Tag Archives: write

Have Navel, will Gaze

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I don’t remember if I mentioned this earlier in the program, but I’ve forsaken my handwritten journal for the month of April. Basically, I wanted to eliminate ‘frivolous writing distractions’ from my goal of staking a flag on top of Mount Blogger in 30 days.

I’m still writing on other things, so this hasn’t overshadowed projects, but I find myself filling up inside with daily thoughts and occurrences that would normally hit the paper pages of a journal. So, for today, I’m pretending this space is pulp and I’m free to navel gaze, scribble, think through pen and keep track of life~~

t_1723Dear Rebecca, (yes, when I write in my journal, I write to myself)

Sorry I’ve neglected you for over a week now. Since this is my confessional booth, I’ll just fess up, I’ve traded in the habit of paper and pen for high tech journaling for a month. It’s been frustrating at times, other times, not so bad. I haven’t tried until today meshing the two halves, paper and online journal style of writing, together. I can say, having backspace, delete keys and a spell checker is one step above paper journaling. I appreciate that bonus and keeps things from going down the path of sloven entries which I detest. I do miss the touch and smell of leather bound delights……….

As for life over the last week, things are relatively good considering where I started the beginning of the year off at. As always, I don’t feel like there is enough time in a single day to satisfy all I want to accomplish. I’ve been going to sleep well past 1 a.m and up with the girls at 6 a.m. and it’s starting to catch up. If only I could take naps like the rest of the human population maybe it wouldn’t feel so bad.  Perpetually feeling like I’m behind or missing out on something is nagging at me. With the resurgence of Spring my desire to move and get out more is pushing at the gates as well. If I could define this internal emotion it would be…suffocation? Time to plan some out of town adventure before the feeling evolves into one of despair and panic~

I’m still working on the short story collection and haven’t thrown in the towel in disgust. Threading one cohesive piece of meaning through them all is proving to be more of a pain in the ass then the desirable challenge I bargained for.I gave one of the finished stories to Mom for input and editing. She expressed she really loved it (doesn’t she have to because she’s Mom?) and she cleaned up my typical grammar errors and sentence structure mistakes. I think it’s time to overwhelm her and give her 3 more to go over. I’ve twisted and turned, manipulated and pounded them into the ground so much that they are starting to look like blended word mud. Time to step away and leave the stories be. At this point in time it’s just sadistic to keep torturing the poor things with my compulsive obsessive behaviors.

Last night when I was driving home late from work I was half-listening to talk radio. It was some show based on ghosts? Aliens? Dream travel? Super natural I suppose. They had a guest on that evidently was an expert in all those departments because she would fall asleep, dream about Mars and wake up with red dirt on her feet. Anyway, the one thing that really caught my ear (like red dirt wasn’t enough to make me raise two eyebrows) was when she said, “Aliens, they took all my eggs. I’m 50 years old and never had a child”…….who knew! Egg stealing Aliens. Now I’ve heard it all. The strangeness in humanity continues to amaze me, shock me and perplex me. After I heard that, I turned the radio down and really let it sink in. If that woman really, and I mean truly, believes Aliens played thievery on her vital eggs. Then perhaps, I’m so far from the crazy I label myself when I’m feeling out of sorts that I need to haul out the dictionary and find a new word to define my craZy, but clearly not alien egg stealing craZy, thoughts.

Until next time~ Rebecca Anne~

One, does Not Necessarily Agree with the Other

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Several people have been surprised by my requests (I say groveling) for topic material as I set out to climb Mount Blogger for 30 days. I thought I’d explain that today, because, I’ve sensed confusion and it’s a topic! it’s an entry! it’s day 6 of 30!

Here’s the thing and be prepared for crazy writer talk now….OK, subconsciously prepared for that? All righty then, on this site, we, that’s me as well, are dealing with ‘Rebecca, the writer’…..

When I decided to embark on this endeavor I didn’t exactly consult with Rebecca, the writer. I just assumed she’d enjoy the opportunity to write to her hearts content on a daily basis. She has been in charge of our blogging experience for 5 years now and I boldly decided it was time for her to wrap a pretty bow of predictability around her efforts, daily. I see now, that was placing ambition ahead of permission and it was a brazen assumption of my ability to direct all the aspects that are me, myself and I.

Flash Back~ The first morning of my 30 day challenge: We, all that is Rebecca, sat down at the computer, hands poised over the keyboard and encouraged, “Do your thing, Rebecca who writes”

Nothing. Not a word. Blinking cursor, general panic.

To explain the battle that came next, only an imaginary visual will do. Picture a lady, arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wall five feet from the computer. We shall call her, Rebecca the writer. Then picture another lady, we shall call her, overall Rebecca, sitting at her computer, hands hovering unsure over the keyboard, eye’s rounded, pleading in the direction of Rebecca the writer, waiting for instruction.

Silent. Painful. Impasse.

