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

once i paused

my totem showed herself today
her counsel undeniable
you search within to find your way
my totem showed herself today
i listen, look for shades of grey
but brooding dampens not the pull
my totem showed herself today
her counsel undeniable

the city speaks

Sometimes, I see glimpses of the Edmonton I grew up in

... and I feel hopeful

check out this testament to the quirky city that still

may lie buried under the oilsands ...

(here too for more recent additions)