Nine Things XANADU Taught Me About Creative Endurance
(or, A Writer’s Review of a 38-Year-Old Movie a Lot of People Don’t Care About Anymore But Should)
~#~
I really don’t know how the topic started. At a marketing conference recently, my new friend Jenn from Mixtus Media mentioned Xanadu. “Do you remember that movie?”
“Remember it?” I gasped. And then explained how just the day before I was rocking out in the elevator to the song “Whenever You’re Away From Me”. I know that’s hard to believe, but it’s a #truestory. [And here’s where I’m betting Beckie’s a little glad she wasn’t on this trip with me. That’s okay, Beckie. You know I still love you!]
Fast-forward to after the conference and some well-discussed Facebook posts and YouTube videos, and now the movie is in my Prime rental library for another two hours.
Shameless Admission:
I’ve already watched it three times.
And, yes.
Yes, I have sung each song out loud, each time.
Loudly.
Because I still know the soundtrack to XANADU by heart.
XANADU got me thinking about my creativity. I know, that’s a really weird thing to write. Because y’all know I’m inspired by sweet tea and Hemingway and O’Connor and peacocks and Van Morrison and frogs and zebras. None of which are in this 1980 roller skating fantasy world (unless you count the disco outfits. But I’d really rather not.).
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Nine Things XANADU Taught Me About Creative Endurance
Anyway . . . Besides reclaiming my youth and the let-it-loose elevator vocals, here are nine things XANADU taught me about being creative. I invite you to join the discussion.
Taking care of business does not mean you’re a creative failure. The movie opens with Sonny Malone (Michael Beck) returning to his job as a studio painter: he enlarges album covers for display in store fronts. He had walked away from this job to pursue his dream of becoming a “real” artist, but it didn’t work out. Once the pressure was on, the creativity was off. But Sonny was always a “real” artist. It was doing it full-time that shook his boots. So he went back to what he knew. Not as a failure (although for a time he thought so). His day job was a safe place where he could continue to hone his skills and bounce creative ideas off his team. (Note: I don’t recommend talking smack to your boss unless you have that sort of banter relationship. Definitely don’t encourage him to fire you unless you’re ready to walk.)
Support comes from many sources. There’s a phrase in the industry: Street Team. These are the people, personal and professional, who believe in you and want to help you succeed. They read your books, leave reviews, attend author events, give encouragement. Think of it as a positive posse. (I call y’all my Swarm, and you can join on Facebook by clicking here: NOLA Swarm.) In XANADU, Sonny’s Swarm starts when he meets Danny McGuire, the clarinet-playing old-timer (Gene Kelly), and then Kira (Olivia Newton-John), one of Zues’s nine daughters, or muses. Each contributes something different to Sonny’s life, but both believe in him even when he doesn’t believe in himself. They swarm to his side, along with his other friends and former coworkers.
Practice makes perfect. Sonny’s dream is to be a renowned artist. So whatever he’s doing, he practices. At work, he gets into trouble by spending too much attention to detail. He takes odd jobs where he can get them. He’s painted walls, vans, canvases. He never stops painting. So even if it’s not how he wants to do it, at least he is doing what he wants. And he keeps at it. He keeps getting better. And, even though he wants us to think he’s given up, he never really does.
Changing directions is not the same as stopping. His budding friendship with Danny and encouragement from Kira influence Sonny to co-own a night-club/disco/roller-skate hall with Danny. Through a lot of hard work, they find the perfect place: an abandoned building Kira likes to find her solace in. Sonny gets to transition his creativity to design the aesthetics of the club. But he doesn’t let it get in the way of his passion for painting.
Don’t discount what you don’t understand. Kira took human form when she and her eight muse-sisters released themselves from a city mural. She knew her mission, and she filled it with great joy: She skated (yes, skated. Hey, the movie was made in 1980, okay?) up to Sonny, gently kissed him, and vanished. Later in the movie, she admits to Sonny she’s not had human feelings before, and this love-thing is messy and painful. Sonny doesn’t believe her, of course. And when she returns to Zeus, it takes a pep talk from Danny for Sonny to go in search of her. He knows he needs her, even if he doesn’t understand where she came from. He finds a way to find her.
