Tag Archives: thoughts

It’s Not Just About the Destination

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“It’s not just about the destination” sums up my thoughts while traveling to escape the noise and fast pace of the city and my work-business life. It is not to escape who I am or what I love to do… my passion and commitment are firm, although, at times, I doubt the strength I have to continue on certain paths. Plagued by self-assessment, as anyone might be while trying to navigate the rough roads of every day, I often wonder if I should just run off on some other trail–change my direction–change my destination. Then, I remind myself… it’s not just about the destination because, in fact, we all end up the same place anyway. It is all about how you see your journey there and I am constantly reminding myself to stay in the moment without worry about what happens in the end. Therefore, I do realize that I see things somewhat differently depending upon my situation and location. This trip was about certain goals, but everything in between, before, and after is up to fate and fortune. What you make of a day is really what thought you put into it and the effort afforded to enjoy every moment. It will all be there when you return, so to worry about “what to do” or “what about” or “what if” is a waste of such a beautiful surrounding.

I am happy I am able to reflect on the time I take away–this time we were really tired at the end of the day and barely had supper and did a few mundane tasks before sleep claimed us. There is something about the mountain air and being out in the beauty of nature that fills you with enough that you are pleasantly exhausted. My knees couldn’t help but remind me that I did more than usual even though I try to do it on purpose, whenever I can, in order to claim every minute of the day in action. To bed early–one would think we’d stay up late writing… however, a tired body won out over a determined mind this week.

Day One arrival was nice and early and we could even check into our hotel room and then go exploring on Wednesday. We took a trip to the Beaver Boardwalk–my daughter recommended it last trip, but we didn’t make it there. Going this time was a treat. What a beautiful nature spot in Hinton! Yes, we have our ponds and walkways here at home, but sorry, Sherwood Park, the most obvious thing missing is setting… I sometimes (well, often) wonder why I still live here with so much soul/spirit connection to the mountains. This park was the perfect way to spend a couple of hours, wandering the boardwalk through the marshes and beaver habitat, traipsing some closer-in trails, and taking a look-out post in the tower to admire the view. I say closer-in because I am not one to wander onto the forest trails–hiking was a younger days sport for me due to my limitations, ones I have accepted, and am able to push to some extent enjoyment of the activities. Also, there’s the fact that we are in wildlife territory and bears and cougars just don’t excite me up close and personal. From the truck window, I am a brave soul – not on foot, however.

Trips away with my dear friend, Mandy, make me appreciate her even more because of the similarities we have –I don’t have to try to keep up and do things I feel out of my comfort zone with… we match in many ways–our appreciation for nature and its fragility to human invasion; yet, the strength and majesty and power of it awes us in the same breath. I could travel the same roads and see the same sights each day or weekend or whatever, and still be in wonder at the amazing embrace of nature–the bold colors of plants, the cuteness of a baby animal, the calming peace of water and wind, the warmth of sun–even if it only peaked through clouds throughout most of our mid-week trip.

We never lost sight of the reason for our trip, although it was in the back of our minds as we connected with the precious moments of each opportunity. The Beaver Boardwalk was more than just walking through a nature setting–it was about stopping and appreciating the finer details of plants, trees, the view, the colors, the sounds, smells, and feel of it all on your soul. Nature caresses one’s spirit with renewing qualities to create a mood of relaxation and connection. There was no sign of any wildlife–other than a couple of birds and fish in the ponds. I wondered about the lack of waterfowl on the ponds… Mr. and Mrs. Beaver must have been relaxing in the shade of their studious home–we saw signs of them being around, of course, but no chance sighting of the animals.

Impressions of the place are best in point form, because that is how they hit you when you are in the moment:

  • The song of the red-wing blackbird
  • The amazing arrangement of wooden walkways over water
  • The variety of flora with bursts of color that stand out so vivid against the greenery
  • The sound and tempo of the wind through the trees as it rises and falls
  • Sun peeking through the overhead canopy in an otherwise dull cloudy sky
  • The man who looked at me funny for taking an overhead picture… yes, look up, too!
  • Wire mesh protecting perimeter trees from industrious beaver clearing crews
  • Signs giving information about the place: make less noise to see more wildlife or be aware and cautious and informed of bears, cougars, wolves… :O
  • Picking up a couple of interesting stones from the rock pathway to commemorate
  • The lookout tower and amazing view of the nearby mountains through the trees
  • Patterns in nature–ripples on the water, long grass blowing in the wind, piles of drift-water-worn limbs

My thoughts may not match anyone else except for those who have the same appreciation for the beauty and magnificence of nature. But, even in that similarity, there are personal differences. The photos I take are not ones that another may take as I look for the shot that appeals to me; I don’t take people pictures; I don’t do selfies. I want the essence of the place where I am–what attracts me, what speaks to me. To each their own.

