Writing

Emma and Loki

And I am feeling lost. Staring at my computer. The words have left, taken their ball and gone home. And here I sit and stare. This is nothing new. All writers know this. And I feel the push, the drive to create something brilliant and insecurity that simmers under the surface saying, “it will be crap.” And so I sit and stare. Lost in my circle. Create. I can’t. I have to. It’ll suck. Time slowly ticking. And I sit and stare. All the characters that I danced with yesterday, even during breakfast, have moved on with their day, gone to their jobs, met their lovers at seedy hotels, boarded airplanes for paradise. And I sit and stare. Tick tock goes the clock. Eyes fade and the screen is a blur of white like staring into the sun. Trying to fight time, like a boxer trying to get the last punch in before the bell. Trying to find inspiration, like an artist sees the world. I look over my outlines. Over my ideas. My list of projects. And nothing comes. Time has stopped like watching the clock on the last of day of school before summer vacation. Eternity has set in. My mind wanders like a leaf in the wind. My creative gone and forgotten like a prisoner on death row.  So, I sit and stare. Force myself to wait. To be patient. Like a child waiting for mailman. Like a dog waiting for dinner. Like people waiting for the bus. I know it will come. I just have to wait. Patiently.

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Little lost goth girl

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Little lost goth girl

Drowning in her hair

Swallowed by the black

Held by the harsh guitar sounds and banging drums

Seen in her drawings

Come to me, inspire me, allow me to see, to be and recreate

Witness protection

As the nerves slowly take over and I can no longer function

I concentrate to keep my body from revolting

It takes everything not to scream and run for the door

My mind begins to wander with a million what if disaster scenarios

And I am brought back to myself

my fears washed away when my eyes meet those familiar eyes

I am blessed with the all reassuring smile

that confirms everything will be okay

What more?  Check out the daily post

Reason to believe

wishing

Love

She exists.  Even if she is a faint memory.  She is always there.  Watching.  Waiting.  Wishing.  She is the angel you forget about.  The angel you cling to.  Because at the end of everyday, there are those who love unconditionally.  Those who make the world a better place.  And then there are those who eagerly await your return.  All because of love.  She is there.  She is always there.  Sometimes, you just have to look.

Want to read more, check out the daily post!

Committing

stairs

Today is the first day, another beginning.  Another way we (I) find myself committing to a list of to do’s, goals, aspirations and intentions.  And sometime along the way, I get lost.  I forget.  Get to busy living life.  Yet, I am not really living am I.  I get too busy going through the motions and forget everything I mapped to accomplish.  I want to say this year is different.  That I have a system in place.  That feels clique. Old.  Warn out.  As if I have heard it before.  Because I have.  That is not going to stop me.  I am committing.  Committing to writing.  To creating.  To making a difference.  One day at a time.  One step at time.  Here’s to new starts.  Here’s to hope!

What will you commit to doing this year?

New Year’s Wish

hearts

Who better than a writer to create a poetic inspirational New Year wish. I couldn’t have said it better, so in the words of Neil Gaiman, I wish you in the coming year…

“Be kind to yourself in the year ahead.

Remember to forgive yourself, and to forgive others. It’s too easy to be outraged these days, so much harder to change things, to reach out, to understand.

Try to make your time matter: minutes and hours and days and weeks can blow away like dead leaves, with nothing to show but time you spent not quite ever doing things, or time you spent waiting to begin.

Meet new people and talk to them. Make new things and show them to people who might enjoy them.

Hug too much. Smile too much. And, when you can, love.”

Been in a fog

I have wanted to write

Longed to write

So many ideas flowing

and then, I sit down and nothing

feverishly I reach for my notes

and nothing

go to the writing books

nothing

inspiration lost

gone

and fog sets in

I sit and wait

sit and try

and the words feel forced

feel contrived and inauthentic

My head swimming in a fog

No end in sight

I set deadlines

They go unmet

I know what I want to write about

And yet I cannot seem to find….

I am blind

I am lost

I am tired

And I long to create

To write

My characters cry to me

Visit my dreams

Talk to me

And yet when I sit to write

They are lost in the fog

So I set intentions

And they go unanswered

I have given up trying to force the words

The fog will lift

And when it does

I will be waiting

Sitting at my computer

And the words

The people

The places

Will find me

And I will write my story

It’s in there

It is the seed

Waiting to grow

Waiting for the spring

Waiting for the sun

So I wait

Any day now the fog will lift

I can see the sun peeking through

Waiting- part of the very short story series

Her hands were sweaty. Her heart raced. Her stomach turned its empty contents. Her thoughts spun a million magnificent webs, none of which reflected rays of reality. There she sat, staring out the window. Questioning herself. Doubting herself. Fingers tapping the table. Legs bouncing. Watching the people rush by. Wishing at this moment, she could be one of them. One of the million people hurrying elsewhere. She wanted to be anywhere but here. She felt sick. Her empty stomach revolting. The feelings crawling up into her throat. Was the bathroom close? Swallowing it all down. Waiting and wishing she had said no.

Layer- another very short story (part of a series)

Not sure where I am going with these series of very short story writing and if I can somehow weave them together.  Guess we will see.

Layer upon layer. Hidden beneath her protective armor. Looking down. Staring at the ground. Never looking up. Never making eye contact. Avoiding. Shrinking. Slowly fading into the scenery. The thousand other faces bleeding together. Caught in the tide of society, the emotionless waves of people moving. Oblivious. Lost souls. Together they were nothing. Invisible just how she longed to be.