This thing that drives you....

Never apologize for your passions. NEVER. If you get a giant kick out of sitting on a rooftop tossing stale bread to pigeons, then go sit on the rooftop and toss away. If you get a kick out of scraping gum off the undersides of booths in diners, then scrape away. If you lose yourself every time you find litter on the street and get to pick it up and throw it in a trash can, well I say clean on! It doesn't really matter what floats your boat; just so long as it's floating. But for Pete's sake....don't apologize for it!

I am a firm believer in synchronicity; so perhaps you were tossing this out into the Universe yesterday or when you woke up this morning or when you told your boyfriend that you wouldn't be going to dinner at his folks' place because you were going to watch the game with your girlfriends instead. Or maybe this just came to you out of the blue (no such thing, if ya ask me) but whatever the case, I am compelled to offer it up. Just for you. And for me too. Because the truth is, I offer up stuff that matters to me as well. Kind of my own little house cleaning. When I write, it clarifies. It is always with the intention of helping you too. Always. But I don't just write stuff for no good reason.

There is always a reason.

Today, when I woke up, I realized that there were a host of people who'd made a host of excuses to other people while I was within ear shot. Each time I heard these Apologizers, it was all I could do not to scream out, DON'T! DON'T DO IT! I didn't, of course. But I sure did want to.

Why is this such a big deal? Why would I care one way or the other if someone made lame-assed excuses to not do what someone else wanted them to do and ignore what they wanted to do? Who am I to say that these people shouldn't make excuses or apologize for their passions?

Well. I'm glad you asked.

It matters because there are just not enough people on this planet who are actually living their bliss. You don't need me to tell you that. Just look around. Everywhere you will see people with scowls on their faces. They're crabby and obnoxious and plain ugly to everyone around them. They're freakin' miserable. Why? Because they're doing what everyone else says they should be doing and ignoring what makes their hearts sing. They're going to dead end jobs, eking out a living, all in the name of social pressure. They forgot all about that thing, whatever it was, that they just loved loved loved doing when they were kids. Those things that made hours turn into seconds. Those things that made them happy all the way down to the bone. Those things that they were born to do. They gave it all up because somebody who really mattered told them that it would never work. That they would never, ever be able to paint or sing or dance or act or teach or fly or ride the rodeo or rescue horses or have ten kids and do it successfully. They heard those naysayers for so long that they buried that dream and fell right into the depths of a madness that society calls "being a responsible adult".

It's an outright outrage.

So the next time you hear yourself apologizing for something that absolutely brings you to heaven, just STOP. You now have permission to do what you want, for as long as you want, without guilt, regret, or remorse.

If they ask you why, just tell 'em I said so.

Inspiration Please

Wouldn't it be great if we could jump in our cars, toodle down the road, and find the exact spot to find some inspiration?

Or drive to the nearest Home Depot and pick some up off the shelf?

I got to thinking about Inspiration the other day, and as I thought, I perused the Net for pics. As I did, it got me to thinking about how to search. Which then led me to think even further outside my usual M.O. (as in "modus operandi"), which then led me to these:

I gotta tell you, when I saw these, I almost forgot what I was looking for in the first place. I just couldn't get over that somewhere on this planet there are people who actually DO stuff like this. Talk about Inspired! 

So anywayz...

I thought I'd offer up a little nudge here. Just poke at you for a minute to see if you might get your own Creative Self fired up. To see if maybe you could step outside your comfort zone for a minute or five and discover all that delicious creative stuff that's simmering inside of YOU.

That's all.

Hidden Gifts ~

It's such a surprise to realize just how much my Life has changed since we moved to our splendid new home. I am actually participating in my Life. Moving about, walking thrice daily, tending to the gardens. Watching the corn and tomatoes and blackberries grow, I realize too just how much more I am being nourished. The sounds and sights and smells of this place all fill me up, as much as the food that graces my plate, fresh from the garden. It is as if I have begun anew. And so I have.

Pavo, the spectacular peacock that lives on the property, has become accustomed to us now. Every morning he comes down from his perch high atop the tree outside my door, and does his funny little twirly dance; 'round and 'round he spins, shaking his feathers and singing his song. He has even stopped charging Bruzer, who seems completely unfazed by Pavo's antics. Such a magical exchange to watch. It is as if they have both decided that there is no reason whatsoever for any sort of discord. Let's just all BE, shall we?

