The Process continues

So I finished my book. Well, a rough draft of it. It needs lots of help still. I've had a couple people read it, for editing and for content and flow. The remarks, responses, and comments have been extremely helpful and insightful.

One of the things I have struggled with is not so much the editing and suggestions but the feeling that if I use other people's thoughts to write my book, does it then not become their book as well? Aren't they in fact helping to write it? Do they become co-writers if they help? Where is the line that keeps the book mine and not partially theirs? I don't mind sharing but feel that credit should be given to those that have helped with ideas and rephrasing and such and I can't seem to get my mind around where help becomes part of the actual story and hence, they become a cowriter. I feel this is probably a strange place to be and an odd way to think and would be curious if other writers feel this when they get ideas and editing from others.

Aside from that, I think overall most are liking it. I'm trying to get feed back from several people to get as many different views as I can. I know what's in my head and want to know what is in a reader's head when they read the story. It's very exciting to share my book with others.

I still don't have a title that I have chosen 100%.

I need to go back and rewrite some parts. And reformat some parts. And take out the word "and" at the beginning of a ton of sentences. It seems that I think that way - in a long continuous sentence :) lol

I also found out that I say the word "hmm" a lot. I actually do in real life too, which I never knew about myself.

I'm excited to get back to work on it but haven't found the ultimate push to do it. I'm hoping it comes soon.

I've also got new ideas for new books that I am anxious to work on. I've started brainstorming and mapping out the ideas for a few of them and have them on the computer. This gives my brain more room so I don't have to remember them :)

Title title title. Hmm. lol

Creativity Portal Prompt Generator - May 28, 2009

A romantic night would be . . .

One where I felt like Cinderella.
It would start out with a few hours of getting ready - spa treatment, pedicure, manicure, have someone else do my hair and makeup - ahh.

Someone else would pick out my clothes - shoes too :)

After that, the limo would arrive to pick us up and take us driving around, with a nice chilled bottle of wine in the back and the sunroof open so we could pop out and check out the setting sun. We'd watch the final sunset from the comfort of one lounger as we laid together on a sandy beach listening to the slowing of the waves and the cries of seagulls warning of the fading light.

Then we would whisk away on a plane for dinner, where we would have steak at a small restaurant with dim lighting and a magnificent view of the city. On the return flight, hubby would have someone else fly as we snuggled and talked sweet nothings in the back of the Cessna.

On our way to a small intimate performance by a favorite comedian, he would surprise me with a trinket, piece of jewelry, to show his continued love. :)

As the laughs died down, we would head back to the beach and spend the night out under the stars.

The or rather My Writing Process

I have to say it's been interesting.
In the beginning, it all came so easy. I had a plan and followed it. I still have a plan. I still follow it. But the longer the story gets, the more I find myself rereading to refresh my memory of where the characters "are." Not necessarily physically, but how far they have evolved.
Sometimes I'll write like a crazed woman on a mission. Sometimes every word is painfully drawn out and I feel lucky to get a complete sentence.
My favorite times are right after I wrote a part that I feel really good about. During that time it comes so easily and I am so in tune with the characters.
Other times I struggle - what does she do? How do I get them from here to there in the story? What happens? Who does she turn to?
I found out the other day that I write even when I'm not writing. I went out to weed, a mindless, boring and tedious job of having a garden. That particular day, I was stumped on the story and "gave up." I plopped down on the gravel area around the pond that had assorted wildness peeking up through the rocks. I began plucking. And I began writing, without even realizing it. My mind wandered and came to a plan, a new idea, a different thought.
After weeding, I ran back in and wrote. Maybe I was weeding my mind??
One of my least favorite questions is "How long is it?" or "How long is it going to be?" My latest answer is "As long as it needs to be."
The other day, after explaining the plot/story line to my dad, he looked at me kinda funny and then said, "Oh. So it's like a true story." I had to smile, because no one but my dad would ever even think that.
I will admit, it has been more of a struggle than I thought it would be. Harder. Requiring more thought. I eventually had to write a cheat notes page/list for myself of the details of each character.
There have been times when I'll bounce ideas off hubby. He has helped tremendously on certain parts. But mostly it has been a journey of my mind.
One of the most interesting things is that sometimes I'll be working and typing so long, I'll look down at my fingers and get all confused about how to type. Or amazed that I am typing. That's a very strange feeling.
I skipped a bit on my story. I wrote part of the near end and then wrote part of the very end. I don't think I should have done that. Despite my plan, the story has curved along the way and with endings written, it now has to be a straight shot to get there.
There's a very technical part coming up. It's almost like I'm putting it off. I'm afraid to make a mistake, show my ignorance of a subject that is so integral to the plot. I've studied and done research and hopefully will make the best with what I know. I don't know why I'm scared - it's my very favorite part of the book. Maybe that's why I'm scared. Worried that it won't come out the way I want it to - the way I can so clearly see it in my head.

