It hasn’t been often in my life that I’ve felt elegant. I don’t have a job that requires any level of it, and I never really have. I used to dress nicely when I worked in an office, particularly when I was the receptionist. I’ve enjoyed going out to parties, dances, and bars, (in my younger years) but those days are gone.
But I do appreciate elegance. And so I write about it. The characters in my novels are far more elegant than I can ever dream to be. It’s just one of the many things I compensate for using my imagination. They say those who can’t do, teach. I suppose it could be said that I teach the population of my stories what I can do in theory but not practice in real life. Or maybe they teach me.
The “Elegance” prompt is brought to you by Kelli at Forty, c’est Fantastique!. Please go and say hi and follow her if you don’t already!
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I’ve been sitting here for a while pondering the things I collect. I can’t come up with a single collection I possess that doesn’t have a specific use. By that I mean I don’t collect knick-knacks, the major reason being that I hate dusting.
I have a record collection, a CD collection, and a DVD collection. Soon, I’m sure, there will be a Blue Ray collection as well, but so far I only have two of those. The kids have more. I have a jewelry collection that I haven’t added to in at least five years, mostly because I rarely wear any of it. I used to collect coffee mugs, but last time I moved I ended up throwing a lot of them out; I didn’t use them. I collect words – books are probably my biggest vice.
It’s a bit of a conundrum, isn’t it? They say there’s so much benefit in downsizing and getting rid of things we don’t need, and yet there’s a need to collect things that we don’t use. There’s a comfort in it.
What do you collect? Tell me in the comments or jot your own post and link it back here.
The “Collection” prompt is brought to you by Deborah at Container Chronicles. If you don’t already follow her, please check out her blog!
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I’ve been thinking about the motivation to write. I’m not talking about fiction, necessarily, but that’s a big part of it that I’ll get to in a few minutes. My thoughts at the moment are more on writing about real life and the need to connect with others who might be going through the same things as I am. The desire to put it all out there to find out if I really am alone in my living room with my laptop. And I am alone. Alone with millions of other people, all of them doing the same thing I am. Being part of that crowd is motivating indeed.
But then, a couple of days ago I read an article about David Bowie. Only it isn’t really just about him. It’s about all of us. Every one of us on social media, whether a blog, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr… any of them. Whether you liked Bowie or not, you need to read this. I’ll give you a minute. Please come back when you’re finished.
We’re urged as writers to bleed on the page. That if we’re not bleeding – if we’re not putting everything we’ve got into what we write – then no one will be interested. But how much is too much? There are some who will tell us that there’s no such thing as too much. They are the ones who live off the angst of everyone else. I think of them as emotional vampires; they’ll say anything to get us to open up to them and say it’s for our own good. But they’ll never go out of their way to help. They’ll just motivate us…
What motivates you to write what you write? To share what you share? Has it changed since you started?
I understand how cathartic it can be to share a problem with the world, or go off on a rant when something is weighing heavily on the mind. I suppose the question comes down to how many details we give out. Its scary when we realise just how easy it is to give away our privacy. To box it up in a neat little package that is a simple post on social media and hand it to the entire world. In the past couple of weeks I’ve written 50-word stories on my fiction blog. Fifty words can say a lot. I even wonder sometimes how much of myself I’m giving away via fiction. To me it’s glaringly obvious what I’m imagining and what I’m bleeding; I can only hope it’s not as obvious to everyone else.
In the past I have tried to put a few filters on what I post. First and foremost, how does what I’m writing serve me? My reason for blogging of course is to have people read, so yes, I write what I think people will click on. When a post seems to be entirely self-serving (such as a rant) I feel uncomfortable. Sometimes I’ll post, sometimes it goes in the trash. If a post serves others, whether it’s a public service announcement, an example of what it’s like to parent a special needs child, or a prompt, I’m more likely to hit the publish button without thought for my privacy. On this blog I draw the line at the people in my life. I only write about what they willingly make public themselves. Even then I sometimes hesitate. There are people in my life I don’t talk about at all. Personally I have very little to hide about my life. Until I read the article, I didn’t even really think about discretion or, on the flipside, indiscretion. Now I wonder.
It’s contradictory that we’re so isolated and yet so out-in-the-open. We’re a society that no longer needs to go to a store to buy things, nor venture outside to talk to our neighbours, yet people half way around the planet can experience our lunch, our bowel movements, and if we wish to remain anonymous, even our sickest desires and without consequence. But it all starts with one thing. Motivation.
