The Beauty of Seasons.

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Found via Pinterest.

It’s September 1. Windows are open, A/C is off (for now). I hear the rustle of leaves as some begin making their descent back into the earth. Facebook is filled with photos of kids going back to school. The wide open space of summer is winding down as we get ready to begin the turning inward that fall and winter bring.

Fall is my favorite. I like it more than January 1 for clean slates and hunkering down to create and accomplish the life I dream of having. No matter how old I get, I will always ride this back-to-school energy. I stock up on notebooks and pens. This year, I bought an awesome new planner (undated) that I am starting to use today. If I was going to create my own planner this would be it. It’s the perfect balance of goal setting and dreaming, of intentions and accountability.

After getting our girls back up to school, I went through and cleared out the house. Threw away over-stuffed files, old clothes. Went through the junk drawers, the fridge and freezer. Everything has a home in my home now and my life is so much easier.

As part of stepping lightly into a more structured routine, I signed up for an on-line writing course that starts on Monday. I am finishing up revisions to my novel-in-stories and revising my agent query letter (which seems to be harder to write than the novel!) My other WIP is waiting patiently in the wings, ready for me to dive back into that world.

I have my yoga and meditation practice to both ground and uplift me—two things I desperately need in this heated political climate.

When I lived in Arizona, I loved the weather, the blue skies, the palm trees, having a beautiful in-ground pool in our backyard oasis. But. Once I moved back to the midwest, I realized how much I missed the change off seasons. I missed it on every level—physically, mentally, emotionally and energetically. The changing of the seasons stirs something within me, something primal and deeply rooted. They mimic the ebb and flow of my energy, my creativity. There’s the whole cycle-of-life that mirrors our physical selves as well as our emotional selves. I naturally tend to look outward at spring and revel in the warmth and wide open days of summer, then I naturally yearn to start retreating in the fall, stoking the home fires of my creativity, of my soul as we head into winter where the cycle begins all over again.

I’ve already seen a few leaves tinged red at the edges. The sun is setting earlier. And I am ready for the change of seasons. The change of energy and focus. How about you?

 

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Quotable Tuesday.

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Ron Carlson quote

Wednesday Writing Prompt.

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Artwork by (my awesome brother-in-law) Brian Buss.

 

Peeling the curtain back takes courage. From black and white to vibrant color. From comfort to the new and absurd. Allowing all those voices to be heard. Standing guard over your ego, loitering around the coffee cooler of your heart, discussing all the ways you have failed, all the things you dream of, musing on the paths not taken or those taken and abandoned. Aiming true deep into the heart of who you truly are rather than who you pretend to be. Let the red poppies of your subconscious spill into your life, your dreams. Pulling back the bow, knuckle grazing the sharp edge of the cheekbone, gazing ahead, not back, straight into the concentric circles of your past, present and future selves, trusting it will glide with speed and depth, landing exactly where it needs to. Where it is meant to.

Wednesday Writing Prompt.

woman with mask

Image found via Pinterest.

She had been wearing it for so long that the mask had molded to the contours of her face. A thick veil between her and the world. Between who she pretended to be and who she really was. Between who she was and who she wanted to be. The mask felt safe. Everyone knew the mask. She knew the mask. It was familiar. It had been with her for so long that she forgot it wasn’t naturally a part of her. Then she remembered. And it began to feel completely unnatural. Foreign. So other. Her eyelids were closed on the mask. Her vision obstructed. Gutted. The day came when she was tired of the darkness. Tired of the feeling trapped behind the stale breath of the mask. But could it be removed? She was tentative at first, not wanted it to hurt. But she knew that at some point it would. It was inevitable. And she was okay with that. She had to be. And so she lifted it off and it pulled away from her in one complete piece. No longer a part of her. Only a reminder. A reminder to not hide. Ever again.

 

The Necessity of Structure.

dress forms

Image found via Pinterest.

I just played with my first haiku since high school.

As part of the Write Yourself Alive challenge, I am trying to do the prompts that, well, challenge me.

Poetry challenges me.

Structured poetry challenges me even more.

But here’s what I learned. Or, maybe, it’s something I remembered.

Structure is essential to creativity.

It seems counterintuitive, I know. Creativity is free flowing,exactly the opposite of structured.

But nothing gets done without a structure.

All those pages I have filled over the years would have just stayed pages of free-writing, or practice unless I came up with a structure to contain them whether it was a story, novel, essay, blog post or even just a Facebook post.

We need to structure our time or nothing gets written or created. Nothing gets finished. Nothing gets submitted or shared with the world.

My yoga mat is a type of structure. My practice is a container for my attention. I have this one hour on my mat to connect with my body, my mind, with this moment. Without the structure of a practice I would completely lose that connection.

