Tag: Darla

  • Writer Wednesday – Using the Tools


    Tips and tricks abound to aid the creative process.  I’ve become familiar with some very clever ones, often through the warm and wise counsel of accomplished author Catherine A. Noon.  She introduced me to the multi-talented Julia Cameron, for example, who has an entire side career dedicated to inspiring fellow artists.  Another gifted friend reminded me just this morning of some grand ways to hush the inner critic (Thanks, E!).

    Unfortunately, I’ve discovered a recurring failure to utilize these tools.  However much sense a plan makes, my good intentions somehow evaporate.  Why?  I think I’ve pinpointed a reason.  Buried in my psyche, a notion seems to persist that good writing materializes like a rabbit out of hat.  It’s supposed to be magic.
    I do believe that art has magical properties.  Without it, existence lacks a sense of hope or wonder.
    An important thing to remember about magic, though, is that David Copperfield didn’t really walk through the Great Wall of China.  Criss Angel can’t actually levitate.  They’re illusionists who put countless hours into manipulating the willing minds of an audience.
    Performers on any stage workto entertain us.  Why should writing be any different?  The answer: it’s not.
    Julia Cameron summed up my quandary in a line from “Finding Water”.  To paraphrase, my ego wants creativity shrouded in mystery.  This snooty persona thinks that artistic pursuit is somehow above punching a time clock.
    Today I defied this snob by setting a timer.  And you know what?  Thirty minutes dedicated to storytelling didn’t feel constrictive at all.  The added paragraphs gave me a sense of accomplishment even if the critic still sneered at the low word count.  So what?  I can set the timer for another thirty minutes when this post is up.

    What gets you on the page, stage, or wherever you wish your art to flourish?  I hope you’ll find the time to get out there today and do it.

    –

  • Resuscitating the Inner Artist


    I’ve been making a real attempt to renovate the front garden this year.  The neighbors must be pleased; I know I am.  While gardening is invigorating, if often sweaty and exhausting work, the results have been spectacular.  But as punishment for years of neglect, a noxious weed plagues my perennials.  Bindweed (Convolvulus arvensis), otherwise known as wild morning glory, is sprouting all over as the season advances.  What I once considered an acceptable invader with its tiny white flowers now alarms me with several feet of growth in mere days.  The skinny vine rapidly winds around my cherished butterfly bush, mangling the delicate blooms.

    As I unwind this vermin, deceptively tender stems snap off at the ground and give me a false sense of accomplishment.  Only upon identification of the weed have I learned that new shoots will emerge from the smallest bits of roots left in the soil.  Complete removal requires pesticides that I’d rather have avoided for the sake of the wildlife I want to attract.  There’s just no way that I want to try eradicating this thing without modern chemicals.  Heck, one recommended compound is 2-4, D, a component in Agent Orange!  So I’m going to continue unraveling the vines from my flowers, leaving enough at ground level to target with the broad spectrum herbicide glyphosate while avoiding the desired plantings.
    I face a prolonged, fastidious process.
    With a weakness for metaphors, I can’t help but see yet another in this lesson.  My artistic side has been suffocating for a long while.  I’m slowly learning that there are a number of weeds I’ve allowed to infiltrate and strangle my writing.  Time and persistence are required to identify, control, and eventually decimate these damaging trespassers.
    Distractions, doubts, and detractors that keep me away from the page have to be systematically acknowledged before destruction.  That critic in my head with those easy whispered excuses must be confronted.  I have tools at hand such as those taught by Julia Cameron.  In fact, a group of very supportive forum friends (some of whom contribute to this blog – thanks to you all, dears!) are currently guiding me through Cameron’s “Finding Water”.

    This fight can be won.  I just need to stay alert, attentive, and consistent with my efforts.  The fruits of these labors will be well worth the effort.  Now excuse me while I go work on a story.

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  • A Haiku for the Day


    Nightshade’s Boon
    The season’s beacon
    Red blushes through verdant growth
    Sweet summer harvest

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  • Cultivating the Imagination – Darla’s Writer Wednesday

    Recently I resumed gardening with a vengeance, renovating neglected areas of the yard as summer simmers in my region of the United States.  Succumbing to cliché, I can’t help making an analogy with my fiction writing and the situation currently underway.

