#FWF Free Write Friday: Time and Place Scenario … The Source

Here we have another #Free Write Friday challenge from Kellie Ellmore.

Source: Tumblr
Source: Tumblr

It’s high noon. Sun blazing. You awake in a field and birds are pecking your skin… GO!

~*~

The Source

Get serious …

Really?

What am I doing out in the middle of

A field in the mid-day

Sun being pecked at

By a flock of …

Finches?

Yellow,

Like the Sun.

Pretty and

Bored.

Pretty bored if they’ve got nothing better to do than

Peck at my salty flesh for no

Apparent reason. Unless,

Of course, I’m a reliable

Source of

Sodium.

Reliable, perhaps,

But not altogether

Appropriate.

Hey!

That tickles …

~*~

©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

free-write-friday-kellie-elmore

Minutiae … The Muse Interrupted

 

A free-writing rant …

~*~

A prickly situation ...

Minutiae

Trifles. Minor details.

Pronounced “min-oo-shee-aa.”

My description, not the dictionary’s.

As cumbersome to pronounce from its spelling as the impact it has on life.

Why bother with a trifle?

Why write about something so trivial?

Because minutiae is not trivial. At least in my life it isn’t.

It gets in the way.

It gets in the way of my life as a writer.

Perhaps, you offer, I’m looking at it all wrong? Perhaps it’s what helps to feed the Muse? You know, the details?

Sure! Except it’s the minutiae of which I speak that gets in the way of my ability to write a complete sentence without interruption.

It is the Muse interrupted.

The dog barks.

The soup boils over.

The laundry needs to be switched from washer to dryer.

(Have I folded last week’s laundry yet?)

The Muse, not amused, stews.

Oh … now the dog is sick.

Clean it up.

The cat, confined to the screened-in porch for his daily outdoor activity, is in deep uproarious discussion with the neighbour’s free-wandering feline perched tauntingly on the other side of the screen.

“Look at me … I’m outside. Nya nya na nya na …” in a cacophonic wail.

Understandably indoor kitty roars his disapproval.

“Quiet, already!” I growl.

The door bell rings. Do I want a subscription to a newspaper to which I already subscribe?

“No thanks … don’t you guys talk to each other?”

Now, where was I in my thought process in this particular paragraph of my over-edited novel? A novel I can never get to writing because of all the interrupting minutiae.

God, I can’t remember. What was the turn of phrase I was looking for again?

Damn!

Now the phone. A long distance ring. I ignore it, but still it’s interrupted my disjointed thought meanderings.

And now, I remember, the bills need to be paid.

And I still need to write thank you notes, which I’m happy to do when I can find an extra moment.

And extra moment! What is that?

And the floor doesn’t look like it’s been swept in a week (which it hasn’t.) I like a tidy house, but I’m no neat freak.

I need to write.

Something else crosses my mind … I need to bag up my horse’s supplements.

Tomorrow before I go to the barn.

And tonight’s supper? It’s Monday night. Homemade chicken soup night. A big pot made to last three nights so I don’t have to cook again til Thursday, except to make fresh salad.

I like to cook. But I don’t want to cook.

I want to write.

Did I make the bed this morning? Does it matter?

Oh, now the dog’s barking again. It’s her “I think daddy’s home!” bark. The whining; squealing, excited noise she makes when he’s five minutes away and she just knows it.

“Mom! Mom! He’s almost hear! I know it! I know it!”

“That’s lovely, sweetie, now … Quiet!”

Now she’s pacing. Pacing. Pacing.

My mind is racing. Racing. Racing.

A wet nose brushes against my bare knee.

“I know he’s almost home, mom. I just know it.”

That’s lovely. Really.

Now let me write.

Frustration mounts. The story line has shifted. New murderer. New methodology.

But what is it? What did I want who to do and with what? And how?

The soup bubbles. I need to look at it.

The dog was right. Her daddy walks through the door.

“Hi girlies!!”

I wander into the hallway to give, and receive, a big hug.

Finally some substance; sustenance.

I unload. God bless him, he listens.

The air clears. The dog rests. The soup simmers.

Finally, I breathe writing.

The Muse now uninterrupted.

Suppertime!

~*~

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂

©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

Dear Me: A Collection of Letters Addressed to Various Aspects of My Self

Free Spirit

How often has your life with all its good intentions and dreams been hijacked by some aspect of your Self with whom you just haven’t been able to connect?

Mine has. Many times. So many, in fact, that four years ago I finally enlisted the help of a good therapist to lead me to a new level of self-awareness. I was tired of being middle-aged and feeling broken. Something had to change.

