This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Seven of Wands

You're right, of course.

Of course you are. I mean, you wouldn't spend all this time and energy defending something you were wrong about, now would you? It's the principle of the thing, after all. Sometimes you just have to stick up for yourself and what's right, and you do know what's right...don't you?

The Seven of Wands has no opinion about the correctness of your beliefs. It does, however, insist that you must fight to defend them. And unlike the casual stick-rattling in the Five of Wands, the Seven is serious. This is a fight that matters.

Why? Because your beliefs are the foundation upon which your passion finds expression. What you believe falls under the purview of the Swords—how you act upon those beliefs finds expression in the Wands.

The image on the card makes this clear. Yes, our hero is embattled. Yes, he's defending with all he's got, strongly and actively. Yes, he's outnumbered. But look what he's protecting—nothing less than his entire worldview. All that matters to him is on the line, and it's a line he's prepared to hold against all assailants. And they are many. He's outgunned—well, out-sticked anyway—six to one. But what a feisty one he is.

This week, you may find yourself challenged. The matter may seen insignificant on the surface, but make no mistake—a load-bearing wall of your identity is on the line, and right or wrong, you are being called to defend it. Is it worth the inevitable conflict and bruising? Is this a hill you're willing to die on? And—because this is the crux of the matter—would it be a bad thing if you did? (remembering that in the tarot, Death doesn't mean death, only transformation.)

Only you can decide. Only you know if the ground beneath your feet is your true home turf. And only you stand on the front line of it.
 

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Seven of Swords

It is raining here as I write, not the gentle showers of April. No, this is the roaring lion of May come down to growl and pace and throw himself around a bit. My dog is hiding with each thundercrack, and I am grateful to have a roof over my head on such a night.

I am one paragraph away from finishing the draft of what (I hope) will be the sixth book in my mystery series. I need to get to that paragraph. I need to be done. And yet I am still crossing off items on my to-do list. I have paid the bills, cooked the supper, written the letters, proofed the blog. Check and check again.

And now this last thing to do. When did tarot become a chore? A task?

Alas, that is not how it's supposed to work. So it is with little surprise that when I finally settle down to get this post written, and I turn over the card, it is the Seven of Swords, the card of sneak thievery.

He has tiptoed into our readings before. What I said about him then still resonates:

Of course, to call him a thief is to presume that the swords he is so stealthily carting away don't belong to him already. Perhaps he is simply reclaiming what was rightfully his in the first place, which makes this a mission of liberation, not larceny. The image is open to interpretation, and that's what you must do this week.

Contemplate the Larger Enterprise of which you are a part — has something of creative value been taken from you (or vice versa, it must be admitted)? What means justify the ends of getting it back? What steps should you take to correct this imbalance? And what exactly is it that's been (or is being) snatched away?

If I am to heed my own advice (and surely I should, for what's the point of sharing useless advice?), then I must look this thief in the eye and realize that he works for me. I hired him to steal snippets of time. He picks the locks with his tool of multitasking, but what he doesn't say is that his services cost me more than any purloined bounty he brings.

Today I have double-teamed every moment I have had. Not one has been deep, or singular, or purely experienced. I have charged through every single one, desperate to get to the next item and check it off.

Some days are like this, I know. Best to put one's head down and keep moving forward, stubborn as a bull. One step after another. But today there have been gardenias and rainbows and red wine, and the thief I hired to steal time for me has instead stolen moments from me.

This week...no, not this week. Right now. Put down your creative to-do list and claim instead an hour of non-productive non-work. Don't check off anything. Don't rush through an unpleasant task. Creativity is a gift we give ourselves. Send the thief packing. Let the seconds run through your fingers indolent and lovely. And know that I am taking my own advice, as of right this very second.

It's time to unplug and sit with the lightning.


 

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Seven of Pentacles

And here we have the Seven of Pentacles, a card that showed up almost exactly at this same time last year (you can read about that here). And I suspect I know why our Constant Gardner has revisited us.

We are a culture enraptured by forward motion. Our language reflects this attitude, our glorification of multi-tasking and milestone charts and the whole notion of progress.

We writers are especially susceptible to this idea. How many words per day? How many pages per week? A page a day is three-hundred and sixty-five pages a year—a whole book!—and a book a year is...

And so the math goes. Staying in the same place feels like the opposite of progress. And I suppose technically it is, if we're going to be tedious about it. But the Seven of Pentacles asks us to reconsider the meaning of progress, and it asks us to do that by stepping off the fast and frenetic Highway of Accomplishment for just a minute.

Really, a single minute. You can time me if you wish.

The Seven of Pentacles is about assessment, an activity best done in a state of unhurried contemplation. You will be asked to act soon enough, for assessment is not an end unto itself. But for now, you must put your brain to the grindstone. There might be note-taking, perhaps even a dash of predictive analysis. We won't be going anywhere for a little while, but that doesn't mean we're not being active.

And receptive, especially to information. The Seven of Pentacles requires a certain pragmatism as well (the Pentacles are the suit of foundation and stability, after all). Close examination of your work in progress might reveal the necessity of a difficult sacrifice. You might have pruning to do. Some ideas might be best cut off and chucked into the compost bin.

Only you can decide. So decide. And honor that decision by making it in a space that is clean and clear and grounded. A still space. A silent space. A solitary space.

Trust me, the Wheel of Fortune will still be there when you start moving again. It may even show up next week.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Seven of Swords

If there is anything I have learned during my time as an author, it is this: the publishing industry is run on exchange. If you want to write books for yourself and yourself alone, buy a journal, a pretty one that you can keep in a locked drawer. If you want to write for an audience, get ready to submit (and I mean that word in all its permutations and connotations).

