A Blank Page

...the task bar winks at me as if it knows my secret...

It stole my words, thats why.
The dreaded fading of inspiration
has momentarily overtaken me..
I blame it on job-overload..
Dr. appointments..
The absence of wealth..
Towers of laundry..
Weeks away from home..
And hurried meals..
It amuses me how we writers always have enough of words to form
an endless list of excuses yet call-in sick with writer's block.
Perhaps I need to pay a visit to my subject,
hear her voice bend and flow as she tells me more tales...
Perhaps I must simply be still long enough to let my imagination spin away.
But for today.. the words remain unwritten.

More of the story unwinds.. More of the words tangle together...

I try to balance the sense of reality and charm in this story but somehow the overt harshness of its actual truth seems to overpower the tone.
I suppose these are the challenges of a first time author, especially for one who wants more then a general book full of basic words.
I want it to come alive in the reader's hands and mind.
I want the empathy , the giggles , the sense of relating to the character in a personal way.
Sometimes I become so woven into the story that I confuse myself with her.
I suppose that is abit how an actor might feel about a role.
So I resume my fresh battle with naked facts ,word pictures.. and living alongside them.

Flying through the Fear of Failure

" Everyone has their own ocean to fly..
As long as you have the heart to do it..
Is it reckless? Maybe.
But what do dreams know of boundaries?"
-Amelia Earhart-

She burst through the sky , through gender barriers
and thunderstorms to cross her ocean.
I wade through adjectives , fear of being stuck 3 chapters in without direction
and the sin of wordiness to cross mine.
Somehow similar .Somehow vastly different.
She inspires me even though it is through the whisper of her past.

The words poured out as I typed my first page..
I was transported to another world entirely.. I was alive there .. living the story..
There should never be room for second guessing , only the healthy awareness that an eraser is near-by and first drafts are considered rough for a reason.
And there should always be a "Randy" ...
he tells me that Chapter 3 will be as amazing as every other chapter.
I can pretend to be diligently writing as I glamorously post through this process..
but he is here, counting the times I take out my tiny Dell.. pushing me through with his faith.
He will know the glitz and the grime.
Without him I don't believe I would believe in myself.
Then there are those who choke on a lettuce leaf while I read the first paragraph..
with eyes brimming they squeal and get goosebumps and tell me never ever to edit it.
The earnest encouragement from my beautiful people is what makes them worthy of more then a "thank you" inside my cover.
Tomorrow will be another day of writing ..
Tomorrow I will navigate confidently across another corner of my ocean..
Tomorrow is beginning Today.

A day of reasons..

It is twilight on the night before my 24th birthday..
I tap out the first post of my independent blog.

I believe that life must be lived with clarity.
Purpose. Decisive direction. Contentment.
This past year has been a sway of uncertainty in all of these areas therefore I have been urged and inspired by others to release my words in this form.
This year will be different.
Not that I assume I have the power to deter the course of circumstances.
Or persuade the wind to breeze calmly through my sails..
but I can choose to discover new avenues of talent or shake out the ones of yesterday..
Be studious in the art of contentment.

The Girl of my yesterday used to write about fairies , starry skies , days made perfect by my sheer unwavering delight of simply living in them.
When suddenly the true reality of life descended upon my carefree shoulders..
I bent beneath the weight. I staggered. I fell.
My words became dry, brittle , uncharacteristic.
I stopped writing because the words were no longer pretty.

I became a Woman.
Began the journey of discovering this new voice of description..
a more realistic edgy tone with a touch of hopeful wistfulness.
A longing for renewed optimism.
Evolving from these days of brokenness and tears is the voice that will pen my first book.
Through the terror of those aching moments..
over the edge of believing my words had dissolved..
under the current of a refined river they swam to the surface ...
awash with courage emerged this voice.

A voice of resolution.