If I wrote the same thing over and over would it start to somehow make sense? Would what I really want to write, what is in there as far as fiction is concerned, finally make its appearance?
It is very difficult for me to find the time to write most weekdays and some weekends. But with this week off for Thanksgiving/Fall break I have actually had the time and have sat down every single morning to create.
It’s not that I am unhappy with what I’ve written. Not at all. I would just love that itch of writing fiction again to be scratched. But it’s been so long I don’t know quite how to start.
I don’t want to go all insane like Jack.
So I’ll just have this slightly embarrassing blog talk to anyone who happens to read. Thanks for listening.
All work and no play……
A swollen heart
full of everything
the universe has brought
I give gratitude by the lake
by the sea
under the full harvest moon
I give gratitude unbounded
Immense thankfulness for
The late autumn wind
tickling worn tree branches
highlighting the hibiscus
and the pleasure it brings
to my ears
as does the morning birdsong
A delightful symphony
The comfort of a safe haven
The calm serenity of inner peace
Hands for work and art
Movement to travel and see
Self love and acceptance
Love within and without
A good steward for the universe
I am thankful for you
each one of you
In the way you have touched
In the way you were brought
into this world
In the way I will carry you
in my heart
It’s easy to get frustrated with your art. The paintings aren’t selling. There’s two people in the audience. There’s one “like” on your latest blog post.
I’ve been blessed to be acquainted with and very close to some various artists. Singers, musicians, actors, filmmakers, painters, writers. We are drawn to each other.
Regardless of the sometimes lack of response or accolades these people continue to create. Because stopping creating is worse than hearing a cricket in the audience. It would mean giving up.
We don’t do it for the money. We don’t do it to be famous. Although a little bit of that would be nice! We don’t do it to inflate our egos. Because if we did, our art wouldn’t be real. As I type on this keyboard now it feels good. Even if no one reads it.
I’ve given up thinking I could make a real living at writing. And maybe that’s sad and maybe that’s also like giving up. But if I don’t put that kind of pressure on myself then I can just create to create. Because it’s been a part of me since I can remember.
And I thank those who do read. And I hope I can make someone smile, or laugh, or find a different perspective.
Perhaps I will make a living out of it one day. But right now I’m just gonna write when time allows and when my brain, soul, and fingers get that itch. And in the meantime help the kids in class learn how to spell and fill them with the confidence to follow their own passions.
I consoled one of them the other day when she was upset that the other classmates were on her for not doing exactly what they were doing in the Thanksgiving production.
“You be you, ” I said. “You just be you.”
A moment in time
or rather the recesses of my brain
where memories, scents, and images
not to mention a quiet bubbling rush
In this moment there is a gazebo
We stopped to take a photograph
on a Smoky Mountain venture
I can smell the caramel apples
and feel the familiarity of
We held our baby boy so close
chubby legs and dimples on his flushed
The three of us
in a fairy tale reality
protected by wooden spindles
and fall flower boxes
I’m afraid to try and look
for the photograph
Afraid it won’t be there
Afraid the rush of emotion
may evolve into a roaring river
So in this space in my cortex
the sweet memory will remain
And it will linger on days like this
when I need to remember from where
And the journey since
like those elusive vaporous
peaks and valleys
In stillness will always
be just there
like the eternal structure
like the sanctuary
of the gazebo.
I’m having one of those writer moments where everything I type is crap. I actually have time and a quiet place to write. A hundred thoughts going through my head. But nothing is coming out of my creative tap.
I avoided the computer all afternoon yesterday. Instead I watched a marathon of my new favorite show Master of None. Now there are no more episodes to watch because I finished two entire seasons sitting on my recliner in my “house dress“. But it felt good to be lazy. It rarely happens.
The boy (my son) is with his dad for a week. So there are no video games being played. No begging for playdates. No requests for food. Cherry Pearl (the dog) is also with dad. If you dropped a piece of popcorn you could hear it hit the tile. And it would stay there until I noticed it.
The branches outside are dripping with fat, glistening droplets of rain. The sun is trying to peek through a band of cloud cover that has hung over the city for 48 hours.
Nature’s tap is also forever changing. Flowing, dripping, drying, clogging, peeking, gleaming.
I think one of the reasons I love my alone time so much is that I am surrounded with an abundance and overflow of energy and stimulation every day for 9 hours nonstop. Then I get home and there are always chores to be done.
This energy keeps me alive and mostly sane but there are moments I need to just look at a tree branch dancing in the wind. Or a pelican dive for fish. Or a twinkling string of stars on the occasions I actually look up at the night sky.
I need nature’s tap to regroup, gather inspiration, pause in stillness. And to keep my creative tap flowing.
What inspires you? What keeps you level-headed and able to create freely?
Photo courtesy of Frederic J. Brown/AFP/Getty Images
Sunrise we have not met many times
I was always wrapped in twilight’s blanket
But circumstances have risen
to incorporate your peaceful silent beauty
into my awakening
Making me love you
as much as sunset
Just as spring has become
my parallel lover
Early sunny Saturday morning brought with it a cool breeze. This is the kind of breeze where you want to fly open the windows, every window in the house. Go grab a light sweater and relish in the refreshing break. My son is on a high today from just stepping outside and not sweating immediately.
It’s mid-November. It is technically autumn. But Florida has been hanging on tightly to its tropical bones. We’ve been participating in a resounding groan about the heat not wanting to leave with the remnants of Halloween. Hell we were groaning before Halloween.
The weekend is supposed to be chilly by Florida standards. And it is greatly welcomed. Sometimes you just need a cool change. Whether it is the weather, a new job, adventure, friend, toy, dress. Shedding one layer of skin like the leaves shed their brown, red, and yellow leaves. Replace the skin with newness, a shift, a rising bud from within to reveal itself in spring.
Summer may linger longer here in Florida than we’d like. But sunny days are welcomed graciously. The sun warms the skin, the water, our cheeks, and reminds us there is light after darkness. And when it scorches we wince and pray for a rainy day to nestle inside and keep our skin from burning. But even better is a day like today. Both sun and light chill to awaken and bring about smiles on tired, weary faces.
I don’t think I could ever handle the tundra. And I might not always live in Florida, who knows. But I know I prefer wearing flip flops so I have to take the heat. My boots are patiently waiting in the closet. And I’m looking forward to wearing them. For just a little while.