NEW YORK CITY—Marilyn Monroe at the premiere of East of Eden, 1955. Photograph by Eve Arnold

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring” -Marilyn Monroe

BEMENT, Ill.—Marilyn Monroe resting, 1955. Photograph by Eve Arnold.

Erice, Italy. Summer 2011

Writing is therapeutic.

At least for me, it’s a way to let go of demons and feelings that haunt me. It forces me to analyze a situation and find somewhat of a conclusion to what I currently face. It’s a form of release, letting go, articulating what I feel and just moving on.

Other times, it’s a form of showing appreciation towards someone meaningful. It’s my way of letting them know that they’ve made such an impact in my life, I was actually inspired to create a piece of literature.

Writing is then a liberating, violent, passionate, beautiful activity.

But, what happens when after going through the whirlwind of emotions that usually precede a piece of writing – the tears, the cigarettes,  the bottles of whiskey, the glasses of cheap wine that helped you dig deep into yourself, looking for words to describe your Utopia, the cloud you’re currently living on (or the absolute hell your burning yourself in) —  you can’t share in any way what you’ve written?

When you can’t make it publicly available on your blog?

When you can’t even share it privately with whomever inspired you to write it in the first place? (Because you KNOW they won’t understand the complexities of your writer mind, the need to put feelings into words, the desire to make a few moments often considered mundane, perennial. Because, perhaps they won’t understand why there are any feelings at all).

What happens then?

I guess you wait for the right time. You open another bottle of cheap, organic wine and you wait. You switch from wine to whiskey and soda. You light up a cigarette, even though it does no good to you, even though you’ll probably end up inconveniencing them with an asthma attack tomorrow. You go back to the bottle of whiskey. This time you omit the soda and just hit it on the rocks.

You wait for that time when publishing perhaps the most honest and passionate piece of writing you’ve ever created will not affect either one of the parties involved. You actually care more about the other person’s interests than you do about your own. You’ve already bared yourself on a piece of paper. You already lay there naked, so what difference does it make for you?

This is not about fear, but about protecting the non-writer in your life.  You’re waiting for the right time – that precise moment when publishing your story won’t affect the other party involved. When the circumstances that hold you back from making it public today are no longer relevant.

Because us writers have immunity in this crazy, hard to understand literary world. But the civilians we share our lives with don’t.

P.S. I have no patience. I’ll open another bottle of wine and wait because I still respect you. Tomorrow, I’ll turn to whiskey. And to your utter disappointment,  there will be cigarettes every night until the day I’m able to publish our story.

Michael Bublé

Revolutionary Act by Hugh MacLeod - www.gapingvoid.com

I’ve been following Hugh MacLeod’s work for a couple of years now. Today’s cartoon is pretty on point with the quest for happiness. Thought I’d share with everyone. Visit his online gallery  for more witty and sometimes cynical cartoons.

Welcome to your 26th year of life.

One day, very soon, as you are on your way to a job interview wearing pearl earrings and a corporate suit,  you will look at yourself in the mirror and say:  ”Shit, I’m a grown woman”.

You will proceed to wear hip jeans and a pair of converse sneakers on the weekend (when you can get out of your grown-up woman’s attire), because  it was scary to see yourself as a grown woman in the mirror that one day.

And, you will remember that post, Tener Miedo by Ismael Serrano, one of your favorite songwriters, that you forwarded to me the other day.

You will read it again, finding comfort in his words and understanding what the fear you felt in front of the mirror that day was all about.

Because fear is like a heart monitor that beeps with every heartbeat, thus indicating we are indeed alive. Living and desperate to find out how the chapters of the rest of our lives will read.

Happy Birthday, my friend.

www.loveisartkit.com

Abstract art. Probably one of the most debated and questioned forms of art that exist out there. And now South African artist Jeremy Brown might have added some heat to that debate with his Love is Art kit.

It is exactly what you might think it is: a kit with everything you need to make a work of art with someone special…. while making love.  The kit includes a specially treated non-allergenic white cotton canvas, a bottle of non-toxic, washable black paint, a plastic sheet to protect surfaces from your love fest and two pairs of disposable slippers to take you from your work of art to the shower.  You can purchase it online for USD$60.

I find this to be a beautiful and unique way of capturing an intimate moment for a lifetime. Jeremy Brown, you might have given me a reason to accept love in my life some day.

Until then, I encourage everyone else out there to awaken their inner Joan Miró and get to painting love.

But don’t cry
You know the tears will do no good
So dry your eyes
They told you life is hard
Misery from the start, it’s dull
It’s slow, it’s painful
But I tell you life is sweet
In spite of the misery
There’s so much more, be grateful.

Excerpt from Life is Sweet  by Natalie Merchant

During my recent trip to Sicily, I decided I would dedicate my time there to relax and do some soul-searching. Which, basically translates into hopping on public buses that would take me to remote beaches where I could spend the day under the sun, reading a book and pondering about my next steps in life.

