The inner critic is everywhere! But that won’t stop us, no!

IMG_20180405_101038871.jpgRecently I had the pleasure of teaching at the Antioch Writers’ Workshop‘s Dive Into Your Story: Where do you get your ideas?We dealt with the inner critic and how to renegotiate the relationship, moving aside the noise so we can get to getting ideas, and writing.

You who read this blog know I write & think about the inner critic all the time, so it was very fun to share those practices (inspired by Gayle BrandeisLynda Barry, Bonni Goldberg, Amy Cuddy, and others) with the humans at the workshop.

After the workshop, I got an email from one of the participants, Fredrick Marion. I’m always thrilled when the inner critic takes visual form, gets post office box, and becomes capable of receiving a Dear Inner Critic letter. Kudos to the writers who make that happen. Here’s Fredrick’s letter…Enjoy!

p.s. You might also want to subscribe to Fredrick’s awesome newsletter.

p.p.s. To engage with your inner critic, here’s a place to start.

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Letter to the Inner Critic (11/19/17)

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Spotted at Dark Star Books

Here’s a leftover I meant to post from my November inner critic letter-a-day challenge (to myself). Uncooked, raw, basically how it came out. Also: in the letter below, where I write “I was born to fly”, I would clarify that we were all born to fly.:

November 19, 2017

Dear Inner Critic,

Well, apparently you are a risk manager and I’m curious what’s the risk? What is it that is on fire? The house already burned down, it’s gone. What are you afraid of? You seem to be afraid I’ll make any noise, that I’ll embarrass you or be noticed (or just seen) and that somehow scares you. You don’t want me to stand out, you want me to fit in & do what the world seems to want safe people to do. But I was born to fly. It’s not a safe thing, but I can try and work and fail and try again. I am a survivor, you know that, and if I fail, or get ignored, or rebuffed, or insulted, I will be okay. I’m stronger than you think I am. Also, I do appreciate your care—I know it’s a twisted kind of caring, the risk managing, the alert and hyper-vigilant posture. I know it’s because you want to protect me. But I need to follow the call and take risks and I need to be allowed to make a fool of myself, and I need to jump off the cliff and trust my strong wings. I’ve been flapping them and practicing with a helmet long enough. The helmet blocks my vision, the pads are too heavy. I don’t need them. I am strong and my body can sustain a fall. Because we work in metaphor and I’m not literally going to jump my unwinged human body off a cliff, I need you to know I’ll be safe, I am safe. I am using my words and my heart for this work, and my body is safe, and my spirit can only be fulfilled if I try and don’t shrink down from your alerts and warnings. I need you to know that I understand the alerts and warnings come from your wounded love for me. How you remember all the hurts and how they feel like they are happening now, but I survived those nasty in the woodsheds, and I can survive what’s to come, so I can do my work, and soar.

I love you.

Love,
Rebecca

Letter to the inner critic: Day 5 (fragments for the lying liar)

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Imperfection rocks.

(I blogged here about writing a letter to the inner critic for 30 days. You are still/always welcome to join me! Fragments from today’s letter are below. Disclaimer: The inner critic, for me, is many things, and can sometimes be negotiated with and can sometimes be helpful. Today’s fragments focus on the less helpful aspects, because that’s what came up.)

If anyone out there is doing this practice, please feel free to comment on how it’s going! I’ll blog more as we go along.

***

 

5 November 2017

Dear Inner Critic,

I’ve realized something. You’re a liar. You have been so unhelpful over the years…you’ve been the cataloguer and amplifier of lies…have collected trash and shit and saved it to throw at me. Why? …what do you gain by this continual flinging? Does it make you feel better about yourself, or does it make you feel special, or powerful? Real power comes from being wise and kind. Your kind of power is empty and destructive. There’s no need to tear me down, but you have made it your mission. And you’ve found my vulnerabilities and mined them, have become a specialist. I wish you had something of your own so you didn’t feel you have to take mine. It’s an empty life you lead, you’re just a shell collecting bile to toss at me. Until you can get that out of your system, I won’t like having you near me. You keep that in mind. I have beautiful walls that I’m building to protect me from your spewing, and you won’t be able to reach me. The walls are how I shut you out. Maybe someday you’ll get tired of screaming at me.

Love, Rebecca

“Go away, you rainsnout…” NOVEMBER! (30 days with the inner critic)

photo of Gaunt park at sunset

Dear people,

I am issuing a gift/challenge/invitation for the month of November (a month I love to abhor, by way of Tom Waits’ “November,” which you can hear him perform here and read lyrics below.).

(If you read this after November, it’s never too late. Start anytime! And this does not have to be elaborate. You can simply do a 2 minute power pose, then write “Dear Inner Critic” across the top of a page, and write a letter. Or skip the power pose—though if you’ve never tried a power pose, it might be useful. It might help you feel stronger as you approach the letter.)

