Onward

I’d be comforted to leave this place, this life, knowing that I had carved off, out, all that I could of myself. I am not a martyr but I am a writer. I owe my emotions, my experiences, my observations, and understandings back to the elements of existence. If I am lucky, they will be reincorporated, at some uncalculated-molecular-energetic level, back into the perseverance of life. Words are only whispers in the storm, lost in an echo until the storm becomes a breeze and the poetic hearts can hear again.

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Why Write? A Blog??

I discovered Pinterest a bunch of years ago when I only managed to “pin” a picture of a small bathroom makeover. I didn’t understand Pinterest. All I wanted to do was bookmark a web page, so I left Pinterest alone like a bad outfit.

But then I had my first surgery and recovery took several weeks, so I became a Pinterest-aholic. I finally understood the boards. And how wonderful it was to virtually hoard–everything!

As I started obsessing about recipes on Pinterest, I noticed all these bloggers. WTF? And sometimes they were bragging about the money they were making by blogging. Another WTF? The stay-at-home mommy bloggers really irritated me. Perhaps, it was just my jealousy of their pre-existing financial freedom to stay home. Or even their ability to have kids. Not that I wanted either, but I sort of did. And neither was possible.

So, I studied them and considered creating a non-mommy blog to make money, but I couldn’t do what they did. I couldn’t be so incredibly happy to show off recipes or crafts with such precision. I didn’t want to cater to anyone for ratings. I had a job that already paid the bills. Not a career. Not professional satisfaction, but survival plus my weekends free.

So, I healed from my surgery and went back to work. Then, I had a bigger surgery and more recovery time. This round, I did more Pinterest-ing, but I also discovered WordPress. Whoa! A whole lot of people not just mommy blogging, but EVERYTHING blogging. It was overwhelming. I created a free site. Tried posting. Mostly deleting.

I finally healed and went back to work. I continued creating some occasional posts during my free-time. As time drifted and my interest waned, I  just decided…blah. I shelved my WordPress site.

But I was unsettled. I was getting older. I had been cut apart, pieces removed. Soon, I might fully disappear. I wanted to exist before that could occur. I needed to write. And I was kind of lonely within my writing self, so I went back to WordPress where there were so many words and so much to consider.

I restarted my own page, added more posts, but remained hidden for over a year. I’d occasionally make my blog available, then I’d freak out and delete everything, then go hidden again. It was frightening to dip my toes into a community of writers that I wasn’t sure even knew I existed.

Somewhere between then and now, I stopped deleting my posts and resorting to my hiding status. I realized that blogging was a treadmill or an open path. Breaking free of the revolving fear of being seen, read, heard, or even worse, unnoticed was necessary to grow stronger as a writer.

I still cringe when I post anything. It’s frightening to expose any truth, any thought, any failure to the world.

There is not a whole lot of reason for my fear, because I’m not a star blogger, or even a twinkle from a far off galaxy writer.

But I am a writer who just needed to write on something other than a notebook and somewhere other than alone, and WordPress gave me the opportunity. The decision to write is mine.

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Time in a Beetle

 

Oh, how you flew past me.

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Only Up From Here

 

Boldly rising on a sunny day, this cloud roared into existence. Dancing with the wind’s rhythm, it followed the highway to the sea and floated away.

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Sticker My World

 

My computer started fritz-ing recently and I panicked. Not because I thought of the repairs or possible replacement costs, but because 90% of my computer’s border is covered in stickers. Rainbows and sparkles kinds of stickers.

In my 20’s, I dated a guy who kept saying, “Tattoo the world!” And then he’d slap some skate company’s sticker on a pole or building. I never understood him or his own sticker fetish.

My stickers are private. I don’t want to share them with the world. Even now that I’m blogging a lot of (possibly silly) ideas, it…still doesn’t feel right to take my computer into the shop and say, “Hey, my daughter broke her computer and, whoa! does she like stickers or what?”

I don’t have a daughter. Or a son. Never will.

I just have stickers. And a few pretty awesome sticker collection books from my childhood. That was an awesome era when stickers and sticker trading ruled.

Luckily, my computer only had a software issue that self-corrected. And, I don’t have to defend my love of shiny, bright enigmas filling my adult life with smiles.

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Posted in #writing, Reflections | Tagged , , ,

Why Write? Owning It

“Everyday” is a hard thing to deal with.

Finding the story inside everyday is art.

Tiny details, big connection.

Writing breathes life into creative crevices found everyday and everywhere.

There is a story in every day.

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Florida Sky

 

I saw two coyotes running along the highway yesterday; nothing but the scent of promise forming their infinite path.

Clouds gathered above me and them, as thunder urged us forward. There would be no reward for stagnation.

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