Wednesday, 20 November 2013

Some Softness

At last.
Something soft and sweet has emerged. 
Where it has surfaced and the reasons why may not be so sweet ... but that it has arrived is fantastic.

I feel a sense of relief today as I write a character into a transitional period of his life. I can feel my writing trying to slow, to get the pace right...not an easy transition when the pace so far has been a little intense to say the least. And although I know I haven't quite nailed it...I'm glad to have got this bit of the story down.

I will return to wrap it with the tissue paper and soften the edges at a later date..

Anyway.... love is in the air... and that's all I'm saying :-)

Oh and the current Word Count is 31675 ... and to sweeten you up a ...


He felt the softness of her thigh, the curve of her belly and  the warm and gentle cushion of her breasts as he  landed peacefully on the soft wind of her breath.


See ya 

Tuesday, 19 November 2013

Welling up


Well I don't know where to start today.

I am feeling a surge of story welling up inside me. I have a gutsy/nervy sense of where it's heading and what I need to do to get it there...but what that means in actual words on the page - NO IDEA!
I am absolutely loving just letting it pour itself out.

And it has poured into 30,455 words.

I'm getting frustrated with having to go to work and be a normal everyday citizen. (Darn it.)

Given the choice I'd much rather just be a 'crazy-writing-bitch-psycho' ... so wrapped up in the story that the lines between reality and the page blur...and the only way out is to go further in.

Do I sound a tad obsessive or on the verge of such a state. Damn right! Just like the internal weirdness that a couple of my characters have developed; completely of their own accord.

Anyway today the story took another totally unexpected turn. Words and life purposes turned up, that I hadn't even anticipated.

Only 12 days to go and hopefully I will have hit my 50,000 word goal. I may not have reached the end of the novel...or... I may have. It really is that loose on this novel expedition.

For you  a little bit of weirdness -

She clutched her small back pack to her belly like it contained all the gold in the world. Indeed she believed it carried the golden thread to her future. She could feel it tugging her forward; teasing hope into her next step.

Saturday, 16 November 2013

Jumped ahead

Bugle call.
Drum roll.
Word count  28,666

I am not kidding! I am thrilled. Creeping toward the big three zero.

So in reflection. Its been a tricky couple of days. Some linking plots were short on words and sharp in content. But rather than mope around in despair I accepted that was that and jumped ahead.

I propelled into a future event that I know is going to happen. 

I know because I've been mulling it over for a while now. So I started playing with the back end of the novel.

So just as I thought I'd got into the swing of accelerating in a timeline driven linear progression the brakes came on.

I had to re-check the time-space map and go where the energy is/was. 

Or more precisely where the story was beckoning.  And then a U-turn back to the middle, where the abrupt short chapters now seem more fitting and a great platform to continue driving....

I'm intrigued how the story takes over. I ask "Ok. What are we going to do today?' And there's an almost instant response. Sometimes I baulk and think 'how can I write about that?' But I ve learned to trust whatever gets tapped out is whats meant to come; I can go back and fix up troubled spots later. For now its simply get the story out.

Todays treat....


...together they, dissolved the tension of the seas skin and baptized their unease into a silent watery promise of a new tomorrow. 


Wednesday, 13 November 2013

Sink or Swim

Still doing it. Looking at my word count now and wondering how I can stretch this baby out.
Currently sitting on 22, 572 words..

WooHoo. Next goal 30,000.

(And then only 20,000 more to go. Its creeping up...I look to the future and wonder wow how am I going get there. But the story seems to have a way of unravelling itself in to strange and unexpected places.)

One of my characters has just spent 2 weeks living under a bridge on the edge of a city. 

I mean, COME ON! Where did that come from?

I woke up this morning, walked out onto the vernadah, looked at the trees, birds, sky, everything really and said out loud "How on earth am I going to move this character along to get to X and be doing X  by X."

I had no answer tonight but I had to get writing. Right?

So I :

  • Picked out a saying from a book "Sink or Swim"
  • Picked up a pen and poured some ink into 10 mins of stream of consciousness
  • Which transformed itself magically into a further 10 mins of freefall

And bang ... character has self-verbed into a satisfactory future AND
 a sturdy effort toward tonight's word count goal .

MAGIC. I tell ya!

If you're interested (to be read in the non-judging, non-editing tradition of free-fall) for you a ...


In class she is a tenacious and vigorous student devouring ink and stats. She caresses her books affectionately. Appreciates their sturdy mass and considers them the bricks that house her future.

In the library she is an avid researcher. She is obsessed with parallels that discuss her life when at the time she was a living ghost of the walls within. The great discourse that narrated her existence from the outside; yet failed to find her. She has liberated herself; and now she is the link that bridges the slippery valleys of that divide. 

D x

Tuesday, 12 November 2013

A twinge of fear


Well I'm still doing it.  21, 492 words doing it!

I have felt a twinge of fear kick in the last couple of days.

The 'eeeeekkkk what on earth am I going to write about' fear?