I ask you again, what’s yours?
The “Motivation” prompt is brought to you by Aaron Elmore at the blog bearing his own name. If you don’t already follow him, please check him out!
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Skulls, for me of late, have been all about inspiration. It began a few months ago with the release of a solo project, a band called The Mortal, by my favourite singer Sakurai Atsushi. The music of The Mortal with Sakurai’s Shakespearean inspired lyrics, and the Gothic look they created with their tophats and props spoke to me from the start.
But today, with the news of the death of David Bowie the co-incidences and the very meaning of how deeply music can inspire us was driven home and has been revolving in my head faster than I can process it.
I fell in love with “A Space Oddity” the first time I heard it. I was in my parent’s best friends’ basement with their niece, Beverly. She was a teenager – a mythical creature to me at my tender age of about six years. On this particular afternoon she was listening to the song over and over. I’ve never tired of it.
At my first glimpse of the man himself I was totally fascinated. His slightly feminine features which seemed to blur but not hide his masculinity, his style (which was his Ziggy persona at the time), and his lyrics made my mind whirl at the possibilities of what even my life could be like: wild, bohemian, and perhaps out-of-this-world exciting. Bowie made me dream. Ultimately he sparked my imagination and guided me to the worlds my characters live in.
As a young man this “cat from Japan” was also inspired by David Bowie.
Sakurai Atsushi with Buck-Tick, 1987
During Sakurai’s first solo outing in 2004, before I knew he existed, he covered “A Space Oddity.”
And so we fast-forward to my discovery of Mr. Sakurai. Eleven years after this video was recorded I had the privilege to see Sakurai perform for the second time. He described The Mortal as an opportunity to be himself; to do what he wanted on stage, with the dark, Goth-inspired atmosphere that moves him.
I suppose you could say that I’ve been influenced twice by the same man. First directly, when I was very young, and now again indirectly by the influence he had over Sakurai Atsushi.
David Bowie, the hero that blew the spark that lit the flame of our imaginations has flown. May his influence live forever.
The “Skulls” prompt is brought to you by Dean Kealy at Dean’z Doodlez. Please check out his amazing doodles, and tell him I said hi while you’re there!
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I think about all the things I used to do effortlessly when I was younger and I wonder that I can’t anymore. I know you young ‘uns out there are saying, “We don’t want to hear about all your aches and pains, ya old coot!” I know. I remember thinking it myself. I also thought I’d never get to this stage. But here I am.
Gone are the days when I didn’t have to struggle to get up off a hardwood floor after sitting on it for ten minutes. Gone is the ability to sleep through the night without waking up with a sore hip; the ability to read things on the tv without glasses, and the ability to do the splits…
There’s a message in some of this for you kids out there. The message is, don’t stop. If you can do the splits now, or touch your toes without bending your knees, or run half a mile, or multiply large numbers in your head, keep it up! It’s when we stop because we no longer need to do it that we lose it. Age has little to do with some of the things I find difficult.
But you know what? It’s not all that bad. There are things I CAN do now that I couldn’t do before. Like write a story or a blog post, or even a novel and put it out there for the world to see without caring what anyone thinks. Or like effortlessly sing all the low notes that used to hurt my throat to even try. Hell, I can even sing in front of people now. It used to be that I wouldn’t sing in a house when I was on my own, unless I was singing to something playing on the stereo.
It’s not all bad, getting older. Then again. I’m not THAT old.
This “Effortless” prompt is brought to you by Dan Antion at No Facilities. If you don’t already follow him, please check out his blog!
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What does it mean to be sane? According to Google’s dictionary it refers to a) a person who is “of sound mind; not mad or mentally ill,” or b) an undertaking or manner which is “reasonable; sensible.” That’s all fine and good, but who gets to judge?
The obvious answer is a doctor. But before that can happen, someone has to take, encourage, or direct said insane person to the doctor in the first place. Because chances are that the truly insane person doesn’t know he or she is insane at all. Not, of course, to put down anyone with mental illness. But for example, I had to be the one to decide to take my Autistic son to the doctor to get checked out. I was the judge in that case.
Moving on…
I often wonder about my own sanity. Considering some of the things that come out of me in my fiction, I think anyone in their right mind would. The thing is, I have no idea where my darker, twisted imagination stems from. I had no significant trauma (that I can remember) in my childhood. I was loved by my parents until my father passed away at the tender age of 49, when I was fourteen. So where’s the psychology in it? Okay yes, I’ve been reading Stephen King since I was fourteen, but can he have influenced me that greatly? No, in fact I don’t think he did.
