. I always knew this. But I wasn't expecting it to happen so soon. How do we live with this knowledge?

As part of my preparation for our new offering in June, our Creative Intensives, I'm revisiting all my most beloved books. One of my most beloved of those beloveds is Terrance Keenan's St. Nadie in Winter: Zen Encounters with Loneliness.

As Terrance also explained in his creativity interview with us, his daily mantras is 'No blame, be kind, love everything.' I read Terrance's words and paid special attention to the bit about love. I allowed space for the panicky feelings in my stomach. I tried to love them, and to let them be without pushing them away. I was kind to myself. I didn't blame the possible-cancer for possibly-taking-Tsuki-away. I tried to love the sunny afternoon, and to remember that whatever happened the sun would keep shining, and life would go on. It wasn't easy.

On reflection, I guess that people finding my 'kittens and death' blog are struggling with the same question I struggled with at the weekend. How do we love each other, knowing that we will one day lose each other?

I was called through by the vet. He examined Tsuki as I waited with a pounding heart. The lumps in her lymph glands were smaller. Her temperature was still above normal, but lower than it was. It looked like an infection. I took her home again. She is currently batting a ball around in the bathroom, having thoroughly killed the rug earlier. She's just raced downstairs with her brother. They have leaves to catch.

It looks like I'll be lucky enough to spend more time with Tsuki. How long? Maybe fifteen years. Maybe one. When she asks for strokes, I'll try and give them to her whenever I can.

In the meantime I will try to blame nothing, be kind, and love everything. Everything. Including you, dear reader.

*

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Interview with Brenda Miller and Holly J. Hughes Authors of The Pen and The Bell: Mindful Writing in a Busy World

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Fri, 11 May 2012 06:44:00 +0000

Brenda Miller and Holly J. Hughes are the authors of The Pen and The Bell: Mindful Writing in a Busy World, which has just been released by Skinner House Books. As you might guess, their philosophy is pretty tuned in with our own... We're very happy to welcome both Brenda and Holly to Writing Our Way Home today.

What drives your creative work?

Brenda: That’s a good question. Being creative can often take a back seat to everything else that appears to be more important. But I find that I’m not truly myself unless I’m writing regularly. I become depressed, cranky, and out of sorts. So I’d say that writing, for me, activates some essential center in the brain that contributes to happiness. When I’m writing, I’m making connections of all sorts, so I’m not quite as isolated; instead the world becomes alive with possibility.

Holly: Like Brenda, I’m happier when I’m writing. The act of creating somehow keeps me connected with my essential self and, at the same time, more connected with the world. I feel more alert, more grounded, more open to serendipity. That’s not to say that it’s easy—our lives are filled with tempting distractions—but when I do manage to get to my desk regularly, I feel more alive. I’m looking at the world through the lens of poetry and imagination and that enriches all that I see.

The art of living - how to be fulfilled

noreply@blogger.com (Kaspalita Thompson) — Thu, 10 May 2012 11:37:00 +0000

Kaspa writes: What a grand title for a blog post! But we need big ideas if we are to change our lives. Big change comes from big dreams (although often in small steps).

Two things came together today that led me to writing this blog post. One is the lauch of Roman Krznaric's book How to Find Fulfilling Work: The School of Life. We have an interview with Roman coming next week, and he has some great answers to our questions. The second is that I'm reading Coaching for Performance by John Whitmore.

Roman quotes Fiona in a section of his book about creating your own jobs. Something that doesn't appear in the career directory.

I have a friend who tells a story about how she chose her A-level subjects. (These are the exams you take when you are 18 in the UK). At the time you could just choose three subjects to study. When she was 16 the careers adviser asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and my friend replied, "An optician."

Instruction for a happy juicy life (use your best china)

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Tue, 08 May 2012 07:54:00 +0000

For our wedding we were given a set of four Rob Ryan plates by our friend Annie. Intricate deep blue paper cut designs illustrated with warm & wise words on delicate white plates. Gorgeous objects.

This morning, as my toast raised its golden head from the toaster, I found myself reaching for one of our plain, pale green plates instead of the Rob Ryan plate next to it. I caught myself. What was flashing through my mind?

You might break the expensive one if you use it. It might wear out. You don't deserve to use the expensive plate with your ordinary breakfast. Save it for a special occasion. Save it for a rainy day. Save it.

Of course, I took the Rob Ryan plate.