The take-away for this activity–always invest in the time to enjoy “every precious moment,” as a friend posted. The emotions that grab me in the mountains are awe-inspiring, captivating, yet overwhelming, at the same time. The thought that this glorious world we live in surrounds us for so short a time in comparison to its own life span is one for self-contemplation. No matter what you believe, it’s what adds to a beautiful life–it’s not just about the destination.

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Strawberry Creek Lodge – Writing Retreat – Spring 2016

Blog 1 – The Retreat

Anticipation.

It’s been building since the day we left last year, brought on and encouraged by the positive results and the lasting effects of concentrating for days with one’s own muse. More time! So in answer to that request, we extended the trip one more night on the long weekend, which gave us one more full day of retreating to write. It’s funny that we need to retreat in order to bond or reconnect with our inner creativity. It’s the way life is, though – fast paced and loud, demanding and insistent. Surely a retreat is not always necessary – it’s a mini vacation for the mind and soul. If one truly takes the time to focus on “self”, while appreciating others’ need to do the same, the results are amazing and the argument for retreating is unarguably natural medicine for the ailing spirit.

Commitment.

Planning and soliciting attendance isn’t necessarily difficult or anxiety building until you get closer to the day and unanticipated events happen to cause holes to appear in your apparent flawless and effortless planning. Life happens – things come up that you cannot possibly foresee over the course of a year. The need to have minimum numbers causes the added pressure to ensure all the seats are filled. We are all thankful that a distress call put out there attracted the attention of like-minded individuals who could make the weekend getaway. Financial strains this year had me even questioning my spending; however, the benefit to my mental well-being far outweighed any other argument. It just means more work upon returning home.

Benefits.  

Nature. Focus. Amazing surroundings. Like-minded souls sharing your love for words. Ability to socialize, materialize, compromise – or just disappear into your own world, as needed. As a writer, the solitude is a blessing and it is made even more inspiring by the beautiful setting and lodge.

No – you don’t have to go away to write, but a retreat is an experience every writer should try during their writing journey. Most will go back for more – year after year. Others will savor the experience and move on, knowing they can always go again when warranted. For me, it is a place I could imagine retiring to in order to write to my heart’s content for the rest of my life… the whole working for a living thing-money and paying bills- thing that stops me for now. Every trip produces more work and creates memories shared with writing colleagues. Fellowships are forged – friendships are solidified. The wonderful thing about Strawberry Creek Lodge is the myriad of delightful nooks and crannies where one can hole up for a time or stake out for the duration; the rooms are wonderful sleeping and private working quarters to spread out your tools and prepare to produce; the meals… the meals are marvelous. Imagine being called to the table by the cowbell at set times to enjoy amazing meals with your retreat pals. No cooking. No dishes. No cleaning.

Pitfalls.

None. Unless, of course, you count the fact that you won’t want to go home and you might attempt to kidnap Brenda, our awesome host/cook, because you never want to have to cook again… ever…

As a dedicated writer, invested in your passion – you will utilize every moment possible to focus on your words; be kind to yourself with rest and relaxation; socialize at appropriate times; connect with your inner creativity and nature. For those who couldn’t go – there is sadness in what life brings – but there is always next year.

A Writing Retreat. It is not something that is necessary – but it is something life-altering to those with a serious passion for word creativity. The retreat is a great way to immerse yourself in the beauty of solitude away from every day distractions to focus specifically on writing. It’s a recharge for the creative battery.

See you next year – keep on writing!

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Challenge – Day 10 on 11 – I will catch up…

January 30-day Photography / Blog Word / Freeing the Creative Spirit Challenge

Day 10 – Childhood Memory

Typically, this is not a place I venture unless invited by something that spurs a memory. I have pleasant and memorable times stored inside to do with my childhood. But what would I take a photo of today? The thought of this challenge sparked many ideas and ‘what ifs’ throughout the day. I was on an early trek with a friend and stopped on my way home to review the prompt for the day so it would be in my mind as I drove home – perhaps, something would come up that would suit the assignment. I thought of a lot of things.

