All things creative. Creative tools, how it feels to be creative, the results of creativity.
There is something in my head that won’t leave me and I don’t know how to capture it, and it’s a picture that I can barely see. It is a ghost of an emotion and a time for me to dwell by the river, and the river is a tree which has a noise that draws me, and that is where I die and where I want to die, and it is where I can fill my heart with the crumbs of earth
A few years ago I wrote a novel. It’s unpublished, despite a few good efforts at getting a traditional publisher….
We both thought I might be a rebel. It would have been nice. They get to hang with General Leia, after all.
Some days, I wonder why I write stories. Is it to get published? Yep. Can’t deny that one. Is it to be read and heard, and maybe loved? Oh, yes. But why does it make me ache if I don’t?
My first book. Beginning, middle, end. First draft, second draft, final draft. Darlings killed, darlings slayed. Done.
People sometimes say that names don’t hold meaning. That they don’t define you. But they can. And in the age of the internet, usernames are an opportunity to add meaning to who you are.
Run your fingers over the keys. Oh, let’s just call it what it is. Caress the keys. It’s a slow dance of creativity and love.
I had captured the slow steps of someone moving through the low, dark space.
When I open the big book of writing, there’s often a dank, mossy well to draw from. It’s deep and it’s far from pretty.
Other days the skies are full of grey, rolling clouds and the paths shimmer from the rain. I’ve been trying to capture that eloquent moment between the rain and the sun.