The Benefits of Ritual Sacrifice

--Adrienne Miller

I’m an egg breaker. 

I found out this out a couple years ago at a RWA meeting. Eric Maisel was giving a presentation, and he said something along the lines of, “Start every writing day with a ritual”. Ok. Fair enough. But then he broke out the big gun.

“Every morning break an egg.” 

That’s it. Break it. Open it up and let the insides pour out. 

People gasped. No, really. They did.

“Can you save it and use it later?” somebody asked.

The answer, “No.”

My mind spun. Of course, you couldn’t use it later. You’d already used it, given it up as a sacrifice. You can’t make a Denver omelet out of a freely given sacrifice. If that was your plan all along, then your heart wasn’t in the ritual. So why bother cracking them early?

I was thinking this was one of the most brilliant pieces of writing advice I’d ever heard. So, imagine my surprise when I turned to my friends and saw their horrified expressions. 

They explained their reticence. 

I can’t just waste eggs. 

I would feel guilty. 

The whole idea just creeps me out.

Valid reasons, all of them. But me, I couldn’t wait to crack open some eggs. 

The next morning I got up before my husband and my boys. I pulled back that hinged cardboard cover. I imagined what I wanted to write that day. And then I broke that bad boy open.

And it worked for me. I wrote like crazy cakes that day. I kept at it, and it kept working. 

Obviously, I’m a ritualistic person, and I get why the daily sacrifice works it’s magic on me. Sacrifice isn’t a good thing or a bad thing. It’s just another word for the price that has to be paid to receive what you want. Sacrifice isn’t selfish or selfless. It just is. 

There’s no guarantee it work, or, even more frightening, that what you think you want is what you really want. When I was younger, I sacrificed my energy, time and even money, trying to coax a little more attention out of boys that weren’t worth mine. Now days, I give those things to my family, and in return I get the opportunity to love an incomprehensibly beautiful love.

As for my little egg cracking ritual, it’s a daily meditation of what writing means to me and what it’s worth. And that’s what works for me. 

Selfishness and Sacrifice

--by Juliet

After reading The Fountainhead as a young teen, I swore never again to read a book by Ayn Rand. But I found myself researching the author the other night. Don’t ask.

All right, if you insist…it had to do with a book I’m writing, and the San Francisco-based founder of the so-called (and now largely defunct) Church of Satan and, suffice it to say that for someone with my political inclinations, reading anything written by Ayn Rand goes real bad, real fast. Sort of like eating dinner with Glenn Beck and Bill O'Reilly -- not a pretty picture.

In her Virtue of Selfishness, Rand equates sacrifice with allowing oneself to be victimized. I tried –I really did-- to wrap my mind around one particular tenet of her philosophy: that sacrifice, in particular self-sacrifice, is ultimately an irrational act unless one is acting in one’s own best interest. Of course, this last would go against what most of us think as the very definition of self-sacrifice, i.e, that it is an altruistic act.

No surprise here: Ayn Rand had no children. Parenthood is one obvious example of true, everyday self-sacrifice. In fact, the unrelenting sacrifice by parents of their time, energy, monetary resources –and sometimes sanity—are so expected that when their efforts fall short or are withheld altogether they appears monstrous, as in the case of neglect or outright abuse.

Other, non-parental examples of true sacrifice abound: teachers and social workers and human rights activists…all those who choose to place others’ well being above any selfish hope for decent pay commensurate with their hours of labor. Their everyday heroics are, to me, more inspiring in the long run than the more dramatic examples we are occasionally witness to on the evening news.

And art…do we sacrifice for our art? I think we give up time and energy, yes, but at least in my case I have to admit to a degree of Randian selfishness: it’s more about me than anyone else. Like many writers, I caught the bug with my first completed manuscript and never looked back. Though I like to whine from time to time, overall I enjoy the heck out of what I do. Whether I'm painting or writing, there’s never enough time to indulge. Ultimately my vocation is a selfish thing, one requiring dedication and determination, but nothing like true sacrifice.

In this way, I suppose, Ayn Rand would applaud the time I spend on my writing, doing precisely what I want for purely selfish reasons.

