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Everything is Going Right – You Just Don’t Know it Yet

creative rehabIt’s true. Everything is going exactly how it should be. It’s going exactly how you think it should.

But that’s deceiving isn’t it?

It really is all about the way you perceive things to be. Really it is, I promise.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

Pull up a chair, and get yourself a nice warm cup of tea. Bourbon if you’re a bit of a philosopher, or perhaps a nice little snort of Irish whiskey to warm your insides up against the February outside.

When life collides with the inner machinations of my mind, it gives me cause to pause and let it all trickle in to wherever it’s supposed to settle.

Lately, my full-time gig has not been going as hoped. Don’t get me wrong, I continue to do something I absolutely feel called to do, and I work with the best in my profession.

I also, as it seems, am called to do this writing thing. That wild, unpredictable energy has formed part of my bones and blood since I was a little girl with pigtails and collecting buckets full of crickets.

My living expenses and need to help other people call me to work, my soul calls me to writing. Damn this dissonance of being human!

With my first bookie wookie in the hands of an editor, and my second, being more carefully plotted, I feel the pull to my writing desk much stronger than ever before.

My window opens to evergreens and dogwood. Not bad for a cityscape. A church-window-esque trellis, and the French obelisk  in my urban guerilla garden stand as testaments to milder temperatures, longer hours of sunshine, dishes with fresh basil, and cold drinks adorned by fresh mint.

On the desk to my right, is  a solar-powered windchime which helps bring me back when my creative brain wanders. A  porcelain snail commemorative of a healing sweat lodge keeps the chime company.   The left hand side – a full third of the desk – has been sequestered by my cat, Willie Nelson, who routinely stretches and switches off my wireless capability. With a desk like this, who wouldn’t be tempted to eek out a living by lounging here, lost in the intimacy of language and imagination?

Lately, more often than not, I’ve felt just plain lost. I Facebook, I YouTube, I stare at the squirrels jumping from limb to limb.  My little carnelian stones spin to strike the chimes, and I am reminded to be in the moment.

Impatience gets the better of me sometimes. For this, I recommend my method of  using the f-word and indulging in pleasure of the flesh. Maybe just a nip or two of something strong enough to remind me I’m not dead yet, even if it feels like it on the inside. In extreme cases I recommend bed wrestling with a naked partner.

I have lived long enough to know that despair is a menacing thing. It closes the door on the divine human spirit. So, although in my loneliness I get close to embracing despair, I know that there will always be a light on my path just when darkness is about to fully envelop my thoughts.

Today that light came in the form of an email message from my pal in Brazil. A mother-figure, healer, and spiritual mentor of mine for over 13 years, she sent off an email which started exactly the same way that my email to her was going to begin, “I don’t know why, but you have been on my mind the past few days”.

So often this happens with me, that I intuit my own need to connect with someone else’s. In this case, I had been so busy working that I hadn’t stopped to take time to email. You see, that’s the way it was meant to be. My reaching out yesterday would not have given me the gift of her email which needed to receive.

As I’ve been trudging through the themes and characters of my next book, it has become hysterically  clear that the protagonist’s character has been put upon with my own scheming philosophy of being. Poor darling. I think I shall give her at least one bad habit to take the edge off.

The email from my Canadian ex-pat friend in Brazil comes on the heels of last night’s writing, and weaves together perfectly with my own personal struggle to indulge my passion while paying the bills, as well as the main theme of my book.

The information in her email also happens to be the latch to the hook of my friend’s thesis.

The long and the short of it, my dear ones, is that life works its way out as you are willing to allow it.

Whether a day is good or full of potential and learning is totally up to you.

For now I’ll stick to my writing desk and my day job. I will resist the urge to pack  my bathing suit with the worn out ass  and my toothbrush into my ever-ready carry-on bag, and head to the airport for a one-way ticket to Anywhere Else.

It’s all coming together. I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and surrounding myself with people who are the same vintage of crazy as I am.

Go ahead, pour yourself another tumbler-full. After all, philosophizing is best done in the company of writers, alcohol and a wailing guitar.

