Tag Archives: poets

This Writing Life…

Three chapters revised. Twenty-nine to go. Though at this juncture, there are two chapters that I think will be entirely cut as they really do not contribute to this story. The thing that I’m loving about this process is the time that has passed since I wrote the early draft. I’m far enough removed from the material to truly rewrite and revise.

Favorite line in the last week: “She presses Zach to her chest. His heart against her. She slows her own breathing and tries to feel, maybe even hear, the little extra click in his heart.”

For other writers reading this blog, feel free to offer your input. The one aspect that I’m most struggling is the POV. I’ve gone back and forth between first and third person (limited). It is nonfiction, and I know that traditionally, nonfiction work is in first person. But I like the feel of the “hero” being un-named and in third person for numerous reasons and creative ideas.

For the remaining goals in the last week or so:

  1. I’m counting anything fluid that I consume as “water” from here on out.
  2. I’ve done either core strength, stretching or meditation daily.
  3. My weekly family excursion was to Hagerman. This was extremely exciting for my youngest son who wants to be a Paleontologist. He loved the fossils, the teeth of ancient beasts and their eating habits. We ate at the Snake River Cafe and had a picnic along the river on our return home.

The backyard “oasis” is complete! Writing and creative space near a few chimneys and firepits along with my garden and flowers. The chickens are happy. The pugs are happy. The Chiweenie and Bearded Dragon seem to be living a life of bliss.

I need to carve four hours a day to writing. This is my goal. I know, realistically, I cannot write four hours in a row…but the sprinkle of time throughout my day is what I know I need to get the job done.

Wish me luck. Offer help. Keep on writing.


This Writing Life…

Twenty-eight pages. That is a good day of revision. One of my goals with this long narrative is that each chapter can be published as a stand-alone. Today, I feel that this chapter is complete and could carry the weight of story all on its own.

Best writing for today:  “I didn’t know I had so much blood inside of me. Feeling dizzy, I tenderly lowered myself onto the glass, lying on my back as if I were used to a bed such as this. I stared at the ceiling while waiting for Mrs. Heights to come help. The ceiling was the same gray cement color as the floor. There were thick cobwebs in the corners, and the ceiling seemed lower than I remembered. I watched as a spider dropped and trembled on a thread above my face. I was afraid of spiders. I tasted bile and my body began to shake.”

I know every writer has their own system, their method to “warm up” to write. I have a beautiful fountain pen with deep purple ink and I love both the sound of it scratching on paper and the way it feels as I write in my journals. It isn’t writing in a creative manner, I’m actually copying poems from my past journals into one place. This process connects my mind to my heart, my heart to my hand, my hand to pen and finally, pen to page. It is a quiet process. And slow. I have a permanent purple ink stain on my finger where the pen rests that looks like a deep bruise. This is one of those warm ups into writing.

Family Adventure = Bowling at Big Al’s. My gutter ball was so slow that it stalled in the gutter and I had to flag down a staff member to walk onto the lane and retrieve it for me. My youngest son beat us all in the first game. My disabled son won the second. I lost every time. I consider myself the entertainment factor for bowling as I roll it down the lane carefully so I don’t hurt my neck.

Water = forget it.

Core Strength = I held in my stomach most of today.

Guitar = it hurts to play. I can strum, but not pick and am only decent at three cords to date.

New Dish = Chicken Tortellini – Kosher, of course. Coated in salt, cracked pepper, olive oil, rosemary and a titch of lemon juice.

New Discovery = I enjoy my mid-life hot flashes. My feet are always cold and having this new internal heating pad doesn’t seem such a bad deal. At least for me.

Staying Bright.

 

 


This Writing Life…

I have one word for myself as a writer: Sentimental.

Ugh. My early writing is so sentimentally ugly, so overstated and over-written. I am thankful for the ability to rewrite and revise, because I’ve probably rescued anyone that would have read my story from enduring much pain.

My favorite line from today’s revision: “She silently hands over her baby and a warm imprint remains on the pillow.”

Honestly, today has been one of the most solid writing days of my life. I re-worked this week’s chapter for two hours, submitted a short story to literary journals, wrote a rock-star cover letter, and completed a Letter of Intent. The LOI is for Poetic Therapy. I’ve been training, pre-degree, and accumulating hours to become a Poetic Therapist for the last three years. Now that I’m heading to grad school, I can officially submit my LOI and hopefully be accepted into the NAPT program.

And….there is still no water in my diet. I did brew three pots of herbal tea, homemade Chai, without caffeine, so I’m counting this as my water intake from henceforth. This means that I’ve consumed about 48 oz of water. If all else fails, I’ll start counting my cups of Java towards water intake. Desperate means…

My disabled son and I went to the gym for a “workout”. He’s in Superhero training to write his scripts for his own stories. So we did a few core activities, some light strength for our joints and a bit of flexibility.

I practiced three cords of guitar. This is so difficult for me. And frustrating. My hands do not work right and trying to make my fingers stretch for each cord is painful. The nerve damage from my neck injury makes me think that I may not develop that “muscle memory” needed to quickly switch from cord to cord. I don’t think my brain and my hands are communicating. But I’m determined. And I think this will help strengthen what has been lost in my hand function.

Rest. Better. I watched Sherlock, listened to my “Calm” app and sprayed my pillow with lavender oil. Though I didn’t sleep long, I did sleep well.

I have an interesting family “excursion” planned for tomorrow, but you’ll have to wait to read until after the event.

 

 


Reflection of a Poet-in-the-Process

Reflection of a Poet-in-the-process. I reignited something within – something that I thought I lost. It isn’t about developing great writing habit. It isn’t about the perfect sentence. It isn’t about beating myself up when I do not show up to write….

What I’ve learned is to love me…nurture me…and with that my DESIRE to write returns.

When I arrive to the page with love and not dread of self, everything changes. I’m not writing for approval nor understanding. I’m not writing for resolving every childhood mishap. I’m writing because I love myself and a part of me aches to simply write – for no particular purpose but that in which I yearn to create on the page.

When I do this – this simple scribble or scrabble – I find a piece of me that somehow was lost in the crossfires of life’s wars. I find my own answers and a place of centeredness and peace. I find that though nothing is well – all is well.

When I attended a poetry reading I thought, “this is where I belong – amongst these thinkers who say things aloud that I can relate to,” and I scolded myself, “why have I been away from this creative company my whole life?” I know that I have found my way back and there is now a part of me that was dead and is alive again. I have vowed to guard this part of me fiercely now – never to let another steal this again!

I know now that I had to spend some time–cocooning myself–rebuilding myself–discovering what matters to me. This very simple manner of interacting over cyber space with other poetic spirits – I feel like we guided one another – urged each other along. I have discovered my own secret, sacred garden.


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