Not saying it all

     I have trouble not saying it all, all at the same time.  I want to share every opinion and every feeling and every thought.  So I've been frustrated that I've been too busy to share the rest of my testimony about my days of solitude in Otterbein.  About what else I learned and did and felt.  But instead life has intervened with back to school, business trips, and minutiae. My memory is fading.  However, that is ok.  I have lots of notes.  Maybe part of it will end up in a short story, or a letter or a chapter of a novel.  It doesn't have to all go here, and I'm not sure any writer ever feels they have truly expressed what they are trying to express.  But, I want to share a few more of the 100+ photos I took, partly to share with you, and partly so I can look back at them this winter when I'm feeling the need for some light on a dark day.

Hard at Work

Flora

Color of Brush



View from Hammock

 

God is in the details

Every spot has history

Nostalgia

Light

Waiting to be noticed

The first morning.

“I just sat for half an hour listening to the birds speak to one another, staring at trees and a meadow.”

“How long has it been since you did that?”

“Uh, never. “

Oh I’ve known calm observations of nature.  I have a few memories of them.  But they usually last sixty seconds.  I will say I had a hard time not opening my laptop or my book as the minutes ticked by -- at first.  I resisted just merging with the sounds and view. But it is early enough in the morning that the sun is still glinting off the dew, the temperature is that perfect feeling of the lightest sheet against your skin.  This porch has many options for me to sit and ponder my life from: a swing, a rocker, a picnic table, lawn chairs.  Right now I’m writing from the picnic table…

 

The dew is one of my favorite things about nature.  An example of perfection.  All those tiny droplets, glinting on each blade of grass like diamonds.  I love the dew.  I wonder on a cloudy day if the dew is still there and no one notices it.  I wonder how many days I walk right past it, not noticing.  But today it is outdoing itself putting on a show for me.  Taking a picture of the dew is never a satisfying exercise for me (reminder, writing blog not photography blog).  It is like photographing the moon.  No photos I take resemble reality.  But I’m going to stop here and try a few shots.

"I don't see it"

 

"Wait, I think I see it"

 

"Yes."

 

I have a whole post about sun on snow.  Sun on dew deserves to be a strong first cousin.  Crystals.  Harder to see, you have to look really close to see diamonds and not just crab grass and mown down dandelions.  But it is there, waiting.  Unseen 99 time s out of a hundred, or 999 times out of a thousand, but still there, waiting to be noticed.  Nature is beauty waiting to be noticed. 

 

This year things will be different: Plan B

Last year I left  this wonderful writer’s conference (Midwest Writer's Workshop in Muncie, IN)  with my weakling spirit crushed by doubts.  Suddenly nothing I wrote seemed authentic, original, creative, compelling, you name it.  I blogged about it here.  And except for blogging and a few flash fiction contests, I took a breather from writing the last twelve months.  Another way to say that might be I lost my nerve, which has happened half a dozen times now over 20 years plus.

Well last week I attended the conference again. Even though my embattled ego said don’t do it, something inside me said try again.  I came up with plan B.  Instead of signing up to pitch the to oh-so-exciting NYC literary agents, or have an expert review my query letter, or even have a perfectly nice person/author critique my first 500 words, I changed my tactics. I attended Thursday only, which is a full day with one author, on craft. Writing.  It was what I needed, motivational, and I enjoyed learning from Martha Brockenbrough very much. (Future post on FORTITUDE)

Then I departed Muncie and Plan B  evolved as I spent the next 72 hours in Middle-Of-Nowhere Indiana, with only coffee, wine, and a thousand and one fireflies to talk to:

 

Just me, alone in a cabin in the boondocks, writing, revising, tearing apart and stitching back together.  There is only so much writing you can do in 72 hours, but it was….so enriching. 

Silence.   An old Beatles LP on the turntable. Porch swing over looking this:

Books to savor, interspersed with writing, accented by chocolate, naps, wine and walking in nature. Alone.  A-happyme-lone.   To think without anyone interrupting any single thought.  No cell service, no internet.  No television.  No jet ski or shopping mall or even gas station within 20 minutes. (that I know of)  I took over 100 photos and plan to show more here in coming weeks.  But here is my

"Still Life for Girl Weekend" :

As you can see I brought only survival foods, as I did not leave the property for a full 48 hours, and so I came prepared. 

I had some highly productive work sessions, where I took my first draft of current work in process, and started playing with the scenes and revising:

But nature was the star of my weekend. The sun.  The bees.  The air.  I breathe.  The queen Anne's lace, the endless wildflower meadows.  Much serenity.  Space, room.  No hurrying, clocks, no schedules, appointments, no meetings, no target dates.  Just me and my sharpy and  a stack of index cards.  It was damn near heavenly.