The Wabi-Sabi Writer: Winter Prose
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Showing posts with label Winter Prose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Winter Prose. Show all posts

Friday, November 1, 2019

NaNo19 • Prose

National Novel Writing Month

National Novel Writing Month
November 01, 20190 Comments



The quest to write a novel... 50,000 or more words... in one month.

NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) - something I stumbled across some five years ago while attending a coaching certification program, has become an end of the year tradition.  One where I spend more time with words, with characters and the trouble they get into than the people I interact with in my daily life.  

It is an all-consuming test of endurance - this jaunt across the far reaches of the imagination.  To keep writing, even when the words lag, the eyes droop and the call of Dexter reruns is as strong as the need itself. 




Join me on this wild adventure
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Friday, January 11, 2019

Prose • Winter

The Bell Tolls Six

The Bell Tolls Six
January 11, 20190 Comments



My mother just called - her voice hushed and breaking.  I wanted to blame our cell service, the storm or technology ineptitude.  But I knew, it was the beast that follows the reaper, the one that brings pain to those left behind.   A mother should not outlive her children.  It is a cruel burden I wish on no one.

Matt brought Nyx home tonight.  He placed her high in the their closet.  Nyx’s closest female friend Carrie wants to take her to the place they met.  I want to take her back to shark fin beach in Santa Cruz… 

 ...and to Narnia where we played as children.   

The children will shampoo and brush out the length of of their mother’s hair taken before the flame took her form down to ash.  

When I was nine I read my first book in the Chronicles of Narnia while lying in the spare room of the single wide we were living in at the time - The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.   I cried when Aslan was killed and yelled out in joy when he came back to life.   I would over the next few years read the rest - all but one that is - that one would remain unread - until now.  

 Growing up, Narnia became our childhood mythology - we would head out towards Ashburnham, into the deep woods behind Ridgewood and around Dunns Pond - each area a different part of our Narnia.  

Our mother would ask - where are you going? when we would say we were going outside to play - "Narnia !"  we’d exclaim and she would say “be home by 6” and asked no other questions.  

 It was not until perhaps a year or so ago did Nyx ask her if she even knew what Narnia was - and to both of our utter shock, she did not even know of the books, let alone where we actually went.    In a way, that was perfectly aligned with the stories CS Lewis wrote, the adults rarely knew of this other world.  And it was of course a different time.

So all these years I have avoided reading The Last Battle because I knew it was the end of Narnia (not just the series, but the land).  I never wanted to face that.  I wanted Narnia to be forever.

The day Nyx passed, I took the book off the shelf and started to read.  

 Today the king and the children learned that the castles were ruined, the talking animals silenced, that Narnia was destroyed.


 ...and I may never stop crying
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Sunday, December 16, 2018

Prose • Random Poetry

Writing through the Winter

Writing through the Winter
December 16, 20180 Comments


It is that time of year.  Short days nestled in tight darkness that sparkles with holiday lights and the reflections on the wet pavement.  Everyone rushing around like Santa's Elves to the next cheerful obligation or ugly sweater situation. 

I find myself lost in the crowds, lost in thought and lost in the melancholy I have grown to expect this time of year.  Yet I have not taken poetic refuge to stave off the sullen mood that scarves my face - my words strewn about the floor like misfit toys that I trip over.

So instead I will give space to these precious little ones.  Let them play on the page.  Perhaps here they will be the good company I long for.

Please join me on my winter writing adventures 

An exploration of all that is authentic by acknowledging three simple realities: 

nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect

Poetry, Prose and Pondering - posted on Mondays

(Feedback is welcome, kindness is appreciated)

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