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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The Squirrel Saga Continues (aka Knowing when to quit)

There are times in this life as a writer when I want to toss the manuscript into the trash and stomp away. But I don’t. Not literally, anyway. I’ve been well warned about those moments, so I dutifully ‘save’, ‘close’, ‘quit’, and then stomp away. You know those times, don’t you? Please tell me you do — those write-for-an-hour-and-delete, write-for-another-hour-and-delete-again days when you’ve tried every approach you can think of and nothing works.

Our squirrel was back this morning… the one I mentioned last Friday. My hubby had put up another bird feeder so the bigger birds could more easily access the seed. We figured it would satisfy the squirrel, too. Not so.

Hey, this is new… but the other feeder still looks more intriguing.
If it’s that hard to get at, it must be really good.

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There has to be a way to reach it!

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Whoops!!! I just about hit the ground again!

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Hang on a minute. I’m getting an idea.

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I’ll call in a favour and get her to try. Surely she won’t slide off it like I always do… oops!

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Well, that’s it then. I know when it’s time to call it quits.
Maybe I’ll go look for a pine cone peace offering instead.

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Sheesh! What knuckleheads! All that work and then they discarded this good stuff.

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So no, I’m not going to toss out those hard-won words. But I might need to think them over for a bit… maybe ask a critique partner for advice. Or just give it some time and work on something else. What do you think?

What do you do when nothing seems to be working… when the right words won’t come and the wrong words drive you to exasperation?

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A Winter Day

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Bits and blobs of leftover snow clung to branches. There hadn’t been much… less than an inch… but the temperature hovered near zero (celsius) most of the week so it was slow to melt.

Then, just as the last trace disappeared from barren branches, the sky sprinkled fine snow and dusted everything fresh white again.

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The winter’s first brief visit from a Spotted Towhee completed my day. A flick of his tail and he was gone again, but the fleeting gift left me smiling.

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Every good and perfect gift is from above
and comes down from the Father who made the heavenly lights,
in whom there is no inconsistency or shifting shadow.

James 1:17

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