Posted in Canadian Writers, Creative Life, Creative Writing, Creativity, Novelists, Novels, Travel Writing, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing Inspiration, writing prompts

Writing Prompts: What I Go To

pickyFor a quick insight into my own process when the fire has died, I offer you this;

  1. The newspaper. Yes. Paper. Go buy a print copy and flip to the editorials and opinion sections. Browse the arts and see what other fearless creatives are doing. Write about your thoughts.
  2. Daily meditation. I used Goddess 365. Sometimes I’m faithful, and other times she waits a week or two before I give her any attention. Ah, but she is faithful and patient. Read, give some kind of offering even if it’s a silent tribute of gratitude or visualization. If you need altar supplies, I suggest Wonderworks.
  3. An oldie, but a goodie, especially for sensual writer-types; Fruit Flesh

Don’t forget to carry a notebook. Take yourself for a walk without being plugged in to a playlist or a podcast. Let your mind relax and wander all on its own. But most importantly, put pen to paper. Doodle at first if you must, but don’t give up.

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Posted in Art, Art of LIving, Canadian Writers, NaNoWriMo, Novelists, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, Writing Inspiration, writing prompts

Writer’s Block:When The Characters Hide

rsbushes

Is it just me or has the world gone mad? Seriously, our politics has become our entertainment, and our entertainers have become politicians. Sadly, this little role-playing swap has left us without leaders, and a lot of Instagram-twitter-social-media-armchair activists.

I find myself wishing that I could write something as completely insane as our political stage, and the characters of the day.

It’s a rare morning here. I got to sleep in. The kind of sleeping in that I enjoy most; no rush, writing and a long walk in the sun the only things on my list before I head out on a road trip to see my kiddo, my mumster, and listen to an inspiring woman lecture about fearless business strategy.

But let’s get back to the sleeping in. My favourite part of sleeping in is the sensuality of waking; the comforting weight of my duvet, warm against my back, the cool sheet against my foot, letting it slide  out from under the covers, the sun streaming through the window, and just as wonderful, the memories I choose to call to mind (thank you gentlemen)…ah-hem

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And then there’s the writing.  When I finally manage to pull myself away from the indulgence of my cloud-bed, the first stop is the kitchen, where I habitually turn on CBC radio, and fill the kettle and putter while the water heats.  Back to our circus of

politicians, the terrible state of the world and my partner shouting my to-do list from where he’s putting the final touches on his scramble out the door. He already knows I’m not in the mood to take on someone else’s priorities, so eventually he stops yammering, races by, gives me a kiss and leaves.

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With my hot tea, and the late winter sun shining down on me at my writing desk, I wonder how I lost my stride. Where did my characters hide? Those wonderfully complex people who came alive for a hundred pages or so seem to have disappeared when domesticity and my ‘real job’ wore me down.

Maybe if I tempt them, they will come back and speak to me again; A few lines of inspired poetry,  my go-to writing prompts, a new muse, some quiet time in the tropics….

 

 

 

 

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The Afterglow-Or Not; Keeping the Passion Alive, One Closed Bathroom Door At a Time

how beautiful our love isI don’t even know where to begin.

I guess I can start around 17 years ago when I got divorced.

At that time, I decided a few things about my next real relationship. I decided that I would really examine my own self and try to improve. I also decided that the only person that I would clean up after would be a human being whom I gave birth to.

Most importantly I decided that I never, ever….never, ever, ever needed to see my partner on the toilet. I never, ever needed to hear them or smell them. Oh yah. This is a big boundary for me, and my man knows it.

 

With three children in university and college, and all the stresses of merging two lives and two families, let’s just say our communication has been a series of to-do and to-buy lists along with griping about the others living habits. Our intimate communication has been less than five star. In fact, it’s been f-ing horrible.

The long and the short of it is that we committed to re-connecting, and after our hour-of-power-a-la-boudoir, we began to settle in to what I like to refer to as a ‘time of tenderness’. You know what  I mean ladies, when you feel all cuddly and want to talk, and reconnect to the awesome partner you fell in love with. With the bother of passion out of the way, it was clearly time to rekindle our friendship. This is also usually the time that your man falls asleep and you begin hating him again.

So last night, music playing in the background, stretched out feeling blissful, reliving our recent forray into, well, let’s call it the-glorious-climb-to-the-snow-capped-peak…. I awaited my man’s return from our en suite bathroom.

man on toilet

Do not leave the bathroom door open unless you’re sick.

In the candlelit quiet, my heart eased a bit, and I actually felt like a woman, not a domestic workhorse. From the bathroom;

“Hey – do you like The Killers?”

In my head; Sweet Jesus, does the man have a romantic drop of blood in his body?

Out loud; “Yes.”

He then passes gas, tinkles and says, “So do I.”

In my head; Brilliant.  He’s perched on the toilet with the door open. The romance is, officially dead.

…and back we go to the reality of life. Poop. Money. Who’s cooking dinner.

It really takes work to keep a spark alive. Trust me, keep the pilot light lit, it makes it a lot easier.

Remember that you’re friends, and always, always, always, close the bathroom door.

 

 

 

 

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NaNoWriMo – My First Time

writersclockI’ve been writing, and chiding myself for not writing enough for what seems like a life time.

Often my blogs are a ritual of sorts before I get down to the real business of writing my novel.

My poor novel.

It’s been neglected for a couple of years now, and it’s time I either gave it wings, or set it free to find someone else to write the story. I am a believer in the vision of creativity that Elizabeth Gilbert explains in Big Magic ; Either use it or lose it, and I’m on the very precipice of losing it.

Already there is a movie in the theatres called, Mother. That’s the main character of my novel, and just a couple weeks ago I met a dog named Clover…another character in my novel.

The universe is sending me signs that it’s time to write or drop my pen. So, I’ve decided I must make a serious commitment to my writing.

This is the year I commit to NaNoWriMo. This is the year the rest of the things that tug on my shirt tails for attention get a swat.  This is the year that I re-establish myself as a regular at a local coffee shop and get lost in my own little world of characters and creativity.

…and all that I can think is…YAY!!!

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Sneak Peek

peeping tomYou’ve been asking about what my next novel is about. Here’s a little sneak peek;

How do your write about magic when the protagonist doesn’t know anything about it herself?

Well, you just write. You dream it up, because nothing has to make sense. Sense is over-rated and we often forget that.

Sometimes the best existence is just feeling; living in the moment as a big, fat, YES!

Sometimes witches don’t wear black velvet dresses or have long, black hair. No. Sometimes they wear jeans from the church rummage sale and men’s white undershirts.