As I drove through the country, where it was quiet, I thought about coyotes. Today was the ignorant and cruel coyote hunt and I just happened to be driving in the county where this would be happening. I am not a fan of hunting – sport hunting or food hunting when unnecessary. The Alberta market produces plenty of food for us and by buying it we support the market. I understand hunting for necessity and if I were living in the back woods I may concede…. maybe…. Then again, I could be a vegetarian, too. The sport of killing off as many of anything as you can turns my stomach. I thought of coyotes and thought of my on farm experiences. Now as most of you know, I was born in Edmonton and, by rights, am a city girl with a country heart. I remembered with a smile the time I squealed at my mom to roll up the truck windows because there was a coyote in the field…. way … over… there… Needless to say, no coyote ever threatened us in an enclosed vehicle, and none came out to humor me with their picture.

I talked with my dad today, too, and the conversation involved cousins. I don’t really know my cousins and mostly hold the feeling that just because we are related, it doesn’t mean we have to be friends. The talk wasn’t about anything to do with childhood memories, specifically, but related wholly to memories as it involved the passing of my dear mother and the thoughtlessness of sharing information among st family members. Again, it was something that just happened – how was I to take a picture of that?

As a family, we don’t have a childhood home that I could drive by. I don’t have a doll or teddy bear or other memorabilia that I packed around with me all these years. In fact, most memories just stay in the treasure trove safe and sound. It was coming down to a find “another archive” moment, or “just make an excuse moment.” Then it happened.

I was making supper – spaghetti and sauce with meatballs. Ray was on his way over. I put the desired amount of pasta in the large pan to boil and tucked the rest of the package back into the cupboard. I was not diligent in replacing it flat or with the closed side to the back. As I let the package go, the spaghetti noodles started sliding out onto the counter, spread haphazardly in front of me. Despite my yelling “stop it” they continued to pour out (stupid noodles). There they were in front of me and there was my answer. I just shook my head and laughed at the absurdity.

Day 10 challenge - pick up sticks 2 Day 10 challenge - pick up sticks 1

If you never played Pick Up Sticks as a child, I believe the game is still around. If you cannot find it, just make do with some renegade pasta. The day is what you make it, despite being waylaid, delayed, off course, and late…

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100/2 Hues of Pewter

The other day my daughter asked me if I liked her sweater. I said yes.

“But it’s grey… I’m not sure if I do,” she declared decidedly as she went off to change into something more “Kelsey.”

I didn’t understand why the change because it really did look good. I rather liked it. But, as I said, I like grey. I’m not sure why I like grey but it has always appealed to me in some way or another – perhaps, it is because of its subtle qualities; it’s a hue less oppressive than black and certainly of more substance than plain old white. It is silver in jewellery and pewter in decor. It is flannel in suits and dapple in horses. It doesn’t stand out. It’s rather common, sometimes dull, and could even be defined as lifeless. I guess it really depends upon what it is that’s grey – I certainly am not impressed with the strands that appear in my hair, more frequently now as I get older. It certainly is not an endearing color for our beautiful Alberta sky. Given it is moving into November, however, grey seems to be the shade of the day for weather. Grey moods are downers and they hit me, more often than I’d like to admit, but again, isn’t it much better to have a grey mood than a black one? Come to think of it, I am lucky my greys don’t morph into blackness, but then again, I’m not hit with many lately I would classify as white ones, either – if there is such a thing in a mood. Grey is the new blue – grey moods are sullen and overpowering and overwhelming like low hanging rain clouds on a Sunday afternoon.

Here I am jumping on the band wagon to declare my take on the many shades of grey – I admit there is nothing bright about wearing worn out clichés, despite how many millions they have raked in. Grey can be sky, color, and/or mood – it can change in the blink of an eye or the parting of the clouds. It can even be hidden, masked by the façade as apparent delight in life.

Since we can’t change the weather we have to do what we can… so when things look down and you are given to the grey, there’s nothing like a ten buck box of sunshine to lighten up your fifty shades.

grey skies

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Not a Bad Day

blogging wordleAs a writer, many moments surround me that have to do with words and the opportunity for expression exists even though I feel my own creative writing is not as frequent an event as I would like it to be – right now. Right now being a time when I am immersed in the promises and projects of my own publishing company while maintaining my full time employment status, balancing personal time and commitment with volunteer and public appearance. In addition to all these things – life goes on and I am still coming to grips with me and different feelings, processing my reaction to those emotions, and dealing with “how it is” since things have so dramatically and drastically changed. It is said time heals all and, although it is the catalyst enabling us to eventually move on – it does not hide, change, or even make things better. They are merely, different… The situation and all its affects remain constant to me even though the hurt is most often reduced to a dull ache; it is still there, always, reminding. Is that the pensive artist speaking? Or the lamenting poet bemusing? Is it the need to continually grasp that which makes me feel something since there are times when I feel nothing? I am yet unable to write the negative out of me… knowing that I must, in order to purge the inner infestation and ease my own healing. The days are roller coaster weeks of emotional and physical restraints, ups and downs, periods of calm and nothingness erupting into those of stress and tension.