Anyway it seems Week Two is notorious in NANO world for the fear to try and take a few shark bites out of the writers tank. A small pep talk from the awesome NaNoWriMo HQ Squad brought that to my attention and offered some kindly words to caress me to continue.

I'm trying some new ways to try and get into the writer space. 

It's a bit of a tough transition after a day of work and other domestic 'must-do's' food! Before dinner tonight I did a couple of pages just 'stream of consciousness'. And made a few  notes in my note book about possible mini-plots necessary to tie the PLOT up.

And now it's officially branded as today's very pleasant surprise.

It's actually quite fun coming up with some ideas so characters can arrive at a certain headspace and time and place for other interactions to happen.

It's not really something I've had to deal with before - not coming from a story telling or novel writing background; so a nice little insight now that may be useful to me in the future. Maybe my next NaNo; ha ha.

In the meantime if you're interested here's today's .....


...walking up the wooden steps across the road. The pink cotton sarong with big white hibiscus flowers loosely knotted at her waist fluttered with every step barely covering her thighs. Her hair rinsed back from her face lay flat wet and glistening  in the last linger of twilight. She was singing.


Sunday, 10 November 2013

Awkwardness accepted

...yesterday was a grind; but I had to write and write I did...

I couldn't even crack a 1000 words. I tried to beat myself up about it and soon realised that was also a waste of creative time and space. So I simply ACCEPTED the fact.

This morning before starting I decided I'd do some warming up. A bit of handwriting in my notebook to
 get me past any dragons waiting at the gate. It worked  wonders.

I was able to: 

  • check in with myself, 
  • mumble out some bullshit excuses in barely legible handwriting, 
  • slowly crank up the creative fire and 
  • set forth on my NaNoWriMo daily adventure with a clean pure wind in my sails. 

My novel effort traverses a decade of  the lives of several people; 
interwoven in ways they know not of.

As this is the FIRST TIME EVER for me at having a go at writing a novel I am torn between:

  •  bedding down too deeply into situation specific condensed time and place and 
  • weaving together the stories across distance of vaster time and space.

So I'm throwing in both. Tah Dah!
And they are emerging in interesting ways. 

It's the essence of those embedded moments that I need to explore to expose the depth and quirk of characters; but it's the across time that I need to expose the main theme that is emerging. (A theme that definitely was NOT PLANNED).

So today I felt like I could finish the story off with 3 or 4 paragraphs. They would loosely go something like this: She does this. Then he does that. Then they all meet.  And then this happens. The End.

And aha! BINGO!

I realised my sneaky little 'rush-to-the-goal post; get- the- job- done- as- quickly- as- you- can' writing dragon had nipped in under the drago-dar. 


I picked a word today to play with in my warm up (out of my Writing without a Parachute: The Art of Freefall book) I picked the word...

I was feeling awkward, stuck. In fact as I started my NANO this morning it seems I was also resisting unpacking and instilling the awkwardness into a very awkward and unclear relationship in the story.

So today I got stuck in to that ...and realise that for my own sake I do have to offer more than 3 or 4 paragraphs to this story.
Today I wrote nearly 2,000 words in one hour and my current 

(Yee-hah! :-))


Shaz wanted to ask if he was alright. She wanted to reach over and wipe his forehead with a tissue. She wanted to touch his forearm and reassure him. Most of all she wanted him to speak to her.

Her uncertainty piled emotion upon emotion. Her curiousity confused and confronted her more than his awkwardness. But she knew it was more than just her ridiculous desire to help him; even perhaps save him from his shyness and liberate him into the world. There was something much more intriguing about this man.

Saturday, 9 November 2013

A quick update

Slammed it. 16,000 words folks.

A slog today. A sketchy chapter that I'm defo going to have to go back to. I feel like the story is in there but it lacks atmosphere, or depth. It could be a connector. Anyway I've done it.

And a slight awakening of possibility today for one of my MCs. Just a glimpse of what could be.
Not saying anymore.
I'll post another excerpt tomorrow.
Until then ... I am going to flop on the big soft couch with my husband and reassure him that he is truly more important to me than 1500 words a day...(maybe some little breakaway ideas or mini plots will have time to ease up through my to relaxed mind muscles.
I'll keep a note pad handy ;-)

I'm on track, a little ahead in fact. Yey!
Another successful day.

Lv D

Friday, 8 November 2013

How many words?

I was aiming to crack the big 15,000. Not quite there;

BUT a very healthy 14,495 words.
Hooly Dooly. I am happy with that.

TRUTH: I had a  bit of a battle tonight.

Really I should have just sat down and started to write afresh. But alas I decided to transcribe some of my handwritten notes that were quickly filigreed in the coffee shop this morning.

Nothing wrong with them but I have discovered that once I am transcribing Little Miss Editor wants to place her sticky-beak-pen in and then, well the flow stops, the back and forth, delete, check, re-read little devil with red pointy ears begins to shriek and point out where improvements could be made or attempted.

So a great discovery ... 
only transcribe when I have completely no other mojo or 
just as a hand warm up rather than an actual creative purge.