I basically just wrote this post to remind myself of where I am now. To chronicle the journey. I wish I would have done a post like this sooner. I will do them with more frequency now.

Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - May 21, 2009

May 21, 2009
No-one lives here any more. Only the crows and the big sky keep company with the ghost of the old horse who spent his life here. What are his memories and why does he still remain tied to this spot?

Easy -
Once upon a time there was a fair haired girl who loved him with all her heart. She snuck him sugar cubes after a hard day of plowing. She was the only kindness the old work horse had ever known. When she spoke, it soothed him as it reminded him of nuzzling his mother for milk. Her gentle hands would smooth his rough hair, thick from the wintery frigid cold. During the spring, her small hands, with the coolness of a mountain stream, rubbed his aching chest and leg muscles. Sometimes, when he was lucky, he would feel her frosty breath tickle his nostrils in the early morning of a fall day as she kissed nose.

And then one day, his small bit of joy no longer visited. He would see her from a distance, near the house, with another that reminded him of his master. And then he no longer saw her at all.

He still remembers the kindness, and his heart yearns for it. We all want to remain where we feel special and loved.

Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - May 12, 2009

May 12, 2009
I didn't know what to expect beyond the garden gate, I breathed in deeply the morning fresh air and took in the beauty and stillness of the garden...

As I entered, the gate creaked and I worried it would fall off its hinges. I had to give it a bit of a shove because the ivy was intertwined amidst the paint-chipped wooden slats. I hadn't ventured in here since, well, THAT day.

I had prepared myself for many things during the past month. Weeds, bugs, painful memories, happy rememberances. A bit worried, I bit my lip and stepped past the gate with a purposeful stride and a great bit of anxiety.

It was still there. The glass ball, shining and reflecting like a rainbow. Perfect. I caught my breath, waiting as still as the concrete statue in the corner that guarded the ten inch orb.

Should I walk closer? I debated for a long time. Long enough to watch a bird fly past with a bit of twig in its big. Long enough to hear the frog sing a croak of love. Turning my head slightly, I saw the rose bush in full bloom and daintly picked my way through the ivy-covered stones to drink in the scent.

Closer to the sunlit ball, a hybrid lilac was in full bloom and my senses pulled me to it, the aroma as tantalizing as a stolen kiss.

A big fat bumblebee lazily wandered on the flowers closest to the crystal sphere. I went in for a closer look, to watch her work.

At some point, I realized my small senses journey was nothing but a straight and true path to the perfectly smooth round glass. I looked down and it was a mere foot away.

Just like that, I was gone again.

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Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - May 7, 2009

May 7, 2009
A quiet country road at the end of a hot summer's day. What would you find if you just kept moving along into the sunset?

Enough hours in a day might be found. To do all you dream of doing, all you need to do, and then still have time to relax and enjoy the stillness and that feeling of peace.

Eternal life. An eternal day. The scenery changes as you move, but the light stays the same, constant.