And then there are the other creatures. The llamas and hawks and coyotes, the rabbits and quail and the puppies next door. So many creatures with so many gifts. Yes, even the coyotes have value in my world. Because if not for coyotes, there would be no crop. The coyotes keep the rabbit population in check. Of course, they also wreak havoc on cats and small dogs. But you know, they were here first. We have taken over so much of their space. What other choice do they have? But I digress.....

It would be ridiculous to stay indoors with all this going on outside. Corn is growing alongside tomatoes and squash. Roses and berries and grapes galore. Wind chimes in every direction, all with their own distinct music. Waterfalls and brilliant orioles, palm fronds rustling and swaying in the breeze that seems ever-present, up here on this mountain. How, then, could I sit indoors? Why would I forgo this magic?

With all of it comes yet another gift. That of a peace I have never known before. A kind of serenity that I'd only ever read about. A sweet and gentle calm; all so new to me. All so very welcome. I have found a place to call Home, surrounded by Beings who call me friend. I am, for the first time in decades, Home again.

whut the frog???

Holy Angel Cakes! The Blogger BigWigs seem to have gotten some kind of  Wild Hair. And since I'm not averse to change {praise the puppies!}, I figured it might be a good time to shake things up a little on my end too. Hence...the "new look". As for all the other changes: jury's still out. It took me all day to finally realize that it wasn't me OR my computer gittin' hinky on me. It was the site. Ah well. Not always as snappy as I like to think. Anyhooo ~  just wanted to let you know...it's still me and the meanderings shall continue.


{Gee. Aren't you relieved?}


Moving on....


Thought I might get a little (more) brazen and give you a sniff of what's cookin' with my new book. I'm going to trust trust trust that the folks who come here to read my stuff aren't gonna go stealin' any of it. Besides...I figure even if some such knucklehead did, they'd still have to come up with the rest (and do it with as much brilliance as ME! HA!) But before I get to that, I wanted to put this out there:


I'm absolutely open to commentary, input, suggestions, etc. That is, so long as you're being nice. Anybody who wants to be ugly (you wouldn't do that, would you?) may be warned now: I moderate before I post comments. I also do not read past the first few words if I even get a hint of Ick. Don't need it. Don't want it. Won't do it. 


{Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get on with it, shall we?}


So the book is about writing. That is to say, it's about the way I do things. It is in no way a "how to" book, as I'm not big on that kinda stuff. Plus, there are wayyyyy too many of those kinds of books already. Boring. Arrogant. Presumptuous. Who the hell am I to tell you how to write? You are you and I am me and that is the way it's supposed to be. 
{Hey! I made a rhyme! Oh brother.}


In the name of humor, and in response to lots and lots of queries, I thought I'd put it all down and see just how much I can actually relay without sounding like I'm trying to school somebody. Not as easy as it sounds. But a whole boat load of fun. The following is an excerpt from the Book Without A Name (yet)


{please note: there are little orange numbers next to some of the words which are there to denote a footnote, which you will find at the bottom of the post. They're there on purpose. Which also means you might have to scroll up and down to keep up. I think it's worth the effort. You can decide for yourself. Just so ya know.}

Finding a Muse.

There are probably loads of writers who don't have one. Probably even more who think the whole idea of a Muse is ridiculous. There may be some who like the concept but don't find having a Muse of their own necessary. There may also be those who thought about it¹ and decided to ixnay the process. There are all kinds of options for creative sorts. It's up to you to decide what's going to work for you.

For me, a Muse is kinda fun to have around. Even when she decides to high-tail it out of here and run off to some exotic island with her friend, Humor. Even when they stay gone too long and then come back all sun-tanned and svelte. Even when they don't bring me any souvenirs. My Muse is a hoot-and-a-half. So is my Humor. Combined, the three of us make a pretty dandy trio and I'm happy to have found them both.

Finding a Muse isn't as tough as you might think. It's actually pretty simple. First you figure out what kind of Muse you're looking for. Do you want her to be serious or funny? Do you want her to whisper or holler? Do you want her to wear wildly goofy garb or be Audrey Hepburn elegant? Must she be ever-present or just show up every now and then? Are you going to share your chocolate with her or make her bring her own?

You get the idea.

