one word…three perspectives

Posted by on Jul 9, 2012 in Creativity, Inspiration, Wholehearted, Writing | 0 comments

If you've been following my writing prompts I've written from the perspective of a bird, a cloud, and a snake. Then I wrote about my neighborhood—a lesson in seeing. This next prompt encorporated all my pieces and seemed daunting at first. We were to choose one word from our neighborhood piece and write from 3 perspectives: bird, cloud, snake. The word I chose was 'dandelions' and the form of a poem surprised me but it literally wrote itself: Nature Returns The weeds are tightly condensedlike a New York City block.Overhead the Ravenwatches intently, wings stretchedbut still.She circles like a kitesans string.People with theirdogs and machinesare long goneshe notes.The once verdant lawn lies abandoned.Nature returns.The dandelions swaynext to a few of their more colorfulcousinswho flit and flirtwith the breeze.The Raven aloft hasno interestin flowers.Her gaze seeks other. The cloud passingbyrecalls the once lush lawnshe happily shared herbounty with.Where once was new-shoot-greennow only burnt brownand grass turned to straw.The dandelions swayand smile in her shadow.She floats onseeking a hope seeded plotto receive her precious gifts. The serpent cannot navigatethe weed junglestealthily.The withered grass and weed trunkscrackle and whisperunder long belly.Mice feet freeze while the tiniestheart accelerates—Mice feet DASH.Serpent strikes,weeds settle.Nature returns. The dandelions swayas she passes.Only the Raven notes her...

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i am a snake below

Posted by on Jul 2, 2012 in Creativity, Inspiration, Wholehearted, Writing | 0 comments

It's all about perspective: I am a snake below the bird and cloud… The sharp ‘krak’ from that bird’s brazen beak startles me from my doze. I am sunning the entire spectacular length of my faceted body on a grey shale boulder. Glorious heat from the yellow eye bakes my ropey form into a writhing bundle of bliss. I am whole here, satiated. The sun completes me. I inch the coils of my body in an incremental slide; dry glowing scales embracing themselves entwined in constant touch and motion. Narcissssssist? Oh yessssss. I stare at my serpentine self and swell with pride mesmerized by my own magnificence.  The orange and red patterns appear like puzzle pieces on my skin as if outlined with kohl from long ago Egyptian eyes. The smaller patterns are leopard spots on my belly and attest not only my sleek beauty but my speed and agility. The Raven has finished her scathing diatribe of the lowly crows and shuts her beak. Finally. As she escapes the earth her body is a mere blemish in the expansive dome above. My coils whisper to stillness once more. Instinctively I taste the air—for food or foes. That black blight’s pontification would have warned off either category. I taste again to be sure. Darting, seeking, my midnight tongue speaks a language of smell. Does the Raven ever wonder what green smells like or how blue tastes? Not likely. I am content to return to my doze. The avian atrocity is up near the clouds now. At my thought of the clouds a skimpy shadow passes briefly over my domain. The cloud lacks enough substance to cool my sun salutations; the shadow is there and gone like the flit of a nightmare. On another day I will be grateful for her gift of a cool saturated world and drink it in. On another day. Today I lift my striking head to the golden orb the all-seeing one. I bow it in gratitude—not humbly. I am whole here, satiated. The sun completes...

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i am a cloud above the bird

Posted by on Jun 30, 2012 in Creativity, Inspiration, Wholehearted, Writing | 0 comments

If you read Krak this writing prompt came next: I am a cloud watching the bird… Bodiless I watch the dark creature alight and soar. She is noisy where I am silent. I wonder about her form and curiously study her actions—how her wings allow her to swim through the air. How the flick of a wingtip turns her body. How perfectly designed she is. What must it feel like to be created from hollow bone and feather? Does she look at me and wonder about my incorporeal form? I feel other beings emotions more clearly than I see them—we clouds have highly developed empathic abilities. I do not see the Raven as other beings would; I feel her movements and her joy. The instant her body enters the invisible (to her) funnel of the thermal her heart beat quadruples with excitement. A physical rush of adrenaline and exertion that I experience with her! She looks upward beyond we clouds to the Sun. If her beak allowed her to smile I imagine she would grin her joy. I feel her bliss as she does what she was born to do—fly. I move stealthily between her and the Sun, my shadow will cool the air and dissipate the thermal. My form is still wispy I am gathering, absorbing, expanding with every molecule of moisture. I ask the wind for more speed!  You may think me at his mercy—not so! Envision us as lovers entwined and he the besotted; his happiness is pleasing me. I glide freely in my domed blue expanse, I am life-bringer. My rains may spatter gently on beings below or they may be hurled with the force and thunder of my passion! We clouds do not receive the same appreciation and devotion as the Sun and are occasionally prone to a touch of jealousy. Today though I am a wispy cloud and curious. I move past the Sun and do not cool the thermal. I float slowly beyond the Raven in her element. Her cries fade but I still luxuriate in her palpable elation. Soon my belly will be as dark as her feathers and I will release my joy and bliss—I am life-bringer and that is what I was created to...