I sent Little Miss Editor  packing anyway. I told her that while I appreciated her ability she could  'Pee off'  back to her office out the back and wait until I called her. She was happy to do that.

But by then creative zap had withered a little, Friday night fatigue got comfy and the words a bit clunky. Still I got some frames put together. they can be revisited and decorated and hung with tasty detail a little later. (AFTER NOVEMBER ;-) )

I can't believe I've got this far. AMAZING. And because I've got this far
 I am MOTIVATED to keep on going. And tomorrow being
Saturday who knows what might HAPPEN (after the housework of course).

And I can confidently say that 'Housework' is not a procrastinator disguised in an old t-shirt, carrying a vacuum cleaner for protection. It gives me time to go inside my head and let flutters of poetic possibility coagulate or coalesce into whimsy and aha's and what-ifs.

So below, another unedited, free-flow paragraph/taster. But only if you're up for it.


When he saw her he felt that old tension creep back into his belly. That caged fucking animal that could not get out; that had to drop its tail and slink away from the bright of day. Women made him nervous. They just had to look you in the eye when they spoke. Had to ask so many fuckin’ stupid questions. And stare waiting for an answer or filling in the space if he wasn’t quick enough.

He felt that scarlet train seep up the wall of ribs and roar toward his chest; packed up his tools and walked back to the shed.

Lv D

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Carving through the wall


Update time! Another 1700 words tonight. Yey :-)

Riding on the fast horse, got my 'come-on-girl-get-on-with-it' whip out tonight.
Intention was good. I even had an idea about the chapter I was going to work through. That went out of the window.

First sentence clumsy but I decided to carry on. Just kept tapping the qwerty. My fingers were beginning to warm up. And so was my excitement.

I could feel the awkwardness; like I wasn't letting it flow in the right direction.
I had to trust that I could let go of the reins and at some point the story would take over did.
Its a good thing - Trust.

The outcome only a fragment of what I'd planned in terms of covering a section of story...BUT it really spaced out a gap for me. One that I knew was there but had no idea how (or when) I was going to build a bridge of words and/or worlds to span it.

I'm happy with the outcome. I'm surprised at the turn of events. One of  my main character's (MC) is beginning to freak me out. She is cooking on the inside.

So another sharing. Unedited word- flow free-fall' will all get polished later. Read with care....


Unknowingly and even innocently Shaz’s unidentifiable beast had stormed its fiery tongue into a leading National newspaper. She didn’t have to beg for editorial space, or send media releases into an un-answering abyss. She’d carved through an ‘ol’ boys school’ wall with-out even noticing the brickwork. Her naivety was both her sword and her shield. And her growing following, both for and against, became her job security. 

More to follow.
Love D

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

Still running...whoops, writing

Well, well, well
I've hit my first milestone and then kept on running.
I truly can''t believe it.

Its no secret I lack a writers commitment, which is compounded by a lack of objective writing goals.
(And I am seriously not a runner!)

BUT this NaNoWriMo totally crazy, mad, nutso goal of 50, 0000 words, no matter what, seems to be thawing the procrastinator ice cap.


Now that I've found out how to scramble my work and then upload my words for validation and watched the little graph go UP  UP UP I am...
...totally excited.

I've broken the 5,000 word (1st Milestone)' totally whipped it's skinny little arse :-)


 I've skidded past the 10,000 word (2nd milestone) still with tonnes of creative wind in my sails..

We're 5 days in - I'm keen to keep up the pace, turn up to the keyboard, let it roll.

And below a little sneak preview of a few words just for you...but only if you're remotely interested and as committed to reading without judging or editing or critiquing, which is exactly how I'm writing at the moment. (words later).  :-)


He was there she could hear him fumbling with the old brass lock at the back door. And finally when the lock released she heard him falling in to the kitchen, the door banging on the small pantry at its back, the screech of metal  chair legs across the boards, a falling pot, a shout. Silence. Even the walls ceased to groan.

 Gwen pulled her blanket close, eyes wide, knees curled up tight; and reached to hold a spindly  bar on the cot beside her bed. The twins slept; sweet angel breath and curls of stale breast milk formed a halo in the darkness. 

More later. Bye for Now.


Sunday, 3 November 2013

Ready Set Go!

I may have mentioned I've signed up for the NaNoWriMo challenge. Well I'm on my way. I did get off to a slow start mostly down to procrastination and a very busy week :-)

I'm still not sure that I'll reach the golden 50,000 words
but it's great to have something driving me forth.

I have a storyline (kind of). Though it's really just to get me started...who knows what plots and changes could happen once the penstress takes over. I'm not even a story teller or story writer. So it's a month of 'first times' for me

Its also a great way to link in with other writers all over the world
 from across genres, diverse ages and experience.

For me its a major challenge. Its the first time I've actually set myself a writing 'project' and a 'goal'.
Usually I just write for the pure hell or joy of it. I have absolutely no sense or idea of what genre, style, audience I write for. 'I write for me' is usually the best (but meek) answer I seem to be able to come up with.
I also don't write with the intention for sharing, competing or publishing.