Figure out what kind of Muse you're looking for. And then. Write her a letter². Tell her what you're looking for and why. Give her your credentials³ and be totally honest about all of it. No need to blur the edges or paint a picture that's less-than-honest. Just spit it out and be as clear as you can. Oh...and take your time with this. Because once you've found her⁴, she's likely to be around til the end of time. That's the thing about Muses. They're forever. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise. It just ain't true. Muses are like …......{pause to think of good analogy}.......{still thinking}...........................................................{hold yer horses, will ya?}..........................{pause for bathroom break}............{back from bathroom break}..........{still thinking}.....

…...TADAAAAAA. Got it!

Muses are like herpes...only better.

Okay. Maybe that wasn't the best analogy. But still. The point is that a Muse is going to stick around for a very long time. So take your time figuring this one out. Because you sure don't want to pick a Muse who's going to drive you crazy and then not be able to get rid of her. I'm pretty sure the only way to get rid of a Muse is to have a frontal lobotomy. Or so I've been told.

Anyway. Now that you've figured out what kind of Muse you're looking for, and written your brilliant letter, all you have to do is stick it in an envelope and mail it.

HUH?

Yep. You have to mail it. That one's a deal-breaker. You have to mail it because if you don't, how in the world is she going to get it?

The mailing address? Well, you have to make that up⁵.

Okay. Before you start hyper-ventilating and asking yourself⁶ why in the world you bought this book....just take a moment.

Breathe.

Take a moment.

Are you breathing?

Oh good. Breathing is so much better than...not.

You have to make it up because that's the only way your Muse is going to find you. That's how it works. Kinda like when people go to the Humane Society to “pick out a dog/cat/puppy/kitten/etc.” People think they're the ones doing the picking. Not so. It's the other way around. Just that most folks are too egotistical to believe that an animal can have “control” of such things. But that's a whole 'nother story. Suffice to say that they⁷ are far better at picking out the right person than we are at picking out the right critter. If you don't believe me, just go to your local shelter. And see how many critters are waiting to be adopted. Then ask the shelter people how those critters got there. You'll get your proof.

So after you've written your concise letter and figured out where you want to send it, your Muse is going to show up. She may give you a call first, but don't count on it. Most Muses don't much care for phone calls⁸. Kind of defeats the whole purpose. Just not their style. That's why they're Muses. And that is also why I wanted one of my own. A Muse is all about spontaneity. And surprises. And guts. A Muse never worries over dumb stuff like what anybody thinks about them or whether or not their entrance is appropriately timed. They don't even do the “time” thing. Time is for puny humans. At least that's what I've gathered. I took no offense to the term “puny human”. She laughed when she said it so I figured I might as well go with it. Turns out she was right⁹.

A Muse is more focused on how much fun she's having and how much she can inspire you to lighten up. She'd rather shrivel up and wisp away than trouble herself with such inanities as time or success. Which is why I wanted to have one. She reminds me¹⁰ that I'm not “all that”. That nothing is so serious as to warrant making myself sick, sleepless or otherwise stupid over “seriousness”. That regardless of how dire a situation may seem, it will pass. And I'll get through it. And yes...I will laugh again. I love having her around and when she runs off for her unannounced sabbaticals, I don't get all freaked out¹¹ or go into some “OH-I'LL-NEVER'WRITE-AGAIN!” tizzy. Like I said, my Muse has taught me some pretty cool lessons. One of them was that she's not here to write it for me. I can do it without her. She's here to inspire me to be who I am. I just find it so much more fun when she's in the room.

'Nuff said.

NOT finding a Muse.

If you're not into it, you're not into it.

Your choice.

Some folks are more suited to working entirely alone. I get that. And if that's who you are, I say more power to ya! Whatever works for you. Plus, you won't have to put up with any of her antics. And I can tell you...a Muse is full of antics. Anyway...like I said: YOUR choice.

The end¹².

1for a minute.

2it's excellent practice for you, my soon-to-be-famous writer friend.

3more on that in a minute.

4or rather...once she finds YOU.

5another fantastic exercise, STBFW. (you DID read the previous footnotes, right?)

6while breathing short, shallow breaths...

7the critters.

8nor are they obliged to call first. After all, they are Muses!

9Go figure.

10on a VERY regular basis.

11well...not anymore. I used to. But then I figured out that I could live without her every now and then. Good lessons.

12Not THE end. Just the end of the Muse thang.