writing

Garden Inspiration

Long-time readers of this blog probably know how much I adore Roger’s Gardens. Even though I still wince whenever I think about this. It’s where I go when I need a spark of creativity, a splash of color…a glimpse of Mother Nature, strutting her seasonal stuff.

I can wander there for hours, soaking up inspiration and serenity, both.

Long story short, the Christmas Gallery wasn’t open yet, but I managed to peek around a few corners, cell phone camera at the ready. Totally out of context, here’s a tiny segment of a floor-to-ceiling, fully decorated tree.

At first glance, this looks rather…well, let’s just say that I thought it might need a little editing. A few substitutions here and there, and while we’re at it, how about paring back on the parrots, maybe add a few bows? Oh, the possibilities! But in fairness, I saw things differently when I stepped back a bit, allowing my eyes to take in the tree as a whole. That’s how it is with writing, isn’t it? You can edit as you go, of course, but the revision process is probably smoother (and more efficient) once you’ve written your way to The End.

Edited to add this wonderful excerpt from Claudia Osmond’s blog. Wow, can I relate!

“I write best when I read. Yes, when I read other people’s books, of course. But I mean, when I actually read and enjoy the words that are already in the document I’m working on. I’m a very visual person: I love format. I love fonts. I love the look of dialogue. I love deep black on crisp white. For me, writing is more than just getting the story out and dropping as many words as I can onto the page; although c’est tres important, aussi. But I’m slowly figuring out that my revisionitis isn’t only about rewriting. It’s also about allowing myself the pleasure of enjoying and appreciating the words that are on the page for the way they look and sound just as much as for what they mean. And amazingly, when I do that, the story progresses.

The trick is figuring out how to do that about three times faster than I currently am.”

Branching

1) I came home on Tuesday to the sound of chainsaws in the yard behind me. The neighbor’s gardeners were chopping down all the pepper trees along our fence line! Sanctuaries for untold numbers of finches, mockingbirds, hummingbirds, plus other species I can’t yet identify. Shelter against the blazing heat of summer and the encroachment of suburbia. *weeps*

As I watched them hack away at the tree branches, I felt my own habitat being diminished. I panicked. I called my sister, crying. Then I sobbed on the phone to my husband. But at some point, I shook myself by the shoulders. If you don’t voice your concerns to the right person, I said to me, you have no right to complain. None whatsoever.

So! I grabbed an armful of refrigerated water bottles, slid into my flip-flops, and hurried over to the neighbor’s house. I begged, cajoled and pleaded…on behalf of the trees, the birds, and the environment (natural and man-made). And in the end, he relented. *good graces all around.* Sadly, the gardeners had already chopped back most branches to the trunk. But the homeowner agreed to leave it at that. And since pepper trees are hardy, prolific and fast-growing, the damage will (crossed fingers!) ultimately be undone. 

Hope survives. It always does, in one form or another. This time, it takes the shape of a mockingbird, who this very morning is perched in the highest remaining limb of a pepper tree, singing its little heart out. Hope, the thing with feathers. When we look for it, we find it. 

2) My story took yet another surprising turn, leading me to another mysterious branching of my family tree. I can’t say more than that right now, other than that I’m playing Nancy Drew today, and I’m (re)learning another life lesson in the process. To wit: We typically see what we want to see, discover what we expect to find. But as we learn to detach from expectations, we expand our vision…and that, I believe, adds new dimensions to our writing.

Mockingbird image credit: Duncraft

GRAPEMO

GRAPEMO: An opportunity to lift ourselves up collectively, and for each of us to move closer to our own dreams. For the as-yet-unitiated, this brainchild of Jeannine Garsee (aka onegrapeshy) is an annual event. It runs from February 1st through February 28th, which means we start today!

I’ve established an ambitious goal, at least by my own standards. And if past is prologue, you might think I’m setting myself up for disappointment. But I’m seeing this as yet another opportunity to teach myself new lessons–patience, acceptance, and persistence among them. Tomorrow will take care of itself. March 1st will come soon enough. I’m learning to focus my energies on the here and now.

With that in mind, I hereby give myself permission to observe without judgment, to honor my potential, and to stretch and breathe my way into a deeper writing practice. It’s not about win or lose or compromises. It’s about living each moment in JOY.  

