Hinduism FAQ
As promised, here's the first in my series on Hinduism. I absolutely loved the class I audited at Tufts this spring, and I'm excited to share what I've learned on the blog. It's taken me so long to get this started only because (as you well know, dear reader) I have too. Many. Projects.What follows are my most basic burning questions, which our professor Brian Hatcher mostly answered in the first couple of lectures (with the exception of "om," which we came to a little later on). 
Is Hinduism a polytheistic religion?The delightfully slippery thing about Hinduism is that it can't really be classified as a polytheistic or a monotheistic religion, nor is it a unified belief system with a "central authority" like the Pope or the Dalai Lama. You can look at a list of basic tenets like this one on the Hinduism Today website, but it isn't accurate from a practical standpoint. Not every Hindu believes in reincarnation, for example, and it's estimated that only 25 to 40% of Hindus are vegetarian, so ahimsa isn't a hardfast principle either.It seems that the underlying tenet of Hinduism, the thing all Hindus would agree on, is the oneness of all creation. Each of us has a soul—atman—which is part of brahman, ultimate reality, the "cosmic soul" if you will. In this sense there is only one "god," though that "god" appears in many avatars; and because we are divine beings, we are all on a spiritual path. What are the Vedas?Amy Lou's husband Finn recently finished his Ph.D. in Sanskrit and Indian Studies (check out this gorgeous video of Indian high school students getting ready for a theatrical competition, which Finn filmed in Kerala in December 2012). They actually moved to Kerala for a year, and when Amy Lou referred to Vedic this or that, I'd have pretty much no idea what she was talking about.Now, however, I can tell you that the Vedas are the very oldest Hindu scriptures, written in Sanskrit and divided into four texts: the Rigveda, the Yajurveda, the Samaveda and the Atharvaveda. The Vedas are śruti—"what is heard," or divine revelation—as opposed to smṛti, "what is remembered," wisdom gained through tradition.Each of the four texts is further subdivided into four (or five) types, the fourth being the Upanishads, which cover philosophy and spiritual principles (which is why we Westerners hear about them most often; this is where you learn about the concepts of atman and brahman).Another word I came across from time to time is "Vedanta," which means "the last" or "highest of the Veda." Vedanta originally referred to the Upanishads; now there are six orthodox schools of Hindu philosophy, of which Vedanta is the most prominent. What does "om" mean, anyway?"Om" (or "aum") is a sacred syllable, a primal sound or "root vibration" linking heaven and earth. It's made up of three sounds, A + U + M, which symbolize earth, heaven, and the space between. Now I understand why we chant "om" at the beginning and end of yoga class—it's the simplest and most powerful mantra there is.
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What else will I blog about in this series?
The Four Goals of Human Existence
Hinduism and Vegetarianism (you knew that was coming!)
Hinduism and Yoga (ditto!)
Hinduism, the Epics, and the Role of Women
Asceticism
The Concept of Divine Sight
This is going to be great! (If I can just get organized enough to post on a regular basis...)
Retreat Update
Lovely people! Just wanted to let you know that Anne and I have rejigged our retreat plans to make it as affordable and convenient as possible. The retreat now runs from Friday afternoon to Sunday afternoon and the price is only $300 if you register by August 1st ($350 thereafter).
I'm sad we can't do a longer retreat, but a weekend session makes more sense logistically, and we can always do a longer one next year (maybe over Labor Day?) There will be a sweet little consolation though—we're putting together a workbook that will contain way more exercises and inspirational material than we could hope to cover in two days together, which means you can keep doing the deep and juicy work on your own afterward!
Interested? Get in touch!
Comet Party Writing + Yoga Retreat, take 2!
[Edit: This retreat has been rescheduled for May 20th-22nd, 2016. Updated details here.]
Remember how I'm offering my first retreat this September at lovely Bethel Farm? Alas (for me, anyway, haha), Stephen's son is getting married that week, so I needed to find a new partner. I have two very dear Jivamukti yoga teachers at Karma here in Boston—Fiona McQuade and Anne Wichmann—and Anne is going to co-teach the retreat. We are so excited we can't even tell you! Friday Thursday, September 10th 11th through Sunday, September 13th!
Here is the new flyer, which we'll be posting alllllll over Boston very soon:
Cost is $350 $415, inclusive of all but travel ($300 early bird!) Visit the Bethel Farm website to get a feel for the atmosphere! Please note that accommodation is dorm style. If you're without wheels, we'll most likely be able to hook you up with a ride share, so no worries on that account.
I should also clarify that while the yoga classes will be suitable for beginners, I'd say adventurous beginners will be most comfortable. I define "adventurous beginner" as someone who is determined to feel good about what their body can do for them in the present moment. (So you see, absolutely anyone qualifies with a bit of positive mental prep!)
I'll post the retreat schedule in a couple weeks to give you a sense of the rhythm of our days, how the intuitive writing modules will work, and how Anne's yoga classes will complement and deepen the work we're doing in our notebooks and mind maps.
Please feel free to leave a comment below or email me with any questions or to register. Space is limited to 12, so definitely get in touch soon!
Transformational Writing + Yoga Retreat!
[Update: This retreat has been rescheduled for May 20th-22nd, 2016. Details here.]I am over-the-moon excited to announce my first-ever writing and yoga retreat! Squam has been a catalyst for me in so many ways, and I've been dreaming about leading a writing retreat to help other people enjoy the same sort of life-changing experience. When I attended a yoga weekend at Bethel Farm in February and met Stephen Bethel, I knew this was the perfect place and the ideal teacher with whom to partner. Stephen is so open and loving and kind, and gives the juiciest dharma talks!
