Tag: blogging

Dear Me

If you cannot acknowledge changes you need to make in your own life, you cannot demand change to take place in the life of others. If you cannot recognize progression in your own life, you will not recognize progression in the life of others. So (inspired by poet Rudy Francisco), I have put together this list, a letter of sorts to myself. It’s not exactly a poem (yet), but if I had to tell myself about myself, this is the list of 10 things I would advise myself:

• Dear Mind, you’re beautiful. It’s OK to let down some of these walls.

• Dear Hair, we’ve been through a lot together and honestly you used to get on my nerves, but I finally appreciate you, the most beautiful ropes I’ve ever seen.

• Dear Eyes, stop limiting yourself and see beyond what you can see.

• Dear Ears, pay attention. Not with the intent to reply, but with the intent to understand.

• Dear Heart, you dictate my life that much is clear, but like seriously, control yourself.

• Dear Emotions, you take things way too seriously and store them far too deep.

• Dear Hands, the storage place for my thoughts; honestly I like you more than the others.

• Dear Mouth, learn to open in your season and not  a moment before or after that.

• Dear Legs, don’t be afraid to lead.

• Dear Faith, you got roots, but the mountains are still waiting for you to move them. Keep growing.

Writing: The Flow

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I’ve been promising myself that I will get back to Billie Blanks for months now. I cheated on him once. Her name was Jillian Michaels and let’s just say those six weeks together was something else, but eventually I stopped seeing her too. I realized I enjoyed Tabo a lot better and vowed I would get back into it. The problem is I’ve been out of commission so long it’s hard to get back into it. I hate the nauseating feeling I get those first couple of days back, the worst. So I pretty much blame that and prolong another day. But what does this have to do with writing?

I love routine. Not so much for the routine itself, but for the organization it brings to my day. While I don’t perform the exact same tasks each day, I love knowing where things go and how they should be done; following an exact path. There is a problem however with routines and schedules and such: breaking them. Writing takes so much concentration and focus that I notice that the more I break into the routine of writing each day it slows me way down. It’s like trying to start exercising again. Once you’re exercising on a daily basis and are in a position to keep doing it, it’s really not so bad. It may take time to start, but once you start and are used to getting up every morning and hitting the pavement or hitting the gym your good. When your momentum is up, you’re up. But when you slow down and especially when you stop, it takes twice the energy to get back up again and continue the flow. I find the same is true for writing.

I would tell you not to miss a writing day, but I don’t really believe that. Instead I want to tell you to balance your writing life. While writing every single day keeps you in the habit, you can also get distracted inside your own head. You’ve been in the groove so long you haven’t the time to come up for air and see what the rest of the world looks like. As such you miss opportunities to write, influences that could have provoked a great story. Your writing sure, but you’re also too into yourself. You have not given your mind time to rejuvenate for a chance to birth fresh ideas. It’s like editing your own work, at some point you have to give your eyes rest or you won’t catch the constant flow of mistakes so easily recognized by everyone else. Instead, write as often as possible, but take a day or two and don’t write at all. In fact, try not to even think about writing on these days. I know I know I’m talking crazy now. I know that some people (like me) have very sensitive minds, that is, whether it’s writing or exercising its best not to stop at all. Any break can make the next move a great struggle. But, when you have the time to think about something outside the craft not only will it give boost to the creative mind, it also gives life to the work flow.

This is not about slowing all the way down and please don’t stop! Do that and your pen’s going to weigh a lot more than it actually does, trust me on this. But this is about balancing your time. Now that you have set time aside to write, give it the nurturing it needs by creating a balance. Write often, but stop every now and then to focus on something else without getting comfortable in your laziness. You really only need a day or two away from your writing to nurture the groove and get back to the work flow.

Notebook Craze

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A sample of the notebook craze

I appreciate technology really; I’m just as addicted as you are. But when I say notebook craze, I’m not talking about the computer, I’m talking about actual notebooks. You know, those pieces of paper held together by glue and metal rings, yea, those. I want to take the time to thank the founders of Dollar Tree, Dollar General, and Family Dollar for all the hard work you put into stocking your shelves with these babies. The $1 store itself has become a treasure of fresh inspiration for me, a living blueprint for whatever it is my mind feels like building up. Every new notebook is an opportunity to create something new. If I can spare it (which I somehow always can), I have to purchase a new notebook. Maybe it’s a small journal of a thing. Maybe it’s a 180 page 5 subject wide rule or 100 page composition book who knows. Perhaps I’ll get the same one as last time in a different color. I am after all looking to brighten things up a bit around here. How many? Two? Three? Four? “No, that’s obsessive, one step at a time EC. Just pick one you really like.”  One? “Yes, one. And don’t forget the dish washing liquid you actually came to get but somehow got distracted by the school supply aisle.” Oh yea, that.

