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.
What lands do separate –Nay, what words, indeed!For I know not that whichCan bridge the distance ‘tween. Stumbling tongues and soulsTwined round a similar reluctanceShadowed smiles and twinned sadnessReminiscence is a familiar friend Nostalgia trips along the lanes of soulShaking loose long-cherished joysAnd oft-mourned loss – I miss you!Must suffered silence be our cost? Hand clutch on guilty heartWhen fellowship is sunderedAnd I’m the one to blameFond farewells assuage nothing
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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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.