The First-Ever Comet Party Transformational Writing + Yoga Retreat
Thursday, September 10th through Sunday, September 13th, 2015 Bethel Farm, Hillsborough, New HampshireA transformative experience requires three simple factors: time in nature, a diversion from routine, and the intention to surprise yourself. If you've been feeling anxious about growing in a new direction, this is the ideal set up in which to work through your fears and become the person you know you're meant to be. Through a magical combination of writing, yoga, and meditation in a safe and supportive environment, you'll be able to delve deep into unprocessed emotions and ultimately create your own epiphany (or maybe more than one!)We'll begin each day with a Jivamukti yoga class taught by Stephen Bethel. Workshop sessions will include intuitive mind mapping, ego management, and using symbols and archetypes to reframe our challenges, all of which are flexibly designed to make skill and experience levels (happily) irrelevant. You can be someone who doesn't write at all, or you can be an aspiring or published author. You can be an experienced yogi, or you can be making your way to the mat for the very first time. We'll spend time outdoors in the fresh air and sunshine, sweat out what no longer serves us in the pond-side sauna, and savor gorgeous vegan meals from the Bethel Farm kitchen. 
Camille is a Boston-based novelist, travel writer, and certified vegan lifestyle coach and educator. She has experienced greatly enhanced creativity and emotional and spiritual well being through her asana and intuitive writing practices, and wants to share that joy with as many people as she can.
About Stephen Bethel
Stephen Bethel is an advanced certified Jivamukti Yoga teacher, who honors his teachers Sharon Gannon and David Life through every class he leads. Ten years ago, he began teaching yoga classes at Bethel Farm, and soon after offered the first day long retreat. Since then, he has overseen the development of a complete yoga farm and retreat center on 50 secluded acres in acres in rural New Hampshire. In addition to hosting the top talent in yoga and the living arts, Bethel leads yoga classes, workshops, and teacher trainings at the Farm, and internationally.
Price, Registration, and More Info
Cost is $415, inclusive of all but travel. I'm really psyched to be able to offer a four-day (three-night) retreat at such an affordable price. Visit the Bethel Farm website to get a feel for the atmosphere!An intimate group is best given the work we'll be doing here, so registration is limited to about 12. Registration link coming soon. In the meantime, you can email me at cometpartyATgmailDOTcom or leave a comment below to let me know you're interested or to ask any questions you might have!
MindFUEL, part 2: Saturday, May 16th!
[EDIT, May 2015: due to Brynne's impending nuptials and cross-country move (sob!), we decided to cancel this workshop. I'll definitely be doing more of these with another of my favorite Karma teachers, so stay tuned!]
Brynne and I offered the first MindFUEL Writing + Yoga workshop on March 7th, and we both felt really good about how it went. We created a safe space and offered tools for self reflection, and every single yogini in our group of eight dove right in. (And of course, the cupcakes were a hit!) A lot of Karma regulars were out of town that weekend for spring break and whatnot, so we got a lot of "Please do it again, I'll come next time!" Brynne included a quick survey at the end of our handout, so we also received helpful feedback for making this next session even better than the first. One suggestion was to offer a series of writing exercises rather than one extended exercise, and I am definitely taking that on board. We focused on mind mapping the first time, and I'll still have the supplies on hand for session #2, but we'll focus on brand-new exercises in case anyone from the first session wants to take it again.
Jasmine and Fiona.
So the next MindFUEL Yoga + Writing workshop happens Saturday, May 16th at Karma Yoga Studio at 338 Newbury Street, Back Bay. $30 advance sign up, $35 at the door. We hope to see you there! As for cool workshops you can take in the meantime, check out my dear friend and teacher Anne Wichmann's hip- and shoulder-opening workshop at Karma Harvard on Saturday, April 11th. I'll be there!(I have another yoga post planned for next week. BIG announcement!!!)
I Drank the Kool-Aid and I’m Never Spitting It Out
I'm very excited to announce MindFUEL Yoga + Writing, a three-hour workshop I'm hosting with my dear friend and yoga teacher Brynne Haflett on Saturday, March 7th at Karma on Newbury Street. Today Brynne and I are interviewing each other to give you a better sense of who we are and what we're offering in this really unique and fun workshop. (You can read my As to her Qs over at Yogini B.)
How did you first come to study yoga? How have you grown through your practice over the past decade?
Thinking back, I actually came to yoga through writing. I had a wonderful substitute English teacher who is still a steady influence in my life. She trained to be a yoga teacher and when she opened her studio, my sister and I would go to her class in the mornings before school. I had no idea what yoga actually was when I went to my first class. None. But when I left the studio, I was hooked. I drank the Kool-Aid and I’m never spitting it out.My practice over the last ten years has grown in surprising and sometimes indescribable ways. I was 14 years old when I started yoga, so I was mostly interested in aesthetics. As I grew into my practice, I started to care less about the physicality of the asanas and more about the internal work embedded in them. I fully believe that the person I am and the person I’m becoming is 80% yoga and 20% genetics. Yoga has been a part of my life through middle school, high school, college, and now in my baptism into the “real world”. There is an abundance of non-judgmental self-reflection in yoga--or at least that’s the plan. It's impossible to not have transformational growth in that space.
One of the best pieces of career advice I’ve ever received was from my fiction teacher during my M.A. year. He said, “Create a space for yourself on the shelf. Write something no one else is writing.” I wonder if you feel that way about teaching yoga—that there may be many instructors to choose from, and on the surface it’s a vinyasa flow regardless of who is cueing it, and yet you’re still offering students your own unique perspective?
Absolutely. I think from a self-branding perspective it is essential to make your own spot on the shelf. There are so many yoga students, teachers, and studios in existence that a teacher really needs to create her own voice to stand out. On the other hand, every yoga class has similar components to another style the same way any fictional book will have similar pieces. No one is reinventing the wheel. An original sequence is sisyphean (wheel pun completely intended) in a tradition as old as yoga. When I teach, I’m not thinking about how to be unique. I’m teaching based on my own practice, training, and perspective which will either connect with the student or not.
