writing is such sweet sorrow

 

I’m having writer’s block.

My mind is a blank. Not my regular blank but that no-makey-sense-my-words-no-good kind of blank. So, when in doubt, post photos of extremely random things and make matching random comments:

vandals

This is my newest succulent. I’m holding a little nub that had been uprooted from its pot and tossed disrespectfully onto the ground. It had toothmarks on it. I often find my succulents with bite marks and chewed leaves, knocked over, or uprooted and strewn about. Vandals. Miscreants. Other strong words describing animals behaving badly.

 

I have this thing with tree trunks

This is my favorite selfie. Morning feet, good. Morning face, bad. Trust me on this.

 

serious mood lighting
The lighting in my place is ridiculous. I want to invite people over so that they can take their selfies in this light. For a small, yet exorbitant fee, of course.

 

cute badonkadonk

Cute sheep butt sighting.
Sheep cute butt sighting.
Sighting cute butt sheep.

All of these descriptions work pretty well. I really missed out on a career with words about sheep butts.

 

planting bok choy

Planting bok choy. Taking time to admire my work. Too much time. I had trouble straightening my legs but didn’t have any problem making a lot weird sounds while trying to stand up.

 

apple season

I am so lucky to be in a part of the world that has an abundance of beautiful summer fruit. I’m very, very grateful. Along with eating the fruit raw, I’ve made apple cake, apple crisp, and multiple batches of applesauce. Peach crisps are dang delicious. I put plums in my oatmeal. Nectarines and strawberries went into my yogurt. Pears went down my gullet. Fruit has been an extremely attentive BFF, the kind of BFF from whom you need to take a little break and hope they don’t take it personally. Okay, I think I’ve covered my bases. If there’s one thing I don’t need, it’s Fruit being all like, “I thought you were my friend….!!!!”

Well, I guess I wasn’t lacking for words after all.

I believe that part of having writer’s block is the belief that you have nothing to say. Fear of sucking at something you actually love to do. Overthinking doesn’t help. It gets tiring, this thinking about my thinkings. While some people need a more stringent thought process, I need to keep free from extraneous thoughts. I’ll try it now.

Are you still there? It’s kind of creepy the way you’re watching me not think.

That’s why I like you.

I’ll leave you to overthink that one.

 

5,237 words

I haven’t been feeling very wordy lately. It makes me wonder if I should get my head examined because normally I have too many thoughts racing around aimlessly in my head. Now I don’t have enough.

See? Nothing. A tree could fall inside my head and it wouldn’t hit anything.

Well, I might as well post some photos since my mind has clearly decided to take a staycation.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then this should tide me over for a while:

morning light

meh. another day, another shiny sun glowing through puffy clouds.

my "arty" shot, ie. turning a photo black & white

my “arty” shot, ie. turning a photo into black & white

perfect for sharing with...oh. myself.

perfect for sharing with…oh. myself.

this was taken by my brother, who clearly knows how to take beautiful photos. that's me on the rock, pulling my pants up because i forgot my belt. good thing no one knows what i'm doing. uh, until now.

this was taken by my brother, who clearly knows how to take a beautiful photo. that’s me on the rock, pulling my jeans up because i forgot my belt. good thing no one knows what i’m doing. uh, until now.

Okay, enough with all of the feel-good photos. I’m starting to feel soft and emotional, which could lead to extremely ugly crying. The next photo should sober me up.

innocent seaweed or voodoo sea priestess??

innocent seaweed or voodoo sea priestess??

Yes, that worked. That is one creepily-formed piece of seaweed. But still kinda beautiful, no? Soft emotions returning…time to go back into staycation mode…

 

the past is present

 

rising moon

 

“…the nature of perfection is always mutating. What constitutes
enlightenment today will always be different tomorrow.
Even if you’re
 fortunate and wise enough to score a sliver
of “enlightenment,” it’s not a static treasure that becomes
your 
indestructible, everlasting possession. Rather, it remains
a mercurial
knack that must be continually re-earned.”

~ Rob Brezsny, Free Will Astrology

The other day I wrote about all of the different voices that arise when blogging. I forgot to add a voice. My mutant voice. The ever-changing one.

As I had mentioned before, the blogs I like to read are homey and friendly, where the writers are brave enough to share their honest emotions. They write about what they love through cooking, their creativity, their family life. And it comes from their heart. You can feel it. That’s when it hit me: I have the hardest time doing this.

About ten years ago I started to post random thoughts on the blogging site Xanga. In those days, I wore my humor like an overcoat. On top of three other layers of coats. When I took one off, I immediately felt a chilling breeze and I would quickly slip on the heavy layer again.

My main voice was sarcastic, snarky, and glib – towards others and myself. Sort of a more aggressive, on-steroids version of my current writing. I’d get comments here and there after I wrote these types of posts. Occasionally, my heart would write what it wanted to write*, but people didn’t respond to those posts. My learned Pavlovian response?: stop doing what you’re doing. people don’t like it. do something to gain favor. must perform.

