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Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Everything Is Blunderful

My life is…completely unremarkable.  Except for the extreme blunders I make.  Blunders that make people wonder if I’ve had a stroke or am suffering some kind of psychosis.

I made one of those colossal blunders this week and I’ve been feeling badly about it for days.  It’s times like this I want to run away and hide.  Out of shame, out of embarrassment, or just to protect myself from committing more blunders.   I need a hiding place.  A private place.

This cottage and piece of property have been all but completely forgotten.  As far as I know it isn’t for sale, but from the looks of the upkeep the owners are there very seldom if ever at all.  It would be the perfect hiding place for me.

My blogging has been suffering lately, along with my self-respect regarding the most recent blunder.  The little cottage with the yellow door and shutters would be a wonderful place to think, reflect, and write.  In fact, this piece of property was pointed out to me as what could be my “perfect blogging retreat.”  I can’t disagree.

Take a closer look at the front window.  The reflection in the front window would be my view as I look up from my writing or my woes.  A beautiful lake and pristine forest surrounding it.

We all know one can’t run away from problems or blunders.  My problems won’t disappear even if I do, and blunders can’t be undone.  But how much easier would it be to erase those things from my mind, even if for a day or two, if I could escape to The Blogging Retreat?

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I picked up James Michener’s The Novel because 1) I’ve never read Michener before, and 2) I thought a book about a novel might inspire me.

I found out that 1) Michener is way into detail, which can be kind of distracting, and 2) I’m more resistant in my aspirations to publish than ever because of this story.

When I lie in bed tonight with my eyes going back and forth across The Novel’s pages I’ll wonder what will be the thing that puts me to sleep ~ the book, or the toll my day has taken on me.

If I ever write a book will it put people to sleep?  If it’s anything like this post it will.

 

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Hello again!

I just returned from a relaxing and rejuvenating getaway to Door County, Wisconsin.  I don’t know how many years Husby and I have been going there, but it never disappoints.  The tiny motel in which we stay is tidy, clean and unpretentious, but offers a most spectacular view of Lake Michigan.   Not only that, the house which inspired my novel-in-progress is right across the street, so I get more writing inspiration every time we visit.

*Insert House Picture Here…When you find it amid the thousands of Door County pictures you’ve taken throughout the years…I know it’s somewhere…Now I wish I’d taken another one this week…*

Speaking of writing, I tried something novel and daring while we were on our retreat.  I didn’t take my laptop with me, and when I wanted to write I did it by hand.  Yep, I took a note book with me and put my cursive writing to action instead of tapping away on a keyboard.  I must say it was refreshing, and I was surprised at how the process of writing is different when doing it by hand.  I felt like things flowed from my mind through my arm and out the pen in a more thoughtful way.  Also, I didn’t feel so detached from what was going on around me.  I may begin a practice of writing by hand every day, even if it’s just a stream-of-consciousness thing.  I really enjoyed it.

I’m sure I’ll be writing more about the peninsula soon as its abundance is all I can think about right now.  Here’s to the strength and peace of big water…

 

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Lately

My dainty hand made to be all clumpy and immobile.

Don’t feel sorry for me.  Except I’ll take any sympathy I can get.  My right thumb is crippled due to overuse.  I’ve been cutting with scissors and mousing way to much and I’m now paying the price.  If only I were ambidextrous!  Unfortunately I’m not, so I’m trying to help myself with this brace thing.

That’s no excuse for neglecting my writing though.  Well, it kind of is.  The truth of the matter is I’ve been so non-writey lately I don’t even recognize myself.  For example, my birthday was in August and I still haven’t written the thank-you notes for the gifts I received.  It’s nearly time to write thank-you notes for Christmas (if I’m on the “nice” list) so I better get on those birthday notes before it’s too late.  OK, it’s too late already, but better late than never, right?

I want to become more writey, so I’m just going to fake it ’til I make it.  I’ve got my Pandora Christmas station playing and I’m at the computer despite my crippledness.  The Christmas season is officially underway, which is a good thing with or without a crippled hand, with or without writing.