How does your yoga practice enhance your creativity? Do you think it’s possible to cultivate a “flow state” on the mat that we can carry with us into our daily life?
In my experience, yoga enhances my creativity because it distracts me from what I’m trying to be creative about. A lot of my best ideas for classes, blog posts, or even professional goals come to me when I’m on my yoga mat. Yoga allows our bodies and minds to open (or our nadis) and that openness allows ideas that may have been passed over to be fully accepted and looked over. The magic of that openness is that once we learn how to find that state, we find other ways to get there. Runners High is incredibly similar to that flowing state. There is a “flow state” in video games that people are studying. I believe any activity that makes you feel safe and open can bring that same sense of flow to a person. Yoga can be that flow or it can be a tool to refine and enhance that state.
What are some of your coping strategies or rituals, on and off the mat, when you’re having a tough day?
Oh man, I have so many! I learned a cleansing meditation from a friend this summer that has been extremely helpful. There are a series of colors that you inhale three times and each exhale the colors become more “pure”. After the series of colors, you create a giant light bubble around yourself where you are completely safe and open your heart to whatever you’d like. I get goosebumps every time at this point in the meditation. Whenever the meditation feels complete, you thank whom/whatever and shrink the bubble back inside your body. This meditation is something I love to do before or after classes especially, so students don’t get my own crap mixed into their practice and I don’t leave with theirs.
What are you hoping students will take away from our MindFUEL workshop?
I really want students to leave with a feeling that yoga has connections far beyond headstand. I feel like there is a lot of emphasis in yoga on the postures and I want to show students that yoga extends well beyond them. The postures are tools meant to take a yogi into a deeper and more meaningful state. If a student left our workshop with a deeper connection to his mind and something stirring a little more inside of him, I would feel completely satisfied.
Registration details on my Learn With Me page!
Forearmstands probably not happening in our workshop, but you'll get into a sweet writing flow & eat yummy cupcakes! http://t.co/uI3njjFtCo— Camille DeAngelis (@cometparty) February 18, 2015
A Much-Needed Reality Check
“Don’t take yourself so seriously.”
“Be grateful for everything you have.”
These are classic pieces of good advice, yet how often do we neglect to take them?
One night back in October I sat down to dinner with a friend who was visiting from Ireland. We’d been offline all day, out sightseeing in Boston, and between the cooking and washing-up we took a moment to check our inboxes.
I had an email from my editor. It read, I am still really struggling with our narrator’s character…His is the voice that guides us through the story and yet we don’t understand him.
Shit! I thought. I NEED that d&a* check! Not to mention that I didn’t have the foggiest idea how I’d be able to write myself out of this.
Panic descended, like the barometric pressure and eerie yellow light that portends a thunderstorm. My friend forgave me for wanting to retire early. He went out to watch the World Series at a neighborhood bar, while I was asleep before “half nine.”
Eleven hours later I still didn’t want to get out of bed, and if not for my houseguest I would have stayed there. But I got up, put the kettle on, and opened Twitter to distract myself from the persistent feeling of impending disaster.
Sometimes social media offers you something of real practical value, something you’d have missed if you’d dipped into the feed only a few minutes later. In my case, it was this:
I read the blog post, and was humbled by it. Here is an excerpt of the original piece, which Rosemary Sutcliff wrote in 1981:
Career-wise, I’m one of the lucky ones. My job, as a writer of books, is one of the few in which physical disability presents hardly any problems. I would claim that it presents no problems at all but my kind of book needs research, and research is more difficult for a disabled person.
I am less able to see for myself or dig priceless information out of deeply hidden archives. I have to rely more on other people’s help and on libraries. And even libraries can present problems – like one which shall be nameless – which is very proud of its ramp to its entrance but keeps its entire reference department upstairs, with, of course, no lift...
In all those winter days I’d spent at the National Library of Scotland, it had never once occurred to me that I could access any and all reference materials without special assistance. Now and again I take a moment to feel grateful for a lot of things, but that was one blessing I hadn’t even considered. Not to mention being able to travel on my own, wherever and whenever I choose, fielding comments no more insensitive than “Seeing as you’re Italian and from New Jersey, is your grandfather the head of the mob?”
At times life can present us with real difficulties, but an unanticipated novel revision and cash flow issues (when one has no children, mortgage, or credit card debt) do not qualify.
* “Delivery and acceptance”—the portion of your advance that comes once your editor is 100% satisfied with the manuscript.
The Aspirational Lightness of Being
I have been a messy person for a very long time now, or at least that's how I've seen myself. I have manila envelopes stuffed with scraps of ideas going all the way back to my years at NYU, and I have a bad habit of leaving piles of trash in the corner of my room for days or even weeks (paper recycling, mostly—never rotting food or anything, I do feel the need to clarify that!) Instead of filing documents and receipts, I've tossed them into a cardboard box to be dealt with on some occasion in the nebulous future when Camille Finally Gets Her S**t Together. (And it isn't just my apartment; my stepfather has affectionately remarked that my bedroom looks as if I still live there.)
When I visited my aunt and uncle in Arizona in 2007 on my little Mary Modern book tour, I slept on an air mattress in my aunt's craft room, where the walls are lined with neatly organized scrapbooking and soapmaking supplies. How lovely it was to wake up inside that roomful of potential, to think of all the things she hasn't made yet that will be. The reason why all that stuff (however organized it is, it is still STUFF) didn't stress me out is, of course, that it isn't my stuff. All the ideas I have yet to implement, the books I have yet to read, the art and craft supplies I have yet to use: these things are making me anxious. I have no system for keeping them in order, for curating (such a buzzword these days, ha) my collections so that I don't feel overwhelmed by too much creative potential. When I looked through the plexiglass at Francis Bacon's studio at the Hugh Lane Gallery in Dublin, all I could think was please don't let me end up like this.