We are all afraid of impermanence. One way of dealing with impermanence is to squirrel our precious things away, where they will be 'safe'. For 'safe', read 'go mouldy' or 'get forgotten'. If I use my Rob Ryan plate more, it is more likely to get smashed on our unforgiving slate kitchen tiles. But oh, I will have enjoyed it.

As it says on Rob's plate, other planets cannot be as beautiful as this one. But only if we remember to see it. To make use of it. To savour the taste of it. With open hands.

Only if we let things smash on the kitchen floor when it is their time to be smashed.

Wear your mohair cardigan today, start that notebook you were saving for when you had something important to write down. Eat that expensive Manuka honey in the back of your cupboard. ENJOY your beautiful objects (and people) while they are here.

New offering: Creative Intensives

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Mon, 07 May 2012 17:49:00 +0000

Have you been procrastinating about starting a new creative project, or has it been sticky & difficult to reach completion on an ongoing piece of work?

Have you hit a road-block in your creative process, or are you low on energy and languishing in a creative slump?

Do you belong to the creative tribe? Are you an artist, gardener, architect, musician, therapist, writer, teacher, graphic designer...? Do you use creativity in some way in your career or outside of your paid work?

Our new four week creative intensives are designed to untangle your creative tangles and spark you into some serious work.

We understand the inevitable kinks in the road and the inherent vulnerability of putting creative work 'out there'. We'd love to accompany you on your journey for a while.

Give yourself the gift of a month of working on what's most difficult, most important and most joyous all at once.

What you'll receive

The intensive will start with a 1:1 creative coaching session to get you onto the right track. We will look together at where you've been, where you are and where you'd like to get to.

We'll come up with some concrete actions to start things moving or to help you to change direction. You can choose to be coached by Kaspa or Fiona - read more about our different styles here.

You will join a small cohort of fellow creative professionals in a private group on our Writing Our Way Home community where you can cheer each other on, ask for support and share your creative machinations.

You will also receive a daily inspirational email to keep you stoked up. This will include some wisdom from one of our favourite books on the creative process, a shorter quote, and a suggestion.

The intensive will finish with a second 1:1 coaching session to solidify any learning and to look forwards to the completion or continuation of your project.

What it costs

The usual fee for two coaching sessions is £100/$160. The total cost of the creative intensive, including emails, private group and two sessions, is £99/$159.

How to register

To reserve a place on our first intensive in June, or to express interest in joining a cohort later in the year, email fiona@writingourwayhome.com. Spaces will be limited.

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All images via Creative Commons: Paintbrushes by John Morgan, Cello by Andrew J Sutherland, Fountain pen by svet.

Interview with R. N. Morris, Author extraordinaire

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Fri, 04 May 2012 08:48:00 +0000

Fiona writes: I love Roger's historical detective novels based in Russia, which are both beautifully written and page-turners. I loaned Kaspa his last one and now he's hooked too! We're very pleased to welcome him to our creativity interview spot today.

What drives your creative work?
The desire to get out what’s inside. I say ‘desire’, but it’s more of a compulsion. I think I become occupied by stories, possessed, almost. It can be quite an abstract feeling at first, but still concrete, if that makes sense. It may be a feeling that takes hold of me at a certain moment, perhaps driving on a long journey and being struck for a moment by the colours and character of the sky. That there is something about that transient moment that corresponds with a sense of a story inside me and I then know I have to try to get it out somehow. As the process develops, and I get into the actual writing, then it becomes more focused but is still essentially the same urge to get out what’s inside. It becomes more urgent as I go on.

What would you say to yourself if you could go back in time and meet yourself at the beginning of your creative career?
It’s all right. Don’t worry. It will happen but it won’t be like you think it’s going to be. So relax. And enjoy your life a bit more.
Read more »

Your Most Beautiful Things Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Thu, 03 May 2012 13:42:00 +0000

Fiona writes: I've been a bit swept away what with twenty thousand people downloading my novel, and then riding high (ish) in the Amazon charts, and then crashing back down to earth again, that it's taken me a little longer to write this post than I hoped.

I had a WONDERFUL day on our most-beautiful-thing day reading about all your most beautiful things. Here are a few that stuck in my mind for your delectation...

A bag of peanuts. This was one of the many that made me cry.

Late one hot summer evening, the door bell rang. Mum answered it, and was surprised to see none other than the fruit-seller. He simply stood there, quiet as he always was, looking looking tired in a crumpled brownish-yellow shirt that was once probably white.
Read more.

