Writing Barefoot.

Writing is an emotional digestion for me. It’s the way I unlock and tap into, how I’m absorbing the world around me. It both comforts and transforms me. Those rare moments, when I strike the keys before I even have a conscious thought — I call that a soulgasm.  Streaming my thoughts in visible words, whether it be about the trials and tribulations of being Momma or the essence of being Dawn, is cathartic. It pushes me into a new realm of self awareness, for better or worse, by an inch or by a mile.

I’ve always been like this. When I was younger, I poured my heart out in to poetry that, as I read now, sketches images of a child in need of love. It clearly reflects the environment I was in, but in a way only broken words from a broken child could say. I say that of course, with sadness but  more to emphasis the impact writing has always had in my life. Those journals were my anti-depressant. I survived a very turmulous childhood but I was given the gift of putting my pain on paper, and that helped move me through it.

It took me a long time to finally realize that screaming out loud, doesn’t work for me. I don’t have a timid mind, but a fragile soul. I can’t be angry and get a point across. I struggle with explaining in the moment how I’m feeling. I’m terrible at arguing with my husband for that reason. Before I can authentically react to something, I have to process it. That’s what writing does for me. It helps me process my life. If I don’t use this filter, I easily become overwhelmed. It’s like anything else though, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Regardless, I’ve grown.

***

What am I working on?

Right now, I’m working on the third and final piece, to a three-part story I wrote and published before I left for vacation. It’s about two women who, by chance or perhaps by the unknown, find each other, for the sake of finding themselves. One woman is struggling to move through the death of her abusive husband, for which she only knows the cause of; while the other is learning how to see the gray with her heart, not just the black and white in her mind. I would love to hear what you think about the story so far.

Her Story, Unearthed. Part 1

Her Story, Unearthed Part 2

Stay tuned…

How does my work differ from others in its genre?

This is a trick question for me. I don’t feel like my writings fit in to any one genre. Perhaps my flavor or edges are different, but it’s all about life – that of a thirty something, Mother of two, wife, woman and child. Sometimes I’m funny, sometimes I’m reflective, sometimes I’m cranky, sometimes I’m in the midst of depression and sometimes I’m having the time of my life. It’s all in there.

Why do I write/create what I do?

If I were asked this when I first start writing this blog, I would have said to help me shed some serious baggage. I needed an outlet at that time desperately. I didn’t have a great idea of what blogging was all about other than it involved people who enjoyed writing. I just wanted in.

I still use writing to process this crazy ride but it’s more about recording my time, my experiences, my life. My perspective on life. I know someday my children, I think especially my daughter, will read this little blog and feel like she has gotten to know me better. I missed that opportunity with my Mom. That alone drives me.

What I create, has evolved as well. I never set out to write fiction, but now I do. And I love it. I always dreamed of writing a book, even as a child, but I always assumed it would be an autobiography. Not sure why, but I did. I’ve tapped in to creating my own characters and stories now and I am encouraged to keep doing it. My inspirations always seem to have a touch of home to them, but my imagination has definitely left the ground.

I suppose I write/create because I have to. I used to think of writing as a love affair. Now, I see and use it as both my strongest tool and most effective weapon, usually against/for myself.

How does my writing/creating process work?

I try to always write with intention. I don’t write much about random things — I have to be triggered. Again, for better or worse. Whether it be something that made me laugh, usually built on irony or something that pulled at my heart strings. Having said that, we all know day to day can be monotonous. I had to give up on forcing my self to stare at a blank screen until something popped in to my head. I think that was my addicted brain leading me. Now I am able to sit back and let it happen more naturally.

Timing is number one on my list. If I’m not in the right space – not enough sleep, rough day with the kids, etc – I can’t write. I need quiet to write. No tv. No radio. No kids. And that is tough. I write mostly within the hour the little guy naps and the sassy one is occupied with tv time (yes, I let her watch tv for a whole hour and it’s awesome) and/or at night.

My “creative process” only works when it wants to, which is quite true to my own personality.

***

I was asked by Katia, who writes at IAMTHEMILK (as if you didn’t already know that), if I wanted to explore and write about my own creative process, as part of a blogging tour. It’s something I never really thought about before and was anxious to dive in to my own unknown patterns and creative style. Katia’s piece for this tour was stunning. Indulge in the 10 minutes it will take to read her piece, On Trees and Writing. It will have a lasting, positive affect on your day.