*

Every day, for 30 days, communicate with the inner critic. (If you miss a day, okay. But do as many days as you can.) (If you don’t know what the inner critic is, good for you! You don’t need this practice. If you do need it, read on.)

This work involves free-writing without stopping, without editing. The general rules are to keep writing for a set amount of time (or one page), and if you don’t know what to write, just write the words “tick tick tick” until you get back to what you are writing. If you only have 5 minutes, that’s fine! It can still be very useful. (The “tick tick tick” is courtesy of Lynda Barry, whom I’ve blogged about here.)

OPTIONAL PREPARATION (Not mandatory, but helpful):

DAY ONE: Get paper and pen.

Imagine, describe, SEE the inner critic. (If you watch Lynda Barry’s video, you might think of the inner critic as the mom with the bacon, interrupting the kid in the middle of his playing to say, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”) It’s fun to start by drawing the Inner Critic—use the Lynda Barry method using a random shape, then making it into a monster or character. Whatever works! But don’t think it in your head. Instead, move pen on paper to make the thing come to life (and to get it out of your body). Set a timer for 2 or 3 minutes if it helps. You can describe the inner critic with words if you want to. The point is to somehow embody (on paper) the inner critic. When you’re done drawing or writing the character, take a moment to name this thing.

Then on a new page, write Dear Inner Critic… and write a letter, as long as you want. Sign your name when you’re done. (I’ve done this with young people who have asked “Can I use bad words?” Yes. You can use bad words.) 

DAY TWO (& BEYOND)

Write a letter to the inner critic/monster/thingy every day for 30 days. You can also try any of the activities below if you get bored with letters. But remember, boredom is often good and necessary! I’ve done a letter every day for 30 days. One page at the beginning of my morning pages. (If you don’t know what the morning pages are, go here.) When I wrote a one page letter to my inner critic for 30 days, I arrived at some plateaux where I thought I was saying the same thing day after day (and thought, This isn’t getting me anywhere!). It got a little boring. But I kept doing it day after day, and noticed that things began to shift. I gained some pretty nuanced understanding of the dynamic between “me” and the inner critic (which is part of me, of course, which is part of the point). Among other things.

Alternatives to the daily letter (use any or all, combine, okay!):

  • Write the GIFT that you would give your inner critic. (It’s my suspicion that there is something the inner critic is lacking.) Describe the gift in great detail, how you would wrap the gift, etc. Really give time to What’s missing? What do they need? You might try: Dear Inner Critic, if I could give you a gift, it would be… (What is his/her/their/its deepest unmet need?) (You can also give them something you want to give them, but which they would not necessarily want!)
  • Write a dialogue between you and critic—you get the first line and the last line!
  • Write a physical fight scene!
  • Draw a one-page comic! Color it in! Good, good good!

If you know some friends who want to do this together (every day, or at some point in the month) maybe after you write, someone will want to read back what they wrote. If so, while the person reads, everyone else must draw a slow, careful spiral a la Lynda Barry’s practice, and listen quietly–MOST IMPORTANTLY, GIVE NO FEEDBACK!

Take care of yourself. This inner critic practice can be hard and upsetting, so please do figure out what support you need. It can bring up stuff that might need more time and attention than you can easily give it. Have a cup of tea or some sitting and breathing (or whatever nourishes you) as needed, and be extra generous with yourself now.

Please let me know how it goes! I’m going to do it, too. (Eeek!)

Love, Rebecca

p.s. I’ve written about self-doubt here.

p.p.s. I’ve written about the inner critic practice, including some of my letters, here.

p.p.p.s. If this practice is useful to you, remember: YOU CAN DO THIS ANYTIME! You don’t have to do it for a whole month. Have a job interview? Put the inner critic in its place before you brush your teeth that day! Find the inner critic something else to DO while you do what you need & want to do (without static from the inner critic).

*

No shadow
No stars
No moon
No cars
NovemberIt only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That’s the color of boneNo prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We’ll slaughter them allNovember has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November’s cold chainMade of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You’re my firing squad
November

With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare

Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag

Go away you rainsnout
Go away blow your brains out
November

Register NOW for Writer’s Play Time!

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WRITER’S PLAY TIME

Rediscover and liberate your sense of play! Unleash your creative spark! Demystify and disarm the inner critical voice that’s holding you back! Nourish any creative process. Inspired by the work of Lynda Barry (Artist and author of WHAT IT IS and SYLLABUS) we will write and draw and move. Please wear comfortable clothing. Must be 13 years or older.

WHERE: Yellow Springs Library

WHEN: Sunday, September 10, 2017 from 2-4  PM

Register now!

(Ode to the inner critic, Monday)

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Venice (June 2017)

(By Andrea Davis Pinkney, from her book, The Red Pencil. This poem seems to be a sort of ode to the inner critic.)