We write manuscripts, and then those manuscripts are offered to publishers and editors, to agents and readers, to critique partners and contest judges. Our work is split open on various altars, whether to commodification or beautification or good old professionalism. And in return, at the end of this process, we receive our rewards. Reviews. Recommendations. Connections. Perhaps even — hopefully, maybe, miraculously — a little financial recompense.

It's an age-old cycle, this trading of goods and services. For as long as there have been artists and writers and creative works, there has been a market for such. And our sneak thief this week has had it with the whole shebang.

Of course, to call him a thief is to presume that the swords he is so stealthily carting away don't belong to him already. Perhaps he is simply reclaiming what was rightfully his in the first place, which makes this a mission of liberation, not larceny. The image is open to interpretation, and that's what you must do this week.

Contemplate the Larger Enterprise of which you are a part — has something of creative value been taken from you (or vice versa, it must be admitted)? What means justify the ends of getting it back? What steps should you take to correct this imbalance? And what exactly is it that's been (or is being) snatched away? Better figure that one out before you raise the hue and cry. Or before you tiptoe past the guards with your arms full of purloined steel.

I'll just look the other way while you decide. And if anyone asks, I'll say I didn't see a thing.

The Writerly Tarot: The Seven of Pentacles

If anything can capture what life is like during the final stages of revision, it's this card. Pentacles are the suit of hard work and foundation, so that's why it's up today, because that's where I am. I plucked it deliberately from the deck and posted it where I could see it (you are allowed to do this, you know. Choose for yourself sometimes. The tarot approves of choices).

This card and I are old friends. It shows up whenever I'm deep in the nitty-gritty details, like this week. It's a card of assessment. Of both pruning and fertilizing, the peculiar ying-yang of creation and destruction that the final stages of a writing project require. Our gardener is gazing fondly upon the fruits of his labors. But he can't gaze forever. That's a hoe in his hands. There is hoeing to do.

Yes, you must kill your darlings (or reconcile them to the Next file, which isn't the same thing but which serves the same purpose). You must also nurture your darlings, tend them and train them up, talk sweet to them. How do you do both things at the same time?

Oh, don't ask me. I can barely see straight this week. My head is swimming with words. But this is my North Star, my compass heading, this balancing act of contemplation and cutting and creating in equal measure. Releasing David from the marble, as it were. And I think it is important work, whether one is Michelangelo or a mystery writer. Everybody gets a block of stone.

So this week, know that creation requires both endings and beginnings, but most of all, it requires choice. Roll up your sleeves. You've got work to do.

Writerly Tarot for the Week: The Seven of Wands (Again) Plus The King of Swords

Apparently, the concept of "lazy days of summer" is lost on you and me, dear reader. For here we are again with the Seven of Wands (previously seen here, warning us of chore creep and reminding us to cherish the real reason we do what we do).

Because we are still beating back the world with our stick. And the world just keeps on coming.

So I asked the deck for a little further enlightenment (we're allowed to do that, you know. If the messages you're getting from the Universe are muddled or muddy or inexplicable, you're allowed to say, "A little clarification, please."). Because apparently there's something still going on here, something we need to be addressing.

I drew the King of Swords, one of the court cards. There are twelve of these in the tarot deck, four for each suit (you can see contemporary echoes of this court in the face cards of a deck of playing cards). In the tarot, Kings represent action and authority, and Swords the suit of mental expression. The King of Swords has a clue about how we should handle all the continuing chaos surrounding us, and his advice has nothing to do with waving a stick around.

This King suggests that instead of rushing about and trying to exert order on a messy world, we should take a step inward into the one thing that we can control -- our own minds. Our brains are our best friends in many ways, but they can also be tricky, demanding, and deceitful. Meditation teachers will tell you that the human mind is like an unhousebroken puppy -- it must be brought gently and firmly to the newspaper where it can do its business. Hitting it with a stick will not help it learn. Treating it with loving discipline will.

So this week, when the chaos crackles and swirls like heat lightning, don't pick up a stick and try to beat the world into submission. Instead, disengage yourself from the situation. Breathe in and out. Soothe your mind until it is as clear and free of thoughts as the blue sky.

And the rest will follow.

Writerly Tarot for the Week -- The Seven of Wands

Feeling a bit embattled? You and me both.The fact that it's taken me until Wednesday to write up this Monday reading says a lot of the state of the creative state around here (Mercury retrograde too! Oy vey!).

The wands can bring a lot of creative energy to a situation, but a lot of chaos too. Just look at this card -- our hero is taking on six different enemies, all at one time, all with their pointy sticks aimed right at him. I bet you can easily think of six things competing for your time and attention -- six chores, six e-mails, six bills, six phone calls to return. And you and your one stick to fight them all.

This week, box up any perfectionistic tendencies you have and shove them on a high shelf. Put out what fires you can, the ones liable to flare into conflagration. Plant your feet on whatever solid ground you can find. Muster your reserves. And give yourself a pat on the back for every accomplishment, no matter how small.

And above all, protect your creative time from all those hostile forces. Shut the door. Turn off the phone. Take whatever snatches of clear and open time come your way to write, to ponder, to look at pretty pictures, whatever refuels your creative mojo. Soon enough the clatter of sticks will fill the air, and you'll have to grab your own stick and whack away. But in the small moments, when the blue sky is empty and silent, connect with your purpose, your joy, your reason for doing this thing. And do whatever you can to celebrate and own that purpose.