As part of this blogging tour, it was requested that I tag three other bloggers. I chose to focus on my favorite bloggers within the Yeah Write community. If you aren’t familiar with Yeah Write, check them out. My writing and imagination has jumped leaps and bounds, since joining this inspiring writing community.

Jenn at Finding Spirit 

Genna Claire at Writeamuck

Christine at Trudging Through Fog

*********************************************

 

 

 

6 months, 100 posts, 5 lessons learned.

This will be my 100th post. Phew…let me just inhale that, like a coffee junkie walking in to Dunkin’ Donuts. Ahhhh, that’s good stuff.

I’ve been thinking all week about how I want this 100th post to look. I’ve decided that it will be one of reflection. So I give you my thoughts in a list. Because above all, I’ve learned that our tiny little attention spans, love a good list!

1.  I don’t really have a niche. And that’s ok. I write about being a Mom – how my kids are killing me slowly and teaching me about life and love daily. I write about marriage. I write about personal struggles – abuse, depression, shame, grief and other deep shit. I write about being a thirty-something woman, trying to dig a path through what she has become, to find herself again. I write about writing.

2. Writing fiction is something I never imagined myself doing. I’ve learned that just because you think it’s “not your thing”, don’t not at least try it. I’ve fallen a bit in love with writing fiction. It’s pushing me out of comfort zones. I find it both liberating and frightening as hell. My mind has gone to some humorous, scary and “what-the…” kind of places since I let go, and let my imagination lead.

3.  The blogging community is a pretty amazing place. The reward of reads, comments, thank yous, laughs, likes, personal sharing and riding along on other people’s journey, is humbling.

4.  Blogging is a platform for honing my craft. I have no idea where it is going to take me, but writing will always have a strong presence in my life, because of it.

5.  About the only thing that I have consistently said I wanted to be “when I grow up” –  is a writer. I actually feel like that is a goal,  instead of just a pipe dream now.

So 6 months, 100 posts and five lessons later… I’m excited to see where blogging and processing my thoughts, via the “pen” takes me next. Thanks to those that have followed me from the very beginning and those that have jumped on board along the way.

Cheers!

What has been your favorite blogging milestone yet? Care to share any lessons learned? Is there anything I haven’t already told you in my “open book” blog, that you want to ask me?

 

 

 

In the Midst of a Heated Love Affair.

I, unknowingly, opened a flood gate in October of 2013. I was battling one of the worst cases of “What the fuck is wrong with me” spells I’d ever had. My spirit was tattered and for the first time, I started to purge my story on to paper. Now I can’t stop.

I sleep with a pen and paper by my bed now and have quite perfected the art of jotting thoughts in the dark. Many times through out my day, my thoughts stutter. They can’t fire and connect quick enough. I have two young children and a scattered brain competing for my attention at all times. Being a stay at home Mom and choosing to write takes multi-tasking to a whole new level, but I’m managing it with grace… somedays.

I have always kept a journal. I wrote about how smitten I was in second grade that Todd chose me to cheat off of for the spelling test. In a not-really-all-that-much-later one, I recorded what it was like to be 14 years old and shipped, alone, to a different state where the weather was as different as the culture. Fast forward 14 years later and I had started a journal for my unborn daughter. Now, as she is about to turn 5 and my baby boy heads towards 2, I fill one for him as well.

Within the past four months, I’ve gone from writing my stories to telling them. I’ve tapped in to something that has finally allowed me to use the dysfunction implanted in me as a platform to more vividly see and record the world now around me. I can only describe it as a soulgasm of sorts.

I feel like my writing truly is a gift. It gives me a layer of grammatical defense against broken parts. It’s a gift both to share and use as my weapon of choice to dig out the humor, explain a jaded point of view or curate a perspective I didn’t know I had before I chose to write about it.

Writing has turned in to a bit of a love affair for me. When we mesh, it’s a high I could use to fuel a lifetime of passion. When we fight, I sulk. I have to walk away for a little while but we eventually connect again, creating and strengthening the beauty of it all. I will sacrifice almost anything in order to write. It’s that kind of love. I’m buried head deep in the can’t-get-enough-of-it stage of this relationship and my fingers are happily struggling to keep up.