Don’t limit yourself to what others say. Sonny’s boss told him to stop being creative. Just do what was expected of him. But Sonny couldn’t do that. He couldn’t color inside the lines all day, every day. Kira awakened that creativity in him again, and he again found the passion to create more than album covers. When Kira left, it would be impossible by earthly standards for him to reach her. But he stopped listening to the laws of nature, and listened instead to his inner self. He always knew he could succeed. And now that he was aware again, he also knew he needed Kira. And he did whatever it took to find her.
Go to the source. But the rules of the gods held Kira with Zeus, and he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, let her go back to earth. I mean, sure, it’s pretty impressive that Sonny didn’t smash into bits when he skated full-force toward the mural of Kira and her sisters. But love doesn’t conquer everything. Sonny plead his case, but had to leave without Kira. Everyone’s hearts were breaking. The point is, Sonny didn’t stop until there was nowhere else to go.
Not seeing is still believing. Sonny was without Kira. He was without his muse, his love. He could still be a creative. He just didn’t want to. What Sonny didn’t know, was that Zeus and his wife, Hera, were having a conversation of their own. They saw the good in Sonny, and how Kira made him better. They saw how being without Sonny made Kira sad. She was no longer capable of being an inspiring muse. And, remembering from long ago (or was it just a few minutes?), what true love is, they gave Kira back to Sonny. Only he just didn’t know it yet.
Change with the times. Okay, can we break for a minute and just talk about the fashion in this movie? And the weird, NuWave neon-clad characters? How did anyone think Gene Kelly in a bright Zoot Suit was an awesome idea, if even for just a moment? My point is, peeps, the visuals would not be the same if the movie was made today. But the message is. Sonny’s dream was to be a painter. Throughout the movie, he achieved that, in different stages. Danny’s dream was to feel needed. He thought he’d missed out on love. But being needed and being loved isn’t only romantic. And Kira? She just wanted to inspire people. In the end, she did so much more than that. And she did it so well, she was given the freedom to stay.
What do you think?
I’d love to hear from you: Leave a comment below and tell me what movies still inspire your creativity.
With a wild soundtrack and some serious no-one-is-looking dance moves,
Happy Creating.
~Molly Jo
Frankly, My Dear . . . Savor the Journey!
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Bohemian Hurricane
Molly Jo is a Southern Belle and known to her friends as the Bohemian Hurricane. She is the author/curator of The Unemployment Cookbook and several eBooks available on Amazon. Her work-in-progress, NOLA, is a full-length location mystery novel set in New Orleans, and the first in her City Series.
God has never required us to be perfect to be in His presence.
In my mind I know this, but in my actions, my soul, my convictions . . . Well, that’s another story. Or another lie.
Frankly, On Faith . . . : My Imperfect Bible Reading
The enemy will use whatever he can to get to us, and that includes climbing inside our heads and making us think our thoughts are our own. But we can conquer those negativities one at a time.
When I chose to embrace my imperfections for this year, it opened up an attitude of joy. I’m no longer stressed or struggling to make everything “just right.”
It’s okay if my apartment is messy or I didn’t wash the car last week. I don’t have to balance the budget every day, and ice cream once in a while is good for my mood. Scribbles aren’t the death of a notebook. [That’s a big one!]
I bought a new Bible for the year. It’s the C.S. Lewis Bible, NRSV. I’m enjoying it abundantly. The quotes and meditations included from Mr. Lewis give new or refreshed insight into certain passages.
I even bought a cover and tabs. All went well until I placed 2 Kings under 1 Kings.
Frankly, On Faith . . . : My Imperfect Bible Reading
I could have become angry at myself. Frustrated. Disappointed. I could have tried to remove the tab, thus ripping the page. I could have carefully cut the tab and repositioned it with regular tape. I could have placed the next tab in its place. Or I could leave it as a reminder that I’m not perfect, but God loves me anyway.
