Thoughts on not much of anything…

A reprise from 2009. I hope you don’t mind.

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I’ve been thinking. What I write here varies with my mood, but the two topics that most often turn up in this blog are my novel writing and my locale. If you were a fly on the wall here, you’d understand why that’s so.

In this semi-rural retreat I call home, I am surrounded by trees, a bit of wildlife, and the stillness that makes for a perfect sanctuary. Nighttime moonlight flits between the darkened trees to find its way through the french doors beside my bed. Morning sunlight filters through trees to bring its warmth into the livingroom.

With hands wrapped around a coffee mug I stand at the bank of windows in our kitchen/family room and check out the slash of deer tracks punctuating the leftover snow in a sheltered corner of the back yard, and watch a lone Towhee who has arrived on the deck for its breakfast. There is no place I’d rather be. When my thoughts settle into this groove my subjects are home and hearth.

Other times my mental closet of plots and process reaches spillover stage and the ideas that tumble out are random aspects of novel writing — the quirks of the Muse, character development, storylines, revision frustrations, even agents and rejection dejection.

There isn’t a lot of logic to why and when creativity clicks into gear or what writing will result when it does. I’ve learned the important thing is not so much what I write but that I write. My responsibility is to keep trying and eventually I become a channel for ideas that need to materialize. Then I simply have to find an appropriate title to attach and launch the creation into cyberspace.

So, with that revelation, here’s today’s contribution. (Not much content, is there? It’s indicative of the state of my morning brain.)

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Butterflies, Fireflies and Fleeting Ideas

The stationary white speck stood out against the hemlock’s deep green. Even with my handy-dandy birdwatching binoculars I couldn’t quite tell what it was – a cherry blossom tossed there by the wind? Perhaps a feather having drifted from a nearby nest? Curiosity brought me back to the window several times but I couldn’t identify it.

 

Then suddenly it was gone.  I scanned the lawn beneath the tree to no avail until a fluttering bit of white in the nearby garden caught my attention. I discovered what I assume was an early Cabbage White moth flitting among the violets.  As I watched I was reminded of a passage from Jane Yolen’s book, “Take Joy”:

 

“A writer is someone who begins

by trying to catch insights

as fireflies in a jar

but in the end

needs to see them

pinned to the page.”

 

While the pinning part of the analogy is a bit gruesome, it vividly portrays a writer’s efforts to capture fleeting ideas.

 

Remembering that someone once said success occurs when opportunity meets preparation, I like to be ready whenever inspiration strikes. In place of a bottle or butterfly net, however, I frantically reach for my ever-present notebook because momentary fragments of brilliance rarely sit on a branch long enough for me to examine them.

 

Now might also be a good time for me to look in my sewing basket for a few pins.

 

More on the Ws (or Double Ewes): What?

My February 20^th posting, “Writing For…?” kept me thinking. What I write varies with my mood but the two topics that most often turn up in this blog are my novel writing and my locale. If you were a fly on the wall here you’d understand why that’s so.

 

In this semi-rural retreat I call home I am surrounded by trees, a bit of wildlife, and the stillness that makes for a perfect sanctuary. Nighttime moonlight flits between the darkened trees to find its way through the french doors beside my bed. Morning sunlight filters through trees to bring its warmth into the livingroom. With hands wrapped around a coffee mug I stand at the bank of windows in our kitchen/family room and check out the slash of deer tracks punctuating the fresh snow in the back yard. There is no place I’d rather be. When my thoughts settle into this groove my subjects are home and hearth.

 

Other times my mental closet of plots and process reaches spillover stage and the ideas that tumble out are random aspects of novel writing — the quirks of the Muse, character development, storylines, revision frustrations, even agents and rejection dejection.

 

There isn’t a lot of logic to why and when creativity clicks into gear or what writing will result when it does. I’ve learned the important thing is not so much what I write but that I write. My responsibility is to keep trying and eventually I become a channel for ideas that need to materialize. Then I simply have to find an appropriate title to attach and launch the creation into cyberspace.

 

So, with that revelation, here’s today’s contribution.