Time and Light Switches

  Happy Leap Day! Didn’t realize this lined up so perfectly with my posting schedule.   Well onto the usual lowdown, revising and editing once again takes me longer than I’d like. Last Friday I edited 9 chapters in one sitting and my brain has yet to fully bounce back so-to-speak. I edit in two parts. First I mark up a physical copy of my manuscript so I have a plan in place and have had time to think it through. Then I use that marked up copy as a sort of map to editing the main draft on my computer.  The first stage was a breeze this time. But getting to work on the next has been a bit of a struggle. Like I said I went through 9 chapters in one day and it kinda hurt my head. So I can do a lot in one sitting but sometimes its not worth it. Having a bit of health struggle recently hasn’t helped in the getting things down department either. Some days the editing and revising goes really well. Others its like pulling teeth and sitting in the woods; a lot of sitting ar...

  I’m just gonna jump right into this weeks thoughts.   Editing this round so far has been incredibly smooth. So I can just about confirm my earlier suspicions that editing is a learned skill as well as story telling and therefor has its own rhythms to be found. I think I’ve found the sweet spot and I’m far too excited. I woke up this morning pumped to get back to it.  Another newish thing to come out of this editing cycle is how often I stop to write something entirely different. I’ve almost an over abundance of creative energy and ideas. Yesterday while I spent 20 minutes debating if I should keep going or stop for supper, I had about three thoughts for a future project. On Monday I couldn’t even start before I wrote a 700 word think piece.  Its become a habit to follow the creative leads. I stay editing till my brain wanders, and often it wanders into an interesting thought or story that has to get written or noted down. I wrote a blog post a number of month...

My brother bought me a stuffed aloe plant. For context I have three pots of succulents that are named Timothy, Timothy 2, and Timothy 3, respectively. And reading that back it sounds made up but I promise I’m not lying. Well when you move cross border you can’t take plant life or dirt across. Eventually I’ll have to leave my plants, which I sprouted and grew from one single clipping years ago. I’ll leave them to a good home because they can’t come with me.   When I became aware of this whole no dirt across the border rule, it was probably like a year ago. So I’ve been prepping myself for this eventuality for some time now. But I remember talking about this with my family and when they told me I couldn’t take my plants with me I cried. Like real big fat tears that felt silly but oh so real.  So today, the day I’m writing this, is Valentines day. I got up and was making myself breakfast and my younger brother walks over to me and says he got me something. And he hands me a s...

I don’t remember being 6, I remember being 5 and I remember 7 But I don’t remember being 6, I think I was just 5 twice, because maybe I had gone around the sun 6 times  but it felt more like 5 + 1.  and I remember 8 I remember 8 and some days I wish I didn’t.  I think I was always going to end up like this. someone who counts age by the degree and atrophy of my soul, not the trips around the sun. Because I’ve felt old for far longer than I’ve been it, and I’m not old yet not really I remember 18 really well, remember that it bled into 19 like cheep paint and that I hadn’t felt that alive since I was 5.  I remember 20, and 21, and 22 God I remember 22 like it was my best friend  and I never forgot the names of my two best friends from my first day in kindergarten.  Even though its been close to decades since last I saw or heard tale of them. I hope they’re well. I remember far more than I give credit to. I still see the f...

  I think I’ve forgotten about the waiting in the creating. How the refining takes waiting. Takes a quiet mind, or a quiet heart. Both would be better, but just one if it’s all I can manage. Forgot how much I really just need to sit with it. Watch the snow drift by. Slowly sip my tea.   I forgot the difference between procrastinating and waiting. The advise I’d give you would be to muscle through and keep going but maybe that’s not the only answer. Maybe sometimes we just need to wait. To let the story come to us, like a timid animal. To let the stream trickle through. Maybe in the winter months it’s best to expect a slothful slushy stream, rather than the rapids of summer or spring.  Maybe its okay if writing some days consists of sipping tea and thinking. Of watching the snow and letting myself get swept away by the feeling of it. Maybe I need to let the poet breath a little.  And maybe I’m not a poet in the traditional sense. I don’t have the patience to rhy...