    No longer do I wake with plot ideas brimming.  Instead, the once active muse continues to lie dormant after an extended period.  Attempts to pollinate my inspiration wither on the vine in sterile soil.  A tiny Haiku feels like a big accomplishment (though I guess that’s okay to some degree, as it is at least a form of creation).

    The frustrating this is that many months ago I wrote with furious intensity at every opportunity.  Pages of notebooks filled up with penned stories that I later transferred to computer.  Sheets of print-outs stacked on the passenger seat of my sedan allowed editing at long traffic lights.  I’d reread while on the NordicTrack making further, if sometimes difficult to decipher, notes of improvement.

    Minor elements twined together to sprout unforeseen branches for ever-growing characters.  I began to feel as if I’d been possessed by some benevolent spirit sharing stories from the afterlife.  Now, when I have more time to devote to writing than ever, the field is barren.

    Enough of the self indulgent puns, however.  As a wise friend pointed out, life ebbs and flows like the tide (Thanks for that uplifting remark, A. Catherine Noon!  What goes out must come in, eh?).  The author in me seems to be stuck in winter, but no season lasts forever (Okay, one more pun).

    I’m going to try starting fresh each morning, perhaps assigning each weekday with a particular goal.  Mondays could be devoted to reading those short stories moldering in a binder.  Tuesdays can be spent working on blog material, which I’ve neglected.  Wednesday might be time to develop new ideas, whether for a virgin project or an unfinished one.

    Before I go on, let’s just say that I’ll have to find what works.  In the meantime, I hope you don’t stagnate in whatever you desire to achieve.

    Now let’s go create!

    Maybe I’ll scribble down a Haiku before logging off…

    –

  • Writer Wednesday – The Importance of Hope

    I am considering changing my career and have gone back to the basics, which for me, is What Color Is Your Parachute by Richard Nelson Bolles (which, if you haven’t read it or it’s been awhile, go pick up the new version, it’s awesome).  In the very first chapter, he writes about Hope and how to find it.

    I think he’s right-on.  You can read his book for his four keys to finding hope because they’re well worth reading – regardless of where you are on your career path.  But for my purposes here, I wanted to highlight his first point:  make sure you have at least two alternatives in every situation.

    We’ve talked about this kind of mindset on Writer’s Retreat before.  Darla’s Keeping the Faith and my own Power to the People are two recent examples.  Writing is, by its nature, a solitary pursuit and it’s critical to keeping the fingers moving on the keyboard that we keep the right mindset.  I don’t know if “right” is exactly the word I want, more likely it’s “effective” as in, “does what I’m doing work to keep me on the page?”  If it does, great, if not, try something else.  And that, Dear Reader, is where having alternatives comes in handy.

    For example, let’s say we’re writing a story about Jake and Luke.  Jake is a biker and Luke is a day trader.  What happens if we make Jake a suburban cyclist instead?  Or what if Luke is a child counselor?  What if Luke is Lydia?  What if they’re brother and sister, instead of a romantic partnership?

    It makes sense from a battle standpoint, as well.  There’s an old saying, “No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.”  How does a strategist prevail, then?  By having a backup plan, contingency plan, whatever you want to call it.  Figure it’s your Zombie Apocalypse Survival Plan.  It doesn’t matter what you call it, it matters that you have it.

    After all, having a plan to survive the apocalypse means you have to hope that you will survive the apocalypse, eh?

    See why hope is so important?

  • Darla’s Day Out

    The local arboretum called to me recently for a much needed walk in the fresh air.  To my delight, a mother mallard watched over her newly hatched brood in one of the ponds.  Not wishing to disturb them, my companion took this picture.  If you look closely, you can spot a couple of the ducklings in the direction the cautious mother faces.

    I decided that an excuse was in order to share this iconic and heartwarming image of spring.  So here is my resulting thought, that writers need to be like this duck.  We ought to be on constant lookout, though not in search of the dangers for which she scanned.

