Stillwater

My younger cousins, Vikki and Nessa, know me well. For Christmas, they bought me a gift certificate to Chapters and last weekend, I finally went shopping to treat myself. The parking lot was crowded ... though it seemed there were more people in the coffee shop than in the actual store. But, perhaps I was looking through my cynical-colored glasses, so I tried to blame it on the scope of the super-book-shoppe.

I picked up "Letters to a Young Poet" by Rainer Maria Rilke and wandered through the children's section. I stumbled across this book and had to have it. "Zen Shorts" by Jon J Muth. Everyone should have this book.

The Giant Panda, Stillwater, shares stories of enlightenment and love. And the Zen Shorts have no goals, no objectives, no terms of reference -- just a challenge to look at our life with a different lens. What would life on Earth be like if we all taught that skill to our children?

My favorite line in the book: "He spoke with a slight panda accent."

freedom

her dark lashes wet
with hiccuping
breaths

grief in every syllable
dauntless in her display

they’re lost
she cried
my ribbons

we moved about the kitchen
with sympathy and promises

assured she would forget
amidst the colored pencils

we rinsed the dishes
and swept the floor

concealed
our envy for

the salty drops
beholden to none

no obligation to hope
no duty to common sense

to weep as
when you were four

no words

if I were a season

I'd choose to be spring

the precipice of growth

emerging

unfolding

evolving

the cusp of creativity

when even words cannot capture what is possible

"Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems."

- Rainer Maria Rilke

so, this is it???

Anti-climatic.
That’s how it felt.

I finished the first draft of my first novel at 9:03 last Sunday evening.
I started editing at 9:05.

My vacation was intended to be a week of hard-core-get-this-novel-finished-writing.
It evolved to a week of editing.

Editing felt glorious when I was in the midst of novel development.
This week, it felt different.
I sent an email to my writing mentors, asking for support.

I had no idea what affliction I had. It simply felt strange.
Billie (as usual) had the answer.

Purgatory, she said. That's editing.
We love to hate it and hate to love it, for …
what if we stay here forever?

That’s exactly it, sister.

And the lists I’ve created for myself:

- eliminate non-stellar adjectives and adverbs
- ensure your timelines are consistent
- without mercy, remove the words: very, much, really, and just
- and for crying out loud, stop making your characters “nod”, “smile weakly”, “gesture” and say the words “I mean” ….

… this is a tenth of my list.

Truly, on some days it has felt like torture.

But I still come back for more.
So, on some level, I must love it.
That's one thing about this craft -- it's never boring.

in retrospect

it’s taken me eight days to tune myself to a different key

i have not noticed that
i've been shackled to my schedule

eat when there are no meetings
- not when your stomach grumbles
sleep when the clock reaches eleven
- not when your eyes are drooping

check off your list
get things done
prepare
prepare

today there were two miracles
miracle one: i had nothing planned
miracle two: it was plus ten degrees

i went for a walk
awakened my hibernating senses

felt the sun warm my face
brushed my hand through some pine needles
heard a chorus of birds calling
and watched them chase each other too

napped in the rays of the sun
perused the library
got bored
nibbled an eggo for dessert
- blueberry -
(since i have no cookies in my house)

wrote
sang
journaled
read
reflected
smiled

… i should have taken two weeks off for holidays

uncertainty

tyranny of science has deemed
knowledge is power

but we cannot deny
greater meaning lies in mystery

it's work, i swear

the great thing about taking time
to work on the craft of writing is that
reading other pieces out there is considered work

actually, i consider anything that inspires creativity as work

i've found tons of gems in the last 48 hours ...
(makes me wonder what else i'm missing in our world)

but i couldn't pass up sharing this blog - what people are reading

i'd love to see a cross-canada version of this

false calendars

march should be …

heralding of spring
vernal equinox
the calls of birds returning
Sham El Nessim
celebrating my birthday
Easter and a glimpse of the miraculous
green velvet emerging on branch tips
wearing skirts
Nowruz
open windows

-- not spending of budgets for fiscal year end

**

this year, i will try to start
the season as it should be ...

"The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough."
- Rabindranath Tagore