Gah, makes me want to sacrifice something just to think of it...anybody got an extra chicken? Quick! I feel the need to propitiate the writing gods...

Rachael Sacrifices a Lot

I sometimes tell myself I'm sacrificing a lot to live this writing life. I assume a tired, wan expression and say, "Oh, woe is me! I have so much to do! Chapters, revising, copyedits. How will I ever get it all done?" Then I lie back on my chaise and open my mouth, hoping a sympathetic house boy will come by and drop grapes into it.

But really, what the hell am I sacrificing because I'm a writer?

I'm not really sacrificing time. Yes, it does take a hell of a lot of time to write. You have to wash the dishes and clean the house first, naturally, and that takes time. You have to catch up on Twitter and Facebook and blogs before you write, and there's another significantly large time investment. Luckily, I count watching ANTM and the Amazing Race as "research into the human condition," so that's never wasted time.

I'm not sacrificing fitness, either. It's not easy to sit on one's own ass as many hours as I do, so I'm very careful about not getting over-much exercise. Too much could lead to a less-padded arse, and then where would my sitting-prowess be? My butt is what I sit on! It has to be comfortable for many hours in a row, as it is now! So nope, I'm fit as a fiddle for being a writer.

I'm not sacrificing relationships, either. After all, I have no kids, so no small, grubby hands pull on my writing sweater, demanding attention. My wife is the very epitome of patience, and when I see her next (hopefully within the next month or two), I'll tell her so. My friends are all content to say they have a friend who's a writer so they don't actually want to hang out with me, and my sisters, well, they're my SISTERS, so they already know me better than anyone else -- they don't need to see me.

(And the dogs don't need walks. Don't let anyone tell you different -- that's just a myth. They really only want to sleep all day, anyway. Lazy beasts. It's a good thing THEY don't write. They'd be horrible at it and would probably only bitch about the cats in every second chapter anyway.)

Someday, though, when I'm wildly successful, with a houseboy that drops not only grapes but truffles into my mouth as he skates past on his dust-mop shoes on his way to clean out the litter boxes, then perhaps I'll reclaim some time for myself. To go to the movies with friends. To play games at the dinner table with my wife. To take the dogs hiking in the hills. To read books just for fun. To nap.

Hang on a minute. You said what? What was that?

OH, YEAH. You're RIGHT! You're a GENIUS. I can do all of that now, as well as be a writer. Sacrifice, shmackrifice. I'm napping now. Let's meet for lunch tomorrow, shall we?

What Would You Do-OO-OO...

by Sophie

SACRIFICE

It's early on a Sunday morning as I sit working on this post. I've been at the desk since before six a.m., and I'll be here until the kids are up, when I'll make pancakes (chocolate chips for Junior, none for T-wa). Maybe church - we used to go every other week, but I've had to decline more often than I'd like in recent weeks, ever since The Terrible Deadlines slid into place with a deafening "thunk," sealing my fate until December 1 when I'll be turning in two books.

This is not the life I envisioned when I decided, at the age of eleven, to become a writer. It's not even the life I expected when I sold my first book two and a half years ago. It's more demanding, more time-sucking, and more inconvenient. It is also in turns lonely, terrifying, infuriating and frustrating. And it doesn't pay very well.

But I love it. I love writing! I love it so much that I am willing to give up many, many things to be able to do it. Sewing, gardening, shopping - all in the past. Television, evenings out, weekend getaways - no time. Friendships with non-writers - much diminished. The luxuries and baubles I might be able to afford if I had a "real" job - mere fantasy.

To be honest, I spend very little time bemoaning the tradeoffs. When compared to the joy I get from my job, the things I've sacrificed seem very insignificant indeed.

I have a theory about sacrifice: humans are not very good at it. I think we are loathe to give things up that we truly cherish. We'll do it for our children, for the people we love; but "shoulds" and "ought to's" and concepts like altruism and the greater good are not enough, in general, to get us to do so. You know the TV commercial for Klondike Bars? The jingle that asks you "what would you do-oo-oo?" I think the answer is, we'll do anything that isn't terribly inconvenient or painful to us.