Spiral Notebooks

But this is really only the beginning. I still have to take the notebook home, and that’s when the fun really starts! I still have to decide what kind of notebook this is. What will I carve on the front cover to illustrate this new beauty to the world? What kind of purpose will this new storage place hold for my thoughts? Maybe I’ll fill it with random fragments of sentences, little immature and underdeveloped thoughts. A preliminary of something great but that looks right now like a foreign language. Maybe I’ll jot down a scripture or two, or elaborate on full sentences and transform them into a poem or two, a short story or an entire manuscript. Or this could just be the “just in case” notebook. You know, the little notebook you carry around in your purse (or suitcase/backpack for the men) just in case something good happens.(Please tell me you have a just in case notebook). But then I have to get into the notebook, and let’s not even talk about the intoxicating aroma of fresh paper; the undiluted blank state of blue and red lines. So pure and inviting, let me just write my name real quick. There, now that’s art.

These are the kinds of thoughts that run through my head all because of notebooks. A simple mission turned writer’s paradise. Is it an addiction? You can call it what you want. I mean, technically I don’t really need another notebook, BUT it will soon be a question of how I ever lived without it. So I guess I need another one because I will eventually need it. Makes sense? No? Good. I still got it. 🙂

Advice for Moving on: Leave Quickly & Don’t Look Back

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“I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.”  ― Beryl Markham, West with the Night

Writing Desire

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As the hours turn into days and days into weeks and weeks into months and months into years, what keeps a writer writing? This is a question posed by writers, bloggers, poets, victims of writer’s block, etc. It is a question begged to be answered by the blank stare of white paper, literally or digitized into Word Documents and notepads. But the answer is simple: what keeps a writer writing is his desire to write. His need to pluck at random thoughts and stitch them into language. Sometimes it is a line or two, sometimes a whole paragraph, sometimes an entire manuscript, sometimes a poem, anything to keep writing; a transcribed confession of the heart that must be communicated on paper. Anything you want to do can only be done if you want to do it. It is a lesson that applies to positive and negative, good and bad, right and wrong. To right my wrong I have to want to do it. To strengthen my right I have to want to do it. To write I have to want to write.

imagesWriters are often told that doing more of it sharpens the skill, this is true. You’ll become more familiar with your individual writing style and your individual writing voice by doing it more. But the key to getting this far is to actually want to do it. What are you willing to sacrifice to ensure that you keep writing? Perhaps you’d like to set aside 15 minutes a day. This alone can make a big difference in shaping your writing habits and inspiring you to want to write more. Whatever it is, there must be an unquenchable desire to write in order to continue to do so. This desire may be influenced by a lot of things, but nothing should be able to kill that influence itself. It is untainted by the greatness or failures of those before or behind you. They are just grand instruments striking a cord at your beloved longing. Striking against the wanting in your chest and fueling a fire that just makes you want to write even more. The desire to write, it is the undying flame, and the living water. Even if you are your own audience, your ambition to create and invent and revolutionize through words is something you always hold on to.

Dogs Have Personalities

dog_german_bad_dogOn the way to work this morning we stopped at a red light. We could feel the stare of someone on the side of us. You all know the feeling, when your hairs stand up on your skin like antennae. My husband noticed it first since he notices everything. He can somehow see everything you’re doing in your car. So, turning slightly to the left there he was. All fury and bursting with energy. Tongue hung over the front of his mouth and …wait, “did he just smile at me?” I think a dog just smiled at me. He may have winked too. I’m not very good in the doggie breeding category so I don’t know what kind of dog he was but as long as he knows that I know his secret. It all started back in 2007, before which I was a cat woman. As a child I treasured the company of tiny paws and purring sounds. The ease of having them to jump up in your lap, petting had never been so fun. But today cats are just kind of creepy. They’re always sneaking around and peeking around the corner. Showing up at the oddest times, “where did you come from?” Destroying something I’m sure. Anyway, back to the story.