    Our eyes should be open to inspiration.  It’s simple, I know, yet our view is often stunted by daily chores and responsibilities that narrow our focus, directing our vision toward mundane matters.
    This blog’s own talented A. Catherine Noon recently hosted a workshop to spur writing from prompts.  Her grand ideas support the notion of awareness, whether she guided us to write from a set of written criteria or via the use of our various senses.  It did me good to open my mind and just let inspiration spool out.
    Just the other day I stumbled upon an ancient Israeli name, Aziel, that spawned an idea for a character.  It’s difficult to say where this might lead, but I intend to find out.
    I hope we can all expand our horizons and see what creative sparks fly.  Happy writing!
    –

  • Microcosmic Beauty

    I don’t normally post links.  Today, however, something brightened my day that seemed worth sharing.  With all the evil human deeds fouling our world, below is the link I found tucked far beneath a horrific news article.  My kudos to amateur photographer Alejandro Ferrer.  I hope you enjoy…

    A Whimsical View of Bugs

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  • Spring Fever

    While I am posting this several days late, there are several achievements of which I am very proud.  For one, I figured out how to set up events in Google Calendar and share them.  Yeah, yeah, I’m behind the times, but I get there eventually.  Anyway, now such tardiness should not reoccur.  This is something I’ve been meaning to do and, like most things I procrastinate attempting, proved much easier than expected.

    Another big accomplishment took more time yet felt even better.  Over the years, recipes accumulated in a kitchen drawer, migrating from one spot to another when the space was renovated last year.  This afternoon I flipped through an inches thick stack of computer print-outs, culling those never expected to be made again if they were even tried in the first place.  Honestly, with several bottles of delicious hot sauce open in my refrigerator, the odds of me whipping up an experimental batch are slim to none.  So those are out, along with anything deemed better left to the professionals (naan, for example, when a great Indian restaurant is minutes away).

    In between those tasks, I tackled the most emotionally charged one of all.  Laugh if you want.  I actually cleaned out my underwear drawer.  Silly thing to put off, isn’t it?  There were many things which had seen better days – in more ways than one.  First, once pretty items were faded and often a bit ragged when viewed with an honest eye.  Second, my body hasn’t fit the lingerie in the back of the drawer for many, many months (years, actually…  sigh…  better days, indeed).  It was time to face the fact that if I ever reach such sizes again, I’m going to want new garments.  Heck, I’ll deserve them.

    So with all that accomplished today, I think it’s official that the verdant spring growth around my home has reinvigorated me.  And having ridded this house of clutter and prodded my intellect by learning a new minor skill, it’s time to wake up my hibernating muse and shake out the cobwebs.

    I hope you’ll begin anew with me, stepping lightly into whatever season awaits you.  Once we clear out the odd bits, we may find some wondrous creations within.  Or, at the very least, we won’t have to stuff freshly laundered unmentionables into an over-packed drawer.

    –

  • Can You Spare Some Change?

    I’m writing this post two days late because I forgot when it was due.  Unfortunately, the online calendar I relied upon to keep track has been dismantled, the domain name now up for grabs.  It’s just a modern example of the inevitability of change.

    Change and I have never been friends.  I tend to stick in ruts rather than forging a new path.  My life would probably be very different but for simple events that led me here, plodding along in their wake.

    Oh, I make cosmetic changes, for sure.  I’ve gone through various phases, from conservative to goth in dress and attitude; exchanging talk shows for alternative rock on the radio.  The important matters, however, such as where to work and live, have been dictated by chance.

    There have been no big dreams I took a chance on trying, just jobs found through temporary agencies and a house that limited the resulting commute.  Even my pets, whom I love dearly, have been virtually (in one case, literally!) dropped in my lap as strays.  It’s pretty sad, in retrospect.

    But, on the bright side, I’m not dead yet.  Maybe there is a butterfly inside this shell, waiting for the right time to break free from its cocoon.  And despite temperatures in my boring, landlocked suburban neighborhood, the old fashioned wall calendar I’m looking at announces Wednesday as the first day of spring.

    What better time to spread my wings?  Now if I can only figure out in which direction to fly.  I’ve never been a migratory creature.  Wish me luck.

    –

  • A Haiku for the Day


    Aftermath

    Bright white, blinding light
    Drifting, clinging, bending boughs
    March snows dress the earth
    –