Tuesday, April 20, 2010
smelled my outstretched hand,
rubbed the length of his nose.
Monday, April 19, 2010
I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination.
..................................... Albert Einstein
We can read it the other way: If one draws freely upon imagination, then one could be called an artist. If you are coming up with your own ideas using your own power of creativity, then you can then be called a writer.
As I've been contemplating the idea of origins this week, I would like to end the week with this question, which I'm not sure has an answer:
When does one begin to call themselves a writer? Is it at the moment that the pen meets the paper for the first time? Does one have to wait until they are published so as not to be thought a fraud? I, myself, have always had trouble with this. Whenever I do introduce myself to someone as a writer, I immediately want to take it back. But, it's funny the reaction I get from people. I immediately am thought of as someone so cool (for the first time in my life, I might add.). People get so excited and immediately want to know what I write about and whether anything they do will appear somewhere in something that I create.
Still, within all this glory, I still feel it is too early. I guess it brings out my vulnerability, just like every time I press the "Publish Post" button on this blog!
Anyway, I hope everyone has a wonderfully exciting spring break and is able to enjoy the sunshine for a little bit, at the very least. I'll be back to post again very soon.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
As it should be.
Hands clasped, north and south
Two worlds collide and collapse within
Far beyond constriction.
Don't be afraid
To dive in.
that greatest sense,
Only to find
That which you lost, long ago.
I’ve often thought it would be great to be a priest. What a wonderful existence, to be present at all of life’s greatest moments, to speak words of meaning to gatherings of people united for a common purpose. Some priests are lucky enough to run a school, and, if goodness is what is behind it, to experience the growth and learning of children and be there as they enter the world.
We seem to only remember priests at those important rites of passage: births, deaths, marriage, coming of age, and our unburdening of a sin that we are unable to forget. They are always there to observe us and help us through time’s transcendence, whenever we wish to reach for their help and guidance. They are at once passive, yet incredibly active in their passivity.
I find the lives of priests and writers to be very similar. We are both present at life’s greatest transcending moments. We don’t live conventional lives caught within the daily grind. We are somehow isolated and exempt from conventional existence. We are allowed to be unique and different. We live a monastic sort of existence. We observe people for who they are inside--our essence, our human foibles, sufferings, our love, our struggle to come to terms with the life we have been given. We are both searching for that ultimate spiritual experience, that moment of perfect transcendence.
I don’t dream of being a priest anymore. I don’t have to. After all, I couldn’t be one anyway. And being a nun is a whole different ballgame.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Great writing unfolds like a butterfly, stretching its wings for the first time.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
roots, ancestry, parentage, birth, beginnings, emergence, rise, source, cause
the point at which something begins its course or existence
causes operating before the thing itself comes into being
naissance (french for 'birth')
where something unique in itself begins
a clean slate
jumping off point
Where does something really begin, be it an idea, a feeling, a person or being, a group, a creative process, or a product?
Next week's theme is very pertinent to my life right now as I consider my own origins and the origin of my own creative process. Where should my own jumping-off point be? How to begin a project or a piece of writing? How did my own beginnings, or childhood, affect me as a writer today? A piece may originate anywhere, be it in the middle, beginning, end or just as merely an essence or seed in the mind.
I thought I would share a glimpse inside my impressions of my own beginning, or "naissance":
My Red Velvet Cloak by Susan Harris-Gamard
~written in the Fall of 2003
Mother, Mother, where have you been?
I miss that red velvet cloak
You held within.
I miss its soft caress
full of smiles and warmth,
and the love of a kindred soul
long lost, but never forgotten.
please put it on...
It isn't worn, or full of dust,
not yet, if ever it was.
Ah, but you have given it to me, for keeps
and I have put it away in safety,
so that I too may unfurl
It's red river of comfort
to the next Bright Star, who waits, in the wings.
Today, at our weekly writing group, the theme was non-traditional forms of writing. One form that was discussed was pictorial narrative. I thought of Gericault's painting "Raft of the Medusa". This is one of the best examples of French Romanticism, and it shows a traditional diagonal formation in order to express the emotion of the scene. More specifically, it consists of two pyramids of figures. I don't remember the name of the artist that was shown in group, but he also uses this figurative position in his paintings.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Word of today:
1. the light from the sky from full night and sunrise or between sunset and full night
2.a state of indistinctness
3. a period of decline
....my favorite time of day....