Thing is, though: I'm the one who decides how clean and organized my working and living spaces are going to be, and it doesn't matter if I'm being a bit hard on myself here—either way, I have to find a system that works. I want to feel that I'm working (or crafting) effectively. So here are some resolutions:
1. MAKE THE BED. For crying out loud.
2. Break down the seemingly-endless task. My sister pointed out that it makes way more sense to figure out and start using a system for organizing my ideas as I get them, folding in the contents of those manila envelopes over time, rather than tackling the backlog straight away. I always attempt it that way, and an hour later I throw up my hands.
3. Do the tasks regularly so they never reach the point of 'seemingly-endless'! On Sunday nights I'm going to input receipts into my tax spreadsheet, 'process' any other paperwork, and empty my wastebasket.
4. Get the right storage. I picked up one of those black-and-clear-plastic five-drawer cabinets via Craigslist the other week, and I'm going to buy some cubbies (like Ikea, but not) for my art and craft stuff, which will go under my desk (which is actually an 8' long table, so no built-in shelving).
5. Use Trello (thanks, Elliot!) to manage to-do lists.
This is good for a start, right? And here are some links I've found helpful and/or inspiring:
I've been meaning to do a "nesting" post since last summer, but it'll be so much better to do it once my space is naturally tidy (as opposed to my tidying it up for the picture taking, ha). One thing I'm excited to share is my (DIY) project bag rack, which makes use of the odd (as in charming!) space created by the slanting attic wall. More soon!
(This post is a continuation of item five on my 2015 list of intentions.)
Gratitude 2015 giveaway!; or, a gift in 365 parts
Happy New Year, everybody! To celebrate, I'm giving away a copy of my friend Susa Talan's 2015 gratitude calendar! Same deal as usual:
You get ONE entry for a Facebook comment
TWO entries for a share, tweet or retweet
and THREE entries for leaving a comment on this post.
I'll keep this giveaway open 'til midnight tomorrow (January 2nd) and choose a random entry.
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I'm always excited for the start of a new year, but today I'm bursting at the seams in the very best way. You know it's going to be a terrific year when the new novel is actually hovering somewhere in the middle of a long list of projects, adventures, and other blessings. This month—thanks to a part-time gig at my all-time favorite studio, yay!—I will slip back into my daily yoga routine in preparation for teacher training in November. Yoga and a couple of secret writing projects are at the top of that list.
I'm not much for "resolutions," per se; I prefer to see them as directions in which I'd like to grow. For the sake of accountability I'll share my "2015 expansion" with you here (and I want to hear what you're intending for this year as well!):
1. Yoga! I didn't manage a freestanding handstand last year, but it is TOTALLY happening in 2015.
2. Tuck into a series of delicious nonfiction projects. (This is just one of them.) I'm renewing my membership to the Writers' Room, so my productivity is about to skyrocket.
3. Make more art. I'm planning to take a printmaking class at MassArt over the summer.
4. After years of wistfully scrolling through IntSweMoDo projects on Ravelry (the challenge is to knit one sweater per month!), I'm finally committing to it, with one tweak: knit a sweater OR sew a dress (or other involved project, like shorts or what have you), EVERY MONTH. I have enough yarn and fabric to last through the summer, at least!
5. And this is perhaps the most important: this year I finally want to feel like I have my act together. I need to work way more efficiently than I do now. I'm talking zero inbox (inspired by my friend Kirsty), workable craft supply and book storage, and no more manila envelopes stuffed with decade-old scraps of scribbled ideas!
I DID IT, YOU GUYS! Inbox zero is not a myth! pic.twitter.com/c8Xin0KZ2u— Kirsty Logan (@kirstylogan) May 9, 2014
I'll be blogging more about these 2015 intentions over the next month, by the way.
Doing the zombie walk into the light http://t.co/mnRlsmeciT — squam (@squamlove) December 31, 2014
What are your hopes and ambitions for 2015, friends? By the by, I highly recommend settling in with your hot beverage of choice and filling out Susannah Conway's Unravelling 2015 workbook. Elizabeth and I looked over our workbooks from last year and were stunned at how much of what we envisioned for the year came to pass. (Just be REALLY clear about what you want, because if you leave any blanks, you can't expect to manifest much in that category...)
Camille gets to see the crazy amazing light in this place. http://t.co/YmxyDkKMmF — squam (@squamlove) January 1, 2015
* * *EDIT: Congrats to Liv for winning the calendar giveaway!
Compassionate Holidays
While I was doing research for Petty Magic I came upon the magical German word gemütlich, which means cozy, cheerful belonging. I recognized it at once. After all, you have not truly known a Christmas 'til you've experienced it in the DeAngelis household.
But looking back now on all the meals I've shared with my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, I see a certain falseness lurking under that holiday cheer. We wanted to make each other feel warm, welcomed, safe, and loved, but we never extended that caring toward the animals on our plates. 
Of course, there's no sense disowning those happy memories because of the old cognitive dissonance. The turkey on the table in this first-grade drawing is an ultimately unnecessary detail; the key words are I like...to have my grandparents over.So you replace the old animal-based dishes with compassionate alternatives, and get on with the celebrating!
How to have a compassionate Thanksgiving via @JoyfulVegan! https://t.co/mkwwvAusUF #vegan #thanksgiving— Lauren (@EverydayRevelry) November 14, 2014
What's in your Noise?
