Writing Rituals

When I was pregnant with my Oldest Son, I decided it might be nice for my kids to have a religion. So I played Religion Roulette. Looked into this one and that one. Read up on them. I felt that every person has dark nights of the soul, and having a religion to fall back on, to be comforted by, would be a good thing. In the course of Religion Roulette, I decided to go back to my heritage and attend a Russian Orthodox Church.

So, one Sunday, I dragged my VERY pregnant self down to the lone Russian Orthodox church in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, a run-down congregation of ancient Russians who likely came to America at the time of the Russian Revolution, just as my grandmother had. I don't speak Russian. Oh, I know quite a few toasts if you want to down a cold shot of vodka, but I really don't understand it. The priest only spoke Russian. The entire service, except for the Our Father and a few Amens was in Russian.

But that didn't really matter to me. The church was filled with icons and incense, and women in head coverings, and I sat in the back and did what they did. I stood when they stood, I sat when they sat. I uttered an Amen at certain times.

I didn't end up joining the church. The people were so old there would not be a single child for my as-yet-unborn baby to play with, but I have to say I liked being in that church. And when I travel, I often seek out churches in cities--like St. Patrick's Cathedral. I go in and sit and just am still. In my life, which is so full and hectic, being still is a good thing once in a while. And no, I don't have to be still only in a church, but sometimes, even though I am not Catholic or of that faith, I still like to sit there. I like to think that if there is a God, he or she doesn't mind. I talk to God in my head. Maybe he or she listens. Maybe not. In a sense, I don't know that it matters any more than it matters that I didn't understand Russian. Maybe there are things about life and the universe and ritual that do not need language.

I am now religion-less. And will likely be that way for the rest of my life. I realized I can't box up a religion and hand it to my kids. It's a path for people to find their way to whatever it is their understanding of the mysteries of the universe are. The things I see people do in the name of religion break my heart. So no, I don't even think I want them to have a religion. Nonetheless, Oldest Son is a Christian. Oldest Daughter and Youngest Daughter are too. Pirate Boy . . . my guess is he may end up Buddhist, but who knows. Maybe he'll be a Jew or a Hindu. Or nothing. Maybe he will start the Church of the Pirate.

But religionless or not, the rituals of faiths still intrigue me. And as a writer, I find myself slipping into rituals too. Brewing the coffee in pre-dawn, sitting down in silence for a bit, just being with my thoughts. Blogging is part of the ritual too. It lets out the clutter up there so I can concentrate on my fiction.

I light candles sometimes--more often when I NEED the ritual, when the words are being a little stubborn and won't flow.

I talk aloud. I don't know if that a ritual or insanity, but I read the words out loud in sort of a heavy whisper. Sometimes, I do them in character, or I cock my head a certain way. One character in my work in progress has a certain facial expression and when I read him, I adopt it.

I have a lucky bathrobe. I don't put it on, but I will occasionally go and hold it. It belonged to my grandfather.

Sometimes I talk to my grandmother. She's been gone since I was 30, but I'll look at her picture and say, "All right, Irene . . . I need to get this done, so a little help here, okay?"

I don't know if any of this works, any more than I know whether or not sitting a church on occasion does anything at all. But I still do it, and I still like the stillness.

How about you? Any writing rituals you have?