- Ice storms.
- My children.
- Old episodes of Dancing With the Stars (I’m playing catch-up).
- Climate change.
- My current WIP.
What inspires you?
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
Category: Writing
Inspirational quotes from…you!
You all are some pretty fantastic people. Did you know that?
Well, it’s true. You are. And I want to share your fabulosity. 🙂
My recent-ish (okay, it’s from September) post about writing (or rather, about my lack of recent(ish) writing) has elicited a bunch of crazy awesome comments full of inspiration and encouragement. And, as a result of my efforts to be more positive about pretty much everything in 2017 than I was in 2016, I’ve picked out some of the best bits of the comment section on that particular post and turned them into pretty, pretty pictures.
I’m going to unveil them one by one for the next few months. First up is a quote from Ernest Hemingway, courtesy of Talewriter:
There is just so much truth to this. I hope that, one day, I’ll be much closer to being a master than I am right now, but I suppose that’s really all any of us can say, regardless of whatever it is we’re trying to master. And despite what he said, I’ve got to think that Hemingway was about as much a master of the English language as anyone can hope to be.
So: Practice being masterful. That’s one of my goals for 2017. Because after all, practice makes perfect, right?
What are you going to try to master this year?
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
New
It’s a new year! Hooray!
And also…what? It’s 2017? But…but I thought 1997 was just a few years ago…
1997-me would have had a lot of New Year’s Resolutions. 1997-me had a lot more free time. But still, new years are nothing if not perfect for making a change, and this year I’d like to make a change in my writing. That is, I’d like to do more of it.
This seems like the perfect place to start.
My poor blog has been rather neglected the last few months, and that needs to change. Once upon a time, I undertook a challenge to post a picture a day for a year. I had a lot of fun with it, even if there were a few times where I posted several days’ worth of pictures all at once. Life happens, you know?
This year, instead of posting a picture a day, I’m going to try to post something every day. Some days, a picture. Some days, a poem. Some days, maybe several days’ worth of things all at once. Because life happens, you know?
More writing isn’t the only change I’ll be making this year – I’m going back to school in the fall – but I hope it’s one that will yield positive results. 2016 was supposed to be a year full of awesome, and instead it was mostly a year full of suck. I’m tired of feeling defeated. It’s time to try feeling hope.
Are you with me?
(c) 2017. All rights reserved.
Another stressed-out Christmas carol
So last year about this time, I was doing the Writing 101 challenge and the prompt was fallacy. I wrote a stressed-out-Mom version of “Jingle Bells,” which pretty accurately reflected my state of mind for the duration of the holiday season last year.
Actually, it’s a pretty accurate reflection of my state of mind right now, too.
In a fit of inspiration this morning, I heard the words to another stressed-out-Mom carol, and the following was born:
It’s the Most Burdensome Time of the Year
It’s the most burdensome time of the year!
With the holiday shopping
And temperatures dropping, we’re living in fear,
It’s the most burdensome time of the year.
It’s the stress-stressfullest season of all.
With the social engagements and concert arrangements
I just want to bawl!
It’s the stress-stressfullest season of all…
Oh, the kitchen is smokin’
And my budget’s broken,
I think I’m becoming a loon.
Will the pipes keep on freezing,
The kids keep on sneezing,
Or will they be throwing up soon?
It’s the most burdensome time of the year!
The noise is astonishing,
With carols admonishing be of good cheer,
It’s the most burdensome time of the year!
Oh, the kitchen is smokin’
And my budget’s broken,
I think I’m becoming a loon.
Will the pipes keep on freezing,
The kids keep on sneezing,
Or will they be throwing up soon?
It’s the most burdensome time of the year!
The noise is astonishing,
With carols admonishing be of good cheer,
It’s the most burdensome time,
Yes, the most burdensome time,
Oh, the most burdensome time
Of the year!
I had quite a lot of fun with this, and I know several others who like to put their own take on Christmas carols around this time of year. I’m thinking about making it an annual tradition!
What about you – are you ready for Christmas? What have you got planned?
(c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Frozen to the Core
It’s the most wonderful time of the year…
A storm rages outside my window. It’s dark, and the freezing mix makes it hard to see. Amy sounds tinny, and far away, and not at all the way I remember her in this song. In my memory, she is warm and welcoming, close enough to touch yet larger than life.
Now, though, she is tiny. A tiny woman singing a tiny song through a tin can phone.
I’m alone, and lonely, and the darkness doesn’t help.
It’s the hap-happiest season of all…
The darkness wraps itself around me, but it does nothing to ward off the chill, cannot stop it from settling in my bones, from freezing my marrow. I freeze all the way to my core, and not even my expensive down coat with its heat-reflecting interior can warm me.
I’m alone, and lonely, and the darkness doesn’t help.