I went to grad school in Galway, in the west of Ireland—where, as you may know, it rains more days than not. I lived a 25-minute walk from campus, on a road with far more motorists than pedestrians. On my way to class one afternoon, I spotted a girl about my age coming toward me on the path ahead. She carried a big brown shopping bag from one of the wooly-jumper shops in town, so I could tell at a glance that she was only visiting.We approached each other. She opened her mouth—to greet me, I supposed, so I formed the word “hello” in kind—but I was in for a rude surprise. “F**king rain!” she said fiercely, though she made eye contact as she said it. “It never f**king stops. F**k!”I stopped in my tracks, mouth wide open, and watched as she continued along the path I’d just taken. The girl never looked back. She trudged along with her shopping bags, head down and shoulders hunched, radiating aggravation. It wasn’t even raining that hard.As you can tell—seeing as this happened ten years ago now!—this fleeting and rather bizarre interaction left an indelible impression on me. We’ll set aside the fact that traveling to Ireland and then complaining about the weather is just about the most ludicrous thing you can do; what I took from that encounter is that our thoughts, mood, and actions as we move through the world affect absolutely everyone we meet.I was reminded of that young American tourist recently when I read the Chaos Walking trilogy by Patrick Ness. These YA science fiction novels are set on a distant Earth-like planet, where human pioneers have settled in the hope of creating a sustainable future. Instead, of course, they have clashed violently with the indigenous population (who bear a pointed similarity to the Native Americans) and with each other. The most unique aspect of the novel is that, owing to some biochemical quirk on this new planet, the thoughts and fantasies of human men hover in the air, perfectly audible and visible to all in the vicinity. Here’s how one of the protagonists, Todd, first presents this phenomenon to the reader:
…[T]he swamp is the only place anywhere near Prentisstown where you can have half a break from all the Noise that men spill outta themselves, all their clamor and clatter that never lets up, even when they sleep, men and the thoughts they don’t know they think even when everyone can hear. Men and their noise. I don’t know how they do it, how they stand each other.
As I read these three wonderful novels I kept asking myself one question: what would people hear and see around me, if I had “Noise”? I’d seen a long time ago that no one lives independently of the attitudes of their neighbors, even if that “neighbor” is only growling (or beaming) at you in passing; but I wasn’t always as positive as I could be on, shall we say, off color days. That girl on Bishop O’Donnell Road hadn’t really seen me at all—she’d just spewed her negativity and kept on walking—and while I’ve never cursed at a random passerby, from time to time I’ve certainly lapsed into self-involved mopery in the presence of others.I’m not implying we should suppress what we’re feeling if we’re having a bad day, only that we are still responsible for our moods even at the times when it’s hard to feel happy. It doesn't matter if you place no stock in auras, “vibes,” or other such New Age principles; the fact remains that you can walk into the space you share with a loved one and know instantly—before you have gauged their posture or facial expression, or heard a single word from their lips—that something is amiss with them.So if I’m feeling irritated I’ll do whatever I need to do to let go and move on, so that other people don’t have to deal with what is mine alone to process. Conversely, if I’m feeling cheerful, I want to do my best to spread that good feeling around! This way my thoughts and feelings are Music instead of Noise.
Wunderkind Syndrome
Wunderkind Syndrome: Or, How to Stop Wanting to Be More Amazing Than Everybody Else
There is here no measuring with time, no year matters, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer.
— Rainer Maria Rilke. During my freshman year at NYU I took the subway uptown to the Guggenheim. When I came upon Picasso’s Le Moulin de la Galette—painted just after the great artist’s nineteenth birthday—I stood before it in a fog of self reproach. I was nineteen, and what did I have to show for myself?In that moment I succumbed to “Wunderkind Syndrome”: the frantic desire to produce an amazing work of art as soon as possible—preferably before the age of twenty, twenty five at the latest—so that everyone will hail your genius before any of your contemporaries can edge you out. Furthermore, if you’re not applying yourself to this ambition with obsessive focus then you obviously don’t want it badly enough, and if you don’t want it enough to sacrifice sleep, social life, and basic personal hygiene, then you musn’t be a true artist.Ridiculous, right? I’m chuckling as I type this. Why do we want so badly to prove our brilliance at a more tender age than everyone else? Why, in our secret (or not-so-secret) hearts, do we want to be perceived as better than everyone else?Perhaps the first reason is, of course, that our culture is obsessed with youth (and generally at the expense of substance). We feel this panic to produce something while the world still casts us in an attractive light.The second factor to consider is the scarcity mentality, which has haunted our species from the African savannah all the way to the Walmart Black Friday stampede. There are only so many accolades to go around—only so much gallery space, only so many slots on the “big five” publishers’ seasonal lists—and we grow desperate to claim our share as soon as we possibly can.But the ultimate reason has nothing to do with cutting throats or getting trampled. We all want to be loved and accepted for who we are, and because our art feels like the truest expression of that identity, it’s all too tempting to conflate output with intrinsic worth. This misperception is most powerful during that brutal passage through adolescence. I must beam this work of my heart out into the world so that I will be seen—heard—understood. If we must make ourselves vulnerable in this way, then we might as well be rewarded for our bravery.When I first began writing fiction with an eye toward publication, in 2001, a nineteen year old with a book deal was a rare bird. These days, thanks to the rocketing popularity of young adult fiction and the ease of digital publishing, you can find teenaged authors seemingly everywhere you look. Amanda Hocking, whose phenomenal self-publishing success led to a million-dollar deal with, ahem, my own publisher, has mentioned in interviews that she wanted to publish by the age of 26 because that’s how old Stephen King was when he came out with his first novel, Carrie. When I read an ARC of Hocking’s own debut novel, I made a game of underlining the adverbs, which appeared in ludicrous profusion on nearly every page. Apologies for the snark here, but she could have taken a few more years to hone her craft.Still, I know exactly where Amanda Hocking was coming from. Just before my twenty-second birthday, I finished the last scene of a 600-page manuscript, hit the print button and mailed that teetering pile of paper off to a literary agent. I look back on the girl I was then, and try not to smile too condescendingly. I did get my first book deal at twenty five, but I put those three intervening years to good use: writing all night, sleeping ’til noon, forging lasting friendships with my grad school classmates, and going to classes knowing only that I had a hell of a lot to learn. In essence, I was working on a much more practical form of character development: I stopped believing the world owed me something and focused on telling an engaging and meaningful story.In Show Your Work, Austin Kleon cites John Richardson’s biography of Picasso. According to Richardson, Picasso was notorious for sucking the energy out of anyone who paid him a visit: somebody with stars in his eyes would show up hoping to be inspired by the great artist, only to leave hours later feeling completely exhausted and depressed. Picasso, meanwhile, retreated to his studio and painted all night with renewed vigor. This is why many of Picasso’s contemporaries wanted nothing to do with him personally.The asshole-genius is a false binary—you can see something you painted as a teenager in one of the world’s finest art museums without turning into a psychic vampire!—but we may still find ourselves striving for notoriety at any cost if we lose sight of these two basic truths:
1. Getting a fancy book, film, or record deal does NOT make you a better artist.2. Getting a fancy book, film, or record deal does NOT make you a better person.
