Trying something new...
My creativity has slowly died away of late, frozen by the snow I like to think. So I'm going to go back to the basics in an attempt to jump start it.
Writing Prompts.
Heh, I feel like I'm in 6th grade again.
"Where do you go to get away from the pressures of life? Write about that place."
To be honest, I don't have a place here. In order to find such a solitude you have to first connect with your surroundings. I haven't been able to accomplish that here...the weather being the main obstacle, apathy for what I perceive my current dwelling place to be, a barren iceberg, being the second. (I've not made peace with the cold yet. I'm working on it)
In the past though, I had my spots.
As a child, in the middle of nowhere Arkansas, it was the woods.
I'd head out, always with a book and a notepad, and just wander. Climb a tree and lose myself in a novel, sit by a brook and write as the water poured over my feet, or climb a hill and scream insanities at my echo. I'd sit in the middle of the forest and will the animals to me, pretending I was a medicine woman of old lore. I'd find a dugout or cave and fix it up in my mind, daydream about living there alone for months and discovering great gifts inside of me.
As a girl, in Northwest Arkansas, it was a couple blocks up from my house where an old log cabin sat near the square. A tiny state park of sorts. You couldn't go inside, which always bothered me, but I would sit on the porch with my journal in my lap and turn my thoughts to ink. It was set back enough that I felt alone but close enough to the square that I could people watch. Saw a lot of interesting stories being played out from my hiding spot.
As a woman, in Belfast, Northern Ireland it was the streets of the city. I could walk for hours, soaking in the heartbeat of city life. Accents of dozens of languages surround you, smells of fresh fish and chips, clatter of heels on cobblestones, the vibration of the metro whizzing pass, beautiful music of the street performers, chimes of the church bells, smiles of the shop keepers...it all came together like a talented orchestra and made me want to dance forever. I'll never forget the last walk I took in Belfast, tears streaming down my face as I said goodbye while she whispered back to me "Not goodbye. Until next time."
Arkansas was my first love and as such the thought of her will always make me smile and long for the peace I felt while gazing into her eyes. But alas, first loves usually do not have enough foundation to hold up and you drift away - finding yourself somewhere new and exciting and calling it home. I doubt we'll ever live there again, we enjoyed our taste of the city too much but she'll draw us back now and again with her beauty and memories, for you never forget your first taste of love.
Belfast, ah Belfast, she was my mistress. She drew up her skirt, showed me her thigh, and I was never the same. It was a whirlwind relationship of love and hate and new discoveries. I laid in her bed and thought it heaven. Even over the holidays, when I had never felt so alone in my life and swore I couldn't go on... I couldn't leave her and dug deep and found out who I really was. She wined me and dined me and then kicked me out. But I didn't blame her, loved her all the more for it and made her a promise that I'd be back. Someday.
Minnesota is just a stop over. Though I'll be here the same amount of time I was in Belfast, if not more, I just can't love her. I've tried but she finds me too strange and complicated. I admire her for her moods and gifts but she has no hold on me, nothing to entice me with. I'll forever respect her for giving me a resting place, but doubt I'll ever call her home. Though it's possible I'm sure...some loves take awhile to grow and kind of sneak up on you. Minnesota might wear down my defenses with time.
Writing Prompts.
Heh, I feel like I'm in 6th grade again.
"Where do you go to get away from the pressures of life? Write about that place."
To be honest, I don't have a place here. In order to find such a solitude you have to first connect with your surroundings. I haven't been able to accomplish that here...the weather being the main obstacle, apathy for what I perceive my current dwelling place to be, a barren iceberg, being the second. (I've not made peace with the cold yet. I'm working on it)
In the past though, I had my spots.
As a child, in the middle of nowhere Arkansas, it was the woods.
I'd head out, always with a book and a notepad, and just wander. Climb a tree and lose myself in a novel, sit by a brook and write as the water poured over my feet, or climb a hill and scream insanities at my echo. I'd sit in the middle of the forest and will the animals to me, pretending I was a medicine woman of old lore. I'd find a dugout or cave and fix it up in my mind, daydream about living there alone for months and discovering great gifts inside of me.
As a girl, in Northwest Arkansas, it was a couple blocks up from my house where an old log cabin sat near the square. A tiny state park of sorts. You couldn't go inside, which always bothered me, but I would sit on the porch with my journal in my lap and turn my thoughts to ink. It was set back enough that I felt alone but close enough to the square that I could people watch. Saw a lot of interesting stories being played out from my hiding spot.
As a woman, in Belfast, Northern Ireland it was the streets of the city. I could walk for hours, soaking in the heartbeat of city life. Accents of dozens of languages surround you, smells of fresh fish and chips, clatter of heels on cobblestones, the vibration of the metro whizzing pass, beautiful music of the street performers, chimes of the church bells, smiles of the shop keepers...it all came together like a talented orchestra and made me want to dance forever. I'll never forget the last walk I took in Belfast, tears streaming down my face as I said goodbye while she whispered back to me "Not goodbye. Until next time."
Arkansas was my first love and as such the thought of her will always make me smile and long for the peace I felt while gazing into her eyes. But alas, first loves usually do not have enough foundation to hold up and you drift away - finding yourself somewhere new and exciting and calling it home. I doubt we'll ever live there again, we enjoyed our taste of the city too much but she'll draw us back now and again with her beauty and memories, for you never forget your first taste of love.
Belfast, ah Belfast, she was my mistress. She drew up her skirt, showed me her thigh, and I was never the same. It was a whirlwind relationship of love and hate and new discoveries. I laid in her bed and thought it heaven. Even over the holidays, when I had never felt so alone in my life and swore I couldn't go on... I couldn't leave her and dug deep and found out who I really was. She wined me and dined me and then kicked me out. But I didn't blame her, loved her all the more for it and made her a promise that I'd be back. Someday.
Minnesota is just a stop over. Though I'll be here the same amount of time I was in Belfast, if not more, I just can't love her. I've tried but she finds me too strange and complicated. I admire her for her moods and gifts but she has no hold on me, nothing to entice me with. I'll forever respect her for giving me a resting place, but doubt I'll ever call her home. Though it's possible I'm sure...some loves take awhile to grow and kind of sneak up on you. Minnesota might wear down my defenses with time.