Exceptional insight to your day's problems and issues in the past.

Extra brain power you didn't know you had.

Everything you thought you lost.

Exquisite sights and views.

Energy exploding.

Endurance.


I wonder why I chose to make it an E word answer?

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Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - May 4, 2009

May 4, 2009 -We are all connected by a never ending thread. When you feel someone tugging do you respond?

We are all connected. It's something bigger than science knows. It's deeper than proven gravitational pull of one human body on another. This is why it hurts when one of us doesn't seem quite human because of their horrific acts.

When someone tugs? You can feel who you are supposed to be closer to. We've all experienced it. That best friend from the moment you met. That immediate attraction to someone that defies any sense of normalcy.

Some call out loud, but some whisper in our minds. Those whispers can linger for years. Maybe it was a small kind word when you needed it the most. You want to go back and thank them. And you know that it was all part of the bigger plan. There were sent at that moment because they felt YOU tugging.

People are different. Some feel a lot of tugs and feel the need to answer them all, no matter how small. Some feel them but choose to ignore most, seeming insignificant. Some only feel a few, but those tugs are more like strong chains that can't be resisted.

Find the other end of your chain if you can. That dark iron heavy burden will have something beautiful at the other end.

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A Birthday Dream

I was walking down a city street, covered in regular small bungelow houses. The kind my grandparents had lived in. The street was vaguely reminiscent of the path I walked to school when I was young, but the homes were closer together and there were more shops interspersed and deposited on the corners.

I neared a shop front, pushing a large cart, covered in white. I wasn't homeless. I just always had a lot of things to carry around with me.

As I entered the store, the front was filled with brand new washers and dryers, all shiny and white. There were a few bikes that surrounded a wooden counter in the middle of the store. Surrounded by the wooden tables, was an old man. Thin, balding, with silver wire rim glasses. He looked nervous to see me.

But as I looked past him, I gasped. Behind him was an array of toys that made me yearn to touch them. They called out to me. I left my cart and walked to him. "What is this?" I asked in wonder.

He moved the counter just slightly, so only I could fit through and my cart had to be left behind.

As I moved through and was face to face with the toys, I was struck with memories. Shaky baby. A pale lavendar doll dress with white flocked dots. A stuffed dog.

I began to sob uncontrollably.

The old man was concerned and he put his hand on my elbow. I realized what a fool I was making of myself as he handed me a kleenex. I dabbed my face and thanked him. And told him how wonderful it was in his store. He just smiled.

I asked him if he had a lot of people who reacted this way to all the toys. He said, "No. Only you." He was the one that was surprised by my reaction! And I had assumed everyone would have the same, wonderful reaction of sweet memories and happy times.

I had stopped my sobbing and he wandered back to the center wooden tables. I continued on down the aisle that covered the back of the store wall from side to side, seeing so many dirty, grungy and fabulous toys that had held my heart at one time or another. There were games and gadgets, dishes. Oh, if they have the green kitchen set I will just loose it again, I thought to myself, knowing it was probably hiding there in the dim shadows but not knowing if I was ready to see it for real.

Finally, a younger woman came in. She seemed upset that I was looking at the toys and had gone passed the wooden counter area. She scolded the old man, but he whispered, "It's okay. She's remembering." It felt like he was just sitting in for a small bit while she went on a break or took lunch and she regretted having him do it for her.

He shuffled out and she continued to watch me and then I finally approached her, wanting to let her know that I was safe, ok, and I wouldn't hurt anything. We talked about swimming pools - floating green mylar strands that were put in pools on purpose to make them look pretty and festive.

I thanked her profusely for letting me see all the toys, hoping that I could come back some day.

And I woke up and wrote this all down. Happy 41st birthday to me yesterday.

