On Writing

“Write me,” my novel begged me.

“How?” I begged it back.

“How can I write what others think,

What others feel and do?

They are not me, though I created them.

I am not them, though their source is me.”

 

“Write me,” my novel begged me.

“Why?” I demanded back.

“These people have no claim on me.

They owe me their existence.

I alone created them.

Their source is in me.”

 

“Write me,” my novel begged me.

“I can’t,” I answered back.

“I haven’t the words my people deserve.

I cannot do them the justice they so greedily beg.

They are not me, and I cannot live their lives.

I am not them, and they cannot live mine.”

 

“Write me,” my novel begged me.

And this time I complied.

I chronicled times I’ve never lived and places I’ve never seen.

I met so many people I had never known.

They are not me, but for a time I knew them.

I am not them, but for a while they knew me.

A Bit of a Poem

I have always wanted to be a poet. Not the kind that makes a living from writing poetry, that is too daunting a thought. But a small poet, who writes things that please her and that she can share with her corner of the world. Well, friends, this is finally going to happen. I have signed up for Camp NaNoWriMo in July, and I plan to create a collection of my own poetry. Here is my first poem, the title poem.

~~~

These Words Are Not Enough

These words are not enough to quell your pain and calm your fears.

These words cannot dissuade your heart from bursting into tears.

We know the secret soul may cry though outer self is dry.

 

These words, you hope, will feed your soul and soothe your troubled breast.

These words are trinkets, baubles, jewels that cannot give you rest.

Both soul and body must be fed or else the man is dead.

 

These words are tools you wield to wage your wars or nurture peace.

These words give names to hopes and fears when they begin or cease.

I beg choose carefully a word and by whom it is heard.

Still

I took wedding photos today. Happy, happy! You will see the outcome tomorrow. Bob is halfway done. Now before you get on my back about him, think about this: it took me about a week to knit a sock. Bob is bigger than a sock. Bob will take longer than a sock. He will be done at some point before December…(I hope…).

Today was a beautiful day. It was a cloudy, cold, November day, but it was beautiful. I love days like today, when Nature is still and I can let her infuse me with her stillness. Our world moves so quickly, and so often we forget to be still. I was reading Shakespeare out in the woods by a lake and came upon an old, unexpected friend.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
   This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
   To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

~Sonnet 73

Dear Reader,

When writing a story it is necessary for there to be at least one protagonist and at least one antagonist. Otherwise the action comes to a screeching halt. I have shown you numerous pictures of our two protagonists. Vodnik and Goldilox have appeared in their natural habitats doing the things they loved most. Their love story will be painstakingly orchestrated and captured for your viewing pleasure. But until our villain *ahem* arrives, not much will happen in the way of story line.

One leg down, the rest to follow. Please be patient with me….