A cup of tea or your wife... I love the simplicity of this one from Andrew.

There’s a moment of a morning when you realise you haven’t used any of the padding in your schedule and there’s the chance to pop back into bed with the tea you made and drink it next to your beautiful wife, who refused to be your most beautiful thing on the basis that she’s, a, not a thing and, b, unhappy with the possessive. Apparently ‘beautiful’ is okay though. Despite sternness on that front, a moment of return to the space she’s still most of the way to asleep is joyous. It’s ephemeral, it’s not always possible, and both of these make it more valuable.
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What happens when your world crashes. A powerful post on breaking open.

75 days ago my world crashed. The entire thing. Where I live. Where I work. How I parent. Where I parent from. What I drive. Who I trust. Where I sleep. Where my money comes from. Who I am, basically.
Read more.

Read some more beautiful things here, and we'll be back next week with a few more. Thank you all.

Permission not to read this blog post

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Wed, 02 May 2012 11:21:00 +0000

Fiona writes: I was going to write a blog post this morning.

Because I felt like I ought to. Because a part of me does want to reach out, but another part of me is sick of the sound of my own voice after all the promotion for the book last week.

I feel a little sad and a little deflated - a combination of my book slipping down and down in the Amazon charts after just six days (maybe this is what often happens?) and a poignant call with a client this morning.

And so rather than writing a blog post I will give myself permission to not write this blog post (and I give you permission not to read it as that's only fair). I give myself permission to make a cup of tea instead and read some of my lovely book about poetry and faith.

Thank you, whiskey river, for the poem you sent this morning, which in turn came from Loren's blog (do read his lovely post), which I visit too rarely. It's the perfect, bitter-sweet reminder of the realities of impermanence. How strongly we cling to things being the same, or getting better. Sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't.
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Feel the fear and write it anyway

noreply@blogger.com (Kaspalita Thompson) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 14:13:00 +0000

I want you all to join my e-course. ~~I want you all to join my e-course~~.

I have written that line. And deleted it. And written it again.

The course is excellent. I have seen students make choices that have led to better relationships with their families. I have seen people have difficult conversations with partners that would never have happened otherwise. (Conversations that are challenging. Conversations that say 'I love you'.) I have seen people finally knuckle down and sort the office out, or book tickets for that round the world adventure they have been putting off. And I have seen them write beautiful poetry.

I'm not sure if my resistance to championing the course is that I don't want to scare you off with a 'big sell', or that I still have a few shadowy wisps of resistance to success (my word of 2011, this year's was 'confidence'). I suspect it's a little of both.

I have buckets of gratitude to those teachers whose work I drew on in writing this course, and buckets for the students that have taken it in the past. I am grateful to the students because when they pay it allows me to keep doing the work that I love, and it allows me to keep drinking the rich, dark coffee that smells so good and which I really should cut back on.

Part of the course is about learning to act in a positive way, whilst feeling the resistance you have to acting. The second week is inspired by Dr. Morita, a Japanese therapist who worked with people suffering from agoraphobia and other anxiety disorders. He understood that feelings come and go, but that we can still take care of the things we need to do right in the midst of those feelings, whether that's sweeping the leaves, or writing this weekly newsletter.

"Lacking cash to buy firewood,
I sweep up leaves from the road in front,
Each one as valuable as gold..."

from a poem by Ryushu Shutaku
Tr. David Pollack

Morita also understood that you start from where you are. Today you sweep the leaves. You can build the house tomorrow.

"My way of doing things is simple. It's not necessary to make impossible efforts when troubled. Put simply, when you are vexed just be vexed and say, 'Yes, and what shall I do?' Just be in suspense about the outcome and move forward a little at a time."
Dr. Morita

What can you do today?

Registration is open now for my e-course Eastern Therapeutic Writing, and for Writing Ourselves Alive, with Fiona Robyn.

Heron image by Steve-h

On being wobbly: freedom through discipline

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 09:34:00 +0000

This is a post from the archives especially for anyone feeling wobbly.

Fiona writes: I've been listening to an audiobook conversation between Natalie Goldberg and Dosho Port called Zen Howl recently. There's a lot of good stuff on there, especially for people like me who are interested in both writing and zen, but I was particularly struck by a section on discipline.

They were saying that it seems counter-intuitive, but that using discipline is a great route towards finding freedom. In their experience, the only way to get DEEPER is to use structure. The structure of zazen (sitting meditation) leads to greater insight. The structure of regular writing practice leads to better writing.