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Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - April 28, 2009

April 28, 2009
Watching the magic of sunset, so poignant and beautiful yet so fleeting, always makes me feel…

awed. The beauty painted there in the great canvas for all to see, if they would only take a moment to watch it, lifts me, draws me in to its colors.
Sometimes I feel a great sense of satisfaction. Another day in which I have managed to accomplish something, however small.
Sometimes I feel a sense of sadness, melancholy. Another day that is gone, never to return, never to relive, except in memories and dreams.
Sometimes I feel a sense of excitement. What waits for me tonight, in that glorious star filled sky? Romance, love, peace, fun, music.
But I am always awed and astounded that the same colors can create such a myriad of designs in the evening sky. I always say thank you when I see a pink cloud. I know it was put there for me.

Sunsets are more beautiful and mysterious than any other time of day. The speed at which they sink. Ahh, to move that gracefully and quickly. The power to inspire so many.

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Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - April 26, 2009

April 26, 2009 -Determination even in the face of failure can keep us going and in the process, the lift we get from moving can be exhilarating. Kids often have stubborn determination. We are all still kids. Can you access your kid-like determination and direct it toward forward propulsion?

It's that kid like mind and mentality that keeps you going. Don't think about what you have to do, or want to do, or need to do. Just do it and put yourself into it. And why not? Fear. Children know no fear. Why? They aren't in to consequences and haven't learned the connection of cause and effect.
We can all go with the flow on the cause side, follow it's river to where it leads us, but it's the effect we fear. Shame, scorn, failure, ridicule. Children don't even know these words, so to be good adults with drive and determination, to make our lives something to be cherished, we need to forget these words.
Hubby made a comment the other night - he is in awe that I am attempting to write a book, that I had that much confidence. I sat silently in shock. Am I odd? I didn't even think I COULDN'T do it. The thought never occured at all. I really was just waiting for everything to gel together and figuring out where to start. Why wouldn't I be able to do it if I felt the need to do so?
And I think about my other dreams. Big ones. Teaching scuba. Having our own resort. I don't think of those as unattainable dreams, although I do struggle with time. Having enough to do all I want and need to do.
I came home the other day after work an told him I wanted a Corvette. I'm in the mood for something fast. It was his turn to be shocked. He listed a dozen reasons why I shouldn't have one. They were all trivial and I really don't see any of them as a reason to not do what I want to do. I still feel I will eventually get one, someday.
I also do a lot of things that I don't know why I do them. National Board. What the hell was that? I don't know why I attempted it; I just thought it might be a challenge. It was like a mountain to climb. To see if I could. Kind of like "Why not?"

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What Is This?

In the last week, I have felt an enormous amount of peace and happiness. Despite recent tragic events of friends and aquaintances, which pained my heart and still do, my own personal life has had a flow and ease that I am not quite used to.

The general sense of well being and floating is a nice place to be. I feel loved and in love. I feel competent and calm. I feel appreciated - that's a weird one - for things I do. And have been allowed to be my own person - althought accepted might be too strong of a word.

I believe that this feeling might have been going on even longer than the last week, although it has only been the topic of my mind thoughts for the last couple of days and am sure the last week holds true.

I feel, nicer. Kinder. Like I care more about others, and I wonder if this peace comes from that. I know you get back more than you give and I have always been a giver, not afraid of rebuff. But this seems bigger than the everyday stuff. Stronger and deeper. Wider? I am thankful, regardless of the reasons for the cause. Because I value peace. It is third on my list, after honesty and love.

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Now I am going to go knock on wood.

Why Do I Keep Coming Here?

It's a break. A change. And I have found I can blog in relative anonimity. No one else comes here. Just me. It's a peaceful place where I can be me, all of me.

It's a chance to try something different, look at things differently, stretch my mind to a variety of places. Be a different me.

So what's on the menu today? Let's look.

Creativity Portal 365 Picture Prompts - April 19, 2009 - Look for the hidden beauty even in the gratings of a sewer. (The picture shows rainbow bubbles in a grungy sewer grate.)

