This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Four of Wands

There's a saying about laurels—you shouldn't rest on them. They make a comfy nest spot, tis true, but comfort can lead to laziness. And laziness leads to more laziness and soon you're in a laziness spiral.

However...there's no reason you can't hoist your laurels high and dance under them for a while. Which is exactly what the Four of Wands suggests you do.

The Wands are the suit of passion and creativity, the element of fire and all the sparking and igniting and kindling and blazing that accompanies it. Writers recognize this feeling as being "in the zone" of a creative project, the feverish, timeless burn as the words flow and entire universes of potential shimmer into being.

The Fours, however, are the stop signs of the universe. They straighten the edges. They capture all that energy and hold it, however temporarily, in one spot. You might think this kind of clash would result in tension, but the Four of Wands manages a yin/yang balance—fiery but contained, if only for a short time.

This week, let the Four of Wands remind you to celebrate all that your work has wrought. Instead of looking ahead to deadlines and tallying up word counts, take time to rejoice and honor this present moment of accomplishment. For me, this means having a beer on the beach with friends and celebrating the publication of my fifth book (woo-hoo!) even as the deadline for the sixth approaches.

For you? Well, I'm not the one to answer that, am I? But I'll look for you under a beribboned canopy somewhere, and we can hoist our glasses to each other. At some future point, we can get back to work. But for now? OPA!

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Knight of Pentacles

In the Steampunk Tarot, Barbara Moore introduces the Knights by reminding us of their chaotic and unpredictable nature.  "It's not easy to wrangle a knight," she writes. They are quest figures, after all, always on the search for their own particular Holy Grail, always with eyes on the horizon.

At first blush, the Knight of Pentacles seems to defy that description. Unlike the other Knights in the Rider-Waite-Smith deck, his steed has all four feet on the ground. Our gallant hero doesn't brandish his symbol, or wave it about, or hoist it high. He contemplates it. The land around him is neatly tilled, and the sky is the golden-yellow of the sunset. There is a sense of coming home in this card, the journey completed.

But don't let all that steady calmness fool you. This Knight is just as knightly as his companions, just as focused on his quest. And therein lies the message he brings.

Pentacles are the suit of material resources, and as such, they are concerned with home and hearth, vocation and finances. Creative endeavors, especially those that are pursued as careers, can't always be about the ecstasy and the flow. Sometimes we have to get down to earth -- do the taxes, revise the scene, organize the calendar. The un-fun but utterly necessary work part of creative work.

When I see this Knight, I know it's time to buckle down. Some quests are quiet, more tortoise than hare. But when one is flying down the road at the speed of light, one misses the scenery. The softly rolling hill. The breeze scented with pine. The weight of the gold in one's hand, the way it catches the light. The quivering warm muscles of the mount beneath you, this faithful beast who has brought you this far and who will surely bring you home.

This week, find the beauty and pleasure in the progress, the one foot after another of your own creative journey. Word by word, chapter by chapter.  Slow and steady and soul-satisfying. Don't look behind to what you have or have not achieved; don't look ahead to accolades and accomplishments. As Anne Lamott reminds us, "Bird by bird." This is how you finally make it home/find the grail/finish the quest. One step at a time.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Nine of Wands

Strength in reserve. That's the message of the Nine of Wands, personified by our grizzled, war-weary hero at the gates.

He's seen trouble, sure enough. And more troubles are on the way, you can bet. Trouble's always rolling in somewhere, after all, and his wary, defiant stance and bloodied but unbowed demeanor suggest that he'll be there to meet it when it does. Trouble is not going to sneak up on him in the night, no sir, no ma'am.

And he's right, of course. Trouble is here, trouble there, trouble trouble everywhere. What else is a person to do but wrap the bandages tighter, grab a stick, and take up position?

Well, now that you mention it, there's lots a person can do besides that.

A person could ask questions, for starters. Like, why am I the only one guarding this particular section of sticks? Isn't it someone else's turn? What's so important about these sticks anyway? And—and this is the trickiest question of all—am I attracting trouble by standing out here looking like a target?

You are of course strong enough for whatever battle is to come—this card guarantees it. What it doesn't spell out for you, for anyone, is whether or not this is a battle you should be fighting. When the Nine of Wands comes visiting, it's time to evaluate what character you've decided to play in the story of your life.

Maybe you'll decide that you are indeed fighting the good fight; if so, hold your stick high, fellow warrior. Or maybe you'll decide to let Don Quixote tilt at windmills while you go do something else, like take a hot bath and get some rest. 

Because maybe, just maybe, you're brandishing that stick at the enemy-yet-to-come because that's much less frightening than figuring out what it is you're really supposed to be doing. Don't let Wielder of Sticks become your sole identity. Remind yourself of what life could be like without a stick in your hands.

Hint: It's pretty good.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: Death

This morning, my daughter and I baked bread. I pulled out an old family recipe, transcribed decades ago by my thirteen-year-old hand, because it was quick and easy. Such requirements matter today because we were baking not for ourselves, but to help feed a family in bereavement.

Only a few hours ago, my kitchen was fragrant with yeast, the oven warming as the loaves finished their second rising. In another season, that flour was not the sifted pale powder in my kitchen -- it was thousands of whole grains waiting to be milled and processed. And before that, it was growing in a green field until it was mowed down by the combine, gathered and collected. Seeding and growing, reaping and harvest.