Conversation ensued to the tune of ”Please, give me something, anything”…..”What, am I some circus animal that does tricks on command. Am I a dog, sit, stay, fetch?”  ……” No! Of course not, but this is your thing, writing is your passion, this is your blog.” ……..”I don’t write because I have to, I write when I want to, how I want to and if I want to. You didn’t see me raising my hand for some 30 day adventure in writing. I’d’ call that a misstep in judgement considering I’m the one who writes!” …….“Look, I understand that and have always let you do things your way, but just this once, I’d like for you and I to work together with a general goal.” ………”NO, that’s not how it works”…….”what works?” ……….“I work. The creative process dictates when I’m inspired to write about something. It says when a topic has settled around my thoughts and the words are demanding release, THEN I write. Since when have I wrote anything because I  should or have too?” …..”Well, that’s sorta the point of this exercise in daily writing, you haven’t been exactly disciplined or reliable in the writing department.” ….(visual moment) Two handed Double Middle Finger, F*ck off, Flip Off……”Ouch!, Jezus, I know you can be temperamental, and fickle and lets not forget stubborn and impossibly hard to please, but your cooperation is vital now, so please,enough of your creative flow and writer mentality mumbo jumbo, I need you! “…….silence…….”Fine, be that way, I’ll figure out how to get around your tantrum, just you watch”…………….silent wicked double dare smile…….

So, that’s why I needed topics and questions, just in case she who likes to dominate 70% of my mind space, pulls a writer strike and refuses to participate out of spite. I know, I know, crazy-ish talk, but that’s how it goes down in my mind. Negotiations, nice conversations, brawls, congrats, pleasant ruminating and vicious cat fights. Feel the love, feel the love.

Here’s the good news, and she who writes is feeling pissy that I’m going to write this passage. Despite the internal battle that has been going down, when it comes down to the words that do end up on this page I can’t say who is captain of the ship everyday. Usually it is that Rebecca writer. But sometimes when I’m feeling abandoned by her and start plunking words down at random, that lady against the wall walks over, puts her hand on my shoulder and whispers “Good Hell. Writing is so not your talent, I’d write it this way”……and I thank her.

The Hand That Writes

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writing_handI’ve been feeling a bit under the weather all week. One of those, I’m not sick enough to claim “sick”  because I can’t pinpoint what feels wayward, but I’m not feeling great. I’m running a low grade fever, feel weak, headache sporadic and just something……..is off kilter.

Now, I may be a strange individual on this point, but if I’m not feeling well, I want to feel positively rotten so I have every excuse in the book to curl up in bed, round the clock. I want to be surrounded by good drinks, fabulous books, a few DVD’s and let my daughters kick into nurturing mode and spoil me like the good little nurses they can be.  

My current status hardly qualifies for mandatory bed rest, but it’s making it difficult to accomplish much. Motivation is lingering somewhere between I should be doing something, I have no desire to do anything and I’ll try to do something just to feel productive. Since I have a week of that under my belt, I can say it’s like pinging around a room with a blindfold on doing the motions of action and wondering 3 hours later what I’ve been doing the whole time.

I have discovered I do like writing in this state of mind, so a little notebook has been my constant companion. An atmosphere of thoughts that feel foggy and transparent through the mind of a semi-ill consciousness shouldn’t be ignored. Since I have no idea how other minds operate throughout the day, I can only observe my internal monologue with thoughtful observation. It seems when I’m not feeling well my mind kicks into overdrive issuing out sentence after sentence that was previously residing in thy mind vault.

In my world, every story I write is born through a single sentence. That is my ultimate starting place.  I’ve read that other people who write, see an entire timeline of a story or envision characters engaged in an action or reaction. I’ve read some see a scene inside their head like a clip from a movie while others take a circumstance they want to focus on and build around it. That is their beginnings, the  ’it’  that triggers a novel, or poem, or anything they tell others.

 I hear sentences, words piling on top of each other. Inside my head there is a word puzzle thrown on a table, each puzzle  piece is a word and my thoughts are constantly (and I mean, insanely relentlessly) trying to link them up to form a sentence that grabs my attention. Once that sentence is realized, all sorts of creative imaginations start to go from liquid to solid form around. Sentence first…..imagination next.

Now, these sentences can be slippery little suckers. Once the words line up into a single sentence, they march out of my mind in single file formation that I usually get one chance to claim.  I have to be quick to catch them or they’ll escape and fly away from me like wordbirds escaping their cage. (Think word on the tip of  your tongue, but can’t quite recall) This is one of the reasons I usually appear like a super spy with my notebook and pen on my person at all times.

I’ll be out to dinner with a group and one of those sentences will make a break for it and if I don’t capture it on paper, there’s a good chance I won’t remember it an hour later. I’ve had to explain occasionally why I’m listening to someone and rudely start sifting around in my purse for writing utensils, then with a smile and a nod to encourage the other party to continue on, I’ll chicken scratch a sentence down while keeping my eyes trained on them. Makes me wonder how often someone has thought, “Damn, I was talking and she just started writing without even looking at her paper, strange lady” ……..

So that’s it. The starting motivation to all my writing. A single sentence I can build from. Some sentences have inspired short stories, some sentences have 50,000 words behind them and more. Some of my escaped sentences I find beautiful, some I find downright strange and some motivate me to venture forward. Some make it into my online journal and some remain forever barren and alone…..Makes me wonder, does anyone else start stories, books, poems, etc in this manner?

And since I’m sharing today, here are some examples of sentences that have tried to fly away from me but I captured within my notebook………

  • The unexpected embrace of a smile…..
  • The Crucifixion of an idea…….
  • What is the currency of a well intended idea……
  • I bevel my thoughts into the fallacy of memory. Truthful illusions…….
  • I dare not let time be the erosion of my identity…….
  • Umbrella imaginations, that is the world of a child’s mind, and my own? Blanket possibilities…….
  • The fraudulent behaviour of lavender fields……..
  • Wicked world and mercy streets. I’ve often thought those words as the circle in which my truths were based and my all illusions compared…..
  • In the Shadow of the Iris……
  • Provocation of Mine (d) …………(I caressed that one for awhile until it decided it wanted to be a journal name)