Beauty does hide sometimes. And can appear in the strangest places.
Some of the most beautiful things I know -

that small space where the ocean and the sand meet, with my feet standing in the surge, feeling the washing of water and smooth sand swirl around them, burying them, as if trying to plant them there forever

that smooth, soft, central spot on my husband's back, where the muscles all roll into a dip and the curves feel delicious

stepping out after a storm to see the clarity of color and wet drops on the living green. How is it that the world seems clearer and brighter and more vibrant after a rain? Are WE like that too?

light sparkling off jewels, glittering, radiant, knowing it didn't start out that way

that gorgeous color between blue and purple that hangs in the sky at sunset, streaked with glowing apricot, highlights of pink edging the clouds

the purity and simplicity of white gathered tulle, cloudlike and mysterious, innocent but daring you to peek

plaid - the formal explosion of color in comforting geometric lines and shapes, rests and draws pulling you through the pattern, leading, intricate, complex but soothing with the warmth of home

a curled lock of honey brown hair free falling over a shoulder into the air, free to blow or just simply hang

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Where Am I?

Leave me alone. I'm writing.

In the groove, the zone. Going with the flow and the words just fall out. Writer's Block?? That would be when I have to stop writing and actually go to work, or eat, or sleep or something equally obnoxious that blocks me from my time writing. ARG! Although . . . the time spent driving has been more enjoyable as I work out plots and reasons and causes.

I'm enjoying the classical music more right now, as words in songs tend to distract me. I like the peace of no words and soft flowing melodies.

I am addicted to my own story. I miss it when I can't spend time with it every day. I'm just trying to hash out the rough draft, get it all spit out. Then I can go back and finesse some areas, add things, and fix my stupid inability to stay correct with tense. Do I really have that much flexibility in me that I think time changes?? Not, so I don't know why I have so much trouble with it.

So anyway, that's where I am. Writing, loving, enjoying every single moment of it.

Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - April 8, 2009

April 8, 2009
A lonely photographer, in self imposed exile from her homeland, intent on unearthing the secrets hidden amidst the debris of a house built from local limestone by skilled yet barely literate immigrants when the country was new, abandoned now for three generations, stumbles upon...
the picture showed three canning lids. But I am going to abandon the picture and opt for my own story.

All photographers have a lonely part of them. It's what makes them work. It's being on the outside looking in. You have to be alone to really see something. But back to the story---

stumbles upon . . . initials, cut deep into the stone. The kind that were made by what could have only resulted in bleeding hands. The kind that were carved in desperation to leave their mark on this place, in this world. The chore must have taken a painstakingly long time but I wonder if it was done by firelight, or maybe in the scorching heat. Or in a dark, damp place, whether physical or in the mind. A place that had one solitary vision, so focused. Or was it obsession? Or caused by another obsession that couldn't be sated? Could the stone have been the prison of a mind? The excrutiating carving the only exercise of defiance?
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Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - April 7, 2009

April 7, 2009

Silhouetted against a window, a girl appears to be engrossed in the book she is reading. When was the last time you were completely engrossed in a book? What was the title of the book? What was it about the book that captured your imagination? Describe one or more of the characters you encountered in your reading. If you were to write a book yourself, what would you write about?