Death is often referred to as a Reaper. Look at him in the image—a pale rider on a pale horse, children and kings and priests alike falling before him. There is certainly a frightful aspect to the card, and to all losses, especially those of people we love, who have loved us. But there is also a promise. In the tarot, Death may be a reaper, but he bears a reminder of the season of renewal as well—the white rose on the banner, the symbol of the soul and rebirth. For this card describes not a singular moment, but a process. One step in the cycle.

Many years ago, I explored the Death card in a pilgrimage to Antietam, the site of the bloodiest day in Civil War history. I expected to feel some kind of horror there, some pervasive sadness, on that once battlefield, now farm. But the sky was blue and the fields were green and the corn in the field grew high and strong. That night, I dreamed of the Death card, and I wrote about that dream in my journal the next day:

"It is an unsettling card, Death—the black robes, the complacent relentless skull. In the dream, though, I flip it over and reverse it, and the image is now a chalice, overflowing with water, emptying and receiving simultaneously. Death is not static. It moves too, with time, a point on a continuum that really isn't a point, that is as fluid and forward moving as life. The two are inextricable."

And so my daughter and I baked bread this morning, the sun barely risen. And we gave thanks for life and for the harvest, kneaded that gratitude into each loaf. For everything there is a time and place. Tomorrow I will write. I will connect once again with the work that nourishes my soul. And though I will not eat any of this bread I have made, it nourishes me too.

I have heard it said that love is attention. As writers, it is our job to pay attention, so this week, do it well. Be grateful big and be grateful small, for both the expanding edge of the universe and a fresh new page. For the rising sun and the cup of coffee. And for whatever love surrounds you, for surround you it surely does.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Two of Pentacles

Ah, Pentacles. The suit of foundation and security, finances and resources. As such, it's often the suit that shows up when we're dealing with career issues. Like I am right now.

See, I got into this writer gig because I like working at home, by myself, in my pajamas, as my imagination spins scenes of clever sleuthing and derring-do. Yet my to-do list this week includes writing up a sales report, organizing my inventory, and collating my receipts for delivery to my accountant.

Not a shred of derring-do.

And so here comes another Pentacle, reminding me to get back to work. Except that this Pentacle has a slightly different take on work. This Pentacle suggests that the best way to deal with an overload of work is to have a little fun.

The secret is balance, of course. Look at our gentleman in the red hat. He's light on his feet, easily and expertly juggling the two golden discs in an infinity pattern. It's his job, sure, but he's doing it with an ease and enjoyment that no doubt contributes to his success. Not that this is an easy task. Just ask the ships tossing on the wild sea behind him. There are waves. There always will be.

The Two of Pentacles reminds us that the dancer is the dance. You are your work, and your work is you, even the parts that involve spread sheets and data analysis. Find some fancy footwork in it, if you can. Take a deep breath. Keep those balls in the air.

As for me, I still have a pile of paperwork. But I'll be doing it while watching my favorite fun-trash television show.

 

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Ace of Cups

So it's Monday afternoon, and I am just now remembering that I haven't written up this week's tarot post. It's been crazy around here First, my latest release came out a month early (!!!). Then the usual spring break jumble of getaways and family visits and road trips happened. Throw in some flu and allergies and foot surgery...

It's enough to make any girl wanna retreat, possibly into a spa, definitely for a good long while.

But then we have the Ace of Cups to remind us — go with the flow, it says. Because life is always flowing.

And flow can feel very much like chaos. Which it is and isn't. Fluid dynamics provides equations that can predict the overall patterns of liquids in a state of flow, but at best it's describing how things will happen, not what will happen. Stirring a spoonful of cream into your coffee will have a predictable outcome, but trying to foresee the exact bouncing and swirling of molecules is a doomed endeavor.

So don't try. Don't even.

This week, hold high the Ace of Cups. It is reminiscent of last week's Three of Cups in that it encourages you to partake joyously.  And to remember that when life is in full flow, don't get out the anchor. Get out your surfboard.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Three of Cups

I'd been trying to have coffee with a writer friend for a few months, but our schedules never cooperated. Sickness and work also complicated things until last week, when a slice of free time opened up and we shared a few hours of writerly commiseration and camaraderie over a nice Ecuadorian blend. As I laughed and talked, I was reminded yet again of why the Three of Cups is such an important card for us writers.

It signifies community, specifically the close-knit circle of like-minded friends. People you are comfortable laughing with. Of course, these are the same friends who will be there during tears, but the Three of Cups symbolizes the happy times, the shared joy, a time of, as described by tarot creator Arthur Waite, "plenty, perfection and merriment."

But there's a deeper octave to this card. Sure, it's good to take a break and celebrate life with your friends. It's hard to consider this a necessity. We writers are a solitary lot because there is so much work to be done — the inbox! the deadlines! the blogs that need writing! And since we're upper management in this endeavor, allocating time to enjoyment seems frivolous. But it is vital to our work, and even more vital to our hearts (which, of course, are necessary for our work).

There is a sense of promise to this card as well. We humans raise our glasses for lots of reasons: to toast, to honor, but also to pledge. That's what our women are doing in this card — pledging and promising to be there for each other, and to hold each other to that pact. To help each other remember. And re-member.

So this week, call up a friend for a shared hour of conversation. Start a new collaborative project with a fellow creative. Celebrate your people, your community, your tribe. Celebrate connection.