I must say, I felt pretty empowered and decided to make drastic changes to my life until I got back home and got stuck in my routine of a corporate job. But, that’s another story that we shall, perhaps, discuss some other time.

One of my ”soul-searching” stops was at San Vito lo Capo, a beach town in North Western Sicily part of the province of Trapani.  I was drawn to this place by the image below. A friend had given me some recommendations on must see places in Sicily and  included this picture in his “travel guide”. Yes, my first reaction was: “That’s exactly where I NEED to go”.

San Vito lo Capo (Google Images)

Although he warned me about the picture being misleading, given that this area is rather popular during the month of August, I was still in shock when I arrived there and found it very hard to find a spot for my pink flamingo beach towel.

I don’t think I had ever seen so many people at the beach. What was even more surprising was the fact that no one was topless. Something that I was definitely expecting since this is what most Europeans do while in Miami Beach. Needless to say, I felt a bit awkward sporting my thong bikini at San Vito. Since you know, these days I’m being bold and letting go and stuff, I thought it would be a great idea to shamelessly expose my buns.

Anyhow, I did my thing despite the number of immigrant vendors that kept offering me oriental massages and straw beach bags (that I really liked but realized could never make them fit into my overweight luggage), in addition to the creepy Speedo-wearing-italiano who decided to stand right in front of me and just… stare at me.

I alternated my beach activities between roasting under the sun and dipping into the ice-cold sea until it was time to head back to Erice to meet my friend for dinner. Of course, in good italian fashion, the bus scheduled posted online  that I had relied on was wrong and I ended up having to wait an extra hour for the next bus to Trapani.

By then, the sun was nonexistent and rain ruined the beach scene. So, what did I do? Eat.

I was pulled into a gelateria and ordered  a sinful lunch: Baci gelato with Nutella and panna on a waffle.

And of course, I finished it all by myself. Why? Because I can. And, because I was in Italy.

Today, I woke up to a friend’s email linking to a HuffPo Women’s article titled What’s Your Joy Trigger?. The 13-year-old, pubescent kid (or 26-year-old single woman, you choose) in me thought: “This must be about choosing the right vibrator.” But of course, I remembered that the friend who pointed me to this article had never failed to recommend readings that inspired me in some way. And to be honest, vibrators are far from inspiring or awakening anything in me.

Diligently, I went ahead and read the post from the comfort of my bed, thanks to my iPhone. It turns out the author writes about finding the “little” things in life that make us happy, so that we can turn to them when feeling hopeless. These are defined as joy triggers.

Reading about joy triggers brought me back to Favignana,  one of the Aegadian islands of the coast of Sicily that I visited this summer. During my stay in Erice, I woke up one day feeling adventurous and wanted to relax and let go of the WiFi access that kept me connected to my work Blackberry.

After briefly consulting a Lonely Planet guide that I borrowed from a friend, I decided to hop on a ferry from the port of Trapani with nothing more than a bikini, a beach towel, my camera and a book.

About five minutes after finding a seat onboard, one of the crew members came over looking for the lady sitting next to me. He told her that it was OK for her to come now and pointed at a door that read “Crew Members Only”.
Somehow, said crew member thought I was traveling with her and told me to come over as well. Of course, I followed him and it turns out that I ended up riding with the crew and scoring a prime photo spot onboard the Siremar ferry.

Castello della Colombaia, Trapani

After a quick stop at the island of Levanzo, I was on my way to something I can now define as one of my joy triggers.

I arrived in Favignana and immediately asked if I could walk to the beach. I was told by a local fisherman that I could, but that I’d be better off riding a bike. I noticed my question puzzled him a bit. (How did I not know that you must ride a bike or scooter in Favignana!)

Remembering that the point of this day trip was to let go, I ignored the fact that I hadn’t been on a bike since 2008 along with my fear of being hit by a careless driver, and went ahead and rented a bike for the day (just like everyone else on the island).

I started my journey without really knowing where I wanted to end up and made it a point to not care about it either. Sometimes, it is better not to trace any routes at all.

I rode my bike around the island, stopping a few times for pictures and a quick dip in the cold Mediterranean Sea. I could not feel more at peace and happy with my life until…

I was almost run over by (mean) unsupervised cattle. It is hard to explain how I escaped death by cattle, but I managed to do it and then burst into laughter, all by myself.

Unfortunately, I cannot take a ferry to Favignana whenever I’m in need of a joy trigger. But what I can do, is look at my pictures from that trip and remember how I felt while riding my rented bike around Favignana.  Minus the cattle incident, that is.

iStockphoto

Writing is a passionate art. I’ve enjoyed reading and writing since I was a young girl. Loved studying literature and then inventing my own literary world that only a few have experienced.

The blog post Vivsection by Steve P. ND from The Novel Doctor , summarizes the writing experience as “a beautiful violence”.  I couldn’t agree more…