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Lady and the children Top to bottom: Faatimah (in pink), Autumn (hips), David, and Menelik

So yes, 2007. My husband and I, (unwed then) received a puppy (Rottweiler) from some friends. Technically she was a puppy but didn’t really look like it. She was almost my height so I was never really convinced. The dog absolutely loved to lounge on the couch downstairs from which she was strongly prohibited. Did she obey? No. She jumped up on the sofa every chance she got and crossed her little paws like she was the queen of the castle. I mean sure she guarded things but sista girl needed to get one thing straight: I am the woman of this house. We named her Lady because aside from her obvious doggy demeanor she was everything but a dog. As you can see she loved to take pictures and happened to be very photogenic. I don’t know who she thought she was (to my knowledge America’s Top Doggies didn’t exist). She handled herself nice and dainty like. I kept trying to tell her she wasn’t as petite as she thought she was, but what I said didn’t seem to matter. She walked around the house like she was made up of feathers though company made it very clear we’d adopted the most dangerous animal known to man. So did her appetite. That didn’t stop her from switching across the floor though, moving her butt from side to side like she had hips. I didn’t play that though, no male doggie company until you are of age young lady. Although now that I think about it, I’m sure she lied about her age.

PS_Hotel_KingRoom_newThe straw that broke the camel’s back was in ’09. We’d traveled from Chicago to Dallas in my husband’s truck with little Miss thing in the backseat. What a trip that was. Upon our arrival we checked into a hotel that would allow for pets. Usually I just got my mother to doggy sit but that wasn’t happening this time. The last time mama came over Lady made it very clear that she could take care of herself. Needless to say my mother wasn’t very enthusiastic about doing this again. So we check into the hotel and although very nervous about leaving her there, we decided to take a risk. It was a business trip and we did not have the time to stick around. Amidst all of the fun we were having, we forgot about Lady in the hotel room. It was dark when we got back and I braced myself for the destruction we would have to pay for on account of this child we left to her own devices. But when we opened the door laughter escaped us. I think we laughed for a good 15 minutes straight. We had one of those comfortable sofa chairs and the dog was sitting on the chair with her paws crossed and watching television. I couldn’t make this up if I tried. Nothing was out of place. Nothing chewed on. The only thing this prissy little lady wanted to do was sit uninterrupted on the most comfortable spot in the house. I eventually accepted her for who she was and went out and bought this neat little electronic device that could be used to trim your dog’s nails, since Lady made it very clear that she’d never had a mani pedi before.

So now I know the secret: 101 Dalmatians was not just a movie. If your a dog lover listen to me very closely, this is not a joke: all dogs have personalities. They talk when your away and act like people as soon as you turn your back. I’m just warning you.

Writer’s Quote Wednesday – Rainer Maria Rilke

Smile, it’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday :). Don’t be shy, Join us:

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This week, I quote Rainer Maria Rilke:

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There are two books I always carry with me: 1). The Bible and 2). Letters to a Young Poet. Don’t laugh, but I thought Rainer Maria Rilke was a woman before I saw his picture! It was Sister Act 2 when I first heard his name, so I looked into it to see if Sister Mary Clarence really knew what she was talking about. Here’s my diagnostic of this quote.

Primarily, Letters to a Young Poet has some of the most inspiring quotes concerning life and love. There is such profound truth here. We tend to go through life expecting to be given the answers to every question in the momentary whim to which we seek them. It never occurs to us that we are not in a position to handle the answer to that question. But if we focus on living, and we live, we will stumble upon the answer at a time when we are wiser and more mature. We will understand it then, though we may not understand it now. 

This book itself began as letters Rainer wrote to a young man who was interested in the art of poetry. These letters have been combined into what can be easily mistaken as a book of poetry itself, as it reads.

About the Author: (from Wikipedia)

MTE5NTU2MzE2MzU4MDg0MTA3“René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke (4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926) — better known as Rainer Maria Rilke) — was a Bohemian-Austrian poet and novelist, widely recognized as one of the most lyrically intense German-language poets writing in both verse and highly lyrical prose. Several critics have described Rilke’s work as inherently “mystical”. His writings include one novel, several collections of poetry, and several volumes of correspondence in which he invokes haunting images that focus on the difficulty of communion with the ineffable in an age of disbelief, solitude, and profound anxiety. These deeply existential themes tend to position him as a transitional figure between the traditional and the modernist writers.”