Tag: blogging

Writing

New Year, New Format

Ruby Pipes21 Comments
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“El encuentro” © Iñaki Bolumburu, 2015. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

I have to say that 2015 was my least favorite year to date. Maybe that means 2016 is going to be a good one. With the new year I’ve decided that this blog could use a little overhauling, so I’m making some changes in the way I post here.

From now on, you’re going to get five posts a week instead of just two. This is a tremendous undertaking for me, both because of the writing and because of the mental and emotional tax that writing holds. I think it will be a valuable and important part of our upcoming year and I’m very excited about it.

On Mondays, I’m going to give you an update on what I’m doing for my own personal development. This could be anything from how I overcame an urge to drink, to a particularly important run I took, to my goals for the upcoming week. Having bipolar disorder and being a recovering alcoholic take a lot of energy and I’d like to start writing more openly about that.

Wednesdays are going to be for book reviews. One of my big goals in 2016 is to read fifty books, so to keep myself on track I’ve decided to start writing about what I’m reading. I hope these will be interesting, informative, and inspiring for you.

Then on Fridays I’m going to be doing guest posts. (Email ruby[at]rubybrowne.com if you’re interested in writing one.) These are a collection of pieces from other writers and bloggers that I love. I’m thrilled about this addition to my blog and hope you find some exciting new voices to follow.

Tuesdays and Thursdays will continue to be a collection of everything else. This is where you’ll find my poetry, talks about relationships, and all the mental health goodness you follow this blog for.

Hopefully this new format is stimulating and thought provoking for all of you. I’m ecstatic to put more time into this blog and this community growing up around it.

Here’s to a better 2016.

Autobiography · Personal Development

Guts

Ruby Pipes17 Comments
"climbing." © Michael Pollak, 2013. CC BY 2.0.
“climbing.” © Michael Pollak, 2013. CC BY 2.0.

At some point, I had to finish my book. Had to put down my pen and wrap the whole thing up. Submit my final drafts and walk away. It was a project that didn’t get to go unfinished. That’s what happens when you set a release date.

My stomach is still in knots every time someone tells me their copy arrived in the mail. I’m sure there are things I could have done better. Positive they’ll find all the flaws in my work and be upset they spent their money on it. But the project is done and I have to learn to move on. Have to let good enough be good enough.

But it’s made me wonder what I could have done if I pushed just a little harder. If I was more willing to take a chance. More okay with letting go of the idea it could be perfect. To risk not making the deadline and publish something I was genuinely scared of. It’s like I ran as fast as I needed to run to win the race, but not as fast as I could have. How many times have I cut myself short just because I knew my previous limit? All the times I did what I had to do to get an A, but never wondered what would happen if I pushed further.

When things turn out to be easier than I thought they would, I don’t try to make them harder. When I succeed easily where other people struggle, I don’t try to find the point where I’d be challenged. Even with this blog, I’ve found the safe spot to sit with being vulnerable, but not completely open. I write about the more comfortable scary things and push the rest into journals.

But I don’t want to do it like that anymore. I want my projects to make me uncomfortable. To terrify me. I want to make running plans, and book ideas, and blog posts, and commitments that I honestly don’t know if I can finish. And then I want to do them anyway.

I am sick of being comfortable. Of living up to it all the time. I’m sick of knowing I can do the things I set out to do. I am sick of not having the guts to find out if my dreams are tougher than me. I am sick of only standing at the bottom of hills I know I can run up.

I’m ready to do something mesmerizing. I’m ready to dazzle. I’m ready to stop toying around with the easy, the doable, the fragments of sparkle. I am ready to be valiant.

Autobiography · Mental Health · Writing

Don’t Write

Ruby Pipes19 Comments

"writing table" © Graham Holliday, 2013. CC BY-NC 2.0.
“writing table” © Graham Holliday, 2013. CC BY-NC 2.0.
Don’t write about it. Writing about it solidifies the hurt. Gives it form, texture. Writing about it creates a framework where the darkness can continue to exist. Another form of rumination. It reworks those pathways in your brain, rivers cutting deeper and deeper into the earth every time you put a word down.

Each word is another snowflake leading up to the avalanche. Creating something which used to not be there. Destroying that which used to be safe.

Don’t write about it. Your words are sharp, broken glass under delicate feet. Thoughts like drops of water, each one insignificant, but they come on like a flash flood. You’re drowning.

Sometimes writing can serve as a way to sort. Pulling belongings out of the bottom of your backpack, putting them in the correct drawer. But today writing is doing nothing but fanning your anxious flames. Pulling the cord on a chainsaw until it screams to life and you’re left wailing on the floor.

Don’t write about it. Take a breath and divert your attention. Watch TV, take a walk, make huge gashes of color with markers across a blank piece of paper. Crawl back into bed and hide under the covers. Look at yourself in the mirror and say, “This is really fucking hard.” But don’t say why.