Recently, as part of my therapy, I started writing letters to my Self. This exercise is helping me to connect, through the written word, with the wounded parts of myself that are, subconsciously, getting in the way of my ability to lead a full and happy life.

At its most basic this is a free-writing exercise connecting me to my subconscious.

My issues are not unique.

Abandonment, rejection, isolation, neglect, loss, etc. are universal issues we all experience to a greater or lesser degree. How they manifest, how we act out and how we respond to them is what sets each of us apart.

Finding the strength to look in the proverbial mirror and make the changes necessary to help us heal and move from survivor to thriver is stressful in and of itself.

We build our individual worlds around the way we’ve been programmed. Changing that programming takes self-awareness and courage.

These letters are written with the intention of reprogramming aspects of my Self that are working under old protocols that no longer serve.

For some reason I feel prompted to publish them. Maybe they’ll inspire, in some way, other’s looking for answers. I don’t know. I’m just doing as the muse moves.

This project is entitled ~ “Dear Me: A Collection of Letters Addressed to Various Aspects of My Self.”

The first series of letters, “Dear Panic, is posted in the menu as a static page.

The series is complete as is unless Panic crashes my party again and I need to spend some time talking her down.

Two more series are in the works. Rather than wait until they’re “finished” I’m going to publish them on an ongoing basis. Together we can observe what happens as the series unfold.

When a new letter has been posted to its relevant static page I’ll send out a notice via a post to let you know.

Life is too short to allow emotional pain to be our driving force. Our wheels spin and become stuck in a rut of our own misery.

We either tune up, or tune out.

The choice is ours.

Please feel free to explore these letters. Maybe they’ll resonate with you … maybe not.

Regardless, there is no formula, just a sincere desire to become whole and live my life with my best Self forward.

From my heart to yours … please take care of your Self.

Be well and thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂

~*~

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

#Free Write Friday: Ponder this … No Thank You

This week’s #FWF prompt from Kellie Elmore asks us to consider this:

Today you have been granted the opportunity to go anywhere, do anything, meet anyone, travel in time…whatever you wish, it is yours. Now, there’s a catch. (Isn’t there always?) When you wake up tomorrow… you will not remember any of it.

Would you still choose to take the offer? Can you drink in the moment and enjoy it knowing you will have no recollection of what happened? Think about it? How important is a memory? In a time when every moment is documented via social media, photographs and video. We have lost the ability to just ‘breathe in’ and enjoy what is right in front of us because we interrupt the moment by grabbing our phone to post about it on Facebook, or snap a picture and share it on Instagram or try to define the moment in a 140 character tweet. Think about it…

I did give this considerable thought and came up with the following.

More poetry, but that’s what the muse ordered … for now …

*

Port Severn Stillness

No Thank You

Too much of Life

Already lost.

Too many memories

Trapped I know not

Where.

Locked away.

Too painful?

Perhaps, but happy

Times obscured

There, too. Why

Consider more

Of this?

Why engage in the

Sabotage of a memory

Already crying for

Moments lost and times

Forgotten?

No thank you.

Henceforth

Memories

Are mine to keep,

Lest at the end

For life

I weep.

*

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

#Free Write Friday: Run Away

The #Free Write Friday Prompt from Kellie Elmore this week is about running away; finding your freedom from something that stands in your way.

Here’s my offering.

(And I promise to write something more prose-like soon.)

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂

*

Run Away

Run Away

Run away?

I don’t think so

I’ve done all the running

All the hiding

All the cursing, swearing, complaining, grovelling, unloading

I’m ever going to do

Over you.

The truth is

You no longer exist

In the sphere of my

Existence.

Your loathsome ways,

Your selfish victimized

State is something with

Which I am done.

I shall not run.

But you should.

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

The Seed of Doubt

Delicate Gerbera

Planted early, the

Seed of Doubt

Sprouts of innocence, feigning

Constructive criticism

Beneath the guise of

Concern, when all is but

The grasping tentacle of

Another’s insecurities. It

Binds and strangles

The tender blossom born

Of love, all the

While adopting the

Stance of the treasured,

Indispensable

Flower in the

Garden of Creativity.

With stealth it

Grows and creeps,

Blending into the

Unassuming landscape,

Giving nothing, but taking

All.

Shallow rooted with toxic

Blooms it poisons

The garden of the

Soul, where personal truth

Percolates and Creativity

Is born.

*

Pluck now the

Weed-born seed! Fill

Well Soul’s Garden

With the glorious blossoms

Of thy Truth.

Remove all room

For Doubt ~ there

Will always be

Someone too happy to

Sow it.

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013