It was a restless day, sentences slow and labored.
book sales down, imagination deep, remnants of a dream before silence, decades of knowing the wilderness before technology;
freedom is my companion. I create.
Journal prompt: try writing words as they come into your mind or into your vision. Don’t attempt to make sense out of them, just jot them down. Afterwards try writing a poem or a short story using some of your words. Keep it simple.
Discussion: a young eagle showed up the other day and landed in the tree in the back yard. Jesse motioned for me to come and look. We watched the young eagle for almost an hour. He gave us a wondrous unplanned show that we will remember for the rest of our lives.
I was listening during class
when a face came to pass
as they frequently do,
maybe I invented you.
The coming of a holiday
about mothers made me want to say,
for any who have felt hurt or harm
my spirit mother will touch your arm.
The spirit mother is for all, from here to there,
she loves her children everywhere.
So understand this doodle well,
and your story some day you may tell.
If your mother is not present now
of if she brought a furrow to your brow,
sing with joy a song so sweet,
and know in your hear that you will meet.
Journal prompt: In the US, Mother’s Day is coming up, May 10th. What does Mother’s Day mean to you? Write, draw, paint or do a collage on the topic. What was your personal experience with your bio mother, or if you were raised by someone other than your mother, write about your adopted mother or primary caregiver. Women readers, are you a mother yourself or are you interested in becoming one? Maybe motherhood doesn’t interest you at all. It takes a fully aware and dedicated woman to know herself well enough to make that decision.
Men, what are your thoughts? What images and reflections come to mind? What are your cultural views about women and motherhood?
Discussion: for many people the holidays can bring stress, especially if you are a trauma survivor, or are not in traditional family. Think about healthy positive activities that bring emotional comfort to you if you had a difficult time with your bio family.
Personal story: my son was born on a beautiful Sunday, Mother’s Day in 1981. It was one of those idyllic days with sun shining, flowers blooming, and birds chattering. He was born ‘at home’ with midwives. I couldn’t have asked for a better gift. We were not always a traditional family, but I learned to do the best I could with what I had.
I admire so many people and always enjoy hearing their stories. Please feel free, if you ever happen to read this blog-to come and share yours!
Where do you produce your best writing — at your desk, on your phone, at a noisy café? Tell us how the environment affects your creativity.
I’m getting feisty now- July is almost here and I like independence.
The muse comes to greet me in my sleep, while driving, when I’m walking, working, cleaning and daydreaming…after intimacy…oh baby…and just about anywhere, which is the reason for the ever-present notebook. Oh yeah, and during massages and acupuncture I get great ideas. Now that’s awkward.
I crave solitude. My favorite place to write is my sanctuary, my little office with its worn desks. One is held together with a heavy woodworking clamp. This corner fits me. My life fits me in this space. Nothing about it is glamorous. I keep cutsie items that have meaning to me but removed them for this photo, because it’s personal. I’ll tell the story when I’m ready. Maybe.
Ideas do not judge me at my desk. He, she, it…sheeit…the muses don’t care about literacy. I didn’t study mythology, never truly got into the childhood classics like Alice in Wonderland or even The Wizard of Oz. I haven’t read or watched Harry Potter because my kids were already grown up when it came out and my grandbaby wasn’t old enough to read. I don’t watch the latest movies for about a year. Even then, I don’t like the usual ones everyone raves about. I’m overly critical. Now you know. I struggled to get through high school.
I have tales other people might scoff at, but… now the word is out. We’re not the only ones here. Maybe science fiction is more real than Asimov or Clarke or Bradbury ever imagined.
Back to my sanctuary, I’m relaxed in my corner. My paintings are close, photos of my loved ones and affirmations, nearby. Trinkets my BFF cherished keep me company. I’m peaceful, frantic, wild, sad, discouraged, saintly, sexy, irreverent, and filled with enthusiasm; my workplace is life itself. My book collection – within reach. A masterpiece lurks
God, let me mean something helpful or uplifting to someone-anyone. Maybe, just maybe, there will be an inspired connection. I feel like I don’t belong in this era. Emily Dickenson, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, I got you. I dry your tears, hold your hand. Wordsworth, did you ever laugh about your name? Blake, Keats, Shelley-sometimes I wonder if I should even try. Robert Service, you make me happy. Dostoevsky, I would steal a loaf of bread for Ivan. Mr. Frederick Douglass, sir, I applaud your tenacity and formality. Booker T. Washington, I can feel the hair shirt. Vonnegut, did you ever worry about the bags underneath your eyes? I have the beginnings of them too, and am terribly concerned over it. I feel silly buying the cucumbers. Cucumbers for vanity. But Kurt, seriously, if I could borrow an ounce of your talent, I’d not be embarrassed.
Maya Angelou-there must be one helluva party goin’ on in heaven.
As the blog challenge winds down, I have to focus on the next assignment for the last day. I haven’t done any art. I miss it.
Hey loved meeting all the new people. There are only something like 152 million bloggers out there-so might as well let it rip.
Until next time,
Hugs n more hugs!