Recently we bought a mountain bicycle, and I tried to hop tree roots unsuccessfully. Not only did I make a fool of myself but I also broke my forearm. I was wearing a helmet but not any bodily protection.

I share with you some healing observations:

Broke my arm–I’m not all that
There’s an ancient wisdom in the rhythm to brushing your teeth then leaning over the sink to spit, you either have it or you don’t.
Malaise – when pain no longer calls for medicinal relief but you feel too tired and worn out to enjoy low to no pain.
The added aggravation of not being able to type with both hands and having download issues with dictation software is the definition of fatalistic demise to blog posts.

More ahead on the healing curve because we’re just not around that bend, yet.
Just me



So the morning started off listening to Infuence off of Elle King’s album “Love Stuff”. (I don’t know nor do I care at the moment of this writing on the grammatical correctness of this citing. The info’s there, grammar police, get over it.) I just finished submitting a story to a writing group using some of the direction found in Chuck Wendig’s 30 Days in the Word Mines.

Wait does that sound hypocritical? It shouldn’t. I am reading it and make notes and found a useful idea for when I am not exactly sure where the story is going, it was kind of like a permission to do a series of story “what ifs”. I had this story idea, but well, it wasn’t very fleshed out and I was grasping at stars for something to share at the meeting. So this helped me try something out as far as this writing exercise went.

I have tried to be a writer who outlines before I sit down to write, way back in grade school. It never worked out well for me. I never could stay on the original outline, I always had to redo the outline, this seemed to really frustrated my English teachers. So I devised this method of writing the entire paper before and editing and writing and editing and then writing an outline as the last thing. Which meant when everyone else was turning in the outline to be checked, I was already done and finished with the assignment.

It was about a month ago that I began trying this previously ill-fated process when I was reading to kick start and recharge my creative batteries one of Bob Mayer’s books. In it he very strongly advised in favor of these dreaded outlines, but with a twist. He said, and mutilating his words, IT is MY outline and I can change it as many times as in any way I want between the start and finish. Huh, well, how about that, carte blanche to do my own thing, my own way, and that that there ‘outline’ could be as goofy as a bunch of notes I scribble down. Well, hum dingdatty! I already do some mutilated version of that. Sort of, but not quite.

So, I just sat down and wrote that little awful story, and it felt good to get back to writing and going all “fractal” as Wendig advises.

Ah, writing, I have missed you.



How I Work


So writing free-range style, which was how I originally thought was my way of doing things, got put on hold while I tried out other people’s ideas and directions about writing. Then, because that wasn’t working, I ended up writing a potential blog post to myself explaining why I have to write my own way.

Now a hiatus from formal study and out come all the forlorn notepads of paper stashed about the home. Slowly trickling in are ideas, tentatively, like a frightened rescue animal, my creativity testing the waters of my own self reception. Is doing it my way going to be ok? Can I accept my own creative process?

This ‘stuff’ gets in the way –

Thinking and trying to find a way to organize all those pieces of paper (I had a way at one time a way that worked for me but abandoned it trying to ‘be more like a real writer’.

How to be a writer, trying out other’s rules and expectations and perfection, instead of just being me and working the way I work, recognizing that is MY right way.

No one has to validate how you are creative, or why you create whatever it is you create. The passion that is your work, is yours to define, decide and share.

That is what I learned about how I work.


Among Writers

Don’t take me seriously-
I can’t write
I will never belong,
these really are not my people
Is it my age?
Is it my personality?
Is it me?
I will never fit
I lost my voice, at times now I question it was ever there.

I do not belong here.
This is not my place
Yet, I see, hear, within them words, my words
How do they do that?
What magic potion did they take?
I want to ask them-
Teach me the handshake,
Show me the sign.
Standing off
My brain halts, no words come.
I am speechless.

Yet, here I sit behind the wall
A hard wooden seat
Pen in hand and paper sweet
Words flow
The dam has broken

My norm
Unfortunately isn’t common
No one’s is
Crave 2 b included
Doubt self inflicted.

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