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| Our new rock garden- Tulips, Hyacinths, Rosemary and Jonquils |
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Sunscreen
Spring has officially sprung in North Texas. The flower beds around campus are stuffed full of happy yellow daffodils, the hundreds of bulbs my mother planted (yes, hundreds) are starting to peek their colorful heads out the ground, and my nose won't stop running. While I love springtime, with the explosion new growth and mild days, I can't help but feel some trepidation. Summer is coming. I am never ready for summer. And this summer I'm going to be doing some serious writing. Gulp.
My first creative writing course ended last week and I was sad to say goodbye to it. Over the last six weeks I've done more consistent writing and brainstorming on my creative projects than ever before. I nerdily gobbled up every piece of advice, every technique, and every organizational idea during those three hour classes. I even managed to write a short story and share it with people outside of my immediate family (if you'd like to read it, email me!). I got comfortable in the class, making friends, feeling productive with my daily writing exercises, basking in the early stages of writing projects where you aren't pushed to make long-term commitments to characters or story ideas. However, this creative writing program is meant to push you, not make you comfortable. The next course starts one week from today and it's called, "The Story." This next class will push me to write the ending to my story first and to make some serious decisions about plot and character. Like vitamins, sunscreen, and a practical wide-brimmed hat, the class will be the perfect preparation for the summer course, the much dreaded "Chapters" intensive. It's time to nourish the creative soil and get to work. Summer is right around the corner.
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Dear A.,
ReplyDeleteWho would of thought I would find inspiration on the Bounty paper towels. "You can bury a lot of troubles, digging in the dirt." So I make no apologies for the bulbs. Tee, hee. I love to read your blog. Momo
In sailing, there is always trepidation. Very keen attention is required. I keep a positive outlook, moderated with experience. I have diverted to shelter many times. After the delay, I make port.
ReplyDeleteI can love springtime, but only when it works out okay. Normally, my allergic sinuses shut down to a survival-only stance. As this week exemplifies, I have survived, yet only barely. When the summer comes, my sinuses will be fine, but another oppression will sit upon us. The famous drought will not be any easier this year than last. Lost will be my energy. Survival will again be my stance. My life is the opposite of most. Others believe spring is the coming of new birth; all energy abounds. Summer has the energy for culmination. Autumn is a season of dying, and winter is Death itself. But to me, the great rising energy of springtime shuts down my respiratory function. Followed by a summer stroke that kills. When our Earth's energies are going down in the fall, mine return. Winter to me is a nourishing time of colorful dreams. Likewise, while most praise the power of the full moon, I prefer to celebrate the new moon.
Adrianna, in my trepidation of springtime, I am putting a double reef in the mainsail and setting the storm jib for dangerous seasonal winds. Keen attention will be required for survival. In the summer, we'll unfold the largest sails to combat the doldrums. The time now is to learn the most difficult of sailing techniques. Experience dictates that autumn will find our best sailing, our fastest progress, and we shall be ready for it.
We launch again next week under a new moon. The mission is arduous. Crew is important. I look forward to the privilege of sailing with you again. We will make port.
Greywind
15 March 2012, a Thursday
I turned the key to my mailbox. In it, at long last, was an envelope I had seen before. It contained our instructor's edit and grading of my short story. I handled this religious item like an acolyte as I carried it home.
ReplyDeleteI begin my power diet tomorrow, Saturday being my benchmark. I cannot wait to see what menus arise. This power diet is the best culinary skill I can achieve. After all, I am a Louisiana native who has spent a glorious amount of time in Italy. Preparing dinner this evening, the local public radio station played a song about my home by Randy Newman. I carefully slit open the envelope.
Drawing from my culture, I have recently been tinkering with deep fried for the first time in decades. I am finding it possible to occasionally draw small portions of this southern treat into a reasonable diet score. Tonight offered chicken tenders fried with strips from a Yukon potato. A salad tossed in vinaigrette. Summer squash steamed with a tarragon dressing. It was too good to be true when the radio station followed with a Lucinda Williams song about Lake Charles. Between recipe steps, my vision softened a bit reading the positive feedback from our instructor, blurred in faint tears.
Joined by my avian sisters and constant companions Ness and Tisa (that's Ness in the photo), the dinner was an event of Heaven itself. When I thought the moment could get no better, the station played an old song of revolution by The Clash. My heart soared.
I put the birdies to bed and wandered out back with an open Abita Amber about twenty minutes after sunset. There I found a cool and clear night with Jupiter and Venus glowing high in the west, Mars a little behind me overhead. Standing there in my fatigues, boots and beret, the stars began to appear. I saw something I wasn't expecting. I chanced to see the tiniest sliver of the new moon. Glowing orange, then red, she sang me a promise.
Adrianna, the time has come to raise sail. Let's throw off these mooring lines, shall we?
Greywind
23 March 2012
a Friday evening