I have been absent from blogging but for good reason. Back in late December, a friend asked me to join her for a writing challenge, to write a page a day in January. I immediately accepted because my creativity had been suffering and my production was sporadic at the time. A challenge was welcome. When it came time to begin. I woke up to an idea. I would write a journal-style story for the month. I started it and it felt foreign, that here I was, writing a fictional journal of some girl I didn't even know. That soon changed. As the writing progressed, more was revealed and I felt myself feeling excited to arrive at the page each day. I hasn't let up. Here it is the end of February and it's still going strong. After a good conversation with my big sister, I turned the writing challenge up to eleven and decided to do a page a day for the whole of 2017. I mean, a page a day for a whole year is book-length, right?
I am having so much fun with it. I bought myself a 2017 daily planner to keep track of details, new characters and such. I have committed to this, one hundred percent. I have one friendly reader whose opinion matters to me, she is my springboard, and I am grateful that she is sharing in it with me, especially to talk out story points with. I trust her and it's been an incredible help for staying on track. I've missed a few days due to illness and because some days life just gets in the way but it's okay because I'm ahead of myself in the story. There are times when I have to tell myself to show the heck down and not get too carried away.
I am grateful my fellow creative posed this challenge because look how it has already transformed my year! This writing is a blessing, it was much needed, it is saving me from despair. It's keeping me sane.
One of the last entries I wrote was about Jeff Buckley. She wrote a poem about him so I wanted to share it here:
Wolf River Harbor
swimming at
night
a Prophet’s lantern pulled him under
in search of his sweetheart
the drunk
water-worn wild
& fragile
his high falsetto swelled in the waves
the
sweetest song
was never written with us in mind
a
voice to die for
his whole life a performance poem
says his last goodbye
with an apologetic laugh buoyed
beneath starry
midnight
the placid waters humming around
his arms
his legs
his hair
and
his eyes
descending to the bottom
in
slow motion
the Prophet extinguishes his lamp light
as
the song slows
and
the poet knows
his body is on its own
in
Wolf River Harbor
but his soul
gathers
the shape of things
both broken and holy
***
Time to finish the entry I started, prepare for another work week and settle in for a bit of Oscar fun before hitting the pillow. It's safe to say I'll be falling asleep spinning Jeff's 'Grace' record.
However you spent your weekend, I hope it was peaceful.
In propinquity,
Nic
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