However lately I'm feeling more like just getting out there. Not to achieve anything (I've certainly let go of that old dress) but more just to share.

So here I am just happily pumping away at the words; trying to set myself a reasonable daily target yet not bothered if I don't get there. Its a writers bliss :-)

I am largely free-falling so the story can unfold its own's a little sample from  the middle of a chapter that popped out of nowhere, in to the Western Australian Desert and then onto my lap-top this morning...

She loved the open space, the giant curve of big blue sky, the seemingly endless horizon.
No limits to her flight and no end to her imagination. Her mind ran wild with possibilities of freedom, driving into an eternal sunset, chasing the magenta chalks that curved the western sky and arched into rippling purple skirts to the east at the end of each day.

But this morning driving out with these women she felt an urgent desire to run away and  hide.

"You alright sister?" Daisy asked smiling from cheek to cheek curving a row of missing teeth and surly grey whiskers on her top lip. 
“This is good one this one. This one make you a sister now. For sure.”

She tapped the cracked black steering wheel as the Troopie bounced and bucked over the hard corrugated track and deadly potholes.   


More coming...stay tuned :-)


Monday, 14 October 2013

Sitting on top of the world

...can't believe how nervous and excited I am...

Recently I've been chomping my way through Writing Without a Parachute: the Art of Freefall by Barbara Turner-Vesselago. To keep up with the book I have to write everyday. Its been brilliant. Revealed my Writers Dragons and dredged up some long forgotten stories that have become little 'shorts' in their own right. I'll re-visit them some time in the future.

However, in the mean time, and the more exciting news is
 that it has has propelled me (like a rocket) to actually having a go at writing
 a 50,000 word (minimum) piece of work.

 (Unheard of for me. A total far-off fantasy. Feel like I'm sitting on top of the world.)

Yes I'm actually going to write a novel. I have signed up with NaNoWriMo with 80,000 (plus) others from around the world and committed myself to a month of 'just doing it'. I can't fail, the only goal I have is to have a go for myself. (The goal is to complete in ONE month: November.)

It's not for anyone or anything else other than me.
It doesn't have to be perfect, it doesn't have to have an audience or an outcome.
It doesn't have to be graded, peer reviewed, riveting, publishable, or best-seller material.
It simply has to hit 50,000 words or more in one month.

Just signing up with a blank canvas has propelled me forward. So far I've got:
          • a rough story, 
          • a bit of a skeleton/story-board, 
          • several linked plots, 
          • four key characters
          • and  a focus and reason to write.
The real writing begins 1/11/13. But in the meantime I have developed the characters.

Already way ahead!  

I have never in my life sat down and actually run through a character development process.
Filling in details about each of the players including physical details, aspirations, perceptions, favourite foods, bad habits,  inner and outer personality traits, dreams, fears, hobbies, secrets etc, has already sunk me into another layer of the story.

I've surprised myself with the depth and twist of each of their characters. 

And especially the light and dark of the human condition that accompanies all of us. 

Just by doing this process I've stumbled across an intriguing parallel between two of the personalities that I wasn't even aware of. I am so looking forward to letting the story pour its own juice. The idea has landed. The scene has been set. I have no idea about the content. I'm simply going to sit down and write every night and let it flow.

All controls will be turned off. Inner critic, pedantic editor, merciless judge will just have to take a back seat and give the creative magic of a free-falling penstress lots of space to dance and sing and write.

Write through the block, write through the terror, write 'fear-ward'.

And here, just for you, a sneak preview at the very, very, very brief synopsis:

Three young women, a weekend summer music festival, and a tale that weaves and weeps both tatters and tapestry of  unexpected experience and consequence over the next decade of their lives. 

 Intimacy comes at a cost. Shame, guilt, fear and the need for forgiveness or revenge stalk the shadows, underpin life choices and demand attention.

I'll keep you posted

Lv D

Tuesday, 8 October 2013

Stoking the Fire

Ok; stoking the tale telling fire lately.
Got my motor running.
Daily practise installed.
Several approaches being tested and enjoyed.

Totally loving Freefall Without a Parachute. Working through the chapters and going 'fear ward' where the energy is..certainly stirring up some old tales. I'm really noticing my style of diving in. Not with the grace of an Olympian diver more with the circling tactic of an uncertain vulture...but when the moment is ripe diving in to the emotion of a moment or series of moments.

Following the wonderful guidance and stimulating prompts of this book is an interesting and inspiring journey. I am doing several 10 to 20 minute 'free falls' and an hour a day more intense writing block.

And a sucker for a challenge I've also signed up for the NaNoWriMo.
That is NAtional NOvel WRiting MOnth.
No sweat: 50,000 words in a month. More if you can.
So about 1600 words a day, every day. Good for a first draft of something.
What? I don't know. No idea. Just going to see what emerges. Ha ha.

