Girls’ night means there will be pictures. Girls’ night with my bestie means there will be much silliness.
But who knew girls’ night would mean there would be this much cuteness?
Oh, all right, I totally knew. 😀
How are you spending your Friday night?
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
I feel stilted. Stunted. Fried. Exhausted, wired, terrified. I can’t sleep, no matter how much I want to. I can’t wake, no matter how much I need to.
My brain spins right round like a record, baby, right round, round, round. It can’t stop, won’t stop, drags me down a rabbit hole. And I spin round and round and round.
After all, I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes. It’s like a vision of love that seems to be true, and there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here in my room, sleeping in my warm cozy bed.
You were expecting something else?
All right, fine. I’d rather be dreaming, but only because it’d mean I could sleep. That I had slept. That I will sleep, long and hard, maybe for a whole week.
Mmm, sleep…
I feel stilted. Stunted. Exhausted. Fried. Wired, wilted, terrified. I can’t sleep, no matter how much I want to. I can’t wake, no matter how much I need to.
It’s gonna be a long day…
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
Today’s quote comes from Martha Graham, who was not a writer but a dancer, and it’s courtesy of the lovely Jeanne Pascale:
I’d never heard of Martha Graham when I read this quote, so I did a little Googling and found her Wikipedia entry, which had this to say:
Martha Graham (May 11, 1894 – April 1, 1991) was an American modern dancer and choreographer. Her influence on dance has been compared with the influence of Picasso on modern visual arts,[1][2] the influence of Stravinsky on music, and the influence of Frank Lloyd Wright on architecture.[3]
She danced and choreographed for over seventy years. Graham was the first dancer to perform at the White House, travel abroad as a cultural ambassador, and receive the highest civilian award of the US: the Presidential Medal of Freedom. In her lifetime she received honors ranging from the Key to the City of Paris to Japan’s Imperial Order of the Precious Crown. She said, in the 1994 documentary The Dancer Revealed, “I have spent all my life with dance and being a dancer. It’s permitting life to use you in a very intense way. Sometimes it is not pleasant. Sometimes it is fearful. But nevertheless it is inevitable.” [4]
Her style, the Graham technique, fundamentally reshaped American dance and is still taught worldwide.[5]
A brilliant choreographer, Ms. Graham may have been referring to dance in her quotation above, but it certainly applies to writing as well. Indeed, it applies to any endeavor in life.
Do you have any favorite quotes, about writing or otherwise?
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
No matter who you are,
No matter where you roam,
It pays to remember
That there is no place like home.
No matter what you do,
No matter where you stray,
Your community will greet you
Like you never went away.
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
Small-town living is
Not for the faint of heart, but
It is rewarding.
Small-town life never
Leaves you behind, no matter
How far you may run.
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
Thirty days of poetry is a heck of a feat. Thirty days of alphabet poetry is something even more.
I can hear it now, the chorus of people asking, “More what?”
But you know something? I don’t know. It’s just more. More of a pain, more of a triumph. More exciting, more maddening. It’s just more, okay?
I wasn’t sure I’d do it. I wasn’t sure I’d make it. But here I am, thirty days later, with a few more poems under my belt and a sense of accomplishment I haven’t felt in a while. It’s a good feeling.
What about you – what have you been up to these last thirty days? How have the last thirty days changed you?
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
When all is said and done,
When you are dead and rotten,
Will you be mourned for all you’ve done,
Or for all that you have gotten?
When all is said and done,
When all you are is ash,
Will you be missed for what you’ve done,
Or for being over brash?
When all is said and done,
When you are but a memory,
Will you be recalled for fun,
Or for being absentee?
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
Mondays come and Fridays go, but weekends last forever.
How will you spend yours?
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
…because sometimes a reminder of all that is beautiful in the world can make you feel whole, even when you’re broken.
What beauty stirs your soul?
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
It was a dry snow; I could tell by the way it swirled in the wind. I shivered.
Old Man Winter wasn’t about to go quietly into the night. Oh, no. He raged outside me window against the coming of the light, huffing and puffing with all of his might. We’d have another foot by morning, or I wasn’t Effie McCray.
At least it would move easily, being so dry. Thank goodness it weren’t packing snow.
Packing snow was heavy, wet stuff, perfect for felling timbers and building snowmen. But we didn’t have any old trees, or even any young ones, to worry about anymore, nor any young’uns itchin’ to build a snowman. The ice storms had already taken care of ’em.
They’d taken care of a lotta things.
I rolled over in bed so’s I faced away from the window. The fire was out in the hearth, and I was out of logs. Oh sure, there were plenty out in the woodshed, but I weren’t about to fetch more. Not after dark, no siree. My Peter had always kept…
Suddenly they all died. The end. 