ERASE

At the red pencil’s end
stands a hard lump of clay.
I do not like its green.
So ugly, its green.

And pointy.

A baby snake’s head.
A thistle’s pricker.

A sick fish,
this green.

My speaking is still in snippets.

I ask Old Anwar,
“What to do with this clump?”

He tries to explain.
“An eraser.”

He shows me how
the baby snake’s head
can fade the red’s bright lines,
leaving smears
on the yellow page,
and green dust in its wake.

“Erase,” he says.
“Why erase?” I ask.
“For mistakes,” he says,
still trying to explain.

Mistakes?
My sparrow
sees no mistakes.

My sparrow sees only what
it sees.

Erase?

To me,
that is the mistake—to erase.

 

Embodied Creativity: A Yoga, Writing, & Drawing Workshop

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“La Grande Madre” (Alberto Viani, 1966, bronze, at Ca’ Pesaro, Venice)

Dear friends,

Melissa Tinker and I will offer a 3-hour workshop called EMBODIED CREATIVITY on Saturday, July 8, from 2-5pm, at Into The Blue Yoga (126 East Main Street, Springfield, OH 45502). It’s going to be a great afternoon! The cost is $45. You can register by going here.

Check the Into The Blue Yoga website and Facebook page for more information. The description is below. Please pass this on to anyone you think might be interested.

Love,

Rebecca

 

EMBODIED CREATIVITY: yoga, writing, drawing.

Are you looking to (re)ignite that creative spark? Life can be so serious, but we are most open to joy and creativity when we make space for play. Using yoga, creative writing, and drawing, we’ll rediscover our sense of play, unleash the creative spark, demystify and disarm the inner critical voice that’s holding us back, and nourish creative living. We’ll begin with a yoga flow practice designed to connect us with our bodies and our breath, then we’ll move into writing and drawing practices that are fun and alive! Finally, we’ll end with some restorative poses to nourish the body and soul.  This workshop is for those who are beginning their yoga and creative practice as well as for seasoned practitioners. Please come prepared to move and bring an open mind and heart. We will provide paper and pens.

Healing writing practice at YS Library (Jan. 15)

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I’m thrilled to again offer a healing writing practice as part of the Winter Wellness series at the Greene County Library. This event is free and open to the public (21 years and older), but the librarians are asking people to register. (And we need to honor the librarians, for they are part of saving the world.) Last year, we had a great turnout—25 people or so!

Join me as we practice writing together using helpful prompts to discover and know ourselves. We’ll unmask and disarm the inner critic, and I might sneak in some drawing, too. It’s great way to start the new year!

When: Sunday, January 15, 2-4pm

Where: Greene County Public Library, 415 Xenia Ave, Yellow Springs, OH 45387

To registration, go here, or call the library at 937-352-4003.

 

(…she’s not me…)

Dear Lanky One: Let me show you the stairs...
Dear Lanky One: Let me show you the stairs…

(I wrote the following in response to a prompt about describing your inner critic, from Bonni Goldberg’s book, Room To Write.)  

I would like to say that my inner critic is a hellhound with five heads, full of bile and venom, but I am not so sure. I think, instead, she’s a better version of me. She’s taller, more lanky; I’m not lanky at all, I have no lank. But I wish I did. In this way, she taunts me. She’s nearly perfect; I’m sure there’s something about her that isn’t, and certainly she would be able to spot the flaw. She’s good at spotting flaws. But she’s the Barbie-me, she’s the one with the glamorous life, she’s the one I was supposed to want to be, and still do, because of all the lies we’re fed about how we are not enough. (This soapbox, did she build it?) I think I can see her off in the corner, she’s smirking, she looks much more LA than I do (whatever that means!). Stick with it, stay, look at her. In a self-defense class I took in Seattle, the teacher talked about maximizing resources: If you are walking down the street at night and hear footsteps behind you, don’t simply speed up. Instead, turn around and look at who it is, see the person, make sure the person sees you seeing them, knowledge is a resource, “Who’s following me?” It’s good to know these things. That self-defense class was put on by an organization called Alternatives To Fear. A great organization. I still recall so much of what I learned there, but I haven’t been practicing my kicks and punches, I haven’t used my body that way in a long time. In class, we were encouraged to keep practicing even after the class was finished, so we wouldn’t get rusty. I am rusty at kicking ass. I am rusty at kicking the ass of inner critics. I don’t know if I could take her, that lanky critic. She probably took the same class, but was better at it.

What does she look like, my critic? She has no ink stains on her hands, she never needs to fill a pen. What she does is cleaner, and she needs no tools. When I get out my pen and start writing, I kick her penless ass with my rusty self-defense, my alternatives to fear. I maximize my resources. I do the work.

I feel ten feet tall, and sometimes I am.