Category Archives: Writing

52 WEEKS PROJECT PART 7 // SOMETHING WILL COME OF IT

March 11, 2015

52 Weeks / Writing

GeorgiaOKeefeMuseumNewMexico-1 One of my goals for 2015 is to spend more time writing. Therefore I started the 52 Weeks Project, a project in which I post one short piece I have recently written every Wednesday in 2015. The above photo was taken at the Georgia O’Keefe Museum in Santa Fe, NM. 

Sometimes, all of the time, I avoid writing. I think, “I have nothing to say.” I get up and make myself a cup of tea; I offer to help my husband hang the light fixture. Eventually, I sit back down and wonder if anything will ever come of a woman sitting at her kitchen table typing away at her keyboard.

Of course it will.

I think of the times as a teenager when I would stumble home late, chew on a snack while standing in the refrigerator light, wander upstairs into my dark bedroom and type away for hours in the glow of my computer. At 16 the words came tumbling out of me, bent and bruised and confused. They were my best friends. Where people fell short, the writing never faltered. It was always there, begging to be written; it was always necessary to my existence, this thing that gave comfort and nourishment to my soul.

Sometimes I would paint, borrowing supplies and brushes from my mother’s old stash. It was never a question of whether or not I could create something from acrylic or oil, but simply a matter of doing it. Like a child who plays or dances or draws just because she can, I made things with my hands without comparing, without wondering what would come of the final product.

Tonight I painted. Chunky white acrylic spread from my brush on to the canvas and I smeared my finger into the paint, blending. Light blue & grey, a dab of ochre.

Sometimes I wonder if anything will ever come of a woman smearing her hands on canvas.

Of course it will.

52 WEEKS PROJECT PART 6 // FRESH PINE

February 11, 2015

52 Weeks / Writing

Processed with VSCOcam with f2 preset One of my goals for 2015 is to spend more time writing. Therefore I started the 52 Weeks Project, a project in which I post one short piece I have recently written every Wednesday in 2015.

I put another log in the stove and latch the door. I’m crouched down in front of the hearth, watching. A spot on the glass is covered in black char from a recent flame. I make a mental note to clean the glass tomorrow, see the fire better. Orange embers glow below the fresh pine. Nothing.

I sit and stare for a while, feeling the warmth radiating from the stove. I know if the log doesn’t catch, the fire will die, the warm will grow cold. Is this how it happens in life?

Maybe the log is like my mother, who was once a painter. She made beautiful landscapes in oil, and some of them hang on my walls. Now her work collects dust in an upstairs closet; her paints sit crusty and dry in the attic.

Or maybe it just grows old and weary. An elderly woman I know ran marathons in her youth. Now she walks the neighborhood half-blind, poking everything with her cane.

I keep my focus on the burning embers, the orange breathing through the black. Staring won’t achieve anything, but the warmth sure is nice. Eventually I stand, unlatch the door once more and prod the log until it crosses the coals diagonally. I poke at the coals, replace the poker, close the door, latch the handle.

A few moments later, the log catches.

52 WEEKS PROJECT PART 5 // LOST DOG ON THE HIGHWAY

February 4, 2015

52 Weeks / Writing

VenturaCountyBoudoirPhotography-3

One of my goals for 2015 is to spend more time writing. Therefore I started the 52 Weeks Project, a project in which I post one short piece I have recently written every Wednesday in 2015.

We were driving down the mountain in the dark when we spotted a dog wandering alongside the road. He was red-brown, some sort of boxer-mix, and he was jittery and scared. He peered at us through the windshield. We pulled over and got out of the car and called to him, me in my sweet animal-talk voice. We patted our legs, and whistled for him to come near. I crouched down to get on his level and show him I was friendly. He looked so lost and unsure. He hesitated for a moment, then promptly darted in the opposite direction–deep into a ravine in the mountainside.

Nate re-parked the car and pointed the headlights towards the mountain. The bright lights glowed into the foggy ravine. We walked as far as the light could reach, through mud and over rocks, sweetly calling to the dog. It was cold and late, and we worried for him. After a long while, we gave up. He was gone.

Fear of an uncertain future can stop us from doing great things. It can keep us clinging to the things that harm us. If you’ve ever known someone in an abusive relationship, you’ve probably seen this most clearly. But this fear manifests itself in other forms, too—in the way we cling to our possessions, the clutter in our homes, or a job we hate.

Sometimes a decision is really just a choice to keep clinging or to un-cling ourselves, to let go.

Letting go can mean different things. Sometimes it means taking deep breaths and releasing the thing that upsets you, allowing the small annoyance that crawls under your skin just to be in your life. You don’t have to fight with it, clinging to anger; you can let your desire for control just calmly fall away.

Other times letting go means releasing the hand of fear and jumping wildly off the bridge. This version of letting go comes with the trust, the knowledge, that you will land safely. You can choose joy, instead of fear, in the face of the unknown because you know you will be okay in the end.

A few days later we were driving down the mountain, this time in broad daylight. As we approached the ravine, we spotted the dog again, lingering on the opposite side of the road.

We pulled over.