Generally we sacrifice things we won't really miss. If I'm really honest, the things I gave up to write full time are not things of extraordinary value to me. Some are more important than others, of course - I really miss the reflective, selfish time I used to spend on my hobbies, for instance. But if something was truly important to me, I didn't give it up even for my writing.

For instance, I don't say no to my kids. I won't give up pancake time or shopping with Junior or watching South Park with T-wa. I don't go too long between visits to my favorite bar. And there are a few luxuries - wine, chocolate, stationery, makeup - that still find their way into my shopping cart.

I'm leery of people who like to talk about their own sacrifices. I don't think, in general, that they've given up any more than the rest of us; they've made choices with outcomes, which serve them in ways that are not always immediately apparent. We all want and need to be appreciated, but sometimes people learn to get that need met by playing "poor me"... the world doesn't need any more martyrs.

In the end sacrifices are just choices. We have limited resources and abundant desires. Allocating the former and managing the latter are the chores of adulthood. My lifelong dream was to be a writer, but it wasn't until I gave up a few of the obstacles and barriers that I had the freedom to pursue it.

Mistakes vs. MISTAKES

Hi everyone,

Thanks to the Pens for inviting me back!

I think the basic question here is:

Is a mistake a bad thing if you learn from it?

And my answer might surprise you – especially after reading all the wonderful posts before mine. ‘cause I’m going to say yeah, some mistakes are truly horrible things, even if we learn big lessons from them.

In other words, there are mistakes and there are MISTAKES...

Mistakes:

Letting my ex-husband cut my son’s hair when he was about five (my son, not my ex).


(this isn't my son or my ex but I couldn't resist -- a true rat tail!)

Reading a romance novel when you’re already lonely.



Painting the bathroom ceiling bright pink.

Doing a Japanese hair straightening treatment that left me looking like a scarecrow. (We make so very many mistakes in the name of vanity!)



Buying a house so close to the airport you could actually read the word “UNITED” as the plane passed by the kitchen window, shaking the house.



Calling your husband the wrong name during sex. (hey, I’m not saying these are all mistakes I’ve made!)



Missing your exit because you’re texting while driving. (ditto)

Telling your mother “maybe” when she asks you to do her a favor (ahem, my sweet child).

Eating the whole bag of BBQ potato chips. Again.



MISTAKES:

Spending a half million dollars (did you know credit cards could even go that high?!) on a remodel – which ended my love affair with the house, and my love affair with my husband (or maybe it was that name thing).


(yes, this was the outcome of my remodel -- so beautiful -- but do I miss it, what I now call my "marital house?" No, I really don't. Happy in a sweet little cottage now...)

Okay, I’ve been joking around here. But seriously, there are some mistakes that are almost impossible to get over. And I can think of a few of my own (besides the remodel from hell) – mistakes I TRULY wish, with all my heart, that I had not made. That I would like do-overs on. (Even though the lessons were good ones.)

But the examples below are even bigger mistakes, and much better than mine:

I’m sure you read earlier this year about the woman at the Metropolitan Museum of Art who lost her balance and fell into the Picasso painting “The Actor” -- lessening its value by literally MILLIONS of dollars. I’ve tried to imagine how that would feel. I can’t.



And in 2006, casino nut Steve Wynn, during a private showing of Picasso’s “Le Reve,” put his elbow through the canvas. This occurred just after he had negotiated a deal to sell the painting for $139 million (the deal fell through; go figure).

And even more serious and heartbreaking mistakes than those having to do with art and money… Like the kid who finds his dad’s gun in the closet and unintentionally shoots his friend. Or you lean down to pick something up off the floor of the car and swerve into the oncoming traffic and kill another driver (this happened to a friend of mine). Or a story I read in the paper years ago about a ten-year-old who went hunting with his parents and shot his mom in the face at close range.


Now I know these could be called “accidents” – and I admit that this topic got me wondering about the difference between a “mistake” and an “accident.”
According to Yahoo! Answers, there's a difference (I loved this – it was in response to a woman who asked if cheating on her boyfriend was a mistake or an accident):
“An accident… is something unavoidable. A mistake is something done consciously, intentionally, that doesn't seem like it will lead to trouble until after it's too late to correct it. In short, your cheating WAS a mistake. Now, if you - in some outlandish, unrealistic scenario - were walking around naked & you tripped, & another guy's penis broke your fall, then that would be an accident :).”