Do you think God cares about the placement of Bible tabs? Only so much as it satisfies my soul. But if I allow the imperfect positioning of those tabs to come between me and God, that’s a whole ‘nother story.
The Bible tells us over and over of imperfect people whom God chose to deliver His message: Moses, Joseph, Esther, Paul . . . so why would He expect perfection of little ol’ me and not them?
Frankly, On Faith . . . : It is never a requirement to be perfect to be loved by God.
Answer: He wouldn’t.
No, O people, the LORD has told you what is good,
and this is what he requires of you:
to do what is right, to love mercy,
and to walk humbly with your God.
~Micah 6:8 NLT
God sees through to the parts of our hearts we’re unaware of. And if He can do that, and still love us as His own, why shouldn’t we love ourselves? Forgive ourselves? Respect ourselves?
Answer: We should.
Because in doing so to ourselves, it reflects outward and we will love, forgive, and respect others more.
I missed the last three days of Bible reading. The first day I thought I was too busy. The second day I was definitely too tired from being too busy on Day One. The third day I was catching up on what I didn’t do on Day Two. Yeah, I feel a little bad about not making my Bible reading a priority. But I did do some reading, and that’s a start.
Frankly, On Faith . . . : My Imperfect Bible Reading
Even without catching up on my reading, God still spoke to me.
How will you let Him speak to you today?
With an open heart and open hand,
Happy Sunday.
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . : That’s all she wrote!
Can I just tell y’all how hard it is for me to write this post? I mean this post, with that word in the title. Oh, yes. THAT word.
PERFECT.
It’s like a flashing neon arrow pointing right at me, screaming “HYPOCRITE!”
It’s a little funny, dontcha think? After last month’s post about embracing my imperfections? The thing is… I just don’t know where to start. Wait. That makes it sound like I have way too many imperfections. Okay, stop nodding in agreement, brother. I know where you live.
Frankly, My Dear . . . The Perfect Start
Anyway. I’m imperfect. CHECK. But I’m trying. CHECK. And I want to move forward. Uhm, check?
How does a perfectionist move forward with imperfections? Well, for This Girl, I’m just gonna start. Someone once told me, “Three steps forward and two steps back is still one step forward.”
I HAVE LISTS.
#truestory. I have list upon list upon list of things I want to do this year. Posts to blog. Books to read. Things to learn. Recipes to create. Experiences to, well, experience.
I’ve already embraced the imperfections of my planning skills and allowed myself to scribble in my Happy Planner. *gasp* Insert SCREAM face here, right?!
Well, being as I’m now what is known as a true Southerner, I queried my local writing friends over a cup of Starbucks. Cuz, you know, we’re writers. We need the coffee to do the thinking to do the writing. And I’m an extrovert. I need the talk to do the energy to do the writing. Put me in a social setting with caffeine and BAM! Instant Bohemian Hurricane. Anyway, focus: Yes. I received some excellent advice on doing a blog relaunch. Now, I’m not going to do a big Facebook Live Event. But I am going to narrow my focus. Rather, refocus my focus. Good gravy there’s a lot of focus in this paragraph and I still haven’t gotten to the point. *sigh*
IMPERFECT POST: CHECK.
I’ve kept myself locked in a holding pattern, unable to do anything but circle the target. I can’t fly away, I can’t land. Until I get the gears and the mechanics and the passengers (uhm, that would be all of you) in just the write right place, I can’t do anything. So I do nothing.
BIG UNCHECK HERE, PLEASE.
I’ve been wanting to relaunch Frankly, My Dear . . . with a stronger emphasis on the four tenets I’ve held all along: Faith, Family, Food, and Fun (Fun being the one that incorporates the outings and the writings and the everything elses that happen in life). Edie and Cathy told me to just keep doing what I’m doing. But, keep doing it. Don’t sit back and wait for it to magically appear. After all, Harry Potter doesn’t live in Simpsonville. So, think of the Four F’s as the legs of a table. And you’re all invited. And since I’m a true Southerner now (can y’all tell I just love saying that?!), I want to keep in line with the whole Southern Gone With the Wind “Frankly, My Dear . . .” theme. I mean, I just wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell it like it is from my perspective.
