Categories
Writing

The Subtle Art of Patience

It’s odd, the way my novel is writing itself. I write in short bursts, for what reason, I couldn’t tell you.

I develop a beautiful flow, find a sweet new piece of the puzzle to slot into place. Then, the door closes. I do not know why it’s working this way, but I’m learning to trust that this is the way this novel wishes to be born.

I am resisting a little.

A big part of me gets cross. Just keep writing. Now. Today, this minute: push through the stop sign and write some more.

But I can’t.

I write in short sharp bursts.

The story comes in short sharp bursts.

It’s a lesson in waiting.

It’s a lesson in the subtle art of patience.

Photo by Anthony Shkraba on Pexels.com

Categories
Writing

Culling

I’ve just sent some picture book manuscripts off to a literary agent. I feel a lot more confident in the process since having completed the picture book course last year, so that’s my next aim. To have one of my word babies published to a wider market.

I have such fond memories of childhood reading…publishing books for children would be an absolute honour. I love writing picture book texts. I find the challenge of condensing what could potentially be a long story into a short and lovely thing to be very rewarding.

Since uni, I’ve become a little addicted to the art of culling. Culling words, that is. For some reason, I find it extremely satisfying. Taking a clunky sentence and seeing how many words I can remove from it, in order to make it shine. You’d be surprised how many words can be culled without having a negative effect on the sentence. In fact, culling words often brings a sentence more power. Hence, the satisfaction.

Less is more, isn’t that what they say?

Less is mo… ;p

Photo by Negative Space on Pexels.com

Categories
Writing

The Novel

Two years ago, before the universe exploded everything around me, I began two very writerly things. One thing was this blog (and what an absolute gift this place has been to me. Writing and a beautiful little band of friends to share my life with? I mean, what life experience could be more wonderful. )

The other writerly thing I began was my very first novel, which became just about my whole entire heart when it began to spin its delicate web within me. I fell in love with the people, the places, the thoughts, the ideas. Everything. My novel felt like a safe and lovely home, and I felt like I was the lucky owner.

Apparently it wasn’t time for the novel, though, because the universe decided to blow my life up and make me a whole new person (thanks very much universe. Oh, you’re really quite welcome, Brooke.)

Anyway, I’m getting silly ( 🙂 )but according to the universe, there were a few more breadcrumbs of life for me to pick up before this novel could take flight…and without ruining the story for you, I can tell you: the universe was right. My goodness, how right the universe was to blow up my world and my novel.

I can’t quite articulate how I feel about the novel now that I’ve returned to it, but I can say that the clarity of thought and expression I now experience in my creative life— due to the meditation and healing I’ve done since then, I’d imagine — has given me a new set of eyes. And a new piece of my heart to write with. My goodness, you guys. It is the most magical, wonderful thing.

A great deal more of my novel makes sense to me now. I couldn’t possibly have written the novel that was asking to be written back then because I didn’t have the right ingredients within the writerly/ humanly cook book of me, then.

But lately I’ve started hearing whispers from the universe and this is what they’ve said:

It’s time. You are ready.

And guys?

It’s true.

I am so completely ready.

Let’s do this.

Photo by Janko Ferlic on Pexels.com

Categories
Micro Fiction

The Lolly Shop on Hope Street

The little boy followed the balloon through the Summer streets.

He knew nothing of the balloon except that it was red and tied with a glistening blue string: and that he must follow it, wherever the wind might float it.

And although the boy didn’t understand how he knew, still he knew the balloon was leading him home.

And so he followed.

And so the balloon lead him to the Lolly Shop on Hope Street.

Photo by David J. Boozer on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

On Writing

I write a lot about real life events. Sometimes I connect to fantasy and spin a beautiful story from worlds that don’t exist, but often I write from a place deep within. A place of memory, but more than that. It’s a place of alchemy, the unconscious breathing life into the conscious.

Friends and lovers gone by — how they’ve changed me. Hopes and dreams lost to the wind of time, moments of what if merging with moments of what is. It is a beautiful gift for a writer: to explore the world within, to honour the people, places, life paths that have made us who we are.

I hope my inner world will become a gift for you, also. A mirror to help you discover your own story, and the parts of your soul you’ve yet to explore.

Every person who has grown me into who I am lives within the worlds I write.

And every person that lives within me, through my writing, now lives within you.

I will never take for granted the profound beauty of that.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Categories
Sun and Moon

Best Friends

‘Sun?’

‘Yes, Moon?’ Sun dribbled out the corner of his frown, watching drearily as a group of star children skipped along a cloud.

‘When was the last time you laughed?’

‘Umm…Oh, I can’t remember, Moon. Too long ago.’

‘Sun?’

‘Oh, what is it, Moon?’

‘Your face is covered in red crayon. It’s a picture of a hotdog running after a cat running after a dog.’

‘Well, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. And completely untrue. I’m perfectly shiny, thank you very much.’