Wow. This is gonna be long.
Spring break. A couple of weeks ago, when the air was chilled, even though it wasn't supposed to be, I found a way to enjoy the sun and it's warmth through a west facing window. Curled up with my book on the princess bed in the afternoon, reading the third in a series of four, I wanted nothing more than to read myself into oblivion. White sheer curtains surrounded me. The comforter was soft and molded to me. The bed, soft and squishy to perfection. I wanted to read and never stop. Not because I was trying to escape anything in my real life, but because I was being transported to another time in my life. The characters were all people I had known in my life. I felt their pain, their joy; I even knew how they sounded. I knew what would make them smile, what would make them sad, and make them sigh. I was drawn in and saw the movie play behind my quick-reading eyes. Oh sure, they had descriptions, but they were so clear in my mind, I don't know that the words accurately portrayed who they were to me. I read and read and read. And then would make myself pause, because I didn't want it to end. I wanted the show to continue, unending, as I enjoyed it so fully. That fight with myself was lost. I lost to excitement and fullfillment and desire to know how it all turns out, sometimes called curiosity. But the defeat did not feel bad. With it came the joy of knowing.
I won't share the title. It doesn't matter. I say that, but I don't know of any other set of books that have captured me to that extent.
A book about me? I've already started. It's about love and fairy tales, which is the world I live in most often, even in my everyday life. I've never grown up, or out of it. Pity me because of it? You can if you feel the need, but I prefer my world, relish my world, achieve in my world. Most people wouldn't suspect that this is "where I live" from seeing me on the outside. Those closer might have an inkling. And those entrenched in my world know they are characters and the roles they play and seem content to follow those parameters. It's a truly happy place, and while it may sound like a lie, it is so truthful and peaceful. Not to say that there are no climaxes, conflicts, or sorrowful points. Those abound. Those make a story a GOOD story. That's MY story, where I live. And I wouldn't change it even if I could.
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Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - April 1, 2009

April 1, 2009
Prompt - When a topsey turvey day has you all up in the air, remember you could land in OZ!

I am in OZ! I am Glenda and Weena is Elphaba. How did we end up that way?
I guess this is all about changing your reality. I think I am pretty real. I don't like pretenses and I almost always show who I really am. (unless I am hiding something embarassing - although not much embarasses me)
I'm so real and normal - and yet so different. I always feel different from most people. People tell me I am different. Because I seek the truth? Because I don't lie? Because I don't pretend or lead on? Because I enjoy things and don't care if people see me enjoying life? Does that really make me different??? If so, then it's sad.
This is a boring prompt - at least today, for me.

Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - March 31, 2009

March 31, 2009
Like seeds, ideas fall into the soil of the winter of our lives; yet germination is occurring even when all looks lifeless. What ideas have been taking root in your personal winter that are now ready to spring forth? You're invited to create a mandala* (or other visual) that symbolizes the energy of those ideas, and allow that image to fuel you toward bringing your ideas into form. Spring forth!*A mandala is a circle—a circle which you make sacred with your intention as you create inside the circle.

Well geesh - I can't write in a circle here. I'm just gonna write and forget the circle stuff for now.

Maybe I'll just put a bunch of words together that are my ideas.
sleeper, Osage, earthquakes, love, romance, writing, divine, triggers, Irish, reincarnation, seventh son, young adults, do it till you get it right, black girls, buses, running bear, read Jane, it all goes wrong, it comes out right, caves, earth, gemstones, what's the key?, where does it start?, circle, sleeper

I was so looking forward to writing something more meaningful today. Maybe I should. I will.

Creativity Portal 365 Days Photo Response - March 30, 2009

March 30, 2009

This young tom has found a place to park himself, but is it a refuge or is it a dangerous spot?
First I need to describe the picture. It's a yellow cat sitting between two wheels of a tractor trailer.

It's not raining. It's not snowing. There are no "big bad dogs" in the photo chasing him. I don't even see a pound catcher chasing them. He's just sitting patiently, as if saying, "I'm waiting. Take the photo now please so I can move along." So I don't think it is a refuge. There is no threat or fear shown.

I tend to think more that it might be a dangerous spot. I can't tell if the truck is on or off. It's sitting but is it getting ready to move? Does the driver know he is there? Isn't a cat smart enough to move if he hears the engine start?

So let's make it a similie. I'm like the cat sitting between the tires. I'm peaceful, relaxed and content. Yet stagnant. Still. Although I could be observing from a distance. Observing would be good. But I am not a sitter. I am a doer. Observing can be such a great tool and I need to use that more. I'm just so much more inclined to take action, whether it be preventative or trying to accomplish something.