 I recently experienced what I thought was “not a bad day” having felt no extremes of sadness or pain; it was a Monday and I embraced it, got up and ventured out into my work world. Then, having accomplished a productive day there I followed it up with attention to other business, and then I spent the latter part of the evening in relaxation and conversation. Imagine my surprise when my daughter countered my expression of “it was not a bad day today” with “why can’t it just be a good day?”

Why can’t it, I asked myself, perplexed with my own realization of how it was stated. We discussed the ramifications of declaring the negative over the positive. The only thing I knew for sure was it felt to be better than some days of late, having experience bad days. I feel that to have a “good day” might mean moving beyond that which I know does not truly exist for me. They are different days with some that are not as bad as others. Why can’t I declare it a good day? For the same reason I am not a “jump up and down exuberantly” happy person. I know I am allowed to feel good. I am entitled to be happy. I am willing to make changes, when and if I can… but I am also taking the time I need to move into that acceptance, allowance, and happiness. I am hopeful it exists in the future; in the meantime, I go on with “not a bad day” being those with the least amount of pain – emotional and physical.

 (I was, however, personally pleased and grateful with the offspring who exhibited beyond her years intelligence. She is truly my reason for being; as are my dearest and closest friends who give me reason and cause to smile.)   

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Hello Monday – it’s Me…

Hello, Monday, it’s me… You are a day of the week as unpredictable as the weather. I remember writing this opening statement (the wordpress draft proves it) when the comparative hit me during the passing of winter into spring. I don’t know why I didn’t publish it – I guess I was as indecisive about my words as the weather was of its place within the timing of that month. May was a blur and best forgotten, and as we transgress through mid-July now it seems June is only a memory, too.

As up and down as the weather, so too have been my words. My thought processes are always going and sometimes I am inclined to just write something even though I have no idea where it is to go and where it might end up. I have even opened my notebook or a new word document, looked at it, and then closed it again… having written nothing. The inspiration bar was set high at recent conferences and just being around words and all their glory is enough to make you want to immediately put words to page. I went so far as to renew my own personal writing goals with an all out attempt (internal promises) to get my WIP completed and published this year! There have been good starts to bad weeks and bad finishes to good weeks… and if I were to be truly honest it would be to admit my blog avoidance is a result of the personal issues I’ve been dealing with… people tell me I am obviously doing things right and moving ahead but it feels like I am not in so many ways. It’s like being on autopilot – going through the motions of what has to be done to fulfill the promises already made into the direction out there somewhere. The end lies out of sight waiting ahead on an unmarked trail. Then I return to the highway of reality realizing the heap I have in front of me and, although I am doing things I love to do, I am confused by my reactions. Next thing I know, I’m on a rollercoaster of emotions >semi-happiness (albeit tame – I am not the jump up and down kind of person) and tearfully pronounced, overwhelming sadness claim my extreme up and downs. This craziness will even out, I am told, with time and healing and positive influence. I am ever thankful to those who may wade through my words whenever I do get around to posting some here. They are from my heart and they are what makes up my writing life as it happens to me right now. Although the words are scarce and it seems my creativity is blocked, I cannot imagine ever living without writing… it’s just difficult equating that to not living at all.

Postscript: as I finish writing this post and list the tag words, I contemplate if I should even publish this blog, not wanting to be one who continues with uncertainty, exposing my lost soul… my daughter comes into my room and says, “Thank you, for everything, Mom.” And the lump in my throat prevents me from speaking; my words mix with tears as I realize even in the darkest hour there is a reason and there is hope. She is mine.

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Oiling the Dry Pen

Prologue: I post this to oil the dry pen… nothing more than to put something concrete to paper to jump-start the stalled engine. This piece entitled “I am struggling…” was sitting on my desk top, with the pictures, yet unfinished and abandoned, written in the time after seeking counsel for my ill feelings. I realize, for the most part, my depression was (and is) because I was not being true to my own creative spirit. I need to do my will yet am bound to the promises I make in other areas of my life. The line about dreaming of other places and times holds truth and it is the ungrounded reality speaking. The choice of running away, freeing my soul, just being me… well, that’s a dream harnessed by responsibility and commitment. The time between then and now has elapsed and more promises were made, however, today… I feel as if I wrote this right in the now and the pull of the spiral twists me in and out of good and not so good.