This is certainly my experience too. I work as a therapist, and the particular frame of the sessions (starting on time, meeting at the same time each week etc.) allow us to plumb the depths. We get closer to the difficult stuff, to the un-sayable truth.

Since starting my meditation and novel-writing again, thoughts and feelings have been shifting about in me like a nest of baby hamsters. It's because I've created a strong enough container for them. The meditation and writing is steadying me, which is allowing me to be more wobbly elsewhere.

Here's to wobbling. It gets us to all the interesting places.

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'Buster feeling wobbly' by Bklynraised came up when I did a search for 'wobbly' - he's 'one of the older cats on Miller Farm'. Bless him.

Interview and book review with Katherine Jenkins, author of 'Lessons from the Monk I Married'

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 06:43:00 +0000

Fiona writes: We have a special creativity interview today. Regular readers might already know that I married a Buddhist monk of my own, Kaspa, and so when I came across the title of Katherine's book online I just had to get in touch...

Katherine first travelled to South Korea to look for the kind of answers a lot of us struggle with - what's it all about? How can we find peace, happiness and meaning in our lives? During her first months there, she happened to visit a remote temple, where she happened to meet a Buddhist monk, Seong Yoon Lee. Months later, they met again by chance—and fell in love. The rest is history...

Katherine's journey was much longer, more complicated and more challenging than my own brief intense courtship. Throughout the ups and downs, she takes learning from the difficulties life throws at her. How can we surrender and let go when we want to cling? Paradoxically, when we can surrender, what (or who) we want is often more able to come towards us...

A lovely book - very human, very ordinary (despite extraordinary circumstances), and very wise. Just like Katherine, I'd bet.

And so I'm very pleased to be welcoming Katherine to our creativity interview series today.
Read more »

Stupendously generous or stupid? On giving away my novel for free

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 15:02:00 +0000

Fiona writes: Five or six ago, a character called Joe sidled over & said a shy 'hello'.

This is how my novels take seed. A protagonist appears from nowhere and asks me to tell their story. And so I started getting to know Joe. What he looked like (skinny & a teensy bit geeky). What he was passionate about (meteorology & ornithology). What his secrets were (that'd be telling...).

To find out about his world I read books about birds & the weather, interviewed people working in Europe's top weather centre, exchanged emails with Dutch contacts and spent some time in Amsterdam.
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Yesterday, #1 best-seller. Today... a nobody.

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 09:22:00 +0000

Fiona writes: Over the past few two days more than twenty thousand people have downloaded my new novel The Most Beautiful Thing. They were going like hotcakes. Every few seconds I could click on the downloads and see the figure go up by ten or twenty.

This morning, in the space of two hours, I have sold one.

The difference? £3.99 ($6.50). This is how much my book costs now. The book that took me two years of research, writing & re-writing. The book me & Kaspa started a publishing company to publish, and designed the cover for, and proofed over and over. The book about Joe, who I care very deeply about.

Of course, that's not the whole story.

My strategy was to ask my friends & supporters to download it for free. I hoped that if enough people did this, then it would start appearing in Amazon's free kindle charts. And it did. And once it got there, people I don't know started downloading it. By the second day, my book was #1 in the Amazon UK free kindle charts. It was being downloaded more often than any other free book in the whole country.
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Being a best-seller: gratitude & raspberry cheesecake

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 13:41:00 +0000

Fiona writes: A best-seller.

That's what my novel The Most Beautiful Thing is, currently at #1 (yup, #1) in all the kindle books selling in the UK, and at #2 in literary fiction in the US.

Or would be, if it was actually selling. I'm giving it away, you see, until the end of today. Get yours while you can.

I've already talked a bit about why I'm doing this (it's not because I'm a nice person). As things stand, it's feeling like a pretty good decision.

Let's assume that it's going to go on to sell bucket-loads from tomorrow, when I do start charging again. The money it brings will allow me the space to get out my fifth, stalled novel. It will pay for new carpets (these ones are very dingy). It will pay for the odd Hotel Chocolat box of chocolates. That will be a wonderful thing.

But even without all that, this has been a hugely positive and affirming experience.
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Stop being a robot - learn to love grey skies and rain

noreply@blogger.com (Kaspalita Thompson) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 07:00:00 +0000

Kaspa writes: Outside the sun is breaking through heavy cloud. A few drops of rain are still falling. There was hail earlier, a loud rattling on the window, and before that the lightest of rain was being whipped into strange shapes by the wind.

