. . . writing brings clarity and passion to the act of living. Julia Cameron It was inevitable that someone would ask, now that I’ve put it out there that I’m working on another book. “What’s your book about?” It’s a simple question with a very complicated answer. It’s a memoir. It’s about something, but
Words are diamonds, the writer is the diamond cutter. Wilbur Smith, On Leopard Rock Cooler days. They say we’ve returned to seasonal norms, but it feels cool to me after the string of scorchers we enjoyed recently. How quickly we become accustomed to things. Ah well, the heat will return, in time; this is Kamloops
I am intrigued by writers who garden and gardeners who write. The pen and the trowel are not interchangeable, but seem often linked. Marta McDowell I’m approximately one-quarter of the way through, what’s referred to in writing circles as the junk draft, vomit draft, or shitty first draft, of a book. I’ve got a theme,
Writing is like gardening. Planting, watering, and weeding are not enough. You have to prune if you want growth. Ron Brackin Breeze blowing, perfect for recalibrating. Narrowing focus, gaining clarity, doubling down on intention. Writing life. Nothing but fragments here this morning. Irony.
She feels about being alone the way most people feel about chocolate. Anna Quindlen, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake I intend to speak to no one today except for my Yorkie, Maya. I will bathe in solitude and sunshine, spending an abundance of time on my deck with my manuscript, a notebook, and a
The beginning is always today. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley The sweetness of the pre-dawn morning gently ushers in the day and the week. It’s quiet, but for the regular breathing of Gerry next to me, Maya snoring softly at the end of the bed, and the distant sound of road noise through the open window. Through
“I’m not very creative” doesn’t work. There’s no such thing as creative people and non-creative people. There are only people who use their creativity and people who don’t. Unused creativity doesn’t just disappear. It lives within us until it’s expressed, neglected to death, or suffocated by resentment and fear. Brené Brown It’s another beautiful day.