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Everyone you meet is afraid of something….

In honour of the impending February 14th.
By now we all have been scarred and marked forever by love, and loss. Romance is something for the ages, no matter how young, how old, or how tossed around in the sea of emotion we have been, I like to think that there’s still love out there just waiting to be had….

A Nine Pound Hammer....or a woman like you, either one of these will do

loves something and has lost something. ~ H. Brown

A story of 2 lost souls who may yet reunite.

He wrote this Craiglist message and posted it, hoping she might read it.

subway

“In the winter of 1989 I transferred to NYU from the University of Southern Maine, intent upon studying poetry, nursing youthful fantasies of literary success.

I was terribly nervous about making friends — in addition to submerging myself in a completely unfamiliar, and overwhelming urban environment, I was terribly shy, often displaying a reluctant timidity towards strangers.

You lived in the same dorm building as me — a mishmash of dimly lit and shabbily painted converted office space on West 10th street.

You, and a small handful of high school friends, had come to college together from Chicago. You had red hair, your favorite band was The Replacements, you were studying French, and we were introduced by my…

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Creative Writing · Education · Entertainment · Life · Poetry · Spirituality · Writing

The Beast is Sated

I took some time off a couple of years ago to write a book.

Like a true writer, I picked it all to bits until I couldn’t make sense of it any more. I’ve gone back to it a few times, never getting past page two, editing and re-writing.

Today however, I took a bold step toward the grumbling belly of the creative beast that has been pawing to get out and prowl.  I have engaged an editor to fine tune it all. Sated, the beast calmed and curled up next to the flickering embers of my creative self.

To tame the beast, I have stoked the fire, and am ready to embark on novel #2……

another bukowski

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Beiber & Ford To Lead Peace Mission to Ukraine

bukowskiAre you a Beleiber? Perhaps a member of Ford Nation?

If  you’re a first timer to ANDSHELAUGHS, it may take you a while to get to the point I’m making.

It may take you an awfully long time indeed my dears, but why don’t you, just for the heck of it, pour yourself a little jigger of Beiber’s reported fave cough syrup concoction, or get a big whiff of crack if you prefer Rob Ford’s poison. After all; monkey-see, monkey-do.

For my regular readers, dive into your coffee, bourbon or bubbly and settle in for a Sunday afternoon re-cap of what made very small headlines this weekend.

That’s it darlings, get cozy.

Being this far into the countdown to the Olympics, we’ve all had a little taste of the skimming-the-top-of-what-it’s-like-to-live-in-homophobic-black-market-Russia. The news business knows that we like a little scandal to go along with the glory of the Olympics.

You know, the once-every-four-year-event that brings the best of amateur athletes to the world stage. Pssst…dont’ tell the NHL about the amateur, non-professional athlete part. Yes, it’s the kind of thing that makes grown men cry.

But why  look all the way to cold, socially backward Russia when we have our own little Pan Am Games scandal right here in good old Canaduh? While the Beibs got a full, center spread in the Globe this weekend, the firing of Ian Troop got a lousy 10 inches.

You might want to fill up your glass for this little nugget folks, poor Mr. Troop (according to the Globe article) will receive a paltry $478, 200.00 lump sum as part of his severance package, along with retirement benefits AND medical benefits of $43,100.00.

Now that, my dear Canadians, is a punch in the throat to the millions of folks in this country just trying to get by.  We, like the Ukrainians should be rioting in the streets.

You do know about what’s going on in  Ukraine don’t you?

What about South Sudan?  No?

But I bet you know about old Rob Ford getting a jay-walking ticket in Vancouver though, don’t you?

If this little news exposé has you looking at a map to find Kiev, or  wondering how you can use your art to protest our government’s capitalism-gone-rogue reign of terror on real journalism, social programs, health care, and anything that threatens the increasing gap between the rich and the poor, then I have done my job.

If not, please, by all means, enjoy the bliss of your ignorance, and enjoy your cough syrup and crack.