So I have been trying to get myself back to writing through various methods: The Artist’s Way Morning Pages, Getting back into keeping a notebook, this blog, looking up writing quotes, etc. I sat down last Fall and outlined a werebeast story. Transcribed most of my notes from paper into my computer, and haven’t touched it since.
Owl Story, one of the main pieces I talked about, I have completely lost everything when we moved. Paper version and the thumb drive it was all stored on. Cause I figured if I kept it on the drive I wouldn’t lose it. Ha, the joke is on me big time.
And MEI, Manuscripts, Epiphanies, Illuminated, during a crisis of heart got trashed, because I gave up on my writing. That is one of my biggest regrets. Unfortunately that one never got transcribed into the computer. So that MEI is gone.
So many projects and so many failures and the common denominator is yours truly. The problem is me. And I don’t know how to fix me.
Can I really call this a writing blog when I’m not writing?
I don’t know. Just like I don’t know what the future holds for my writing. I’m not sure if this is a temporary set back or if this is the beginning of the end of my writing. I haven’t been very good at keeping up with this blog over the last few years. But I am trying to get my spark back. Only time will tell if that is enough. Just know I am not giving up. I am keeping the faith, writing has been a part of my life for too many years to give up. So keep writing my friends, until next we met.
Back about a month or so ago I was trolling through a website that auctions stuff off. Wink, wink. And found a lovely green marbled fountain pen. This pen has expanded my fountain pen experience. First it needed a new ink sac, then the gold plated nib needed to be straightened cause it was seriously wonkyjawed. For those unfamilar with wonkyjawed it means messed up pretty good.
The really neat thing about this pen is how old it is. My best guesstimate is 1940s to the 1950s. If so this pen is in it’s 60 or 70s. My dad is going to be 75 this year. My grandmother was a school teacher and she probably would have used a fountain like or very similar to this one. I love the connection because I really never knew who she was outside of being MeMa. I have some stuff that belonged to her, the seashells she used in class and a piece of her jewelry and all the memories of her.
Once I got the pen back I tried the Pilot Iroshizuku Syo-ro ink in it. The good folks on Goulet Nation mentioned it was possible for the ink to melt the latex sac. So I cleaned it out and got a bottle of Waterman’s Harmonious Green fountain pen ink.
So far both pen and ink have gotten on well with each other. I think the ink is getting low because when I start writing I get a drop of ink. Bleed it off and the pen is good until I cap it and then pick it back up.
The Leverfill mechanism is interesting and will take some practice. It makes it a lot harder to judge how much ink is in the pen when you can’t see it or feel how full the ink sac is.
Quirks and all I am rather pleased with my first vintage fountain pen and the discovery of a new ink. I can’t say it will be my only vintage or my last vintage, but for right now it checks all my boxes.
This page is from the collected notebooks of Mark Twain. My focus is the part of Mr. Bixby advising young Samuel Clemens aka Mark Twain to get and keep a notebook. Notebooks are my theme this week and perhaps for next week. We shall see.
It’s misleading to think of writers as special creatures, word sorcerers who possess some sort of magic knowledge hidden from everyone else. Writers are ordinary people who like to write. They feel the urge to write, and scratch that itch every chance they have. Writers get their ideas down on paper using particular strategies that seem to work for them. These strategies are available to anyone who wants to be a writer.
-Ralph Fletcher, How Writers Work
While this particular passage comes from his children’s book How Writers Work, this advice is solid for any age group. He has a whole series of books for children writers and he wrote Breathing In, Breathing Out, as an adult writing book. I stumbled across him on a fb group post. And I am so glad I took the chance.
Song lyrics take us to specific moments in time, either when we first heard it or when we truely felt them. For instance, “Dancing in the dark, middle of the night …” is a song from my teenage years. I never paid it any attention until I heard as an adult in love. Now it randomly pops into my head when I think of my hubby. I know sappy.
Another song, Next to You by Shennodah takes me back to being a little kid riding beside my dad as he sang along. The memory makes me smile, and a little sad at the same time. Jimmy Buffett’s Fruitcakes album reminds of a family vacation we took to Key West, that was our trip sound track.
Memories can uplift us, or they can haunt us. Sometimes I wonder if the “ghosts” people sense are just haunted memories that the person couldn’t or wouldn’t let go. Idiot moments from my past haunt me. While other memories of the people I love, bring me to tears and uplift me. Moments that can be relived over and over again when we need the metaphysical hug of one who has moved on.
Dreams can invoke memories or use them as a springboard into our subconscious mind. A way to understand and process those feelings we otherwise would retreat from. Journalling also allows us a safe way to work through those emotions, memories and feelings that leave us naked and raw feeling. My writing is a blend of dreams, journaling and using the raw emotion to infuse my words. Sometimes I get it right, other times not so much.
As writers, we use raw emotions, thoughts, and what if to make our readers feel a certain way.