The occasional wallowing, or how I wish I could chat with Sophia Loren

I have a lot of friends who are dealing with chronic illness or the illness of loved ones or bereavement or even the loss of pets. So when I saw this article, it called to me: "The Other Side of Grief" by Whitney Akers. The article links to a group of stories about how people coped…

Hanging out in a liminal space

I have a feeling of being in transition, of being in between the not anymore and the not yet. I've been chewing on it ever since I saw my dear friend incarcerated in his body from a stroke, and struggling in a nursing home. The push onto the threshold is also because this is my…

Visions

Every once and awhile a vision passes by me, on the computer or otherwise, that immediately starts my mind burbling. This is one, by drone photographer Gabriel Scanu, who is apparently all of 20 and blessed with an excellent eye. This photo speaks to my wet-felting soul. I can see it evolving with tracings of…

Writing resistance

So, I've just realized a project I thought was nearly done is in fact, only halfway there. It's too short. It's 24,000 words. It should be 35-40,000. I could weep. I'm tempted to send it around as a novella and hope it gets published that way. But I'm also tempted to rewrite the entire thing…

Writing and photographing tears

Writing sorrow. Picturing those little droplets slipping from eyes, causing embarrassment or joy or shame or release... I hate crying. I've never learned to do it elegantly, with tissue carefully to nose, maybe some slight pinking of same. Nope. I look like I've been dragged down a mountainside backwards and face down after I cry…

Creativity and NaNoWriMo and letting yourself play

The creative impulse is a tricky one. These paintings were done by my dad while somewhat high on morphine for his cancer. They're different than any of his other paintings and I've always loved them. Well, in truth, I finished the pregnant lady one for him - he'd drawn it but not painted it. I…

“We don’t need more writers! We need more readers!”

Somewhere back in Nanowrimo land, I read a commentary about the piles of dreck being produced through the month. The quote above comes from that commentary, but I can't find the reference this morning, peering as I am through the slits of eyes produced by profound weeping as I realize another dream is lost, down…