I’ve had the imagination of a writer since I was very young. I’m talking four or five years old. I remember coming up with stories that, not having the skill to spell, revolved over and over in my head. Some of them even then involved a certain level of torture and sex. So how? Could I have been remembering another life? You may be thinking what I poor child I must have been to have such imaginings, but I grew up with a healthy sense of right and wrong, with empathy, without anxiety or nervousness, and with an understanding of humankind that has prevented me from hating a single soul on the planet. It’s an understanding that has enabled me to write relatable characters. It’s an understanding of everyone else but me.
But then, does anyone really understand themselves? Or does everyone but me?
This questionably “Sane” prompt is brought to you by John W. Howell at Fiction Favorites. Please click on the link to visit his blog, and follow him if you aren’t already!
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There are certain things that will always be frozen in time. Moments we remember, though they may change for the better or worse in our minds, that remain static. Like the birth of a child; finding it impossible to forget the joy but the pain of childbirth becomes distant, as something we women dissociate from, transforming it into a story to be related many times as a comparison to every other kind of pain. Or like the size of a place we frequented as a child – our elementary school gymnasium, or a traveling fair’s ride that seemed massive until we revisit it as an adult.
In the interest of keeping things real, I’ve always found journals to be most helpful. As I go through this blog in the next few days and weeks for the purpose of writing a post on my 2015 year in review I’m sure I’ll find that my frozen shoulder was much worse than I remember, and that my summer was unbearably hot (it’s hard not to want such a thing when you’re freezing to death in January, no matter how miserably humid it was).
I’m trying to think of a moment in my past other than the two examples above that might not have been as big or wonderful, or as unhappy or painful as I remember it, but of course, in my mind it’s all exactly as I now imagine it was.
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It’s a dilemma I deal with every time I write a blog post: do I write freely and not take hours poring over my grammar and choice of wording or do I edit my posts to death? To be persnickety or not to be persnickety? That is the question. I wonder how persnickety Shakespeare was? Then again, he probably had an editor.
Seriously, I’d love to be able to just write and release. But for the interests of my writing career, should I have a paid one one day, I demand perfection (or near perfection) from myself. After all, I never know who’s going to come looking. Perhaps someone famous or even better, someone who can get my proverbial foot in the door of the publishing industry will visit my blog. A line or two is all it takes to make an impression, and I want it to be a good one.
I know I’ve asked this question before, but it’s been at least a year so I think I’ll ask again. Who knows, maybe those who have already answered have changed their practices. Oh, the question? It’s this:
How many times, on average, do you edit a post before you hit the publish button? And how do you do your best editing – in the window you write in, or the preview? If I didn’t have the preview screen I’m sure my posts would all be a mess. What I really want to know is, how persnickety are you?
The “Persnickety” prompt is brought to you by Sirius Bizinus at his new home, An Empty Pen. Make sure you go say hi!
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They say some things in life only have as much significance as we give to them. I suppose you could say that about everything and everyone – the things and people we find dear to us are those that have a place in our hearts. A person can have significance to us because we relate to them, or because they’re family. An item can be meaningful for its monetary value (if money in general matters to us) or for the memories it conjures.
Then there are the things we make up meanings for; a recurring dream, the sighting of a black cat, or a ring around the moon for instance. For me, for the past twenty years or so, it’s a number sequence that keeps coming up. I think of it as maybe something that pops in once in a while to say, hey, I’m still here watching over you. The number sequence is 911. It doesn’t always have to be precisely in that order – sometimes it’s a whole jumble of 1s and 9s that gets my attention. Sometimes I even have to add up the numbers in a sequence to come up with it. Like this little gem I encountered the other day:
The 1s are obvious. But then 4+7=11 and for the 9s, 18 halved is two more. So out of this I got 1111119999. I think that’s pretty cool.
By now I predict you’re either you’re intrigued or your finger is hovering above the let’s-move-on button. But before you go, let me ask you; what have you invented a significance for? Is there anything? Or do you just stick to people, objects, or even places? Or hey, feel free to let me know if you think I’m just weird.
Anyone who would like to try it out, feel free to use the “One-Liner Wednesday” title in your post, and if you do, you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a ping back, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday you’re pinging back to is this week’s! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”
The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
lindaghill.com 