Sidenote: Someone told me it takes ten years to become a true Southerner. Someone else countered it doesn’t take any time at all. In NOLA, Toni tells Josie what it’s like to be a local. This is where my good friend Beckie Lindseywould say, “You’re being Josie!” And this is where I agree.
So, ultimately, it comes down to boiling the potato like this: Do I want to start, or do I want to stagnate? Given that I’m adverse to mold and immobility, I choose the former. And I hope you’ll come to the table. There’s plenty to go ’round. And I hope you’ll keep me accountable to what’s on the menu.
With a heaping plate and a pitcher of tea,
Happy Everything.
~Molly Jo
Zoiks! (Said in my best Scooby-Doo imitation). What a whirlwind. Some might suggest my life has been a bit of a hurricane lately. Hmmm…
I don’t know where I got the idea that being a Bohemian Hurricane went hand-in-hand with perfectionism. ‘Cause you know what? It doesn’t.[Stop nodding, mother. And don’t say anything when we call later.] Anyway, yes. I haven’t blogged because I haven’t written because I’m still unpacking from the beautiful chaos of having moved cross-country six weeks ago and downsized from a three bedroom house to a two bedroom apartment and helping Berry Sunshine cross the Rainbow Bridge and meeting and greeting all the people I moved to be close to and buying winter clothes (for the South? Are you even serious right now?!) and figuring out how to catch my breath and as of this moment, preparing to enjoy my first Southern snowfall. (So, yes. Back to the winter clothes thing. Apparently it is serious down here.) [Note to self: Get Starbucks card for Edie as thank you for finding the perfect coat when I had given up the search.]
Frankly, My Dear . . . That One Time I Didn’t Have to Be Perfect
Now, y’all know part of the main reason I moved was to be needyattach tosurround myself with some of the best writers I know: my peeps from Blue Ridge. Yes, that Blue Ridge. The Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference that I go to each year. The same one where Steve Laube and I are now expected to throw Scooby Snacks at each other every year. The same one where I do incredibly stupid things like shout at people at inappropriate moments (although, really. Bless your heart. Is there ever a wrong time to yell, “You go, girl!” or “Aaron Gansky? Ohmagosh, I know him!”?). The same conference that I attend every May, and every June tell all y’all how my life has changed and I’m better for it, and my writing will be better for it . . . yadayadayada. I. Know.
But this time, it’s different. Because this time, I’m surrounded by perfectly imperfect writing people. And I love them completely. And they love me. As imperfect as I am. What an example! What mentors they are without even trying.
And I realize I don’t have to have a perfectly clean house or perfectly quiet area or perfectly planned plot (Okay, say that last one five times fast!) to accept their friendships. Or to be who I am. I just have to keep writing. Keep cleaning. Keep breathing. Keep being me.
You know . . . Keep on Keepin’ On.
And when I make mistakes, it’s not the end of the world. If I leave a dirty dish in the sink for a day, if I don’t check the mail or respond to a message right away, if I have a typo or missing punctuation, the world doesn’t really end. *GASP*. I know. But it’s true! I’m totally living proof!
I have to stop waiting to get everything perfect in my head and heart before sharing it, even with myself. I have to let go of the image of a perfect Facebook-post-worthy me. Cuz let’s be real. That rarely happens. Snow angels have boot prints leading up to them. My life is quite often the epitome of #NailedItFail, okay?
I gotta take what I have and move it forward. Whatever that means. Hey, you get a small ding on your car, do you junk it? No way. You have a story to tell. Your bananas turn brown before you eat them all. Toss ’em? Uh-uh. Make banana-walnut bread! What am I waiting for?
Imperfections are the lessons we teach ourselves. It’s where we learn to be creative and allow ourselves to find alternate solutions. It’s the pieces of our mosaic selves and the music we didn’t intend to sing.
