Time and Light Switches

I feel a little like a mad woman this week. If you weren’t aware I finished editing the third draft of my first novel on Friday last week. I’ve been woking on said book for little over a year now. I promised myself I wouldn’t start another book till I was well into the publication process, because I have a tendency to leave projects unfinished.   Well, I began writing the book I’ve been editing since last September, because I put aside a project I’ve had swimming around my head since I was a teen. Knowing that story I’m so in love, with deserved nothing but my best and I needed to practice in order to give it that. That in order to tell the story well, to do it justice, I had to let it rest while I worked on refining my own skills.  Cried when I decided to give it a rest. I was, and still am, so deep in the belief that it will be a great story, one that hopefully touches hearts. So I’ve spent that last year and a half writing a different story, one I wasn’t even aware was ...

Allow me to tell you a tale or two. I love the mountains,  but I miss the ocean. It is the thing that keeps ringing in my ears. Whenever someone asks me how I like it here, to where I’ve moved. All I can think is, for all my love of these sleeping giants we call mountains, I so miss my love the ocean and her embrace.  If I could say hello, to the trees I call friend, would that I be that much more full of glee.  Sacrifice, and trading of burdens, that is which consumes my days. Releasing one season, one past version of myself, to embrace the new. It is not without its pain. To embrace my family, my blood, without strife is in-of-itself a victory I meet with open hands. To goodbye the ground that stood the test of my time, be it both relief and grief.  What is home, I do not know, perhaps where I rest my head. Tis a tale as old as my first breath. Being unaware of this notion of home. I am not without my questions for it, that in some days I demand an...

  I’ll tell you a crazy story, I’m not classically trained in any of the art forms I partake of. I didn’t go to university or collage, I have a high school diploma. (Along with a few certificates from programs that have nothing specific to do with art.) I’ve had various art teachers over the years, from a young age till I was 18, but truly most of what I can do, what is truly unique to my style and fortitude, I taught myself. The last time someone mentored me in my creative process I was 18, and I am now well into my twenties.   I was taught the basics, the foundations, just enough to get myself started, and from there I’ve had to teach myself anything else I’ve wanted to know. I’ve done a lot with the tools I was given. Whether it was trial and error, of which there was much error, or the bare minimum research and then some more trial and error. I’m quite stubborn, and impatient for that matter, and would rather cram and contort what little concrete skills and knowledge I’v...

  ~~~~~ April feels centuries past, it hath departed from me and left me sad and wanting.  I am not as I once was, what I may have been, what I may have liked, or hated. It’s not the same and some its for joy and some for sorrow.  I wasn’t made for this life, if I had to guess. But I didn’t make me  so maybe I don’t get a say, maybe I was even though I don’t feel it I’m too soft feeble, fallible  too easy hurt and bruised, I use too many bandaids.  How I got to be here  I do not know, its understanding escapes me and I can’t help the weeping The longing for trees, for the ocean, for my companions  I left behind whom I abandoned  I am sorry  I did not choose this and yet I did (make a lier of myself) and I can’t help the weeping.  It’s not how it ought to be not how I expected  or intended  and I can’t help the weeping.  April is gone and dead till next turn about the su...