So I am writing. Not blogging though.
I'll get back and share a few things later. It's nice to be pouring some words and nouns and verbs out of the grey matter though. Watching the ink treacle itself across the papyrus or decorate the LCD is my favourite play time.

Weather's starting to come good to...spring, then summer. Yey beach, sea, sun, fun! Bring it on.

Lv D

Wednesday, 14 August 2013

My sons birthday

Seems like the right thing to do -yeah- write something on my sons birthday.
My oldest son is now 20. Jeez where did that time go? Flick.

I stayed up late last night so I could be the first to offer him birthday wishes on Facebook. I know I'm sweet right! Ok and a bit mad. And a bit totally love my son.

He doesn't live with us as he's moved up to study at uni, share a crowded flat, play guitar and flip burgers in his spare time. So I didn't get to hang out with him, watch him blow out candles, unwrap gifts and other general birthday capers. But I couldn't stop thinking about him all day. I'd already Face-Booked him and rung him up first thing in the morning. I couldn't just keep contacting him all day. So I just sent him silent love puffs through the ether. (Yes, I've already confessed to being a tad mad.)

However my younger son, nearly 17, did have to sit and listen to my husband and I do the count down that went some thing like this...

 " this time 20 my years ago  I was walking around the ward, stopping to rock every so often" 

Followed by hourly recounts of his older brothers birthing story. ( Not a pretty one either, far from natural and wonderful. More very long, hard work and then a very rushed emergency caesarian.) The worse thing is we didn't stop there. Oh no, no, no, no, no...

...we then continued to reminisce about the younger sons birth story. 

Also not pretty. Damned difficult - complete with two obstetricians at the end of the bed with white coats, goggles, suction cup and forceps, each of them balanced on one white gumboot while their other gum-booted foot leveraged against the end of the birthing bed. I told you not pretty. And I doubt that my 16 (nearly 17) year old really wanted the details.

Anyway it dawned on me that this is how you celebrate birthdays when your young have flown the nest. An hour by hour vigil and countdown to the moment. The very special moment, that no matter what the circumstance, will always and forever remain very special moments.

Life-giving, Life-time moments...

And I wonder when the grandchildren come along (if and when they do - no pressure - and at this point certainly no hurry), will I be sharing the birth story of my sons to my sons as their sons (or daughters) burst in to the world.

Life goes on...

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

Touching Hearts

It's been a while. Too long! I've been leading a blog-less existence. Stumbling around in the shortened light of a southern solstice. Seeking words and inspiration in the half-light. Misplacing ideas. Distracted by curious dark tales and fading shadows.

I've had quite a contracted solstice experience. Rather than being pulled in by my creative inner magnet I've been pushed in by the squeeze of the shortened days. 
A seasonal bottleneck. 

I've not felt like writing - instead I have been colouring-in. 

Yes I confess I find playing with soft pastels that can be smudged, rubbed and blended using all my fingers and palms very cathartic. I find the waves of colour, and ease of gentle mixing a great way to let go and just let the magic happen. 

It's aimless, goal-less and pointless. It has no actual rational adult-world reason. 
I don't care what happens, where the patterns start or stop, 
what it looks like , if it's finished, 
if it says or means anything. 

I let my tongue poke out, curl to the left and lick my top lip. I'm like an 8 year old deeply embedded in my own mysterious moment. 

I don't analyse the colourful pages. I don't label them. 
I don't seek any validation for their childlike impressions. 
I simply LOVE the experience. 

I love feeling calm, peaceful, unhindered, relaxed and creative.

Blank white becomes full colour. Lines flow, swirls appear, and my heart opens up. Truly, as I let go of the need to do anything but play, I can feel my heart peeping through a 
window in my chest; checking out the terrain.

Slowly she peels back the lacey curtain that veils her solstice view and recognises the magnificence of doing nothing; just being with a blank page. 

She stretches into the possibility of a long winter full of the beauty 
of smudged shadows and blurred pastels. 

She is touched by the innocence and the unconditional invitation to just let go and play. 

And she opens the window...
into the world of hearts.

Wednesday, 19 June 2013

Weeping Glacier

We cut a
Diamond staircase
Into the Misty Mountain 
Where maiden tears 
Frozen sea.
Aqua blue 
See through
Pearls and prisms
Graced resting giants 
frozen chest.
And wind whistled a
Sharp crisp call
Across the suspended
Ancient slippery vein;
That is slowly 
Slipping away

Shadows dance free

The naked woman who leaps

Into the painting of her own shadow

Bathes in the cleanse of the mother moon

Lets her Shadows dance free.

Sunday, 16 June 2013

Feeding the Tiger

"The world is but a canvas to your imagination." (Henry Thoreau)

A sphere of infinite possibility orbits beneath your feet. An endless stream of nighttime stars and distant galaxies conduct orchestras of light and unknown echoes deep beyond the blackness. 

Yet you sit here stuck searching for a story. Something to anchor your creative potential; a bone to chew; something to get the creative juices flowing. 