There will be lots of decorating going on at the Auntie B’s Wax World Headquarters this weekend.  I’m starting to get into the spirit.

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Oh, the things I can get done in the dark hours when I know I don’t have to get up with the birds the next day.  I listen to the chime of the mantel clock strike a late hour as I’ve just finished producing, pricing, and recording a load of inventory for a drop at a gift shop that’s been waiting for my goods for three months.  If I were going to the day job tomorrow I’d have been in bed hours ago, probably tossing and turning with thoughts of how I could better spend my time.

The calendar flips its days, weeks and months to the finish line when I can say goodbye to the day job.  It’s all I can think about these days.  To spend time in this life exactly how I want to seems to be my purpose.  Nothing specific, just my whim.  How glorious that will be.

I’ve been avoiding writing lately, and I can’t really understand why.  It’s not that I don’t have time; I do have some, enough, yet I’ve been avoiding it.  Maybe it’s because that’s all I want to do, and the snippets of time afforded me only tease and torment.  Or maybe I don’t really want to write at all.  I haven’t figured it out yet.  But here I am in the silence of the night, fulfilled with what I accomplished without a solid bedtime, writing.

Day after tomorrow I’ll be going to the family cottage for the holiday weekend, and I’m taking my laptop with me.  Some of my family members might smirk at my bringing technology to the rustic nature of the cottage, but I’m not the only one bringing things to smirk at.  Enough said, eh Charlotte?  Perhaps I’ll find some time between roasting stale Peeps (a new delicacy Charlotte is going to try with Easter leftovers) and cleaning out boats and cottage rooms to return to my work in progress, rewriting/editing the first draft of the novel I wrote last November.

Such ramblings I have when I can relish the dark summer night.  Bear with me, for there may be more to come.  My blogging may take a turn, or continue to wane; one never knows.  I’m just getting in practice for that time when all I have to listen to is my whim.

Serene Muskie Bay

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Tonight

I had a very busy weekend about which I could write, but I’m not in the mood. I have new crafting ideas about which I could write, but I’m not in the mood. I need to write blog posts, but I’m not in the mood.

There’s something about only doing something for which you’re in the mood. What could that thing be? What do I want to do after an introvert’s busy, people-filled weekend? What is that thing for which I’m in the mood?

I want to plug in Pandora, my Twinkle Bell station, and then I want to write.  Not about my weekend or crafting ideas or those things that would be of interest on a blog.  I want to write things I want to write. Write things no one will see. Maybe revise my novel-in-progress. I want to listen to the soothing music and write, write, write.

And I’m writing…about anything I want to…about nothing I don’t want to.

Until I fall asleep.

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Stir Crazy

My blogging life has pretty much come to a halt.  What’s with that?!  I don’t know if it’s cabin fever or a bona fide mental disorder.

Lord knows the cabin fever thing is valid.  All I do is stay home and go to work.  Go to work and stay home.  I’m pretty much a hermit anyway, but having weather and roads that make staying in a comfort and/or safety issue kind of limits my choices.  Apparently having the option of going somewhere or doing something outside the house or work has a tremendous impact on my mental state, whether I actually take advantage of those options or not.

Having a bona fide mental disorder is also valid, but we won’t get into that.

Truth be told I’ve lost my motivation, or so it feels to me.  Some people might look at my life and think I’m the most productive person in the world.  Some other people (hi, Charlotte) would go insane being as inert as I am.  I’ve slowed down to a crawl when it comes to my housekeeping and business endeavors, but when it comes to blogging?  I’ve stopped dead in my tracks.

I want to write, I want to blog.  I think there’s probably something churning inside as a result of the introverted/extroverted personality concept ~ a conflict of sorts.  I’m generally an introvert, but there’s an obvious extrovert in my life who has made an impact on my writing.  Her actions of late have made me want to clam up and hide the extroverted behavior of blogging.  Hey, I think I just figured it out!

Thing is, there are all sorts of reasons why my blogging has been so sluggish lately.  I want to write.  I want to blog.  I just don’t know what to say.

And so I trudge on…

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