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Category Archives: Writing

Creative Upload

Practicing creativity takes effort.  Whether you want to paint, write, or play music, desire does not translate into ability.  Not without work.  Too often, we are all guilty of setting down the pen or brush for one reason or another.  Always with a promise to pick it back up again when life is done.  But that won’t happen.

Life is life.  It will always be there until you’re in the ground, and by then it will be too late to do anything.  So, you have to make time.  I have to make time.  We spend our childhoods exploding with creativity, but we are taught that this must be suppressed and hidden once we “grow up”.  And in the end, we have a world of dull, unhappy people drudging between work, home, and bed in an endless cycle.

I’m sorry for this rather unpleasant description, but stifled creativity can cause this reaction in myself.  So, let me encourage you.  Write.  Play.  Imagine.  Life isn’t life without these things.  Never written anything for yourself before?  Get a small notebook, put pen to paper, and start to image something.  Then describe what you’re seeing, feeling, smelling.  What is happening in your mind movie?  Write it out for about 10 minutes.

And don’t be afraid!  (Fear is the mind killer for you Dune fans.)

 
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Posted by on October 17, 2013 in Writing

 

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When You Hide From Writing . . .

Also known as procrastination in the extreme.  Yes, a lot has been going on in my life recently (like finding out I’m pregnant!  Yay!!)  But still, I feel that excuses are always excuses.  I can sit and write, even if I am having first trimester exhaustion.  I did actually take one Saturday and edit “Black Saturday”.  But that was one Saturday out of months of avoiding writing.

My writing cannot improve unless I actually write. Whether its 10 minutes or several hours, the amount of time spent isn’t important as just writing.  So, I say – no more.  Every day, lunch break or just before bed, whenever.  Grab my journal and creatively write.  

And as scary as it is, I’m going to do NaNoWriMo next month.  Without a single idea for a novel or what to write.  5K words in one month without any idea how to start.  Here goes . . .

 
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Posted by on October 16, 2013 in Writing

 

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That Big Day When You are Officially Published

It is official.  “Hail to the Chief” and parades official.  I am published!  I recently stumbled on an opportunity to freelance write for Occupy Magazine and I was accepted.  That alone was a pleasant surprise, considering I don’t have the kind of experience that is usually required.  So, they accepted me and I began the journey of finding some news to write about.

You can read my article at your leisure.  I also just received a follow-up email stating my story has been reprinted already!  I just stand in awe.

 
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Posted by on June 11, 2013 in Publishing

 

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Sitting at Starbucks with Writers Block

I have recently started working on a new short e-book, Living Unveiled. And I admit to trying to avoid it. It’s taking me into some uncomfortable places in my childhood, places of pain and abuse. Funny, I think writing it is helping me live unveiled. Or at least more unveiled. Essentially, its about how we live in hiding, keeping ourselves behind masks or veils to protect us, when God means for us to live fully. And you can’t live to the full when you’re hiding.

On a completely different note, Apple’s autocomplete really needs some work. It is causing me some serious frustration. Combining words I don’t want combined into the most interesting concoctions. Like julliard. And iaejstt. Ok, that last one isn’t true.

So, I’m sitting here at Starbucks planning to watch calculus lectures from MIT instead. Because I have to have time to breathe. To write this out, even without all the gory details, is taking my breath like a hard run. Its not even like I don’t talk about it. I have boldly told practical strangers about my childhood abuse and subsequent mental issues. Depression, fear, anxiety, possible homicidal thoughts. But this book could go out to the world. Can I unveil that much?

i guess I don’t like that I am still hiding in some ways. I have hid for years and I am tired of it. Tired of the front to get people to like me, when I am not really the person they like. I’m even finding that my voice is lost as I write, because what if they don’t like my brash, in-your-face self. And I try to write all poetic like Ann Voskamp but it doesn’t work. So, I know I have some re-writing to do and I’m avoiding it. With calculus.

 
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Posted by on May 25, 2013 in Writing

 

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Contemplations

I stared into the gaping maw, wondering if it would swallow me whole as well.  The black dress Grandma had me wear itched, the cotton scratchy and rough.  I didn’t understand what was happening.  At my small three feet of height, the world seemed so much bigger.  Scary big.  And this hole?  I felt that I was standing on the edge of forever.

I tried to ease back, and stepped into my Pa.  He wore his stern face.  The face he wore when I broke the lamp.  And when the cow died last summer.  He motioned with his head, and I turned back around before he got sterner.  I just hated facing that black pit.  I tried to not squirm while the Pastor said his bit.  It must have been nice, since all the women were crying.  But I didn’t understand what he was saying, so I just stood and tried to look stern like Pa.

When the Pastor stopped talking, Pa nudged me in my back.  I stepped forward slowly, scared to death.  I held the rose out at arms length as far as I could stretch.  I dropped it and it hit the edge of the pit before falling down into the black.  One lone red petal remained

Afterward, the women came by and hugged me a lot.  Most of them smelled like powder and it made me sneeze once in a lady’s face.  Pa stood next to me, looking very stern and just nodding when anyone spoke to him.  After the last few trickled past, Pa put his hand on my shoulder.  I looked up and saw that all his sternness had faded away.  His eyes looked wet and he gave me a sad smile.

“Let’s go on home, Mae.  It’s gettin’ dark.”

I nodded and took ahold of his hand.  We walked, slow, back to the truck.  I looked back to see the men with shovels putting the dirt back in the hole.  It wouldn’t swallow me now.

To Be Continued . . . 

 
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Posted by on May 3, 2013 in Short Story

 

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Deluge

It pours down.
And I’m bent beneath the weight,

Thrashed in the strong winds.

A storm continues in my mind,
But I know light is coming.

Even in the bare dark, I feel it
Coming,

Through the deluge.

 
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Posted by on April 24, 2013 in Poems

 

Pushing

The darkness encloses
Surrounds
As I push against the background

Straining against the pressure
I wait and catch my breath
Just five more minutes
Days
Months

And I will break through
Out
With sun on my face
And sky above my head

 
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Posted by on April 3, 2013 in Poems

 

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