Reconnecting

Writing isn’t always easy.  Either you feel it or you don’t. And when you’ve suffered from writer’s block (like I have, for years) you don’t.

What does it take to become inspired?

Well, for me it takes really digging deep within myself, sorting out any negative feelings and trying to come up with a way to take those feelings and pen some sort of outlet.

I have read about authors whose brilliance was discovered from some type of catalyst.

When I was a teen it was easy to dig deep and find those feelings. Today, not so much. And when your soul feels life too much….immersed in doubt and in pain…..the pen is either silenced or screams for release.

The beauty of words release my soul…….

“We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves.

I wish for all this to be marked on by body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography – to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience.” The English Patient

Ode to Fall

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”
Albert Camus

 

Fall is my favorite “bestest” season.  Spring comes in at a close second when nature renews herself and comes “out of the closet” from winter’s chilly embrace.

Love the changing of the leaves, Halloween right around the corner with goblins and witches, ghosts and ghouls.

Growing up in the country, the fields and little hills of Southern Indiana, I feel blessed that my childhood was a-washed in nature’s splendid colors.

 

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“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”
L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

I feel bad for those living in cities where sadly it seems (unless you have a well-kept park) the only sense of colorful style comes from clothing shops and television monitors.  Come out here to the Midwest or head upstate to Maine or down South to Tennessee..immerse yourself in all of God’s wondrous creation.

 

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“At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.”
Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters on Cezanne

 

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