In his 2008 TED talk Benjamin Zander, longtime conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, says, “I have a definition of success. For me, it’s very simple: it’s not about wealth and fame and power. It’s about how many shining eyes I have around me.” Zander is now in his seventies, and the viewer gets the distinct impression as he bounds down the steps to engage with his audience that he is sharing the wisdom he has accumulated over seven decades of conscious living. He has nothing to prove; he’s only offering the best that is in him, a trove of abundance that goes on accumulating with every passing year.How absurd, then, to think that one’s insight and ability have a sell-by date, when they ought to have a “do not sell before” date! Art isn’t a sporting event; it isn’t a race. No one is standing before you holding up their wrist to tap at their watch. Besides, there’s always going to be someone out there who’s achieved your goal at a younger age, who’s garnered more commercial success or critical accolades and awards. Wunderkind Syndrome will siphon off your creative energy if you give in to it.In the end, of course, no one gives a crap how young or old you are. If you’ve written a good book or snapped a stunning photograph, your work will circulate in the world on its own merits.* * *Edit: Nora Mathews pointed me to this 2008 New Yorker article by Malcolm Gladwell on genius and precocity.* * *This post became a chapter in Life Without Envy: Ego Management for Creative People.
Fall Squam 2014
Each time I blog about the latest Squam retreat I'm reminded of how inadequate language truly is. It's impossible to convey the transformative magic of this place to someone who hasn't been here.This was my first time teaching, and while I came with the express intent of stepping into my teacherhood, I received SO much more than that. People (who'd taken my class, or had heard good things) kept asking where else I was teaching, if I offer e-courses and the like, which has me thinking deeply again about creating my own opportunities. I connected with kindred spirits—special shout outs to Liv White, who picked me up at North Londonderry a day early so we could help decorate the playhouse, and who has one of the purest hearts I have ever encountered; and to Sarah Greenman, whom I love with a fierceness that is eerily disproportional to the precious-little time we spent together IRL. I did the woo-woo thing with my wonderful cabin-mates (and fellow teachers), some of whom (fortunately for me!) live in the Boston area. I shared a story from my childhood at lunchtime on Saturday and wound up bawling onto my empty plate; it was a huge breakthrough and I'm so grateful to Dixie for her insight. Even when I found myself in conflict with a very dear friend, I could (eventually) see it for the gift that it was.Because EVERYTHING is a gift. Even when it's hard, it's a gift. How else are we supposed to grow? 
I also can't adequately convey just how excited I am about life right now. I'm hatching all sorts of plans for workshops and books that will go even deeper than I had time for in only six hours, and I've taken down the old stuff on my "learn with me" page to make space for these new projects. I'm so, so grateful to my dear friend Elizabeth for giving me the opportunity to share what I've learned, and go on learning as I do so.
A parting gift from @ccerruti at @squamlove. pic.twitter.com/LlOeWSyfAS
— Camille DeAngelis (@cometparty) September 14, 2014
June Squam 2014, part 3
("Blossoms unspooled from her mouth"; June Squam 2014, part 2; all Squam entries.)
Why has it taken me two and a half months to finish blogging about June Squam? I guess I've wanted to focus on drawing rather than writing about drawing. I'm doing it, I'm really doing it—one drawing a day for eight minutes (or more, depending on how much I'm into it). Some drawings are meh and others I'm really proud of. Either way, the point is, I'm doing it, for almost sixty days in a row now!—and I'm tweeting my drawings. I'm so grateful to Kerry Lemon for giving me the space and encouragement to make that breakthrough.
An essential part of this drawing-and-sharing process has been learning to recognize the stories I tell about myself—stories that are outdated, or were never accurate to begin with. In this case, the story was I'm a better writer than I was an artist, with variations on that theme:
If I were talented enough, I would have run with it when I had the chance.
I didn't get that portfolio together in time to apply to art college, and that was MEANT TO BE.
I should leave drawing and painting to people who are real artists. People with VISION, who know what they're doing. It's enough for me to appreciate and support the real artists.
I can't draw faces.
And so on, and so on. Most of these "stories" are nonsense, and yet we live out our lives believing them, and letting them hold us back. It feels so good to have reached the point at which I don't care what anyone says or thinks of what I make, if anyone considers it "worthwhile." It's my time, so I get to be the person who decides that. And anyhow, everyone who saw my drawings said lovely supportive things, so it's not like I have any naysayers buzzing nearby. I'm so blessed to have friends and family who support me no matter what I want to do. 
There'll be more Squam awesomeness coming soon, since this time I'm going back to teach!
How going vegan can make you more creative
I'm very excited to report that I have a guest post on my friend and mentor Victoria Moran's blog today!
When I went vegan in April 2011, I began the most joyfully creative phase of my life so far. I’m a novelist, and I used to have frustrating “trough periods” in between books—but since that spring I’ve written three novels in three years and the ideas (great ideas!) keep on coming. So if a fellow artist talks about feeling blocked, I share my “vegan conversion” story and ask if they’ve ever considered a connection between diet and creative output.