But seriously, in the “accidents” above, it was a MISTAKE for that stupid father to leave a gun where his child could get to it. And a MISTAKE to not pay attention while driving (ahem, texters). And a MISTAKE to take your child hunting before he is old enough to know what he’s doing. I mean good freaking grief!

Okay, enough! Hope we have all learned some big lessons from all our mistakes – and those of others. I have. I just added on a beautiful (little) addition to my cottage and paid cash for the whole thing. And I walk very, very slowly in art museums.

maddee

Mistake or Not: Can You Guess the Right Answer?

Rather than writing about why regrets are more painful than mistakes we've made, which several Pens have already written beautifully about, today I'm giving a QUIZ about my mistakes and regrets.

All of the items below might appear to have been mistakes. But were they really? Can you guess the ONE question where the answer is that this was a mistake I regret?

GIGI'S POSSIBLE MISTAKES:

1. I bought a car because I loved it, even though I knew it was far from the most efficient or trustworthy car.

2. I spent the night in a sketchy Italian train station with my luggage straps wrapped around my arms so nobody could steal it if I fell asleep.

3. I dropped out of grad school, so I don't have a PhD I could have had.

4. I moved in with a man less than 6 months after we met.

5. I started taking my writing seriously in the year 2007.

ANSWER KEY:

1. Not a mistake. I wasted some money, sure, but I loved my VW Golf dearly, and wouldn't have done anything differently. Even with its seatbelt that broke repeatedly.

2. Not a mistake. True, I missed a train connection, but these things happen. I was backpacking with a friend at the time, so I wasn't alone. It wasn't the most comfortable night of my life, but it was one of the more memorable of months of traveling.

3. Not a mistake. It would have been a mistake to continue with the PhD. But I also don't think it was a mistake to start in the first place; I never would have had the opportunity to live in the fabulous cities of Seattle and Bath without this detour, and I did learn a lot about myself.

4. Not a mistake. 9 years later, here I am with the love of my life.

5. MISTAKE. Why hadn't I begun taking my writing seriously sooner? For far too long, I made the mistake of treating myself as a hobbiest with my interests related to "non-professional" pursuits. I tried out many majors in college, but it never occured to me that any art could be more than an elective. It wasn't until my late 20s that I figured out I could be a professional designer and photographer, and until my 30s that I realized writing novels could be more than a hobby I tinkered with. I may be making mistakes as I find my way, but I have no more regrets.

-- Gigi

Martha Mulls Over Mistakes

Picking up where Lisa left off....a few years ago, I worked for a center with a mission to improve end-of-life care. While I escaped behind number crunching, my coworkers had front row seats to our patients' last days.

As expected, the patients who were conscious enough to talk often ruminated over their lives.

The trips they didn't take because there was no time.
The girl they never talked to because they feared rejection.
The job they let slip by because it was too risky.

There was no lament over having suffered embarrassment, indignity, or downfall. No bemoaning brushes with poverty or pain.

There is something comforting in knowing that in a long life, at the end of days, with all the perspective and experiences a human can possibly have, the only mistakes you regret are the ones you didn't let yourself make.

So you know where I'm going with this, right?

Make 'em. Make tons of them. So what? The older, wiser you won't care.

Better a Mistake than a Regret

Mistake is such a funny term, it can encompass everything from...wearing the wrong shoes with an outfit to marrying the wrong person. Some mistakes are just blips, but some have lasting impact.

There’s this instinctive need in everyone to stop ourselves from making a mistake. And I know I try to protect my children and have them learn from my mistakes. That “I know better than you, I’ve already made that mistake, let me help you” talk never works. (Much to my dismay, although I keep trying) Everyone has to learn from their own missteps.




Sometimes the missteps take me in directions I’d never even considered despite my unswerving “worst case scenario” outlook, nobly handed down from my grandmother to my mother to me.

Have you ever been on the cusp of a decision, wondering which path to chose, wondering what is the “right” decision? Sometimes nearly crippled by indecision.

