Time and Light Switches

I used to be a dancer. It’s the one regret in life I truly have. The one thing I left behind and wish I hadn’t. I’m not sure where I left it. Which is a lie of course, I know exactly where I discarded this great love of mine. Because while I may have been a painter first, I was a dancer second, and my how did I fly.   I had never felt so free, as when I was dancing. Have not truly seen that height ever since. It is something I allowed to be stollen from me, something that lost its joy when comparison and skill driven spite entered the picture. I’d blame other people, for their boisterous opinions and cruel stares, but I know myself stronger than that. If only I had been stronger then, maybe I would not have quit.  It is the last thing I quit, the last thing I gave away that felt like the sawing off of a limb. I’m not sure I ever came back from the loss. The loss I willing rot upon myself. The one regret I truly carry.  I used to be a dancer, and if ever there was a ...

The writing has been a bit stunted as of late. Not for any real reason, I’ve simply been temporarily obsessed with a resent book release. (If you know you know.) It’s brought about quite possibly my strangest piece of advice ever, and it is to be taken with a mountain of salt and self reflection.   I have an all or nothing personality. It comes with benefits and drawbacks, but that’s not this post. It means that if I am obsessive about something I either have to completely deny myself for the sake of progress and productivity, or I have to give wholeheartedly into it. I try to strike a balance, but I’m about a decade too early to have found it I’m afraid.  I have found through trial and error I will release myself from obsessive interest if I simply exhaust it. Easy example, I am just about enthralled with reading the latest instalment of a book series I quite throughly enjoy, so the solution is to read and finish the book as fast as I desire to then get back to it. If I t...

I never used to date my work. In school there was always a place for the date and seldom a day did I fill it in. It didn’t feel important at the time, didn’t seem to matter. Really I thought I’d never look back at my time as a student, elementary, middle, or high school. It just… didn’t seem to matter.   Before I moved this past time, in April, I had to go through ever piece of everything I own, or now owned. It was an arduous process, it took weeks and some things took months. It is not a process I long to repeat any time soon. While doing so I sorted through all my old school papers, seeing what I might like to keep and what I’d like to burn. Not only metaphorically I literally burnt the papers I didn’t keep. It was final, and even as I said good riddance I felt my heart ache. Not all my school journey was for my betterment, but not all of it was for my doom. It’s something I hold in tension to itself to this day.  In this searching and deciding I took notice of the fact...

I got back into the grind of writing my book late last week, Thursday night to be specific. I had planned on starting back up on the Friday, or just straight up waiting for the start of the week to jump back in. But I was too excited when I thought about it, so I got back to it a little early.   I remember having resigned myself to staring again later, but on Thursday evening I looked over at my desk, my notes for the book staring back at me. After that it was all over, I could’t help myself. I was just too tempting.  It felt like coming home. Getting back into the story felt like home. A feeling I’ve always been chasing. It made me nervous after I realized it. I didn’t want that feeling to end, didn’t want to finish writing because then I’d have to do all the other parts of publishing a book. The parts I’ve been halfway avoiding for awhile now.  Having hit the climax before the climax of the book, where my two main characters finally meet and talk was positively exh...

Happy New Year!   I’ve been knitting a lot as of late. Having been on a writing break for the holidays I quickly became antsy and in need of a creative outlet. The more I give the more I receive, in terms of creative energy that is specifically.  Did a bit of a number on my wrist too. It’s been a couple weeks now and I still don’t quite have my full range of motion back. It’s getting better, but the knitting hasn’t exactly helped.  It’s been a strange start to the year. I’ve wanted the holidays to come to a quicker end so I could get beak to my writing, my routine. It’s not felt like a kind feeling, not to my family, but I don’t much like change and that includes interruptions to my routine. Don’t like drawing out the goodbyes.  Having to remind myself of what I wrote just before the end of the year, to step lightly and hold fast to peace. This beginning already hurts in an old kind of way, with more goodbyes and promises to return. It is something I grow eve...