As the cat, could I be in a dangerous spot? No. That's what the observing is for. Watch, listen, see, let it all gel together in my mind and then move when the danger comes close. Danger of getting run over, danger of getting hurt, danger of being too content.
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Creativity Portal Prompt Generator 3, March 29, 2009

Without my life partner, I'd...

I want to rephrase that. Without my husband I'd . . .

saying die isn't enough. There's so much more to it than that.

Words that come to mind:
wither like a potato left in the dark moldy bin too long
or an apple infested with worms laying on the brown Fall grass in the heat

waste from lack of thought, emotion, or desire

shrink and avoid the cruel world that is so heartless and complacent and too speedy for it's own good

starve (that one is just funny)

inky darkness would seep into my visions and dreams - they would become gray even in the middle where they shine the brightest

crumble like the foundation of an old farm house

sink into the nothingness of darkness

I'd loose
my best friend, my hope, my heart, my mind.
Screams would become so commonplace. I wonder if you can just keep screaming in your mind after the sound no longer comes out?

I'd loose
my laughter and my view on silly things,
my warmth in a winter bed made with flannel sheets and a down comforter,
my dreams, because my future always shows him in it. Standing next to me. Supporting me. Silently hoping that I reach, try and grow.

I'd forget the reason for a sunrise or a new day. I'd forget the reason for beauty in the world. I'd forget there had ever been song. Or light.

Pain would be a like a lecherous high school friend. I would have pain that I couldn't let go because it would be the only thing that I had left. Even though I knew it was bad for me. As comforting as a piece of barb wire. It's the only thing to feel to let me know I was still, unfortunately, alive.

Nightmares - seamless flows of terror, emptiness, and aloneness.
The world would loose me because I had lost him.

Geez - I better not ever have to be without him.
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Creativity Portal Prompt Generator 2 - March 29, 2009

One thing I want to learn right now is...

I have to limit it to one??? No way.
Welding, stained glass creating, how to get published.

I want to learn about welding because the thought of creating something out of hard metal seems so complex but at the same time so satisfying. It would last a long time. Plus, you can build bigger and really make a statement. Say, "I was here." But the key word is build. Make it grow. Make something beautiful out of something ugly.

Stained glass - what a beautiful idea. Rainbows of color while using the sun's light to make it sparkle. Cutting glass into curved shapes. Glass that is hard to cut, yet done with precision and perfection. Putting the pieces together to make a whole. The fitting. The shaping. The piecing.

I want to be a better writer. I practice with these prompts and story starters. Dig deeper into myself and find reasons why. Search. Find. Share. Spread the love of words. Words that take you to another place. Make a movie in your mind. Make you feel like you are there. Connect. I am happy writing. Plus I love big projects and having a purpose.

Is there more? You bet. Play the drums. Play guitar. Take better pictures. Geology. Gemology. I don't think I will ever loose the desire to learn.
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Creativity Portal Prompt Generator - March 29, 2009

Describe a typical day during your Jr. High years.

Oh yuck and yikes. That's way back there.

I would ride the bus for 10 minutes. Most notable classes were math (algebra) that was taught by that young woman teacher that I was sure all the boys loved. I remember English class - studying spelling - the word was worchestshire (as in the sauce). I remember science - biology - which was so hard for me. I mostly remember the hard classes. But I do remember shop class - making plastic rings, the clock, the wall sconce, the wooden heart with the arrow through it that we had to soak in water to get through. And music class with all my girlfriends.

Mostly I remember boys, music and friends. Dances. Kisses. (How awkward) Unreturned liking at times (why DIDN'T they like me???) Boys who would have walked on water for me - others who didn't notice I exsisted. I had old friends and new friends. I liked the ones I could trust the most. Those were usually the old friends.

Phil Heine - how do you forget a name like heiney, as in butt?
Combs in our back pockets at the roller rink - oh that stinky smell. Puke and oil and wax and popcorn.