I remember finally figuring out a core truth for myself. I honestly don’t recall what the decision was about but I remember weighing the pros and cons (and yes I will do this frequently) teeter-tottering back and forth as one side got heavier in my mind. Until I was finally struck by what I really needed to do.

Now I gauge most decisions by this hard and fast question: Will I regret it if I don’t _____?

So have I made mistakes? Of course, but as much as I occasionally regret the outcome, I don’t regret the choice.

Lisa


ps. So when that mistake knocks you flat, just pick yourself up (get treatment if need be–kidding, mostly) and then move on because that’s what humans do...we evolve.

Other People’s Mistakes

L.G.C. Smith

Last week’s posts established that we are a largely functional lot able to view our mistakes philosophically and move on. Nothing screams sanity louder than the willingness to take personal responsibility for one’s mistakes. We also know we are deserving of love and grace, despite our mistakes, and we learn to forgive and do better next time.

There is one category of mistakes, however, where precious little grace operates. These are Other People’s Mistakes, and by ‘People,” I include technology, because there is always a person behind the machine (so far), and Nature, because it can be so seriously inconvenient. Other People’s Mistakes are much more infuriating than our own. Even so, most of us are shockingly capable of forgiving major transgressions committed by people we love. These are not the types of mistakes I am talking about. I am referring to the day-to-day torment inflicted by other people’s stupid lazy carelessness. Here are some I find particularly maddening.

Mistakes of Nature

Mosquitos. Gnats. No-see-ums. Poisonous snakes and spiders. Sweat. Pimples. Super-efficient metabolisms in times of plenty. Super Volcanoes. Super bugs. Ice ages. Asteroids colliding with the earth. Florida. Most of Texas. (Asteroids landing in either of those states are off the list.) Skin that sunburns. Gingko fruit and durian. Sticker burrs and foxtails.

And so much more.

Driving Mistakes

Talking on the phone (hands free or not), eating, putting on makeup, picking things up off the floor, letting a dog sit on your lap, wearing earphones and/or playing music too loudly to hear what’s going on around you (like emergency vehicles climbing up your ass because you’re in the way) and, above all, TEXTING while driving.

Not signaling when turning or changing lanes, and signaling when not turning or changing lanes. Slow drivers on the freeway anywhere but in the slow lane. Worse yet, planting your pokey butt in the fast lane and setting the cruise control at 55 MPH. (This happens a lot in Texas, which is one reason I don’t care if an asteroid takes it out.) Not looking over your shoulder when you change lanes. Never using your mirrors to see what’s going on behind you. Ignoring motorcycles, bicycles, and pedestrians. Stopping cold in the middle of any road with traffic behind you. (I don’t care if you’re lost or confused. Keep moving!) Stopping at the end of entrance ramps onto highways and interstates because you don’t know the difference between ‘merge’ and ‘yield.’ Failing to zipper properly (aka ‘taking turns’) when lanes collapse. Again, Texans, this means you. Your egos are not on the line here, y’all. It's just how traffic moves.

Geez, I could write a frickin’ book about other people’s idiotic and dangerous driving mistakes. Especially in Austin. I don’t understand the problem there. People are, for the most part, kinder and friendlier than just about anywhere I’ve been. They’re interesting, clever, and fun. Put them behind the wheel of a vehicle and they go from zero to TSTL in 1.8 seconds. The only thing I can figure is that it must be part of the Keep Austin Weird ethos. If anyone in Austin is listening, you need new slogans for drivers. I’m fond of “This is the Interstate, not your grandaddy’s back forty! Look!”

Mistakes Made by Government, Large Corporations, Vendors and Credit Score Keepers

You know what I’m talking about here. You push the wrong button somewhere while buying golf shoes on-line, and the next thing you know, you’re billed for a Today’s Special! Lighted Globe showing all World Premier Golf Courses at the special one-time only price of $299. You didn’t cancel in three business days because you didn’t know about it because, oh, my, you didn’t obsessively check your credit card activity online every single day. You spend the next two weeks trying to correct the problem via the phone and e-mail, and you finally think it’s been taken care of. Someone in Customer Service assures you it has been. You double-check your credit card company.

Then you get billed for it twice.

