It’s been another month and have stayed on task and focused-
at least where my writing is concerned ( yay me ) and wow has it been great.
I have posted here at least once a day for the entire month of September
I’ve worked on poetry, and I’ve been reading a lot of it too. That’s what has been so great about the WordPress Community- it’s loaded with great writers and I have been learning a lot- it’s been an education.
This year I even got it together and am ready to write about Halloween- so it’s going to be a great month of writing and creating. Unlike the last couple of years where I couldn’t get out of the gate I feel like I’ve hit the ground running.
I’m really looking forward to what will bubble up in my writing.
” Where were you on the last Black Moon ? ” I asked my Grandmother as she stood at her kitchen counter carving the first of the many Halloween Pumpkins that would line our walkways and decorate the stairs that led to our front door.
She looked up and shrugged. ” Oh. Here and there. ”
She sounded vague.
I was worried.
I watched her place the tip of the carving knife against the pumpkin’s dark orange flesh. ” Oh wait, ” her shoulder dropped just a little, there was a smooth quick flick of her wrist and the smell pumpkin innards wafted up into the air. ” I remember where I was. Silly me. ”
She turned around with the knife in her hand. ” You must think I’m getting soft Valentina, I do remember where I was at.”
” I thought you might. ” I said firmly, trying to mask the sound of relief that was in my voice.
She tapped the business end of the knife against the side of her head. ” But I’m not getting soft Valentina, Not even a little bit.”
I nodded. ” So if you remember where you were- ” I began
” Yes, yes Valentina. Not to worry. I remember where I was and what I was doing. ”
Grandmother reached down into the cupboard near her knees and popped it open.
Inside was her elegant black dress, her veil and her shoes. ” And when it’s time to send you back we won’t have any problems. Now run along dear and …” she reached down and then stood up.
I tell stories, take pictures and write poems but the one thing I haven’t done is really talk about me- you can see and read the result of my inspiration (S) but not much more then that.
Even when I do open the door and let people catch a glimpse of me, I tell a story about what you see.
I really do enjoy blogs where writers and artists drop posts about their lives and what is going on in them- that is brave and honest.
Does this mean I’m neither brave nor honest in my writing?
I really do struggle with that question.
I’m of two minds, you might say.
Just like Poor Edward Mordake.
Edward Mordake: Fictional Version From American Horror Story
Edward Mordake was said to have had a face on the back of his head- it spoke to him, tormented him, drove him to suicide.
Sometimes I get how that feels- to have one part of you war with the other part- who will win? Does it matter?
In Edward’s case it did.
In mine I think it keeps my blog- my writing from being fully realized.
I’m not sure I care for that- not one bit.
Do you agree or disagree?
So I’ll just throw it out there- answer of you want:
My blog is about writing and to a lesser degree photography ( I feel my pictures tell their own story, so I don’t consider myself a budding photographer- it’s just another way to write as far as I’m concerned )
Does going off on little essays ( I guess that is what this is ) add to my blog, to my writing. Or does it distract from it?
Please leave me your thoughts in the comment section- or if you write about it post the link there too. I would really like to learn how other Writers approach this.