Sunday, July 31, 2011

Coming Home

The shutters are all closed
Floors dusty
No, dirty
Only the cat has tended to home
All this time

(And he doesn't sweep)

But the smell
Fills me
With memory

The trip was long
And I am sore
Yet my feet
Find a spot on the rug
To stand
Where I always have
In my mind

The windows greet me
Smiling with sunlight
The walls
I painted by hand
Are smooth under my fingertips

Vacations are bliss
And I know of those I have left
That I already miss
But nothing compares
To the serenity
Of sitting in
Wallowing in
My own space
My own walls
My own work

At long last
I am home.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Writing Soul

Tell me it's all in the rules
That my characters lack
Fine detail
Bodies to drool over
Gripping dialogue
That the climax
Doesn't have the violence needed
To reach
A modern world
To resonate with
The avid reader
Devourer of books

Ask me why
When all the world's genres lay before me
I choose one that holds
So little promise
With hard walls around it
Hard rules
Or why I break the rules
Or turn them on their heads
Tell me the rule breaking
Pisses you off

Tell me I bore you
Tell me nothing works
I'll agree
But I didn't write it for you
I wrote it for the single set of eyes
Who needs the book
Who'll see my soul inside it
And know me better
And know themselves better

The way that I know my own soul
Within it
Because I have it written.

Sunday, July 17, 2011


The wind is pulling at me
When I listen
When I stop to feel

But I spend most moments
Striving against it
Leaning in to it
Stubborn to push my will
Against its

The headaches come
A mace to my brain
But I ignore them and
Push on

The tension
Hardens my shoulders
And pinches at my back
But I set my chin
And push until I cannot push more

Only then
When I am out of my own steam
When I have been overcome
And think it is all over
Do I lie in the sand
Quiet enough to listen
To the tiniest of voices
Still enough to feel
The softest of breezes

Only then do I realize
I was resisting the flow
Of the world
Of my life
Of the divine
And missing the path
Of my own destiny.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Pulling at the Mattress

As I sleep
The dreams turn
To worries
Close to home
And far away
They slip into my brain
Pulling sleep away
As if tugging my mattress out on the front lawn
To await the trash man

No use going after it
I won't get back to sleep.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

The Trials of Waiting

The pictures of the backsplash have been taken, but I am now across the country, with two kids in tow, and without the USB attachment I need to download the pics onto my laptop.

So you'll have to wait. Get used to it. Some things take time.

My novels have taken time, and they are still not finished. Not one of them. I have my Ark novel up on my desktop, and my fingers are itching to get at it, especially after reading a book on making my novel work better. But they'll just have to itch a little longer. I have some characters to develop a whole lot more first, and I'm doing so methodically, by writing all sorts of details about each one--choices, ethics, changes--in a notebook.

I'm not allowing myself to write yet, not until the characters are all fleshed out and I've added extensively to the second half of my novel's outline. You see, the first draft of this book was written without a plan, and now that I'm pretty much abandoning the latter 2/3 of the novel, I want a better idea of where I'm going before I get there. So I'm shaping, and characterizing, and plotting the boat's journey on a map. I'm prepping.

By the time I'm finished prepping, my little child of a writer's psyche is going to be throwing a tantrum to be allowed to write. It's already starting to snivel a bit, whine, and pull at my pajama pants.

But it doesn't get what it wants. Not right now. It'll have to be patient, even if waiting is a trial. Since I'm on vacation, finding the time to work on all of this is harder, but I'm making slow progress. And before long, my happy little writer's psyche will be allowed out of its cage.

I'm looking forward to that.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

I'm Not Writing Anything Anymore, Dammit!

I had intended to post photos of my backsplash work last Sunday, and if you scroll down through this message, you'll see that I am still not posting them today. I haven't even taken pictures of the stupid things yet (stupid, yet beautiful), mainly because I keep forgetting until it's too dark outside, but I have to get my pics in this morning, before I hop on a plane bound for Seattle with my two kids.

I could have posted about something else, but the nasty voices in my head--you know, the ones that tell me to stop writing, tell me all my stuff sucks, remind me how much time I've already wasted on all these novels and poems and blog postings and plays--have been shoving their fists into my brain this week, punching the tissues pretty hard.

Thursday, though, I had an epiphany. Writing is therapy, right? (It is for me. If it isn't for you, I'm sorry, since it's SOOOO much cheaper than a therapist.) Thus, if I write to get through issues, to analyze past situations that still bug me, to figure meaningless things out in some meaningful way, why not do it with these stupid voices?

As a result, I have created the I'm Not Writing Anything Anymore, Dammit! blog. It's the antithesis of the encouragement blog for the would-be writer. Call it the discouragement blog, if you will, but my intent is to get all the self-doubt (which I know at least a few of you have, given some recent e-mail exchanges with several of you) out in the open, then shred it, show it for what it is, and laugh at it (whenever possible).

I'm still working out my weekly schedule for the new blog, and I'm probably going to work hard on creating more structure for this blog while formatting that one. If you like the feel good gentleness characteristic on Creative Arts, you won't like this new one. If you've wondered all these years why I've been so nice and found my sweetness sickening, the other blog just might be for you. I'll be placing a lot of your blogs on my blogroll there, once I get the site going. Today, though, I have to finish packing, take some long-awaited pictures, and fly a very long way with two kids. We will all be exhausted when we get there, but there will be time to relax--and to work hard on my writing (I hope).

I will post again as soon as I can. Promise. Until then, don't let those nasty voices take advantage of you. And if they slap you across the face, slap them back. I'll do the same.