So you stop payment from your credit card company with all the correspondence and phoning that entails. Pretty soon you begin getting bills direct from the company you bought the original golf shoes from (which you had to return because they sent you 9 Narrow instead of 9 Medium, which they were out of -- GAH!). You do your best. Nothing changes. A few months later you’re getting collections calls from pushy people who don’t care about what happened because their only job is to get you to fork over the $299, plus the cost of the shoes you returned, plus restocking fees, plus late fees, plus collections service fees.

After a year of being harassed, you have your lawyer send the original company a letter, and it lands on Someone Reasonable’s desk, and everything gets cleared up. You even have letters sent to all the credit score bureaus, and you follow up and are assured all is well. There are no bad marks on your credit score.

A year later you come up for a tax audit because you didn’t pay state sales tax on some golf shoes and a globe you ordered from an out-of-state company.

Four years on, you try to refinance your house, and you can’t get a lower rate because there’s an unpaid bill for $482.19 from an Internet golf store.

These kinds of Other People’s Mistakes can tempt the sanest, most forgiving and self-aware among us to fantasize about going off the grid.

Oh, screw that. There are too many Mistakes of Nature off the grid.

There is no hope. We cannot escape Other People’s Mistakes. All we can do is rant.

Making Dessert from Disaster

Will our dear readers believe today's flubbed attempt to process our guest's post on time was was a deliberate attempt to reenact our theme of mistakes? That the PensFatales dedication to this topic goes above and beyond words? That we don't talk the talk, we talk the talk? Hmmmmm...we think...not.

Luckily our guest today, Joelle Carbonneau, is all too familiar with mistakes judging by the content of her post and the title of her new novel, SKATING AROUND THE LAW, coming out next week (woohoo! Congratulations, Joelle!). From one mistake-maven to another, hopefully she will forgive us!



Thanks for much for the Pens Fatales for inviting me to blog today. It is totally appropriate that I am blogging on Mistakes Week, because – yes – I’m prone to making them. I have the tendency to trip over my own feet when wearing high heels, save documents in places on my computer that guys at MIT would never be able to find and occasionally, I have been known to bake oatmeal cookies with no flour.

Funny about the oatmeal cookie thing. On a good day, I’m a decent cook. However, this time the cookies lost all shape and melted all over the cookie sheet into a big mess. After one look, my inclination was to pitch the whole mess into the garbage can and start over. Only, I am a touch crazy and I took a taste. Yum. I then shoveled the crumbly mess into a bowl and used it to top ice cream. Double yum.

Baking is not the only area in which I’ve found a mistake can turn into an unlikely opportunity. A few years ago, I set aside a manuscript I’d been editing and started writing a totally different kind of book for kicks. It was the most fun I’d ever had writing. Any goofy or strange idea that popped into my head went onto the page. And to top it off, I was writing in a genre I hadn’t studied much.

Everyone always says you should study the genre before you start writing. I used to believe that. Scratch that. I still do. Only, I made a mistake. I didn’t really know the subgenre I was writing in when I started. Heck, I don’t think I’d ever heard the term for the subgenre. Belonging to RWA, I knew all the romance subgenres, but I wasn’t writing a romance. (To tell the truth, I was bad at writing romances….and I tried. Another mistake, but one I learned from.) So instead of knowing what I was writing and making sure that I created a story that fit the expectations of the editors and readers of the genre, I just wrote.

Once I was done writing, I realized I had no idea what I had written. Yes, Skating Around The Law was a mystery, but what kind of mystery? Turns out I wrote a book that follows the cozy mystery guidelines but isn’t really a cozy. Well crap. I’d made a HUGE mistake. Everyone knows that it is easier to get a book published if it falls squarely in one genre. Yes, people blend genres all the time, but editors have a harder time selling those books to their editorial board because they are riskier. Double crap.

And yet, like the flattened oatmeal cookies, I couldn’t bring myself to throw that manuscript into the trash. It didn’t taste so good on ice cream, but I loved it. Turns out my agent and editor did, too. The one thing I’ve learned from the experience is that sometimes mistakes are more than good lessons. Sometimes they are opportunities. You just have to take a step back from the mistake and decide which one it is. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll find your mistake is both. I bet if you think about it, you have a few tasty mistakes out there of your own that I’d love to hear about.