The rain is coming down harder now, hundreds of tear shaped drops. The old orange bricks of the terraced houses are becoming dark with wetness and the world is becoming grey again as another slab of dark cloud moves across the sun.

In Watching the English, Kate Fox says that we talk about the weather to ease our social dysfunction, in the same way we would rather talk to a stranger's dog, than with the stranger themselves. If you are English there are special rules for talking about the weather. You are supposed to complain, and there is a hierarchy of which weather is worst that seems to hold true no matter who you speak to. Cold and bright is at the good end of the scale. Warm and wet is better than wet and cold, and so on.

In this way we go about greeting people by complaining about the rain. When the weather clears up it doesn't take too many days of sunshine before we complain about that as well.

I'm sure, if you think hard enough, you can identify some of the codes of your own culture. (Often they become national stereotypes. It's a cliche to say that the English always complain about the weather. But most of us do actually complain about the weather).

The rain has passed now and I can hear the song of a blackbird, the cooing of a wood pigeon, and distant traffic.

My Most Beautiful Thing: Blogsplash!

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 20:08:00 +0000

Download it for free from Kindle UK or Kindle US to your Kindle, PC or phone by the end of Wednesday 25th. Here's the lovely paperback on Amazon UK or Amazon US. Here's why I'm giving it away. (not just because I'm nice...)

Fiona writes: Today people all around the world will be blogging about their most beautiful things, in celebration of the release of my new novel. We'll republish some of our favourites here over the coming weeks. But what is mine???

Of course, it's an impossible task to choose one. And the paradoxical thing is, once you start looking for ONE beautiful thing, beauty springs up all around you. This is what our mindful writing practice, small stones, is all about.

I won't be choosing my husband (sorry Kaspa), or my cats, or my family or dear friends. I won't be writing about my garden, or my empty notebook, or my bookcase of poetry. I won't be choosing the perfect veggie Sunday roast I just polished off, or the expensive ice-cream waiting for me in the freezer (tempted though I am).

Here it is.
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Why give my book away for free? Is it because I'm nice?

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 14:09:00 +0000

Fiona writes: One of my friends got in touch last week, outraged that I was giving my new novel The Most Beautiful Thing away for free on Kindle on Tuesday and Wednesday. She enjoyed the book so much and thought it was worth so much that she couldn't bear the idea.

So am I doing it from the kindness of my heart?

No.

Here's the deal.

1). I am an author, and I want to make money from my books. We need new carpets.

2). I want to be read by as many people as possible. I know that my character Joe has affected people. He's moved them to happy & sad tears, and then stayed with them long after they've closed the book. My book has changed them. This is why I write.

At the moment, I've been graced with seventeen five star reviews on Amazon. But nobody is buying my book. Why should they? They're not seeing it, because it's not in the charts or the shops. They don't know who I am. Why should they part with their hard earned cash, when they have a list of novels by their favourite authors waiting for them (never mind the teetering pile on their bedside table)?
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An interview with Sean M Madden: Creative Writing & Mindful Living Guide

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 08:18:00 +0000

When I found Sean's profile it felt like I was reading Writing Our Way Home's mission statement. It's always lovely meet kindred spirits. And it's also lovely to welcome him to our series of creativity interviews today.

Welcome, Sean. What drives your creative work?
A love and corresponding need to reflect back my own experience, my own inner truths, and — as I've said countless times in my writing and mindful living classes — to witness the world within and without. To simply witness is itself a creative act. Indeed, to be is to create. Too often we relegate creativity to certain artistic types — writers, visual artists, musicians, etc. — rather than recognize that we are, each of us, inherently creative beings. Our every act creates our world, which we, in turn, share with others.
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Should I sack my clients?

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona Robyn) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 10:37:00 +0000

Fiona writes: On Facebook yesterday, a coach I admire wondered whether she should sack one of her persistently late clients.

I then had a conversation with an old friend, John Joint, a wise man whose relationship with money I have always been envious of. He also mentioned that he sacks clients when they are no longer a 'fit' for him - when his energy could be better spent elsewhere.

The idea of sacking a client is anathema to me, coming as I do from a psychotherapeutic background. Within this frame, a client's 'bad' behaviour is seen as 'grist for the mill' rather than a reason to stop working with them. Talking about the grit that stops the relationship from working smoothly IS the work of therapy.

But. There is something to be said for this approach to coaching and to life.
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