Though you may travel far and wide,
No haven of life is found inside.
Viking hoard be cold as stone
Hot be heart and breath and bone…
I am such a perfectionist, and such a do-er (my sisters would call me an overachiever) that I forget to let myself and my work just be. I convince myself I am not doing enough, or I am not doing well enough. The merry-go-round in my brain just can’t let it rest. I’m either a terrible writer or I’m not giving my best. That kind of self-condemnation is destructive. And paralyzing.
I live in the thunder and ride the lightning
My sound is grand and big and bom bom bom
What lands do separate –
Nay, what words, indeed!
For I know not that which
Can bridge the distance ‘tween.
My main assignment was to create a 1000 word max. short fiction piece based off of observations or notes that I kept during the duration of the class. I chose the image of a gate standing alone in a field.
Near the end of 2011, I sat down and sketched out my first rough idea for an urban fantasy novel. And as I enthusiastically brainstormed and developed ideas, a bitter voice in my head told me to stop, to give up, to throw the towel in and relinquish the dream of being a writer. “Better to give up than be known as a bad writer,” it told me.
My mother taught me about tea when I was young. How chamomile soothes. How herbals heal. How black tea warms a body up from the weary bones to the stretched-out skin. The first time I drank a mug of tea, if I remember correctly, I was ten, in the fifth grade. It was perhaps 11 o’clock in the evening, or maybe later. I would stay up late reading most nights,
This is a guest post I made for The Stay at Home Something, a blog written and curated by my good friend Brooke Gale Louvier. In it, I detail the struggle of being both a mom and writer. Often, it’s a dark and difficult path. But sometimes, once in a while, there are days when my soul sings. Image credits go to Brooke. Finding a Way to Make Your Soul Sing When you’re young, it seems that the whole world…
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“I am Saulo, the son of Lugh, and I am a creator of goddesses. I have birthed light and beauty into this dull world for centuries, though it be strewn with corpses and all the repugnance of humankind. So why in the name of the Morrigan can I only paint the same blasted woman over and over?”
We have all heard the little nuggets of wisdom and read all the articles on how to be a good writer. We’re taught grammar and punctuation in school. We are even taught that good writing looks a certain way, such as Steinbeck, J.K. Rowling, Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Steven King, Shakespeare, or all the other great story tellers of grandeur. We are also somehow led to believe that bad writing takes the waif-like, substance-less forms of works like self-published ebooks of the dinosaur porn variety, or even mediocre fanfiction.