Writeaway - Blog Posts

Creativity

You know, I’ve either had a family, a job,

something has always been in the way

but now

I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this

place, a large studio, you should see the space and the light.

for the first time in my life I’m going to have a place and the time to create.”

no baby, if you’re going to create

you’re going to create whether you work

16 hours a day in a coal mine

or

you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children

while you’re on welfare,

you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown away,

you’re going to create blind,

crippled

demented,

you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your back while the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment, flood and fire.

baby, air and light and time and space

have nothing to do with it

and don’t create anything

except maybe a longer life to find

new excuses for.

~Charles Bukowski

"So Now?"

the words have come and gone,

I sit ill.

the phone rings, the cats sleep.

Linda vacuums.

I am waiting to live,

waiting to die.

I wish I could ring in some bravery.

it's a lousy fix

but the tree outside doesn't know:

I watch it moving with the wind

in the late afternoon sun.

there's nothing to declare here,

just a waiting.

each faces it alone.

Oh, I was once young,

Oh, I was once unbelievably young!

~Charles Bukowski

Your river by the oak tree

has turned molten gold again,

as the glowing orb of light and life surrenders to the sapphire sky.

The cotton clouds float in shy, pink circles

While the rush of the river awakens a memory I had long forgotten,

When this same tree once bore luscious flowers,

Their scent wafting lazily into the cool breeze,

While we sat and reminisced about the possibility of other lives in the universe,

Under the silver moon.

A lot has changed since then.

Since the night we met.

~Me

"No War"

I looked to the east and there was a war.

I looked to the west and there was a war.

I looked north and I looked south and there was a war.

I looked within and there was a war.

I felt no peace, no safety, no comfort anywhere.

With bone deep, aching tiredness, I looked at the arduous journey before me with quiet, blank eyes.

Whatever my destiny maybe, I started with the war within.

I bled and cried out emotions, pains and fears.

Years of souls haunting me from beyond their graves.

I fought and I fought and I fought.

They whispered sweet nothings in my ears. Their sirens call piercing as they wail and they wail and they wail.

I still fought and I fought and I fought.

And before I knew, their voices grew weak.

They washed over me like sea foam, dull and bleak.

Then I built and I built and I built.

After what felt like centuries, I lifted my head.

I looked to the east and I looked to the west.

I looked to the north and I looked to the south.

There was no war, only peace.

~Me

"Totemism", Dime-Store Alchemy: The Art of Joseph Cornell by Charles Simic.

"Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep"

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

~Mary Elizabeth Frye

"Desiderata"

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain and bitter;

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

~Max Ehrmann

“The Strongest Of The Strange”

you won’t see them often

for wherever the crowd is

they are not.

those odd ones, not many

but from them come

the few good paintings

the few good symphonies

the few good books

and other works.

and from the best of

the strange ones perhaps

nothing.

they are their own

paintings

their own

books

their own

music

their own

work.

sometimes I think

I see them – say

a certain old

man sitting on a

certain bench

in a certain way

or

a quick face

going the other way

in a passing

automobile

or

there’s a certain motion

of the hands

of a bag-boy or a bag-girl

while packing supermarket groceries.

sometimes

it is even somebody

you have been

living with

for some time –

you will notice a

lightning quick

glance never seen

from them before.

sometimes

you will only note

their existance suddenly

in vivid recall

some months

some years

after they are

gone.

I remember

such a one –

he was about

20 years old

drunk at 10 a.m.

staring into a cracked

New Orleans mirror

facing dreaming

against the walls of

the world

where

did I

go?

~Charles Bukowski

Depression may be invisible, but your absence is not.

Short Stories #2

2. Waiting

Heels clicked against the polished, stone floor as nurses in white and teal, carrying paperwork and various instruments hurried by. Hands typed on keyboards in a flurry while also picking up calls for appointments and guiding a long line of patients. The smell of disinfectant and sanitizer never failed to assault the senses but you get used to it after a while. Soft murmurs and chatters lazily floated in the room creating a lull in the air which would be shattered by the sudden, alarming announcement for the next patient. Irritation simmered underneath my skin as unruly children ran around untamed, threw magazines at each other and spilled water on the floor while the parents chit chatted or scrolled on their screens. Somewhere in the back a child started wailing. I heaved a deep sigh and felt the beginnings of a pounding headache. I was already here longer than I should have been, absolutely annoyed that they delayed my appointment to twenty minutes later. A man to my right kept distractingly tapping his water bottle, his fingers moving in a synchronized rhythm. The little boy to my left kept shifting in his seat and would get up every two minutes to explore the restroom despite being reprimanded by his mother repeatedly. A woman across me crossed her legs and shook her foot while another tapped her obnoxiously high heeled shoes. Restless and bored, that's what they all were. The wailing of the baby had now reached a high intensity, ear piercing shriek which left the father no choice but to take his child outside. A few people sighed in relief. I, too, heaved another deep sigh but not of relief, as my headache reached its potential and banged against my skull. I wondered, not for the first time, how long it would take for my turn. Till then, I'll be waiting.

"My dear, I have become so familiar with the loss of loved ones that death now seems like family and my grave feels like home."

"If you could see yourself through my eyes ,mom, you'd think that you embedded the diamond stars in the ink stained universe with your bare, calloused hands."

Wisdom is not bought, wisdom is earned.

Short Stories #1

Missing

He disrupted the crisp, foggy air with his hurried gait. A man dressed in a brown trench coat and a peculiar black top hat moved swiftly but stiffly, as if trying to act casual, through the dim lit, narrow, cobbled street of Paris. Mist drifted lazily at his feet due to his fast pace and a crescent moon peeked from behind the dark, heavy set clouds, just barely illuminating the mysterious, harried man's face. Beads of glittering sweat had gathered on his forehead and brows while his face held a sickly pale pallor. Though his face was blank, there was poorly concealed fear in his dark eyes. His hands trembled and lips quivered, twitching the greying goatee on his chin, for the barest second. His shoulders were tensed and held taut and his back was ramrod straight as he took a sharp turn into another street. The lights flickered but he continued, his pace getting swifter. The lampposts puttered and the lights went off allowing darkness to envelope the surrounding. For a long minute there was stillness and silence. Even the echoing clacks of the man's shoes had halted. After a minute, the lights flickered on again and underneath one of the lampposts lay, on the dewy ground, a brown trench coat neatly folded and a peculiar black top hat resting on it. The man himself, was nowhere in sight.

Do you ever get that intense yearning to learn in the middle of the night? The universe, the stars, mythology, languages, art, history, culture, physics, psychology, philosophy and anything and everything you can get your hand on. It's as if knowledge becomes alive at night.

He said, with wise, young eyes, a single tear almost cascading down his cheek, "Ya ukhti, I cannot sleep. I had to bury my father, then my mother, then my sister." He swallowed hard, "Ya ukhti", his voice trembling, he continues, "Ya ukhti, my toys they bleed, I'm scared I'll have to bury them too."

Writers, get yourselves a tarot or oracle deck (or use one you already have). Ask it questions about your writing and your stories. Feeling stuck? Pull some cards! Need to rethink a scene? Ask your deck!

I just started doing this and it has worked wonders for beating writer’s block and helping me keep forward momentum. I hope it can work for you too!

It could also work for visual art!