There is significant scientific research to indicate that a diet heavy in animal protein contributes to plaque buildup in the brain—read The China Study by T. Colin Campbell, if you haven’t already—but the psychological changes that occur after switching to a plant-based diet are much more immediate and recognizable. Here are some thoughts on how and why going vegan can make you more creative... (read more)
The most useful work there is
I just put this note up on Facebook, and I thought it might be worth reposting here. I have many more thoughts on this subject—Eric's situation has me thinking a lot lately about "rich white privilege" and to what extent we in the "first world" take our resources and opportunities for granted—but I think I'll leave all that for another post.
Thanks in advance for reading!
Einstein is Your Fairy Godfather
I'm gonna be honest with you lovely people: it's been sort of a rough few weeks (though I feel silly even saying it because, come on, I have never in my life had capital-P problems.) I came down with one of those sucks-all-your-energy colds the last evening of Squam, and I realized that usually being so healthy and energetic means I no longer know how to be sick. That might sound strange, but you know what I mean: taking it easy and gracefully accepting your temporary limitations instead of beating yourself up for not getting anything done. I went back and forth on that, but admittedly I was frustrated with myself for at least 60% of the time—which was, of course, a waste of what little energy I had!Underneath the cold-induced inertia there has been another sort of malaise, one that wouldn't dissipate with the triumph of my white blood cell platoon. I'm feeling better now, it's still there, and I have to face it (and I might as well do so publicly, because I can't be the only one in this position!) 
A week or so ago I sent a letter to a very dear friend saying, in effect, "I see you not living up to your potential and I want you to stop being afraid and GO FOR IT." Last night it finally hit me that I could have written myself a version of that very thought. (Isn't that always the way?) I have grown in leaps and bounds as a writer since Petty Magic tanked at the end of 2010, but that's just it—there's nothing about being a storyteller that frightens me anymore. I'm looking toward my most ambitious writing project to date and I just think, I got this. While I recognize that drawing and painting and putting what I draw out there is the next big scary thing in my evolution, I've only made the most tentative steps so far. I've spent the past three weeks intending to put pen to paper, to follow through on the epiphany I had in the incomparable Kerry Lemon's drawing class (which I will blog about soon), but until last night I kept excusing my procrastination with "when I'm feeling better." (I know I was just talking about going easy on myself. This is different.) I was feeling better, physically anyway, but my mood had taken a nosedive. There were all these serendipitous things (seriously, a note in a library book!) nudging me to forget everything and just pick up that Micron pen. Elizabeth is always the best person to talk to when I'm in a spot like this; she said, "You are being too precious about this. Just set a timer for eight minutes and DRAW ANYTHING."So that's what I did. 
You know that new(ish) internet challenge, 100 Happy Days? I hereby promise myself that I will draw for eight minutes per day for the next 100 days. This is how real and lasting change happens—one simple action at a time, modest and brave. A sweet little paradox, no?I have a lot more to say on this subject, but I'll leave it here for now. It's your turn, lovely people! What are you afraid of? Who is it you want to become, and what do you need to do to let go of the person you are? (You don't necessarily have to share below, it'll just be good to know you are thinking about it too.)
@cometparty @squamlove I'm so happy for you! Such a great challenge, I'm really excited to see all your drawings! Xx— Kerry Lemon (@kerryannelemon) July 1, 2014
June Squam 2014, part 2
(June Squam 2014, part 1.)
Retreats like Squam Art Workshops are becoming more popular as people (okay, mostly women) realize how important it is for their emotional and spiritual well being to reconnect with their creativity, not to mention nature: the pines! The stars! The loons calling across the lake at night! You drink it all in and you are replenished.That said, I've noticed some people seem puzzled when I try to explain just how profoundly Squam has changed my life. I almost feel like they want me to justify spending that $1300—there's this implication hanging in the air between us, as if that money were better spent elsewhere. On something, you know, practical.Let me tell you something. The older I get, the more I understand that I can do very little good for anyone else if I am tired and depleted. You want to be with me when I am EXCITED ABOUT LIFE, right? You want some of that joyful energy to rub off on you.Sure, I draw inspiration from lots of places. But when I go to Squam, I "fill up" in the most mindful way—it changes me every time. I want each new experience to change me. That's something I first learned at Harmony Homestead Farm, and it allows me to find meaning in even the most seemingly random encounters.I may overuse the word "random" in casual conversation, but I know nothing truly is. I'll never forget the moment Anne sat down beside me in the playhouse back in June 2011 while the Yarn Harlot was giving one of her typically hilarious talks. Obviously we couldn't introduce ourselves until the talk was over, but we were absolutely communicating without words. I knew her. I knew we were going to be friends—no, that we were already friends, and had been for a very long time.So this year it was mind-blowingly delightful to be able to fall asleep in the same room after reminding each other just how far we've come over the past three years. Anne's blog is more popular than ever, and she is now under deadline with Potter Craft (Random House, NBD!) for Knitting Without Needles, coming out August 2015. I have a new home and a two-book deal under my belt. (Anne moved too, way farther than I did!)Anne's is one of the most satisfying friendships of my life, and you can't put a price tag on that. Squam has given me a wealth of satisfying friendships—Elizabeth and Amy Lou and Kath and Amiee and Jen, plus many more wise and beautiful women. I can't tell you how many times I heard someone call my name, embrace me, compliment my sweater, and how it made me feel to be recognized and appreciated for my creativity. It sounds so simple, but love and joy and unconditional acceptance aren't complex concepts. 
I need to write about Terri's woodworking class and Kerry's drawing class—a BIG breakthrough in Kerry's class especially—but I think I've written enough for one entry. I'll tell you more next week, including more about Sarah Sousa's poetry. (And Anne took my new author photo!! I'm so thrilled! I'll post those pics separately.)
