It was about a year and a half ago when I wrote extensively about midlife invisibility, seeking self-worth and all sorts of topics on writing including mantras like if not now, when.
I set goals. I set the path toward my goals in motion. I trekked along, tripped and stumbled occasionally, but more or less, things seemed to be propelling forward, albeit at a relatively slow pace.
But still, I could see the path behind me getting a little bit longer every time I looked.
Then, I fell off the proverbial horse. Right into a mud puddle, flanked by dirty snowbanks.
This is where I’m sitting right now, all muddy, wet, cold and uninspired. Unmotivated. Unfulfilled.
Continue reading Flowing words inhibited by distractions
Imagine a schedule.
Full, full, full.
Continue reading Elusive escape
Imagine your words, written or spoken, affecting your audience.
They teach, the words. Cultivate the mind and spirit.
They inspire. Enlighten. Warm the heart and soul.
Words have meaning, deep and profound.
Where do they come from, the words?
Continue reading Imagine your words
Imagine a tree, decorated to please.
With glitter and glass,
And shiny trinkets.
Some are made by the hand of a child.
Others, handed down from generations ago.
But the new year beckons, and for some, that means something:
Continue reading Love on branches
Imagine a friend,
In a faraway land,
Or in the next town over.
Continue reading Clandestine tales
No matter what time I go to bed I’m up at 6 am.
Only very rarely do I stay in bed past that time. Or go back to bed after a trip to the loo. 🙂
There is something about the quiet, the solitude, the dim light in the early mornings that appeals to me. Wakes my senses, makes them more pronounced. This is usually a good time to start writing.
But not always.
Continue reading Noise, silence and writing
Imagine…something. A story. A fantasy. Words that flow out of your head and into your keyboard.
There they sit. Staring back at you.
Continue reading The words will come (or not)
Imagine, a hangover. But not from cocktails.
A heavy head, filled with fog. Thick and soupy, full of words that won’t transmit.
A fantasy filled with desire and hope.
There is no time, no peace, no focus.
But it will come. It has to.
The story takes shape, slowly, like the torso of a snowman. Getting bigger, fatter.
Until it melts. Again.
Sleep eludes. The wifi beckons. It never sleeps.
Maybe the words will form at dawn.
Imagine a writer. A house full of family. Noise and clutter.
Continue reading Imagine a writer
To be quite honest, I don’t really believe in this whole gift giving thing at Christmas anymore. Sure, let the kids have some presents, but for myself, I honestly don’t need or even want anything.
Which doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the token. I’m just saying, save your money. 🙂
Continue reading Thoughts about gift giving, writing and She Sheds