notes on writing

i no longer wait to be inspired to write. one need not wait for rain, to irrigate the land. i block off time every morning to string the words together in a way that captures how i feel. might be 5 words. might be 500. keep digging, you will ultimately find water.

then i turn to some larger body of work – #wip – occupying my every day mind and heart. focus on the immediate work in progress brings me back in alignment with the gods.

the 14 twenty

your fingertips might really start pressing

playing the keys and then you know you’re telling the truth

don’t stop. let it all out. don’t answer your phone

for god’s sake don’t go near social media! keep typing

don’t censor your thoughts no matter how awful they may seem to you

they are only thoughts

 

the magic dust is the truth you are telling

people will be outraged. people will love you and hate you for it.

don’t stop! keep on. your truth is more valuable than anything else!

what the sun was up to

the sun was up and stretching its light across the sky and land. there was a concert on the radio, the vienna philharmonic. i spent the day kicking around the house, my papers and books everywhere. i wrote a couple of cards out by hand and started but could not finish them. i had pale pink paper and ink the color of an oak barrel. it’s not that i don’t have much to say. a winter morning. the sun acts cool. the cats are nosing behind fabric to stay warm. every few hours i stand at the stove preparing coffee or tea. i am hunting around for action in the story. the sun is looking through my window. writing requires patience and every word counts.

exist.ential

I’ve been writing this piece called Trouble ’99 since late spring of last year. I read it in its entirety a couple weeks ago and found it several shades darker than i expected. Which corresponds to one of my three beta readers’ critique. Writing is not unlike painting. You add layers until you find an image that best represents what you wish to portray. Yet with fiction you wanna let it be its own honest creation, which is often outside what you intended. Mixing conscious and unconscious elements. Let it be what it is. My characters may have fallen into a hopeless situation as they walk through the pages, but there is always hope. I think my work is often threatened by an existential mood. I have wrestled in my heart with this since I was a child, one day in the backyard when the limit on life first struck me. So words naturally come out of me that reflect that disappointment. Implicit in my sadness, is how much i love life and all its intricacies. How badly I wish to live on!

i read

I set up some light ina room and the kittens were sleeping to public radio Sunday evening jazz while i read through my manuscript. I’m coming up on some free time and I wanna work it out. I read without my glasses and carelessly on purpose, hoping not to get caught up in any detail. just read. I am open to total reconfiguration or whatever it takes to reclaim this 3 year project, own it and finish. Story has a life of its own. I discovered one chance tonight. I could take the split narratives and reunify them.  Then the first half of the book would be all Kell and the second half, Ame. Why not? I can try and resave a new draft and read the copy through that way. Then I will know if that’s a better issue.  What stands before me now, the existing form, is lacking. I have to be open-hearted and willing to recreate this gem.

how to find a pulse

Journal entry. may 18th. this morning i return to the manuscript, i return to my desk where i belong, to have another go at the trilogy, the daughter of darkness, a five year endeavor coinciding with a sea change in my life and lifestyle. i don’t know how this will work out, but hopefully by the end of the summer all these mornings strung together will produce a fresh and final paperback copy of the third book for you to sink your eyes in.

many of you have been on this adventure with me, and i thank you. i am hopeful and invigorated now, getting back to Ame and Bless and Freddy and Maze and Kell. part fiction, part story of my life, it’s really a tracking back into my spirit and heart.  some people like to ask where do fact and fantasy diverge? my curiosity lies elsewhere. i wanna live and play in the place where fact and fiction converge, and make a home for us there, you and me. the interplay of what i have experienced, with my imagination.

waking up fresh from dreams to a blue white morning light – rinsing my face with cool water – setting a prayer and intention – placing my fingertips on these keys – feeling the weight of the desk in my wrists – the earth in the soles of my feet… i am finding my pulse.