Dear readers: don’t fret for me – all will be well.

Rays of Sunshine

Beyond the clouds the sun shines. In the temporary greyness there exists the proverbial silver lining…

Yet, I struggle, off and on, with few and many things, and I am unsure which of the perpetrators impedes my writing but something prevents me from putting my words to paper. There are no shortage of thoughts and ideas as they come swirling to me in teasing fashion. It’s like knowing what’s good for you yet making a bad decision – loving the bad boy instead of looking to the boy next door. There is comfort in the familiar and sanity in the sameness.

There are no lack of dreams as they harbor their details within my heart and soul, anchored safely until such time I cast them forth from my deep shores. There is desire but not motive. I avoid my journal and have for some time despite my promise – guessing I just need time and things will resume. Not as they once were, but in some other way which I presume will be in due course. My work in progress calls to me and my muse has taken up dancing to amuse herself until I listen to her beckoning call – it reassures me to know these things await me for they are the very core of me and I would not live long without them… I go on and there is so much going on that one would wonder when writing might be practiced upon. I sleep and dream of other worlds where time and money are not necessary and I could take my days upon the balcony in sunshine with coffee cup and pen in hand. I meet with my past to partake in earnest discussion, attempting to dFar to go eal with things that have not lasted wondering where the time has gone and what the future might hold in store. I ponder life and the hand it deals to each of us and how we play the cards expecting certain outcomes yet taking chances with our luck. We push it, count it, destroy it, and call for more when prompted. There is so much push and pull – yin and yang – coming and going… I love my job yet hate decisions I cannot change. I love my company yet want to be there more and can’t. I want to move on but I am weighted to this spot. I want to write but other commitments come to be number one even though recent heartfelt council revealed commitments to me are what I lack and they are to be number one if I am to heal. I desire better health but don’t or can’t make the changes; I am alone and enjoy my oneness yet I am lonely; I am pleased with what I have and who I have become in most ways yet I am not happy. Rather, I don’t feel happiness – sometimes there is nothingness and it is so hard to explain, yet alone reason its existence. There is so much to do and so far to go. I need to work on allowing myself to be happy without guilt or excuse. I need to define what my happiness looks like and make the changes necessary to get there. There is little time to waste on ill will and an unhappy heart.

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Christmas Eve Reflections

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The morning is crisp and cold – you can feel the air around you as you walk. Plumes of exhaust from fans and furnaces stretch straight up into the air, frozen like distended icicles. The sun is just beginning to peek through the houses to the east shining its new day light with golden richness. Except for a few stray wisps the sky looks as if it will be blue and bright today. This image around me is there no matter my mood and it is in me to notice this beauty in nature as she did. It is with conflicted emotions I meet this day, write of its promise, and yet reflect on what is missing.  I predict it will never get easier.

It’s the kind of air you don’t breathe deeply for fear of freezing your lungs. It’s the still crispness you instantly feel in your nose hairs; it’s not overwhelming and hurtful, though, because there is no wind to slice through you. In any case, I did not hold hope that my car would start. After realizing the temperature, I left my freshly poured coffee and ventured out to attempt that which might be an impossible task. It’s all good, though – it started – the fine little beast. I won’t go into the story of why I can’t plug it in…

The need to reach out and still maintain my own independent vigil confuses my senses. My body reacts in pain to the numbness, to the cold, to the stress, to the ongoing goings on at a time when schedule demands push and pull. There is happiness and merriment all around even though it is not welcome inside. For me to wish everyone the best when I’m feeling my worst – it’s like a lie; an emotional untruth because it’s not what I really feel. I know I am not alone in this, my own situation, or in the bigger picture. I am not the first, and certainly not the last, to lose something precious in my life. It is the bipolar realization that you have to be here for the ones who still are all the while wanting to seclude yourself to the misery of what’s missing.

I slept okay last night despite yesterday’s worry about Dad. It has been and will be difficult the next few days but if something was to happen to him, too, it would surely be impossible to get through. He was up all Saturday night and called me Sunday morning to let me know he was sick. He just wanted me to check in periodically to ensure he was all right –a truly independent soul but fragile given the situation and all that he has gone through. It was with relief I received his call this morning, so changed from the day before – food poisoning took its short toll and he was back on his feet and out the door. He’s fine but not really.