Catastrophes - being on crutches - I don't remember why??? Ankle something or other. Not being able to wear makeup for at least a week - my eyes had swollen up and turned red from using old mascara. THAT was horrible.
I visited the principal's office once. Something about a boy. I don't even remember what now.

I remember running in track. Fast. I was fast. And I was sooo tiny.

Jordache jeans. Nike tennis shoes. Candies shoes/clogs.

Talking on the phone for HOURS. Notes passed between friends and boyfriends. Folded in a little envelope shape so you could tuck in the corner. How did we do that?

Wide halls - doors for the classrooms were decorated for Christmas. Making popcorn and cranberry garland in social studies class. My fingers were stained and sore from the cranberries. I hung the garland on the tree at home.

I still have my journals from that time - I found one not too long ago. It was funny how it took me straight back. And I was happy I had recorded my thoughts from then so I could see who I was. I am more amazed at who I am now and the journey that occured in between. I don't know that I turned out how I would have thought. But if I would have glimpsed my current future in those year, I think I would still be happy in that thought.

I don't know that I had a typical day - boys and classes would be about all that was constant every day. It's funny because now I know why I couldn't find my perfect match during those years. He was in another state! :)
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Response to Creativity Portal 3/29/2009

March 29, 2009 Like a crystalline butterfly is our spiritual awakening rising?

Why are they asking yes/no questions? How can that inspire? Let's move on and try to get past the yes/no.

Yes. And no. I wouldn't consider myself any type of butterfly. Not social, not fluttering, definitely not crystalline. I'm too strong for that. I am not as fragile as I seem, unless we talk about love. But I keep that fragility deep inside my rough and tumble, humorous exterior. It takes a lot to pain me. But some have a straight avenue. I try to shield those cavities, what I would consider flaws, to mask the harm they can do. I suppose in that way, I am LIKE a butterfly - able to cocoon myself as the necessary time draws near.

Spiritual awakening rising? Hmm. Yes. Cycles of life. Patterns of life. We must remain dormant at times in order to be at peak for rising times. These visions lay in a deep sleep inside of us until we are capable of putting forth the effort and emotion necessary to complete the task. That is why we always can find more strength for those things that are hard to bear. It's always there. We just don't know it's full potential and our souls keep that extra reserve for moments such as those.

In our lives we have countless risings. Tempered by razings. Like the tide, our capacity for change moves in and out of our heart, rises and falls with the seasons, ebbs and flows with the years.

At this moment, I am rising. Biorhythms. The pattern of my life has been such that I will slowly decrease until the end of April and then will return with a fury, much like a spring tornado. It's a magical time, but a time to be planned for. A time when nothing seems impossible. A time to try that which I dare not at other times. For at that time, the world sings to me. I hear every note and rejoice. I see every color and feel it was put there just for me with the sun's ray to make it even more vibrant.

It's coming. I feel it. I need it. I crave it. And when it arrives I will drink in it's sweet taste until I have fulfilled my proverbial cup. And it will sustain me through darker times.
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Response to Creativity Portal 3/28/2009

Creativity Portal prompt on 3.28.09 - Can't we all just get along?

No. We can't. Passion lives in all of us. Some of us are lucky enough to recognize it. Some of us are lucky enough to find what we are passionate about. Some just go through life hoping to find something they can be passionate about.

Unfortunately, that passion fuels a hunger, a need, a desire for the world to be what we want it to be. And we don't all have the same outlook on that. We all feel our way of seeing things has to be the right, good, and correct way.

The timing of this prompt really hits home for me. That place where your morals and beliefs live and fuel your passion inside can be met with uncompromising rigidity and iciness from the cold world outside. How painful. So you weep heartful silent tears down your cheeks that become nothing more than lukewarm shattered wishes as they face the frigid inflexibility of rules and edicts.

As long as individuality remains, peace can never be achieved. Compromise can be achieved through pain and sacrifice on both sides. But compromise is not ideal peace for either party.

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