You wish to salivate upon the empty page until it is soaked with your shine. Yet all that emerges is a stuttering dribble;a jagged rimless vessel of jerky words. Where no sense wished to emerge. 

You look to the moon, gibbous and gorgeous in the corner of the western sky.
And it smiles silver,
a friendly fang incising the dark. 

You are distracted by non flow. Confused by the conflict between the desire to create and the thickness of your fingers that wait for download. They are hungry to pounce across the qwerty map, devour vowels and consonants. But no you still dribble. 

You dally around the flashing cursor as if some lightening strike of inspiration may at any moment tremble through you.

And still nothing. 

You shut your eyes take deep breaths ...'dream me up a story' your mantra...dreaming a starting line. 'Give me a place to start on this canvas of possibility.'
 The harder you try to focus the more restricted your creative tendons feel.
Your mind has become your Achilles heel.

Aaah and now your fingers are loosening up and there seems to be a slight swell of excitement. Like  the tide is about to change. Like the moon is about to tip some magic dust your way. A shovel full of wonder to twinkle over you.

In the absence of outstanding literary endeavour you pick up your pen. You choose to use this empty moment to develop characters. They're as boring as the blank page. You put down the pen in disgust and restlessness begins to pinch you.

You return to the keyboard hoping, praying for something to emerge, something, anything...and you wait. You keep the words flowing, that's what they tell you to do. 

Don't stop not now ... Keep going , just keep doing that... Aaarrrgghh like chasing the elusive orgasm. You know it's there but nothing seems to free it. Nothing seems to get you to the  point of no return. 

The sweep subsides it was just a tease. 

The mind returns chuckling at your foolishness and the fact that you thought you could just make a start and the rest would simply flow. 

Come on where are you. Impatience arrives. Not welcome but there nevertheless. You cast it a cursory glance but decide to truck on. Adrenalin begins to kick in. The race has started. Dopamine enlivens the neurotransmitters and the thrill of the hunt starts to bubble through your limbs. You can feel it. Searching, seeking, chasing that elusive tale, prose or bombshell thrilling creative moment. 

You crouch in the shade of the human brain panting, waiting, knowing it won't be long now and soon yes very soon all will be revealed.
The thunderous crack and roll of outstanding creative delight will pour through you, your veins will tingle and the tiger will be set free. 

The tiger will run from stand still into sleek speedy pursuit of the unsuspecting story line. You'll catch it by the tail, bite its neck, bring it to the ground and devour it. Belly first. The guts of the game. 

Blood and gore of unsuspecting bright pink flesh will burst and splatter across the page and you will shiver with delight. You will have conquered the drought. The famine will be broken,  the gods happy and the writer fed again. 

Wednesday, 12 June 2013

Wakes me up

                               This crispness

                            That bites my skin pink

       Seeks my attention

               Calls me into its breathless

 Cloudless blue canopy

Challenges my wintery perception

                       Lures me from my heated sanctuary

                         And walks briskly with me

                                         Through a glistening morning

                                           Into a shivering noon

                                    Wakes me up

                           This crispness

                       That pinches my cheeks

Aloft and upward

Whispers it silver sliver

Of moon in blackness

                              Constellates my upward facing awe

                            Beyond the hearth of my retreat

                                And walks softly with me

                               Beneath a sparkling cavern

                                               Into the clarity of night

                     Wakes me up

                        This crispness

                      Seeks my attention

                                   Bites my skin pink

                                              Pinches my cheeks
                                                   Walks with me
                                                                      Wakes me 

Sunday, 9 June 2013

Leave my light on

"I am not what happened to me. I am what I choose to become." (Carl Jung)

Seeing through the fog is never easy. Most of the time you need to put your lights on. Not that they help they just create more confusion, yet they do help others to see you coming toward them. Lights on warns others that you are approaching and they can prepare for the fleeting moment when the two vehicles pass each other with less difficulty. Lights on eases the situation. Simple really. But what about when the fog is not the out in the physical world, instead it is swirling around inside your head; a slapping grey cumulus cloud full of cynicism, negativity, sadness, anger. Not so easy to flick the light on. Not so easy to warn others so they may prepare for an emotional collision especially when they can't see the fog and they are still driving in the light.

For two days I've been in and out of fog. Reminding myself that it will lift, it will clear and my view will return to its normal self. Yet this is all part of my 'normal' self.

The shadows that squirm and tease and tighten my chest, constrict my throat, lock my jaw, furrow my brow and lift my nose into a sneer are all real. These parts of me still waiting to be owned, acknowledged and entertained.

So much crap comes up. The crap I thought I'd cleared out long ago. Perhaps it had just been tidied up into a neat little bundle waiting for the next rainy day. I know its no longer relevant but it does intrigue me.

The truth is when I slip into this foggy state I feel creative.
I feel like I could write a heart bleeding squeamish psycho drama and yell it out to the world.
But I don't.
I try to remember the pain, the blackness and the psychology of it all so I can use it for a character in the book I've yet to write; so I can twist it into the shadow of the sunny side up perfect heroine.