Me, too – I’m fine but not really. I know I will be better, over time, but it is with reluctance I accept that willingly. That up and down feeling of good and bad will eventually level out and I know that doesn’t mean it’s okay – it just means I am healing. Right now it’s still too raw to feel good, to laugh seems out of place, to join in the merriment is simply out of the question. I have received some thoughtful gifts this year, ones that answer to an important part of me and all claim a place on one of those high points of this Christmas. I do want to acknowledge in this reflection the people who have been there and will continue to be there. Some are remotely affected because of their association with me and their love for me as a friend. Others are immediately immersed. No matter – I thank everyone for their patience and indulgence in my emotional status.

Writing is cathartic – as writers we extol the word’s virtue and succumb to its healing properties by expressing our deepest thoughts on paper… like purging a festering wound.

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Inspiring Blog Award

I have been nominated by fellow blogger, Mandy Eve-Barnet – thank you, Mandy!

Please visit her blog http://mandyevebarnett.com/ as she inspires and supports fellow writers.

Before we continue with the details of the nomination and requirements for posting, I would like to take the time to share a little side note here to say that blogging has changed my writing life – for the better! I am an avid writer and used to fill journal after journal of words, thoughts, ideas, rough drafts, etc… I still do to some degree, but not with the viroucity that once attacked my pen. With increased use of the computer and an increasing number of outlets one continues to update on line, I find it handier to blog. Even sharing becomes a involved process of research, reading, and posting… especially an article or a link that may be of interest to my followers and fellow writers. Recognition of others who share this passion is one way to not only share this wonderful achievement but to connect with others who write because they must. When we take the time to realize how much more is out there to discover – it is truly an amazing community. 

The nomination rules: thank your nominator, and note other blogs you’d like to nominate … and then let them know. But first, as part of the nomination process, I must share… seven things about me:

1 – Family is above all.

2 – My writing life not only includes my own words but supporting the work of others.

3 – Publishing is lots of work but so very rewarding – released first ebook last month!

4 – My love for horses is evident through my Facebook page – can there ever be enough beautiful spirits?

5 – I am thankful for my one and only child – she is my precious, pride & joy!

6 – Supporting the community where I live – through work, business, volunteer, and personal commitments – makes me proud.

7 – Connection to fellow writers, authors, artists – through social media is an amazing addition to my writing life.

Here are my nominations:

http://www.6andersons1world.blogspot.ca/

http://www.turbogrannys.blogspot.ca/

http://writerscircleworkshops.wordpress.com/

http://irenesroth.wordpress.com/

http://thewritersideoflife.wordpress.com/

http://lifeintheblueridges.wordpress.com/

http://www.renajtraxelblog.com/

http://lesleycarter.wordpress.com/

http://anniegirl1138.com/

Not the 15 requested of the original post, but significant contributors to the value of the blogging community, whether through opinion, story, fact or fiction – they are worth reading. Thank you. #amwriting

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Whirling Words

“My thoughts are whirled like a potter’s wheel.”

~William Shakespeare (‘Henry VI’, Part I, Act I, scene 5)

 

creativity at hand

 

 When I first came across this quote by Shakespeare, his words crossed my mind briefly in context to my own whirling thoughts and I mused, wow, now doesn’t that just say it all! But respect and reflection drew me to the actual meaning of the words in relation to his play, where whilst in the midst of battling factions, dying compatriots, tumultuous times befalling – Henry’s mind is overwrought and overwhelmed, to say the least.

I am reluctant to compare death and dying, dear Will, to my own mind and number in like-fashion all the deeds that must fall. Oh, yes, there is crowding and mayhem, pulling and pushing of thoughts, ideas, and things to be done, each with their own priority and urgency. I am reluctant to compare my writer’s mind to the battlefield of days long past, yet…

The quote brings to my mind a precariously balanced whirling plate, filled to the edges with a big lump of life to be molded, juggled and manhandled, pumped and kneaded. We go forth on our journey with goals in mind, keeping to daily task, all the while dreaming big. But what often begins as a festering, oozing dollop in the centre of that spinning mass soon becomes a thing of beauty, an accomplishment, a glistening treasure. It takes shape, is given depth and meaning, it has a use and is presented to the world to fill place of honor, whether decoration for the hearth or desire’s fulfillment for the heart.

The quote’s image brings to mind another Bardism, ‘these are but wild and whirling words’ and although more akin to the writer’s mind, we still may be slow to compare –  for these words are from Hamlet and the mind of another soul overwhelmed with angst and guilt…

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