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starting where I am

Posted by on Jun 11, 2012 in Challenges, Connections, Creativity, Wholehearted, Writing | 0 comments

Start where you are, Patti said to us in VerbTribe. Here I am halfway through the year approaching my forty-eighth birthday and I am beginning to write again.  I wrote through March on my screenplay and slapped on a to-be-continued ending and pronounced it done. My fellow WriteNiters sagely called me on it and said they wanted an ending with oomph not fizzle. I have been in a funk since the end of April feeling overwhelmed, uninspired, and resistant to writing—of any kind. My journal lies unopened on my bedside shelf; my blog languishes from my absence. My resistance has taken on the form of not showing up. I’ve been on auto-pilot gliding over the surface of my days. I’ve felt disconnected and de-energized and I catch myself turning to look for something half remembered behind me. My muse, my creative spirit hangs her head and quietly trails me from room to room. I have the time in my schedule, I have the space to create—I am simply allowing fear to make my choices for me. I may fail spectacularly. I may succeed spectacularly. So what!? Do it anyway. Instead of dragging around like a husk of a passionate creative writer just write. So what if it’s crap? It’s still writing. Write through the crap to get to the good stuff. Writing is a huge part of my life I have not shared on my blog until recently. I want to face that edge and not back down. I commit to sharing writing prompts or portions of my screenplay here regularly, anything goes. Yes, that scares the heck outta me yet at the same time it makes me stand up taller and say, Yeah, I wrote that.  I am starting where I am. Resistant yet determined to dissipate this funk. Sharing and connecting with you dear reader is the most loving step I can take for myself in this moment. Here’s a poem I wrote for a prompt of being a bird: Krak My body is the night blacker than pitch. Imagine the evening sky, stars snuffed out like candles. I am soaked in black my feathers reflect iridescent purple.   Bold am I. Bodacious. Raucous. I scream at my crow cousins. I am mighty— They are minions in my kingdom.   Raven am I. Maven of heaven. My intense inky eyes blink rapidly on either side of my head. Monocular vision— so foreign to you, allows a view of ALL.   I am always alert, ready, poised. The branch sways I hold my head still to triangulate. What buoyant substance is sealed in these hollow bones? Which make my body lighter than the air that kisses it?   I am not shackled by gravity my wings spread in a shadowy embrace my legs thrust I point my beak to the rising sun. Close to the ground I swoop and loop over my crow cousins. Krak, krak I call to remind them I am here. Always watching. Their dark master.   I lift on a current like a branch in the sea and surge upwards a black smudge in an azure sky. My belly is full. My wings are strong I beat them up then down steadily and feel the wind shoot me higher.   A thermal! I bank right. The heavens are devoid of other life I circle the funnel of air feathers streaming eyes seeking my wings stroke the air. krak, krak alive, I scream. I am...

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Artful Blogging

Posted by on Apr 27, 2012 in Books, Creativity, Inspiration, Learning, Writing | 0 comments

I began blogging in 2005 as a team of bloggers sharing our journeys as Virtual Assistants and building, launching, and running our own businesses from home. Blogging was new to me but I quickly learned how to write with the intention of starting a conversation, sharing authentically, and seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary.  In 2009 I took the leap and created this blog to share my weight loss journey, writing, creative endeavors, and well…my life.  Artful Blogging introduced me to a community of kindred souls seeking connection for their art, passion for living their dreams, and real people striving to find a balance with who they are and what they do in this world. Stampington & Company publish only four scrumptious issues per year. I relish my time with these pages—curling up with a cup of tea and turning the ringer on the phone to mute. The smooth thick matte texture of the paper appeals to my photographer’s eye, the colors and detailed photos burst off the page in swirls of inspiration. Reading these blogger’s journeys through art and words reveals a theme of serendipities that occur upon embarking on blogging—of finding their true north and living their dreams.    ...

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fantastical fantasy

Posted by on Apr 25, 2012 in Books, Creativity, Inspiration, Learning, Writing | 0 comments

As a teenager I lost myself for weeks in the Four Lands created by Terry Brooks in the Original Sword of Shannara trilogy. I ached to create a world of good versus evil populated with unexpected heroes and dark hooded villains. I learned to write by reading—fantasy books engaged my imagination and allowed me to sprout dragon wings. As an adult when our daughter was born I even chose her name from the third book in the Shannara series; Brin (a headstrong princess disguised as a peasant boy) and Leah (a magical city). My passion for fantasy has not ebbed over the years but I find I am choosy where I invest my time and A Storm of Swords is almost one thousand pages and I have savored every word George R.R. Martin penned in this tome. This is Book Three of a planned eight book series: A Song of Ice and Fire. Martin’s Seven Kingdoms of Westeros has been a scintillating adventure lesson in character development. The series has a plethora of characters that are vividly realized—the proud voices of kings and knights ring clear and true from a world similar to medieval England. Martin masterfully crafts relationships and forges unforeseen connections. I found the chapters written from a child’s point of view the most captivating and inviting which has fueled my writing with alternating shadows and spotlights contrasting innocence and malice. Curious if there are dragons? Of course there are, but I’m bewitched by the dire wolves. Have you seen the television series of Book One: Game of Thrones on HBO? Incredibly well cast and deeply detailed I'm engrossed even when I have to look away from the realistic combat scenes. You?...

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