I procrastinate. I don't write it down. I don't run away from it. My body is to heavy with it. I can't distract myself with the endless dribble of housework or a brisk walk outdoors. I want to sit still and feel it. I actually love the stories that bubble up. The turning points they have been in my life. They must have been poignant otherwise they would not be so clear and easy to recall.

 Without to much detail, but perhaps one day all will be revealed.
They show me the genesis of patterns.
They show me why I don't reach to far,
why I haven't stepped fully into my abilities and strengths
even now as a grown up.
They reaffirm my reluctance.
And once again I am safe in their swarming incoherence.
I am locked inside their miserable monochrome memories.
And I can stay there for as long as I like.

These past days with the re-surfacing of these old foes that I have allowed to become allies to my non-flight I felt the time is actually coming closer to releasing them. Some of them are seriously juicy, full of unnecessary shame, anger and fear. Some of them I can see with the benefit of adult hindsight, and a bucket load of personal development, were challenges in humility, others were testing my commitment to keeping peace (as in don't rock the boat) and protecting others around me. And to be quite honest some weren't all that bad they just for some reason impacted me at the time.
As a child I didn't understand the depth or far reaching implications of forsaking myself. At the time it just seemed the right thing to do.

Some of them showed me at a young age that there are some confused, unhappy and nasty people in life. Instead of getting angry I sucked in my experiences and withdraw into
a tight and comfortable inner world.
A world where I found plenty of space to hide things.
My things.

I learned to fit in, say the right things, wear the right clothes, do what others did: blend in.

Of course there has been (and increasingly are) plenty of times as an adult when I have made choices purely off my own back. And from the outside I know people have seen me as 'gutsy'. A 'shield of bravado' or being so pent up I have no choice but to 'push through' (before I explode) have been my devices to get on on through the world.

Fortunately I do love life. I do feel those elastic clear moments where all feels in flow.
I understand and fully agree with the current campaign that we
'create our own reality'.

I have experienced spontaneous moments of utter connection, deeper understanding, expansion, heart-FULL-ness. Remembering all this in today's fog I realised too that many of these more painful stories that stick, that just won't go away are gifts waiting to be revealed.

 They are painful points in my path that have been offered and stored waiting for the day when they can be shared...and received perhaps by others needing to hear them.

As an adult I can reflect on these childhood and early adult memories and understand them from a new perspective.They have given me an understanding of the diversity of the human experience and opportunity to explore the human psyche.
In short they have given me
fodder for stories.

 I enjoy and know I can write; my excuse is (oh, you'll love this ;-)...) "...but I don't have any interesting stories". Today I realised that the time for me to share them is nigh. I have an urge to write stories, prose and poetry and my experience, my knowing can be weaved in. 

 I can distance myself from the deeply personal (and not wanting to surprise or expose others - oh dear there it is that 'keep-the-peace-don't-rock-the-boat-protect' pattern again :-)), while not compromising the personal depth and vulnerability that comes of revealing oneself through ones art; and in doing so hopefully amuse, touch and awaken others.

I can share the point and possible power of my stories in the cloaks of fiction and narrative.
I am beginning to see this now. The fog is lifting and
I'm going to leave my light on.

So now looking back at the Carl Jung quote at the beginning of this post, and trying not be too ‘convoluted-new-agey’ I would like to add:

I am not what happened to me.  I am what I choose to become.

My past is a part of me,

I choose to see it as a gift

Weaving into my present

As purposeful



(...ready to blossom)

Sunday, 2 June 2013

Upon a tide

St Leonards, Denmark WA

Within the Baltic  pine walls of this little red chapel
Half arpeggios floated from bass clarinet, kissing the edge
Deep double bass undertones curved the sanctuary arc
Cello strings wavered to silent stillness
Breathing the haunting magic of violin
Wind and strings wove a trail for the words in waiting
Prose  and poem spun yarns of shoreline inspiration
Recalling moments of ecstatic submerging and deeper revelation
Singing bowls echoed the fathoms of  seas
Guitars and ukeleles brought songs to the surface
All together
Upon a tide of many sounds this current carried us
Through deep waters to shorelines
To home

Friday, 31 May 2013

Just Delicious

I've just finished writing up the run sheet for myself and a local poet friend (whom I've also recently discoverd plays the Cello! Yes hello - the Cello!).
What's a 'run-sheet'? 'Run-sheet' is the word combo that I'm using to describe a collection of words, prose, poetry, cello, singing bells
 that run together to create a recital.
It is the running order if you like. And this particular one is the runing order for a short recital that I'm doing with a friend on the week-end as part of the regional Festival of  Voice
I love working with this particular poet becaus she has a real feel for words;
as if they are singing up through the land and through her. 
I always find her work deeply touching so its
a real treat for me to be able to 'play' with her.
And seriously she also plays the Cello.
Well me, I looove the Cello. :-)
We've intertwined some of our own poetry or prose, into a unique arrangement that tapestries our voices, our words, her Cello and my Tibetan Singing Bowls (yes I'm the least musical in the mob).
It's a short performance piece that is part of a longer concert recital. Also involved are two other prose and poetry writers, and six musician / singer-songwriters.
The whole recital is wrapped around the theme
 'Shorelines' and runs for about 50 minutes.
Yep! It's totally original, words, composition, sounds and run sheet!
We're performing in a little Anglican Church that was built in 1899.
Inside there is a cool Gothic arch in the sanctuary. The outside walls are clad in Karri ( a local hardwood) weather boards, now painted dark red, and the inside walls and ceilings are Baltic pine  reflecting the influence of early Norwegian settlers and mill workers in the region. The pews are very stern and upright. So upright in-fact when sitting in them you feel like you are about to be
propelled into the pulpit.
It's very quaint and totally fitting for our eclectic ode to
the shorelines and the oceans of the south coast.