Imperfections are not failures.
I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.
~Thomas A. Edison
My word for 2019 is IMPERFECT.
And I’m going to embrace it perfectly.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Perfectly Imperfect
With a scribbled-in notebook and a snowflake covered sleeve,
Happy imperfecting.
~Molly Jo
There I was, minding my own business. Or, rather, minding the business-business. Yup. I was in a team meeting when all of a sudden, instead of taking notes, I turned to the last page in my yellow pad. You know, the ones we all have at the office. They call them legal pads, although everyone uses them for everything. So, really. Shouldn’t they be called everything-you-need-to-write-down pads? (How’d I do with those hyphens, Mermaid?)
Frankly, My Dear . . . That One Time I Didn’t Have a Midlife Crisis
Anyway. Yeah. So I start a quick calculation of how much I owe. Like student loans. And credit cards. And car payments. And things like that. Then I figure what my house is worth. My small, older, fixer-upper house that I haven’t really been able to fixer-up like I would like. Is that a word? It is now!
Now, I’ve not usually been too good at math. I mean, I’m no rocket surgeon or anything like that. I’m more of a Words Girl. But, hey. I do know pluses and minuses. And I was liking what I was seeing. I wrote a few more numbers into the mix. Things like moving expenses, living costs, set up fees.
Then I wrote the date. And one word.
Pray.
I folded the paper and tucked it into my purse.
Flash-forward to a few discussions with trusted people, unofficial-followed-by-official notice at the office, two realtors, 52 hours, five showings, two offers, and one sale. And voila! Thirty-seven days later I’m driving into South Carolina. Well, actually, my awesome brother is driving as I’m trying not to fall asleep in the passenger seat because it was 1:30 in the morning.
I know to some people it seemed like a rash decision. A spontaneous, what-is-she-doing moment. But the truth is, we all know this has been brewing for nearly five years. I mean, poor Beckie and Spartacus. When we flew home from Blue Ridge in 2015 and I just cried all the way. It was the first time I’d not wanted to come back to California. Do a keyword search on the blog for Blue Ridge, and you’ll see just how much it’s affected my life. Seriously. It’s like, a lot.
The drive itself was worth it. Not that I’d want to do it every year, but hey. Now there’s a thought. I mean, who doesn’t love listening to Pet Sematary on Audible while driving a lonely two-lane highway at night? Or crossing the Mississippi River and stopping for a coffee at Graceland? Meteor Crater, Mojo Coffee, Cadillac Ranch, Tupelo, Atlanta. And old country music. Seriously. We have been the only two rocking out to Johnny Cash’s “I’ve Been Everywhere” but in the scheme of things, it was totally memory-making.
Not to mention I am now within driving distance of ohsomany people. We’re talking besties. Work and writing peeps. Church mentors. And did I mention my new apartment is located just down the block from Target, Hobby Lobby, and Cracker Barrel?
This is where I belong. With my writing community. With four seasons and leaves that change color and drop in the wind. With a balcony with a view. With coffee and friends and cable TV and the Hallmark Channel. There’s a crazy wonderful energy in the atmosphere out here. It’s my Bohemian Hurricane Territory, and I was made for such a moment as this.
Sure, there’s still a ridiculous amount of boxes to unpack and organize. I’m nowhere near finishing the second draft of NOLA. But I’m surrounded by like-minded people. And not just for five days out of the year. I mean,
This is my life.
And, well, It’s a Wonderful Life.
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Here’s a few photos from the past two weeks:
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Welcome Home.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : My New Morning View
Frankly, My Dear . . . : I collected a mug (or more) in every state we drove through.
Frankly, My Dear . . . Crossing the Mississippi
Frankly, My Dear . . . My New Mantra. And New Jewelry.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Greenville Falls Park
Frankly, My Dear . . . This Thing Called Mist
Frankly, My Dear . . . : A Window With a View
Frankly, My Dear . . . Look, Meowma. There’s a bird in the tree!