‘Well, yes, you are. But you still have red crayon all over your face. I should know. I put it there,’ Moon grinned and gave a most spectacular sparkle.

‘What do you mean, you put it there?’

‘Well, Sun, you remember last week, don’t you? When you said: ‘Moon, when was the last time you laughed? And I told you I couldn’t remember…?’

‘Moon! There’s a giant shadow on the Earth, now. Look! It’s a hot dog running after a cat running after a dog!’

The best friends drew closer in the sky and gazed upon the newly decorated Earth.

And then the laughter came.

smiling women
Photo by Asya Cusima on Pexels.com

 

Categories
Poetry

Write With The Wind

I cannot create unless I soften.

I cannot write with the wind,

I must become it.

I am the beautiful breeze that flows these words into the sky of all things.

Human is but a small part of me.

The blissful wind

I am

is the rest.

Categories
Life

Submissions

A few months ago I received a wonderfully exciting email letting me know that two of my poems are in the running for potential publication. A card company (based in America, I think) is holding them for a while, seeing how well they might hold up within their market space. If the poems do look as though they may sell…my words, and my heart, will be floating across a greeting card or a thousand. How exciting. Since I was young, I’ve thought that might be a nice dream to achieve.

This afternoon, I sent three more poems off for review, and two children’s picture story books. Imagine that: all it takes is to write and believe, and suddenly the world becomes something new. Possibility. And possibility then becomes a beating heart, sent to replace the old one that went about the day without too much more to hope for.

This is the beginning of a beautiful new life, for me. I’m in love with myself for the first time in my life. I’m thrilled to have found a beautiful connection with my writing; unlike ever before, it flows without even the thought of a pause.

I’m falling apart quite often, still, and rather confused about the whole ‘love’ thing: why I didn’t just stick to seventeen year old me’s decision to swear off men forever, is absolutely beyond me.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Man, or no man, I have an open heart that’s ready to share. And it’s so beautiful to have it flowing and connecting with everything that I am…I could take or leave romance, I suppose.

Maybe I’ll just write about it, instead. ☺️

Categories
The Darling Blog Of May

Darling Day 14. Liberation

Crisp walls and lavender fresh linen. It was her mother who insisted on such drastic perfection and, until now, it had never occurred to Geraldine that life had the option to be anything other than perfect. She would be forty in a month, and although her Mother would not approve, Geraldine craved something more. Something wild. Something actually really quite bad.

She flung a leg out of the bath and breathed into her belly: hold one, two three…a cool, soothing wind on the out-breath. What if she did allow herself a regression to the grotty child that once she was? An ignorant small human, who far too often muddied the guest couch—and her mother’s delightfully manicured day. A child who, one day, would find the courage to tell her mother that the couch had been, in fact, the hills coming alive with the romping, stomping wonderful sound of music.

Darling,‘ her mother would say, through a smiling mouth and chainsaw eyes. ‘You must always be good.‘ Eventually, the words and the eyes had the desired effect, and Geraldine did, indeed, grow into the neatly folded girl her Mother had groomed her to be. Perfection in a girl, life under strict lock and key. Geraldine was the fly in the web of her mother’s high standards. Alive but not living. Rotting away under the critical eye of the long-legged other in her life.

Her bathrobe waited to give her a warm hug after the bath was over. What if she didn’t use it? What if she stood, dried, and walked about the house. Naked. She lived alone, but even so, free range nudity was a luxury afforded only to men, and those unfortunate women requiring external stimulation for the treatment of low self-esteem. Nudity— even solo nudity—was not for good girls.

Until, of course, it was.

Geraldine rose from the tub and reached for the gracefully folded towel that lay atop the sparkling white sink. Perfection died tonight. Her mother’s hold on her life died, all limbs bared, tonight.

The soft leather couch was like warm paint to her naked skin. Although the liberation of nudity felt wonderful, it was…still not enough. Geraldine needed more. And so it was, that more arose.

As if by some miraculous order of the universe, some equally trapped eternal wind searching for life, the doorbell rang.

Geraldine smiled.

She rose from the couch, without a beat, without a care.

Darling, indeed, she thought.

Darling, indeed.

 

 

Categories
Life

Fear

‘Sun?’ said Moon, as she wandered along the path of cloud that lead to their shared home in the sky.

‘Yes, Moon?’

‘I’m afraid.’

‘Of what?’

‘Of everything. Of nothing, of…oh, I don’t know. I’m just afraid.’

Sun stopped abruptly on the path and turned to take Moon’s hands in his own.

‘It’s okay to be afraid, Moon, but there is no need to be. Fear can only survive in darkness, and you are made of far too much light to feed it what it needs. Have faith. Your fear will be gone before too long.’

Moon didn’t quite understand what Sun meant. But she loved him and respected his wisdom. So she took a deep breath and focused on the shine he told her was the key.

And though the fear returned occasionally, it did not have a home within her. It only had visiting rights.

She could grow to be comfortable with that.