I'm not so keen on the performance with audience part ...BUT .. the very loose organic creative process of getting to this point has been totally joyful and uplifting AND ...GREAT FUN!
I am so grateful to be able to play like this with really inspiring and talented people.
And the most fan-tab-u-lous thing is....there's more fun coming. More writing to be done, more drawing to be smudged, more creative x-collaborations to unpack-discover-unpack-discover, and more sharings to be offered and devoured. 
Just delicious! The whole darn lot of it.
Love Dawn :-)

P.s Writing about Shorelines has just reminded me about Songlines another little creative venture I joined in at the Brave New Works festival earlier this year. I'll tell you a little more about that one later. ;-)

Tuesday, 28 May 2013

Emboldened and Still Now

emboldened and still now
in this place
yet heart races
emboldened and still now
 feet firm upon
carpet of organic

of facts this head erased
softening of gaze
as eyes fall

still now this forest wind
and this human
in natural ochres
sings  (silently)

echoes of blood pulse
through the chords
of murmuring shrubs and
wet-black bark tales

emboldened and still now
this flesh awaits
late autumn golds and
winters rains

  and still now
          this pulse
          this place

                                                     Dawn 2013

Monday, 27 May 2013

I did it!

I did it!
I turned my head away from the dishes
I walked away from the TV
I left the washing unfolded in the basket
I stayed away from my new novel
I didn't check my emails, or Facebook
I didn't tidy up my desk, or roll up my yoga mat
I didn't wipe the bathroom sink or quickly clean the toilet bowl
I didn't straighten up the towels or check the laundry basket
I didn't feed the dog, sweep the kitchen floor, or check the letterbox
I didn't empty the rubbish bin or move the recyclables
I didn't wipe the bench, the stove top or the fridge door
Amidst all of this
I sat, I smiled
And I wrote.
Another short story.
I did it!

Tee hee...
Love Dawn :-)

Sunday, 26 May 2013

Somebody's Book Launch

I went to a book launch this afternoon at the Old Butter Factory Gallery.

I went for several reasons. And one of them was not because I knew the author ...because I didn't.

I'd received the general email invitation several times and each time I thought I'll just see what I'm up to on Sunday afternoon and made no commitment. I didn't RSVP to assist the organisers planning. I didn't check if any of my other writer/ reader  friends were attending.
I also didn't completely let go of the possibility of going.

For some reason or other I was curious. Something was drawing me in.
Something was compelling me to attend. So I did.

And I'm rather glad that I did.

In addition to catching up with a few people that I know I had the opportunity to listen to an excellent conversation between the author and another published author from the region.

Questions about the story, actually writing the story,
the journey of getting the story on paper, about the drafting and publishing process and more were all interesting.  But today to me they seemed more poignant. I felt like I could identify a little more with the process. Of course I'm a long way off publishing a novel. It's not even on my radar.
 I have realised today though that it might be on my far-dar. 

Given that I've only just managed to summon the time and courage to squeeze a short story into an envelope on a journey to an unknown reader, you can imagine how silly I felt (quietly on the inside) about being titillated by the idea that I may attempt a novel in the future.
(The very far-dar future :-).

Beside that far-dar possibility I also spoke to a couple of friends who I've known now for a few years, not closely, just occasionally meeting in different circles or community projects. And both of these lovely women are also exploring the world of writing. One has established a blog to share some of her other creative muse, and one has already written 20,000 words of her first novel and has never written anything before.
 I was so inspired by these two quiet, creative lovelies in my midst.

Over the past month, as I have decided to commit to actually be a writer, several little windows of connection and sharing have presented to me. These latter two based on our short conversations in a conducive environment (i.e. book launch), have led to a soft igniting of some connections based on our shared creative unfolding. 

It's all about taking little steps in the right direction. I'm glad I followed the hunch to just attend the launch today. It was a good 'feeling'. It was an unintentional networking opportunity. Perhaps for the three of us as we continue to explore, unfurl, unfold or basically just turn up to the page, we can support and celebrate each other. Quietly and gently of course until we are strong and / or confident enough for a little bit more attention.

So I'm grateful for the invite to a book launch of  somebody I didn't know.  

And  yes I bought a book. Of course I did :-)

Love Dawn