My humor, such as it is, is my best weapon against invaders. But I’ve also employed it to connect to some of the most curmudgeonly people and the shyest of shys. It diffuses situations. It helps me shrug off the things I really don’t need to worry about. And, I have to say, I do like making people laugh. Still, I don’t want to hide in it.

Gah. It’s a bit painful to read some of my old stuff. Granted, I think some of it is hilarious (I do say so myself), but I led with my humor so much, you couldn’t see me. But that was the point. I didn’t want to be seen, at least, not my real self.

Witnessing a past You certainly can inform the present You.

What I want to do, what I really want to do, is start from the heart and go from there. (With a few non-sequiters thrown in for good measure. I can hardly stop this as I can my sense of what is funny.) I tried way back when with one of my old Xanga posts that I’ve added below. Ironically, I was reflecting on a past Me, much like I am now. Reading it made me feel a bit sad for both of the girls who didn’t feel safe continuing down that road. It’s not too late though, you know? Never too late to wander down a new path or even revisit an old, overgrown one. The kind of path that takes you back yet propels you forward at the same time. Because, deep down, you know you have to cut through that overgrown tangle of weeds to see yourself more clearly.

So, I take my own shyest of shys and share my younger self, sharing my even younger self. Taking a coat off…

[the post below is unedited. it’s awfully difficult to post it without wanting to tweak it over and over again like i usually do. there. another coat off.]

As I was cleaning/clearing my desk at home, I found a journal I had written in four years ago and starting reading a few of the entries.  I was struck by one of the comments I made:  “So I’m sitting in the back of the car, looking at the Big Dipper…and just feeling like giving myself over to it…I saw myself swimming in the ladle…These are things one can only do in silence, in the quiet space of one’s own thoughts.”  This may not seem like much, but I think I used to give in to my imagination more, I remembered my dreams more, I took a moment in the moment.  Don’t you think we spend enough time during our day making sense of things, getting things done, and using the left side of our brain?

We weren’t living in L.A. at the time I wrote that entry – we were living in a place where we could drive a few miles and be in the country, where I could stare out the window and see truly blue skies and green rolling hills, where you could gaze up and see a million stars at night.  There were creeks and cows and trees and vineyards.  When there is beauty and peace around me, it reminds me that there is more to life than just navigating it – I actually FEEL life.  I had a glimpse of it this morning while on my walk.  It was a beautiful morning in L.A. – rare blue skies and puffy white clouds – but I was bombarded by those things I mentioned in my previous post.  If Mother Nature was attempting to give me a peace offering this morning, L.A. just took it away by its very nature. (9/26/05)

Our voices are ever-changing. That’s the beauty of writing. It moves with us wherever we go.

*this reminds me of Woody Allen saying “the heart wants what the heart wants” to explain his affair with his now-wife. I am happy, very happy to find out that it was Emily Dickinson who first said in writing, “The heart wants what it wants…

I Blog, Therefore I… (aka I Blog, Therefore I Hear Voices)

…Am…

…who am I?

I just started a blog workshop run by Susannah Conway called “Blogging from the Heart“. It’s caused me to think about my own voice. When I hear it, it sounds nasally, low, calm (though I’ve been told it can sound like I’m depressed) and bright and full of bubbles (overcompensating for those that think I’m depressed)!! My perception of my own voice – vocally and writtenly – is that who I really am? I feel like it’s one of those cases where I am too close to myself, therefore it’s difficult to see myself. No matter how I try, I can’t look down and see my own chin. But I know it’s there.

The blogs I like to revisit are the ones that are homey, welcoming, friendly, honest, and heartfelt. I want to write this way. But I continually want to make jokes. With a side dish of old-man humor. I find it very difficult to stop this way of writing. George Burns keeps knocking down my door.

In no discernible order, I tend to write with a/an:

unconfident voice – hi. no, not hi. i’m not here.
uncertain voice – where am i? who am i? where am i going? do i have to make a choice?
loving life voice – helloooo!!! look at your beautiful/handsome self! isn’t it all wonderful?
sure voice – i can do this. you can do this. we’re going to get there. we’re here, right now.
old-man humor/Fozzie Bear voice – waka waka, nudge, wink, didya hear the one about the…
philosophical voice – be. trust. faith. heart. it is what it is, so make room for it.

That’s a sampling. I have many voices like everyone else. If you only have one voice, it would surprise me. Again, you would be the kind of person I would like to tag and study. I’m joking (again), but not really. People fascinate me. I like hearing and learning about their process, how they make their choices, what makes them who they are.

I love it. I love people.

Now leave me alone.

Sometimes the grumpy voice likes to get the last word.

Now go out and be who you be and do what you do.

That’s the marriage of my grammar-goes-wild and philosophical voices. They don’t appreciate grumpy voice.

I never know how to end these things.

Perhaps it’s best to be pulled off the stage and –