A recipe is a structure for a meal.

The tools you choose to create are the structure for the next piece or art whether its paper, scissors and glue or paint and canvas.

A pattern gives structure to a dress, otherwise it stays a lump of material.

Goals give structure to our dreams otherwise they stay dreams.

Where do you need more structure in your life? Feel free to share in the comments!

Oh, and here’s the Haiku Series I wrote:

Just Us

The days of just us
in our own little cocoon
of freedom and love.

Then fertility
crept in with charts and hormones
leaving us afloat.

Let go of that dream.
Immersed myself in college
then the line appears.

And two became three.
Three easily became four
Perfect square of love.

Small and big moments
Wove us together as one
Fights, fun, tears and joys.

Then college takes one
Creating a triangle
Leaving a true gap.

Then the other leaves.
Two there and two here alone.
Learning to embrace

The silence and space.
Standing face to face once more
Just the two of us.

Without Apology.

Okay…so this is a little anxiety-producing.

As part of the Write Yourself Alive Challenge, I wrote a rambling meditation, then recorded it and now…gulp…am sharing it here. But, hey, this was part of the reason I joined this challenge—to break the hell out of my comfort zone.

Without Apology

This is a rambling meditation through the silky seaweed of thoughts

undulating through the dark shadowy spaces of my mind.

Mining the mind for what is truly there,

not merely what I think is there.

Diving below that still surface of

polite thoughts of please and thank you and,

most insidious of all, I’m sorry.

Those apologies of the soul, for the soul.

Apologizing for taking up too much space,

for saying the wrong thing on the outside though it felt so right on the inside.

Slipping into the crevice between apologizing and owning.

Owning the space inside my head,

inside my heart.

Daring to disturb the mirror-like surface with

one pebble of truth

and allowing those ripples to flow wherever they may go.

Watching them extend far beyond the safety of polite

without apology.

 

Making a Choice to Show Up.

X marks the spot

I’ve written for fifty days in a row.

I’ve meditated for thirty-five.

How do I know this? I am keeping track. Each day that I write, I make a red “x” on the dry erase board in my office. The app, “Insight Timer” keeps track of the days I meditate, alerting me of each upcoming milestone as well as the ones achieved.

Meditation stats

I am proud of each “x” I am able to make, of each milestone I reach. But.

But there is this lingering fear, just beneath the surface that I will blow it. And soon.

I mean, I always have in the past.

See, I am not much of follow-through type of person. I start stories but don’t finish them. Or I finish them but don’t submit them. Or I meditate for several weeks in a row then one day I don’t and it’s hard to start again.

I’ve met me. This is how I roll.

So, each day that I show up to my writing and meditation practice is a win but there’s also this voice whispering, “Huh, how long do you really think this is gonna last?”

The truth is, I don’t know.

What I do know is this: Each day I have a choice to make and that is all I need to focus on. Will I write today? Will I meditate today?

Writer and teacher, Ron Carlson, has said that we need to make each day a yes or no day. Choose, one or the other. Maybe days will kill you.

I get that. Maybe days leave me in limbo. They make me think what I choose is out of my control. Maybe I’ll write if I’m inspired or I figure out how that scene ends or if I have time.

The truth is, showing up is totally in my control. And that is reassuring since not many things are.

So, am I positive I will show up tomorrow or the next day or still be showing up next year? Of course not.

But I am sure that the choice is mine.

 

 

 

WYA Challenge Day 17

Sharon Stone as Muse

Image credit.

My dear sweet Muse,
I implore you to wave your wand, sprinkle your creative dust (or tool of choice) and wrap me in a distraction-free bubble each time I sit down to write.
Shield me from the habitual grooves of my brain (wait, my computer just pinged. Did someone like my post? Which one? Who is it?) that yearn to hop on-line when I’ve barely written three sentences. Keep me encased in a beautifully translucent (yet strong impenetrable)  bubble where I have zero desire to check my Facebook or Twitter feeds or Pinterest boards or play a game of 2048 or do laundry or dishes or watch TV or…or…or.
Please, keep my focus on the page or the screen in front of me. Allow my focus to grow, diving deep beneath the surface of my story, deep into the lives of my characters.
I so envy (Okay, okay… sometimes “hate” is the word. As is “doubt.”) people who claim they lose all track of time when they write. That they forget to eat. Forget to eat? Really? They claim they look up and four, eight even ten hours have passed. Again, really? They didn’t have to pee once during that time? Then they are obviously not drinking enough water.
Me? I am distracted by every itch and twitch, every internal gurgle and grumble. Just once, I would love to be so completely absorbed by the world of my story that I forget about the world I am actually in.
Do you think you can help me with that? Cuz that’d be great.
Sincerely,
Your focus-challenged, distraction-attracting creative charge