Seasons of writing

Here's the grand finale from my talk.  Play the song and think about it............enjoy!

12. Seasons of Love from Rent

Henry David Thoreau wrote “The author’s character is read from title page to the end.”

Whether it’s a memoir, flash fiction, poetry, or a movie review – I know there’s a piece of me in the pages. Each of us is unique and as writers we share bits of ourselves through our words. As we journeyed today through soundtracks of a writer, I hope a piece caught your attention, inspired you to explore new writing paths or dig deeper into your current track. Or just bang on the drum all day.

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “Happy is he who writes from the love of imparting certain thoughts and not from the necessity of sale – who writes always to the unknown friend.”

525,600 minutes – how many are you using as a writer?

Relax and Appreciate

Spring fever this week, and my blog keeps asking for flower pictures. Reflect on the joy and beauty. Cogitate and churn words into a poetry waterfall. Or just sit and dream.

Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure, nor this thing not that, but simply growth - W.B.Yeats

To do nothing at all is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult and the most intellectual - Oscar Wilde

You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning ... a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be - Joseph Campbell

Realize deeply that the present moment is all that you have - Eckhart Tolle

Worth Sneezing

Earth laughs in flowers - Ralph Waldo Emerson

That time of year again. Spring at the Dallas Arboretum. Color pops at every corner.

The Amen of Nature is always a flower - Oliver Wendell Holmes.

The new Maple Rill at the arboretum is stunning. Despite the cloudy day, the beauty was in the details.

'Tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes - William Wordsworth

Aachoo! I feel a haiku coming on -

mustard yellow dust
fine icing awakens spring
between loud sneezes

Squander Time

Hospital waiting room. Blocks of time and nowhere to go. Killing time. Should be writing, but can't

concentrate. Everyone stacked and racked in chairs is a story, has a story, and is awaiting a happy ending. I took notes on expectant faces - ultimately grinning from relief, or crumpled in grief.

Family members leafed

lackadais-

ically

through magazines, or read book pages

without

comprehen-

sion.

I kept my journal open and remembering fields of colors - gorgeous flowers from the aboretum -attempted to turn a phrase or create a happier place.

Surely a poem would erupt from my brain onto the page inspired by the plant name Poet's Laurel.

Alas, I sqandered time. It was there ... the clock ticking on the wall, the butt in the chair, the paper, and the pen.

But, at least, I got to smile at good news and now the fingers fly across the keyboard -free from worry, and eager to capture a few memorable characters.

Day Thirteen

The difference between winning and losing is quitting. Ross Perot -corporate magnate (from Dallas Morning News, Business 1/3/10).

Day Thirteen of 2010. Middle of January. This is the time when resolutions begin to falter, when maybe that daily word goal is deemed ridiculous, and when one's plot line goes kerplooey. Quit? Nah!

Sure, maybe I'm slogging along at the scrabbly base of the terrain. But there's scrub to grab (i.e. a new character to create), there's toeholds (a gripping action sequence to write), and sure, there's tumbling rocks (throw in some humor).

Slowly but surely, the words build, grow cohesive, and suddenly I can see my goal, and the next, and the next. So what if there's a few skinned knees (rejections)? That's what bandaids (rewrites) are for.