Getting delightfully messy in @kerryannelemon's art class this past weekend at @squamlove: pic.twitter.com/CsvnX27MOF— Camille DeAngelis (@cometparty) June 9, 2014
It was a parade of smiles last night! Love seeing all my students in their new frocks. #squamartfair… http://t.co/hvXLiwWuyv— cal patch (@hodgepodgefarm) June 8, 2014
@cometparty @flaxandtwine I LOVED spending time with you on this hike. So glad we kept going! It was worth every single mosquito bite :)— Jeanne Lewis (@foundermom) June 9, 2014
Laughter and thoughtful conversation on a sunny lakefront porch with a favorite friend @cometparty… http://t.co/cRXXQPLfQY— Anne Weil (@flaxandtwine) June 7, 2014
Blossoms unspooled from her mouth
(A line from poet Sarah Sousa, who gave readings on Friday and Saturday nights at June Squam.)
Proper recap coming soon!
Long Distance
My grandfather passed away four years ago this past week. In keeping with my promise to write more candidly on spiritual matters, I offer this.
* * *
There are three phone numbers on my Skype call-out list that I will never dial again: my grandfather's home number in New Jersey, his snow-bird line in Florida, and his cellphone, which he never used much anyway. These days reaching Grandpa Ted requires something other than a long-distance phone call.
It was just under a year after his death that my grandfather first got ahold of me. I was nearing the end of a six-week stint in India, sitting alone in a hotel restaurant in a place I didn't want to be. I'd just left the warmth and excitement of Sadhana Forest, a reforestation project and wonderful international community, and I was feeling lonely after a month of friendship and usefulness. More to the point, I had a nasty charley-horse in my calf after sleeping on an overnight bus with my legs slung over my backpack, and I didn't see how I'd be able to stand, possibly for hours, in the insanely crowded bus station across the street. The bright, independent, can-do me had vanished in a fog of pinching pain and irritable self-loathing, and I hid my face in my bandanna.
The restaurant manager approached. “Please don't cry, Miss. How can I help you?”
I asked him how much a taxi to Munnar would cost. (Munnar, by the way, was a three-and-a-half hour drive.) The manager went to call a taxi service, and when he came back he informed me that a car would run me 2,600 rupees, or just under sixty US dollars.
It was a bargain by our standards, but I was used to spending fifty cents on all-you-can-eat thali meals. “Would it cost less to take a taxi without air conditioning?” I asked. “I don't need air conditioning.”
Again the manager went to call the taxi company, and I went back to feeling sorry for myself. But the next voice I heard wasn't the manager's.
I did not hear it with my ears, and yet it was as clear as if he'd been sitting right next to me. For Chrissakes, honey, order the taxi!
My grandfather had a way of speaking when he was exasperated—his voice would strain in this very particular way. In that moment he'd been the farthest thing from my mind, which is one reason why I knew I wasn't imagining it.
He spoke again, with feeling instead of words, though it was easy enough to understand him: You're traveling on my dime, honey, so I'm telling you—order the taxi. (Just like him, too, to be dictating how I should spend my inheritance money!)
The second reason I knew I wasn't imagining the voice was my physiological reaction, which was instant and complete: my frustration and loneliness gave way to the most wonderful calm I'd ever known. I ordered the taxi along with a hearty lunch, and was rewarded for my reverse-stinginess with vista after vista of mountains swathed in the brilliant green of the tea plantations, and all from the comfort of an upholstered seat. With each new view, with each fresh breath, I thanked my grandfather for knocking some sense into me, just as he would have when he was alive.
It's easier for Grandpa Ted—or any of our departed loved ones—to communicate with feelings and images instead of speech. (Words are limiting even between mortals, and we are still less competent when listening to the dead.) You might say my grandfather and I are separated by all the vastness of time and space, and yet we get along far better than we did while he was alive. In the old days we knocked heads about a lot of things—politics, mostly—but my grandfather is no longer the man who announced in an Italian restaurant that “all Democrats are liars,” nor am I the girl who needed to be right when letting it go would have allowed us all to eat our meal in peace.
But he is still the person who read my first novel and praised it though it was blatantly anti-Republican, and he is still the person who even read it a second time without once complaining about my politics. He supported me then, and he supports me now. When the ARC for my second novel came out, I brought it to the hospice to show him. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment—the moment I held it up for him to see—that he would never have the chance to read it.
I was wrong about that, though. On one occasion, almost two years after his passing, I was feeling sad about him never getting to read the book, and I felt a sudden clarity as a picture unfolded in my mind:
A quiet, darkened room, like a university library past closing time. A green reading lamp perched over the shoulder of an imitation-leather armchair. I felt his pride and anticipation as he settled in and cracked the spine. Freed of hunger, fatigue, and the call of nature, he read the novel in a single sitting.
Most of the time when Grandpa Ted checks in it's just to tell me he's proud of me, which is something he wasn't able to say outright while he was alive. I have a friend who is a psychic-medium, and while she was communicating with my grandfather back in late 2012 she told me he wished he could have lightened up and laughed with me the way I'd always been able to laugh with my dad's dad. In my mind I went back to one afternoon when my grandmother was watching me after school, and I hid in the coat closet as Grandpa Ted pulled into the driveway after work. He opened the closet and put his coat on a hanger, and I giggled into my hand as he called to my grandmother, “Oh, Camille went home early? That's too bad. I was looking forward to seeing her.” Most of the time, what a medium has to tell you isn't remotely surprising. What more do we ever really need to say besides "I love you"?
My favorite long-distance call happened last summer. I was on a second date, and it was going very well. We were sitting at a bar talking about our Italian-American families, and as I told my date about my grandfather surviving two typhoons during World War II, the most obvious revelation all but tapped me on the shoulder.
“I'm proud of him,” I said, in awe. “I'm proud of how tough he was, how brave he was.” I had never said this to anyone—least of all to the man himself—but the physical reaction was instant and complete. I know Cupid never shot an arrow of familial love, but that's the best way I can describe it. My whole body hummed and shimmered from crown to toe. He'd been dead three years at that point, but I'd never felt so loved.