Order of the Good Write

That Magic Feeling When the Words Flow. A Blog by Debi Rotmil


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Sharks Through the Insulin Glass

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I’ve just flown through my annual rough patch. Busy work stirring turbulence that had more to do with my employed work rather than my creative endeavors (which I am determined to turn into employment).

Working at a major film and television studio, I was immersed in an industry event known as LA Screenings.  Determined and content to be a studious employee in the middle of mild chaos, I kept my focus on the job, cleared the writing decks for a month and focused wholeheartedly on screenings and office work.

Yes. this meant placing my own writing projects and my build up of The Good Write aside until the responsibilities that cut me a payday slow back down into the day to day office life, where things are humming on autopilot.

It was alright, actually. I needed a little break from writing. As long as we fill the down time with mental stimulation, we all do.

My annual trip to New York City waited at the end of these travails. Exhausted from having flown in late last night, I’m back with street snapshots, a low bank account, leg fatigue, a few cute new summer dresses, and jet lag.  (You can see why I have aviation metaphors sprinkled within my first paragraph.).

Having taken the month off from writing, I feel the words coming back. The need to create once again. Around New York, my eyes feasted on many favorite visuals – street art, murals, photography. The colors of paintings on bulletin boards that are created over a period of days to devise a glorious build up of lines and color and shading to birth a gorgeous vision, like the steampunk dreamy delicacy of the mural above found on 22nd street and 10th Avenue, installed by PixelPoncho.

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Shark on 22nd St. & 7th Avenue. Chelsea, NYC.

Or the sharks infested walls of 22nd Street, where these charming little razor tooth creatures show up in tags sporadically around 22nd street (and perhaps beyond?), floating through medicine bottles, looking like they’ve just taken up home in dangerous cement and brick laid pharmaceutical waters.

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Shark Alert: 22nd Street and 10th Avenue, Chelsea, NYC

Whimsical creation of art. Art is everywhere. I have a whole camera role I’m too sleepy to unload here, but my Instagram account will attest to some wonderful frames of texture, color, inspiration from masters in fashion as seen at the Manus x Machina exhibit at the MET, where fashion is exposed and explored in the age of technology, or various moments of artistic expression found in a favorite cafe or flash of street work.

I’m getting back on the creative band wagon, folks. It’s always good to know that creation is always waiting for you to pick up where you left off to continue bringing forth more beauty into the world. Now, more than ever, we need to know this.

And here’s the reason why…

Lately, there has been a rash of articles about people who can’t find jobs. People who pretend to live affluently, but are at poverty’s door. Hard working people who’ve bought into the lie (as I have) that we must gain gameful employment in order to contribute in this world, when all we are doing is working for someone else’s goals, someone else’s dreams, and someone else’s wealth.

What happens when, after years of hard word, that employment ends? When you can’t get a job like you used to – or not even able to get your first one out of college? There are people who hope they will one day be hired back into that high paying position, and things will be right again, only to realize, after too long a wait, that it may never happen again.

There are friends in my sphere who are unemployed that keep getting back on the wheel of hope and job search, never realizing that they have the talent to create their own job position, their own employment by bringing their own highly lucrative gifts into the fold and be their own business.

Yet, they fret and go back to the very thing that chewed them up, spit them up and placed them in this torturous limbo to begin with.

I’m going to expound on this in my next blog post. There is an arsenal of experience I’ve gained and a high dose of being fed up about the illusion we’ve been given in this world I’d like to spill.

Like the eponymous artwork on the walls of New York City and around the world and the artists who’ve dreamed, divined and brought them to our vision – let’s inspire others with our work, be it writing, painting, sculpting, photography, acting, singing, composing or just listening to someone in need of help by your hand.

Let’s all be good people and live in our authenticity, because putting my creative work aside for a salaried paycheck rather than self employed accomplishments isn’t applying my energy into the work I’m meant to be doing. Writing and creating and inspiring others – is.

Know this in yourself. Take it and go forth.

 

 

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Being True To Oneself

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Caitlyn Jenner – making me very jealous of that waistline.

Good for Caitlyn Jenner!  Brava to finally being able to be true to herself as the person she was born to be.

This is a good day to talk about being true to oneself. We are at a time in human history where transgender folk are able to stand up for themselves and be authentic. It’s hard for some people to understand – the world is not black and white, man and woman. We are a fascinating mosaic of souls born into various situations and bodies that go beyond an age old set of “norms”.  It’s a beautiful thing how we come to be, but it’s sad to be trapped in a persona false to our spirit, only to play it safe.

Let’s raise the stakes here. Being true to oneself is not always about gender identity or sexuality.  It’s also about regular people trying to fit into the mold society expects of them. Getting a “good job”, paying one’s bills – we are conditioned to place our destiny in the hands of corporations while our personal talents, our gift to the word, are left on a shelf to die.

People who get caught up in this trap (and I’m one) never realize they are not being true to themselves in life until one day they wake up realizing they hate every moment of it.

We create a persona like a suit we step into as childhood falls away to adulthood. It’s protection from poverty, insecurity, ridicule, jealously, hatred and failure.

Jenner did this. But don’t we all do this?  Don’t we all create a character we play in the game of life as a form of protection, not only for ourselves, but for those we love?

My parents played the game. The people I knew as mom and dad had dreams and talents they shed for the role of parent. They encased themselves within the mold of stoicism and responsibility.

Before I was born, they were entirely different people. My dad was a dashing dresser, who played upright bass in the army and was a talented sculptor who knew how to create the human form from a mound of clay. My mom was a career woman with her own dress shop, whose personal style and flair for fashion lead her to design dresses, hiring tailors to run them up so she could sell them to tourists and secretaries whose wardrobe needed a little lift.

But that all ended when their concept of “the real world” took hold.

Isn’t “the real world” just an illusion?

When I was born, the real Bernie and Ana slipped away as the illusion took hold – the illusion my parents needed to sustain a sense of integrity.  I saw my mother as a housewife, and my father as an IBM Manager.  Those were the roles they placed upon themselves for survival. It was the comfort zone they needed in order to exist in a world where they could raise me, their first born American child, in this country.

Yet, they didn’t know how to handle their own dreams in the land of “The American Dream”. In reaching whatever that dream was – or still is – they had to give up their own personal gifts – shed their true selves – for the persons expected of them as refuges from two different historical conflicts. I can’t blame them. They did well. I’m grateful for their strength, but I wish they could have pursued their real dreams in front of me more often.

My folks created an illusion. Just like Bruce Jenner did when he denied the Caitlyn inside.

My father wasn’t an IBM manager, accountant and financial software developer who would re-purpose old suits and ties from the 70’s   – he was a sculptor.

My mother wasn’t a housewife trapped in Westchester County with a kid and bouts of mental illness – she was a fashion designer and business woman.

I’m not an Executive Assistant – I’m a writer and a writer who wants to coach others to write.

Let’s be true to ourselves. If we are artists and know we have a gift to bring to the world, let’s step into our authentic selves and do it.

And finally – the only think shocking in Jenner’s story to me is this:  How did I NOT know she was from Tarrytown, New York? That’s two towns over from where I grew up. I was a child during the 1976 Olympics. If I had know, it would have been the coolest thing ever!