P.S. I’m in awe of those who’ve taken a vow of Internet abstinence for the month of February. I can see how it might inspire you to be more productive, and I wish you all the best. But as for me…well, I’d be lonely without my online friends. I thrive on our connections, and I count on your writerly wisdom. Again, it’s all about seeking balance, and I love that we help each other stay upright. xo

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I can’t haz kitty

I tried to wrangle this kitty into a chapter. I tried coaxing it with treats.  Oh, what glorious intentions I had: The Kit-Cat clock I remember from Nana’s kitchen would serve double-duty–as a period piece and a metaphor. 

Ha! Ever tried to herd a cat? If so, you already know what happened next. It went all feral on me, screeching and clawing and twitching its tail. It mangled my sentences. It shredded an important scene and threatened to ruin the whole chapter.

Good thing this is a no-kill shelter.

Countless drafts later, someone wiser than I stepped in to save the day. "It’s not working," she said, and she was right. So I swallowed my disappointment released the kitty into the wilds from whence it came. 
I’m thinking I might leave a bowl of milk on my back porch. You know, just in case…

Writing out the storm

We’ve sopped up the last of the mess in the family room.

We’ve moved cardboard boxes from the garage to higher ground.

We’ve cleared debris from the gutters and mud from the storm drains, in anticipation of yet another heavy storm, ETA later this morning. 

I’m a little rattled by the prospects, so I’ve rescheduled my voice lessons. And I’m working from my laptop, so as to keep my eye on the French doors, the main entry point of yesterday’s flooding.

On the bright side, I’m loving the coziness that comes with cooler weather. Hot tea, enjoyed under a crocheted afghan–doesn’t get much homier than that! 

I get restless when the rain lasts for months on end, but in short spells, it’s refreshing. Perhaps it’ll inspire me to polish another chapter or two to take to my writing group tomorrow evening. Assuming, of course, that SoCal doesn’t float away. Wink

I’ll be writing all day and into the evening. Anyone out there want to join me?

A new toy!

A lot of writers find creative inspiration in music playlists. I’m willing to bet, though, that very few are listening to the same songs that I am. Sometimes I start with quiet choruses (for instance), but I usually find my writing groove with Gospel songs like this one. As soon as the musicians hit those first few notes, I’m remembering a tent revival meeting, or a Sunday supper in a steepled church.

When I was a little girl, I’d belt out the words and accompany myself with a pretend or borrowed tambourine. I wasn’t pitch-perfect, and I didn’t always keep time with the music. Didn’t matter; I didn’t notice. Like most kids, I loved making a joyful noise—equal emphases on both of those words. But life sometimes turns free spirits into arthritic old souls, doesn’t it? I definitely don’t want that to happen to me!

On Date Night, I told my husband I wanted to play the tambourine again. No, not this kind! Bless his heart, he bought me one of these:

Go ahead and laugh. My hide’s not quite as tough as my tambourine’s, but I can take it. And besides, I’m not the only one who likes this instrument. Here, for example, are a few tambourinists you might recognize.



Clockwise from upper left: Prince, Stevie Nicks, Tracy Partridge, Betty from The Archies
 

It’s been a long time since I’ve played, and these hands and hips don’t find the backbeat like they used to. I’m not discouraged, though: I just need time and practice. Before too long, I’m going to be dancing in the aisles with my tambourine. Metaphorically speaking.


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The spin I’m in

Around the same time I kicked my writing routine into high gear, I also ratcheted up my exercise regimen. I’d been using the Precor five times a week and practicing yoga, but I switched two machine workouts for a couple of hard-core spin classes.  

 

As with my yoga teacher, I’m drawing inspiration from my spin instructor. Here, for instance, are some coaching tips I remember. I think they work equally well for other aspects of our lives, including writing — mixed and matched, of course, to our own goals and abilities: 
 

You can do this! Draw on the strength you have in your core.

Get up, up, up out of the saddle! Make the rest of your body work as hard as your legs.

Don’t underestimate yourself – keep pushing!

Dial back the tension if you need to, but don’t stop unless you have to.

When you lean too hard on the handlebars, you decrease your energy output.

Let the music help you keep a steady pace. 

What life (or writing) lessons have you learned while working out?

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