Hi! I’m creating a new blog. I hope you all will follow me over at that blog. I’ll post links to it here for a while before I stop posting altogether on here. The new page is spellboundscribbler.wordpress.com and please feel free to share it. I just posted my first blog at spellboundscribbler. Come on over and take a look!
Let’s talk about writing for a minute. Golly Gee! As if we haven’t done that before. I know I have OCD and lately I’ve suspected that there’s some ADD or ADHD lurking around. For the last few weeks when I try to write, I simply cannot sit still in my chair. And the times I can sit I end up killing time on Facebook or IHeartRadio.
I’ve had very little concentration and even less patience for myself because of it. I’ve added several books to my e-reader and to my bookshelves lately, also, and haven’t read any of them. That irritates me, too. Last Thursday I wanted to stay out of my desk chair so I would be able to sit for my in-person group meeting. So I stretched out on the bed with my e-reader and something amazing happened.
I read an entire story. Granted, it was a short story, but it turned into an appetizer. I read a second story. I was almost late grabbing a shower to get ready for my meeting.
My internet was acting up when I got home. Go figure. I fired up my e-reader and only got a few minutes before my battery petered out. So I looked at my bookshelves to see if anything grabbed my attention. What I found was an old friend. I’ve been a fan of Nora Roberts romances for a long time. My favorites are the Donovan Legacy books about a family of witches.
I stayed up until 3:30 in the morning reading. I laughed again at the familiar jokes and laughed at myself when I cried along with Morgana and Nash, even though I knew what was going to happen. But the important thing is that I stayed focused on the story and kept reading.
When I was growing up I loved to read. I read everything, even the labels on Lysol cans. If you’ve been reading me for a while you’ve heard me mention my mother. Many times I would escape into a book. Mom would fuss at me to put down my book and be sociable.
What I realized in the wee hours of the morning when I finished reading was that I no longer had to read to escape from mom or the ex-husband or anything else. I could read simply because I enjoy it. For the love of the story, the interaction of characters, to peek inside a world created from the psychosis of someone else’s fevered dreams.
Now back to the writing: You need to read to be a good writer. Reading shows you technique, style, ideas expressed in a way you may not have thought of. Sometimes you can be engrossed in the depths of a story and get smacked in the face with an idea or realization about your own story.
Sometimes you just need to clear your head of your own characters so you can see them clearly. If you’re having trouble getting words on the page and you keep trying to force it, you get frustrated. Nobody can write like that. Give yourself permission to take a break and regroup. Your characters will still be there waiting.
I’m calling a Technical on a blog written by a friend of mine. He was talking about signs, the signals men and women send out. He made some very valid points about the games women play. But guys do the same thing.
Women have just as much trouble reading signals from men. You almost need a degree in reading body language to have a conversation with a man. And why is it a man and woman can talk online and text on every subject under the sun, and I mean EVERYTHING, but when you’re sitting on the couch next to each other nobody knows how to act?
Is he gonna kiss me? Should I kiss him? Why doesn’t he make a move? What would he do if I made a move? Guys should come with instruction books.
I have a friend I play poker with. He’s shown signs of interest for some time now, always wanting a hug when I see him and getting touchy-feely when I hug him (especially when he’s had a couple beers), touching me in some small way everytime I’m within arms reach. Recently he was getting quite touchy, without any liquid courage, and we ended up trading text messages for the rest of the evening while we played cards. The next week, not one word out of him.
I’ll let you guys in on a little secret…. it’s just as confusing for women as it is men. Men are supposedly simple creatures you just need to feed, keep warm, and play with on ocassion to make them happy. Bull Shit! Men are more complicated than women. It’s not easy to figure out the thinking of a creature with two heads, even if the one head is really predictable.
I’m facing the daunting task of dating again. It’s been 15 years since I thought about dating. I’m not sure I remember the rules.
If you’re interested, how about just saying so? Or even better, when I walk into the room, pull me into your arms and say hello with a kiss. Now there’s a sign……
What motivates you? Is it money? Love? The thrill of the hunt? Do you play the game for the fun of playing or do you play to win? I hear writers say they get asked, Why do you write? As a writer I can answer that the same way all my writer friends do: I can’t Not write.
My entire life I have been happiest when I was making something. I learned needlepoint and thread crafts at an early age, my mother’s attempts to keep my nose out of a book and make me socialize. I can sew, crochet or embroider pretty much anything. I’ve built small pieces of furniture, put together innumerable jigsaw puzzles, framed windows and walls, even rebuilt a carburetor for a 1963 Nash Rambler. I can draw and paint and string multiple notes together without needing a bucket to carry them in. I’ve made my own wax candles and bath salts and lip balm. I can make magic with my own two hands. I can cook manicotti that grown men will fight over. And when I put my pencil to paper I can write words that will inspire you, make you laugh or cry, turn you on or tick you off.
This uncontrollable desire to create something has been a part of my chemistry since birth. Reading is the only thing I devote as much focus to as creating. Where does the motivation come from? I couldn’t tell you. I’m not really concerned about where it comes from as long as it keeps coming.
A writer friend turned me on to a quote from Pearl S. Buck about creating. He said it pretty much summed him up. I would have to agree, for him and myself. See what you think….
“The truly creative mind, in any field, is no more than this: a human born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To him, a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create-so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency, he is not really alive unless he is creating.”
There are as many motives for actions as there are actions to be made. They are not always something we need to question or define. If you do know your motivations, you are probably ahead of the game. Not many people who feel the need to know have the courage to look honestly in the mirror for the answers. In my case, writing is something in my blood, an insatiable craving for the printed word and the pictures, dreams and passions that are painted onto the page.
Keep in mind that motivation is the Why. Inspiration is the What. I’ll save that for the next blog.
Since I survived flying to Arizona and back I have felt this strange need to prove myself. I want to test my own strength, emotionally and mentally. I am sitting in a hotel room in a town I walked away from when my marriage ended. Rumor has it the Ex is still working here. I found myself telling a friend today that I hope I run into him, figuratively. I have been back here since the break-up. It feels different this time. I’m not the same person. I was still deeply mourning the end of my marriage the last time I was here. Now I see the real me in this place where my life changed forever. I still have a wound from that change. But I’m getting stronger, healthier, happier. I know now that I won’t fall apart if I see him. I’m not going to be petty and juvenile and flip him the bird. I might gloat a bit that the 2-store operation he walked away from has now grown to 8 stores. I guess he just wasn’t strong enough to stick with it.
Personal strength is something to think about. I’m not talking about physical force or stamina. I’m talking about strength of conviction, faith, being able to recognize what you need and how to get it regardless to how hard it may be. The Ex wasn’t strong enough. He had no faith in his own abilities. He put on a good show, and believe me he could sell the show. He could sell ice to an Eskimo and make him think he needed it. But he couldn’t sell the show to himself because he knew it was a lie. He wasn’t strong enough to look in the mirror. Now I can see that. I wasn’t ready to see it then. I wasn’t strong enough to face that reality. Until now.
I’m looking for someone who has some strength. Are you strong enough to look in the mirror? Can you see the options before you and make that decision to follow your heart? Where is the man who is strong enough to take on a woman who is not only looking in her mirror, but talking back to it? Are you strong enough to be my man?