I read something earlier today about a fellow other’s “creative process”. While I appreciate the art this human produces, I couldn’t help but get stuck on “creative process”. To me, that sounds like a chore.
The context it was used in, was something along the lines of, “Thank God I don’t have to work a 9-5 because it would hinder my ‘creative process’.”
To me, “creative process” sounds like a laborious task. It makes me really glad I don’t have one. Understanding my soul’s interconnectivity to this mad land of Earth, clearly there is a tappable creativity within that, the same as there is a technical nature I can access and many other components that create how my tiny reflection shines the single source that, I believe, creates all of us.
Working never hinders my writing, nothing does – really. I think I experience ups and downs like everyone else, but I don’t feel like any sort of task I perform could ever impact my artistic nature to an extent where I would stop using written word as an outlet to process the world around me. Continue reading
then another one bite[’]s the dust
i love getting
to a reminder that i
have this body shaping
to form. i only hope. you have
not bothered to believe forever.
i forgo(e)t. time
before we arrived,
i stood up. this t(w)(o)o.
counting became how days
went by without participate. require.
what if there was only one possible?
when? the call. dis-
ruptures. we stay moving
in a cement government. mold.
again. i refroze, literally. stopped.
lies fell like water. falls. and i was all
ready. to drown because we never felt?
the scar. of your name is risen
on layers. of skin i left. long. ago.
i’ve got THICK SKIN, and an ELASTIC HEART. but your(‘re) blade, it might be TOO SHARP.
To cheer me up during a somewhat solemn period, I was blessed to have a companion accompany me yesterday to #poembomb New York City. This entailed copying some book pages and scampering around Manhattan to share some of the words that have held my bones together over the years.
We swooped through subway stations; around the east and west village; down to Tribeca and back uptown. I’ve ranted in the past that being heard is more enticing than being published. Yesterday, I’m pretty sure I was heard; at least by a handful of my fellow few million inhabitants roaming around this island. And this is just the beginning, we’re going to carry-on with the #poembomb antics here forward.
Being in this transitional in-between job period is super eye-opening. I’m learning a lot about myself. It’s wild being a balanced Writer. Balanced, to me, means I can write quarterly commentary for Chiefs on Wall Street in between short story / novel / poetry-ville… and also speeches for top politicians and presidents of boards.
It’s bizarre that the fact that I dabble in both professional and raw words intimidates some job prospects. It’s hard for a small crowd of creatures to accept that, yes, while I do enjoy a bite-your-face line most of the time – I can also blow dry my hair straight and be as conservative as is required to deliver a particular barrel of messages.
At the end of the day, to me, personally – it makes more sense to support myself writing for a business. This is a clearly defined requirement. My job is consultant, I’m told what’s needed to be written – I produce. Creatively, my process doesn’t work this way. Creatively… I never know how I’ll process a day. But one thing stands strong and true, I’ll always express myself in my own time, however I choose.
Interestingly, this makes me risky according to some places of work. Simply because, most organizations aren’t used to employing someone capable of satisfying such drastically different sides… I think that makes me an Entrepreneur.
Back to job applying, book writing and poem bombing. Praise Goddess for the life I live. Regardless of how I sook… I never lose site of how lucky I really, really am.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone celebrating it today! It’s my sixth Thanksgiving in blog-ville and when I think of how my life has turned inside out during this period, it’s a bit startling.
Five years ago, I celebrated with my whole family nearly. Last year, I was out in Colorado with my best friend of over 30 years. This year, it’s just me, my parents and one of my four siblings.
I guess I should say three siblings, considering how I had to disown one of my sisters over the past two years.
In any event, my number one motivation coming back to the states after a decade away was to be with my parents. So sharing today with them is the blessing that I am most thankful for.
It snowed yesterday. Being in the country is a peaceful retreat compared to my present New York City state of… “I need a job… I need to finish my book… need this, need that.”
All I need to do today is enjoy my parents, my sister and naturally – the puppies.
Nothing repairs me like coming to my parents place. New York City remains a top lover, of course. But the peace I find in Connecticut is something beyond words. The past seven months have been the most challenging I’ve seen since coming back. This shocks me in itself, because after addressing the trauma from my divorce, I really didn’t think things could get out of control again.
I have a companion staying with me in Manhattan to make sure I’m steady on my feet. He is the other element of life I am most thankful for today.
Love to you, yours and ours blog family. I’m thankful for all of you that check in on this journey we share. When I started this so many years back now, who knew where I’d end up. Thank you for being here too. Here’s to countless more blessings. x
Another birthday is upon us blog family! I’m hiding in the country with my folks – writing stories, laying low. Thinking about this southern gentleman that doesn’t seem to leave my thoughts.
I’ve had the most wonderful day. I’ve been lying in the grass, writing poems, interacting with tribal members worldwide.
I must say, out of all the countries and continents that I was blessed to receive birthday love from… nothing beats the call from one of my favorite Aussie family members/soulmates which concluded with, “HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY!”
My smile stretched and heart ached.
Today, I spent my birthday with my parents and learned a new story. When my parents told my father’s father, Papa, that they named me Gretchen – he was very excited.
“I always wanted to name one of my children Gretchen, my wife wouldn’t let me.”
Before I left Australia, on my way back to New York City, my Papa delivered messages through other mediums. I loved hearing from him again today. Regardless of being born during his life, he passed away before I ever physically reached him. Every trace of connection between the two of us is sacred.
I am so elated to be in the country. The stars pop brighter, the moon is bigger, the world gets quieter – thoughts become more clear.
I’m going to spend the next few days lying in the sun, spinning words. Year 36, here I come.