It’s the most wonderful time…
I crank the heater up to eleven and then, because I can’t hear her over the road noise and the heater, I turn Amy up, too. Only it’s not Amy singing anymore, it’s Josh, and Bing, and their once-silken voices now sound raspy and grating, so I turn the radio back down. The blast of hot air from my car’s dashboard vents sears my eyes and chaps my skin, but it can’t warm my soul, and the bright Christmas tunes can’t dispel the gloom.
I’m alone, and lonely, and the darkness doesn’t help.
Oh, the most wonderful time…of the year!
(c) 2016. All rights reserved.
I’m too *fill in the blank* for this!
It’s hard to believe it’s been almost a year since I posted my stressed-out-Mom version of “Jingle Bells,” but it’s true. It’s that time of year again, and just like this time last year, I’m feeling the blues. The holiday stress began in earnest with Thanksgiving and trying to squeeze in trips to family, trips to friends, and trips to the store on Black Friday (not for the deals, but because we actually needed things) without going bonkers. This week I’ve got two Christmas concerts, church for the kids, a basketball game, a house to decorate, family pictures to take, and 20 dozen cookies to bake before Saturday.
It’s gonna be a crazy…
A question of confidence
I am happy to have with me once again that inimitable poet, Tallis Steelyard, to talk a little about his latest adventures in Port Naain with his esteemed cartographer friend, Benor Dorfinngil.
It is, I freely confess, a sore point. I feel somehow that my honour has been traduced, that my good name has been taken in vain. Indeed I, Tallis Steelyard, leading poet of my generation, has been shamelessly taken advantage of.
It started simply enough when I was asked to promote a short tale, ‘A Bad Penny.’ You’ve heard of it perhaps? I thought not. Perhaps I’ll have to explain further.
Some petty hack called Jim Webster, a writer of penny dreadfuls of the worst sort, inveigled his way into the confidence of an old friend of mine, one Benor. Now in his youth Benor lived for a while in Port Naain and we were (and still are) friends. So doubtless under the influence of a heady combination of generously plied strong drink and even more generously plied flattery, Benor started telling tales of his adventures in our proud city. So many of these stories were there that this Webster chap produced a collection of them under the title of the ‘Port Naain Intelligencer’.
Are you still with me? Anyway, I have to tell you, as between friends…
Champs
“Please, Lord – just let them win. Just one more game. Please, Lord.”
Somehow, I thought, if they could just win one more game, if they could have a perfect season like the basketball team before them, then everything would be okay. The hurt feelings, the bitter words, the barely-contained anger – all of it would fade away, and we would be a community once more. Whole. Perfect. Complete.
I didn’t know how it would all work out; I just knew it would.
And so I prayed. I prayed harder than I’d prayed since the day my youngest son was born, the day we very nearly lost him because of a careless mistake. I prayed when the clock stopped, I prayed through halftime, I prayed and I prayed and I prayed. “Please, Lord – just let them win. Please, Lord. Please let them win. Please, Lord…”
I cheered harder than I’d ever cheered in my life. On the outside edge of a sea of blue, I was both a part of the crowd and an observer of it. Their highs were my highs; their lows, my own. I cheered and prayed and prayed and cheered and when I couldn’t watch anymore, I ate cotton candy and prayed even harder.
“Please, Lord, oh pretty, pretty please let them win. Please, Lord, please…”
And when that blue-clad warrior plucked the ball from the sky, I screamed and cried and danced where I stood.
(c) 2016. All rights reserved.
The American Dream
As part of my scheme to make my thirty-second year a year full of awesome, I’ve decided to go back to school. I have big educational plans, and until yesterday, they included starting work on a paralegal degree in January (that plan has now been pushed back to…well, I’m not sure to when yet, but sometime in the future). One of the scholarships I was going to apply for involved writing an essay about the American Dream and, since I won’t be applying for that scholarship now that I won’t be attending that particular school, I decided to share it here.
It’s probably not my best work, but it’s been a long time since I’ve written a scholarship essay. My essay skills are a bit rusty, and this was good practice. 🙂
American Dream, (n): 1. The ideals of freedom, equality, and opportunity traditionally held to be available to every American; 2. A life of personal happiness and material comfort as traditionally sought by individuals in the U.S. –Dictionary.com
Tinkering: Life Edition
If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there’d be no need for tinkers. But then, if wishes were horses, well, beggars could ride. And you know what?
I have no idea what any of that is supposed to mean.
I get the wishes and horses and beggars bit. But what have pots and pans to do with tinkering? I’m more likely to tinker with other things when I know I have pots and pans waiting for me in the kitchen.
Also, I have no idea why these two proverbs popped into my head when I opened up WordPress today. Of all the things to write about, why these?
Suddenly they all died. The end. 