Writing my way from darkness back into light
This isn’t my photo. I found it on BlueSky. It just spoke to me. The single branch swamped in dark water with a single red breasted robin on it’s arthritic finger. It is a story of rebirth, renewal and recovery from a dark and solitary life to the freedom of a bird to soar on the winds of time. Too dramatic? Possibly. I just really like this picture, it gives me hope.
Spring has officially sprung when you see more ducklings in the pond than ducks. Happy Spring!
Well, I did it. I finally finished the third book in my trilogy. I can now evict the people who have been squatting in my head for the last, what feels like, 100 years. The time differential between the time I wrote it (March 1 until April 8) feels like the whole eighteen months which elapsed on paper. I realize a lot of my anxiety from the pressure of time was from the fictional days flying off the imaginary calendar, not the real one. I wrote close to 500 pages in about 40 days. It’s both amazing and dumbfounding and makes me wish I could just sit and write for a living. Adventures in publishing awaits; Any advice?
With e erything going on in the world, what would you wish for? It’s a fun thought experiment.
I love how, when the blossoms fall it looks like snow but smells like a bubble bath.
I love the color of lavender. I love the smell of lavender. I love amethyst because it reminds me of lavender. I wear a small raku bottle around my neck filled with lavender essential oil when I travel to keep me calm. This is the balm my soul often craves. And whenever I see it in a garden I feel all the love at once.
It’s always good to have someone watch your back while you push forward, but precious is the friend who watches your front so you can rest. Thank you to all my friends who have done this for me.
(Did you notice the decoy duck next to the sleeping duck? I don’t know if that was human made as a joke or ducks made to let the humans know it was a sleeping cove and to be quiet. My money is on the ducks.)
I love birds. I keep walking a path in a town over that really isn’t doing anything for me any more because of the ducks. I love the way the one feather on this ducks tail curls up in opposition to the perfect conformity of the rest of her body. Perfection, im learning is overrated.
The picture doesn’t do the radiance of the poppy justice. It glowed incandescent in the sunshine. I was completely transported when I saw it.
‘Tis the season of giving thanks and showing thanks and making at cheery and bright. Grosgrain ribbon is a popular adornment of the season because it cuts so cleanly. One of my favorite things to do is to pull at one of the small ends and pull until the weft is loosed and the warp is freed from it’s interwoven supports. Eventually the weft snags and the whole construct is lost and there is a snarl of ribbon left to be thrown away with the ripped paper. This time though, I’m not the one pulling the uneven thread and I feel powerless to stop fate from tugging at the carefully woven ribbon until nothing is left but the warp.
It has to be the season plucking at my anxiety strings. My thoughts blink from one dire situation to another. For example….I am sure I can keep my job if I just keep working yet I’m still terrified they are going to find out I’m a fraud and fire me. I’m making plans, deeply committed plans for my future, and I’m terrified I’m going to sprout a tumor or die just on the cusp of realizing my life’s ambition. What if Sammy dies? My control over what I can control is spiralling again, though I’m not binging at pre-apocalyptic proportions, I’m eating more of what I shouldn’t than I should. I’m forcing myself to eat because I’d rather just not. I want to just go to bed and stay in bed and be done with it.
I’m not that person any more, and I know it. Yes, anxiety still plucks at my strings trying to create a soothing melody for me to stay abed but the melody is discordant to me now and is more like scratching on a chalkboard, but it’s still there trying. Trying just as hard as I am not to give in, but it offers chocolate, and I succumb. I don’t know where I am in the unraveling process, at the begging, the even free flowing warp or the snarl of disposable threads of what is left. Wait, I just realized, I’m not the ribbon in this metaphor, it’s a part of the package, but it’s not all of me. I am the gift, wrapped in God’s love and support and even when anxiety tries to snarl my decorations I have confidence in me and in Him that even through the most stressful season of the year (in a year of stressful seasons) the whole of me won’t be warped, maybe just frayed around the edges for a short season.
Blogging From The Void 