Saturday, April 4, 2015

One Down. Many to come.


On Wednesday I completed a first draft of a short story I haven't done this in at least 4 years. When Abigail was born life shifted in so many wonderful ways, but now she is 4 and Benjamin is 17 months and things are beginning to shift back towards me a bit. Self care is beginning to happen again. I am grateful.
With one story finished another has begun. I am even thinking there is an anthology of related stories here. That is what my heart, body, and characters seem to be telling me. I am making writing a daily practice again. Does that make me a writer? I think so.

April Love - Day Three - Inspiring Quote


This is a card that I bought for my brother nearly ten years ago and never sent. Somehow it has always stayed with me.

Other favorite quotes that immediately spring to mind;

People may say you are going the wrong way when it is simply a way of your own.
- Unknown

Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it - yet." - Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery

Thursday, April 2, 2015

April Love - Day Two - Favorite Flowers

Wildflowers are truly my favorites, but they are not here yet. Here in Massachusetts we still have a bit of snow on the ground and the bulbs have just gathered the courage to poke their heads out of the ground. Sweet Peas are among my favorite flowers. I looked forward to seeing them in my Grammy's garden every year. Below is a photo of a photo by Julie Sheikman titled "Sweet Peas at the Ferry Building Market, SF"




Wednesday, April 1, 2015

April Love - Day One - Morning View

April Love 2015 has officially begun.
My Morning View is the prompt today.

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Finding Confidence. Fighting Doubt.

Good Morning! The sun is shining. I saw my first robin red-breast of the Spring this morning.  I peeked out my dining room window to redbuds on blue sky.

It is a good day.

Abigail is at preschool. Benjamin sleeps in the back seat of the car while I blog in the front.

A couple of nights ago, I was looking through some writing from five, six, seven years back. Some of it was utterly embarrassing. I know that you have to write junk to get better, but I was blushing and covering my face at some of this stuff even though I was silent and alone with it.
Just like that, the self doubt crept in. What if what I am writing now is utter junk, too, and I just don't know it yet? Why am I doing this? Do I have any business doing this? Am I just going to embarrass myself?
I took a deep breath and listened for the voice that was being drowned out. The voice that tells me to keep writing. The voice that tells me that I have been writing since I was little. The voice that reads me my very first poem that I remember writing.

Under the dark is a star,
Under the star is the tree,
Under the tree is a blanket, and
Under the blanket is me.

Slowly that voice talks me into continuing to write, even if it is all junk. So what? It makes me happy. I am compelled to do it. Just. Keep. Writing.







Sunday, March 29, 2015

Writing My Way Back

I am absorbed in writing more than I have been maybe ever. I am just realizing that for the first time I am writing something just for me, just to get it down, to remember, to have it for myself forever. For too long I have thought about what other people might like to read or how my writing might make others feel. For too long I have been over thinking and over considering instead of just writing, just for me. With this new series of short stories that I am writing I have no motives or expectations. These are things that I am compelled to get on the page and out of myself, for myself. I love it all. I am writing my way back to me, to my heart, through my heart. Following my instincts.
Here is a little unedited "warm up" writing before I step away from the screen and take my pen in hand:
He is gone. She is alone and she is strangely happy about this. Upstairs the children sleep after a day of party and play. The radio is on. She closes her eyes and listens as the music soaks into her pores note by note. Breathing out heavily, her face to the sky, emptying herself of air, all is released. She lowers her head, let's her hair fall over her face and sighs.

It is Spring, but there is still snow on the ground. She steps outside into the cool of the night, sits on the still frozen ground and places her hand on the snow. Slightly softened during the day by the ever warming sun, the snow accepts the imprint of her hand.

She closes her eyes and imagines she is holding hands with someone else. They are walking down a path by the sea. It is evening. The sun is setting over the cliff where they stand. Even as the sky rapidly darkens, even though they carry no flashlights on this unlit path, she feels safe and sure.

They stand side-by-side in silence. "You came," he says, breaking the silence. He waits for her to speak. "You are here," he ventures again. She leans closer pressing her arm to his from wrists to elbows. He turns to face her. She reciprocates and takes his other hand in hers. Full circle.

The full moon illuminates the space between them, bathes them in its glow. He sees the answers in her eyes, feels them emanate from her being. When she finally speaks she is deliberate and slow and sure. "Yes. I always have been."


Saturday, March 28, 2015

Living in Two Worlds

I am living in two worlds.

In one world I am wife and mother.
I am tender to all needs. I am cleaner of all things. I am driver to all places. I am picker-upper of all messes. I am fulfiller of responsibilities.

In the other world I am wielder of the pen through which all things flow. I am crafter of people and places and things and ideas and...
Life. I am using my gifts and talents. I am myself. Just me.

The more I write the more I long to have more time there, in that world, being myself. It is very difficult to disengage even after I put the pen down and step away from the page. I feel and hear ideas and characters pulling at me, willing me to come back. Most often it needs to wait, but it is not easy living in two worlds that both seem in deperate need of me nearly constantly.

I have a little notebook that I jot things down in during the day and that helps some. Any writers out there with tips and ideas for living in two worlds?