Some FaceBook friends of mine prompted me to start writing
again. All I seem to be accomplishing, however, is either poems, or Musing on the
Creative Process. In an attempt to prove to them that I am writing…sort of—LOL—I
decided to share in my musings.
One of the topics that came up the other day was “Family-itis”—meaning,
real life gets in the way of what we really want to do …with our life! I am
reminded of a lovely lady, Carol Ding, who I met at the World Science Fiction
Convention in Philadelphia in 2001. She was creative in many areas, not just
writing. Her photos were magnificent. And I seem to remember she sewed as well,
plus other crafty kinds of things. She’s dead now, of an aneurism in the brain.
Walking around normal one minute, and gone the next. What I’m trying to say
with this story is that I don’t think it matters, really, whether we turn into
the next J.K. Rowling, or Beethoven, or whomever. What matters, really, is that we have fun
before we die.
Easier said than done, I know. But it CAN BE DONE! It’s a
slow process of weeding out the unnecessary things in your life. Several years
ago, there was a task at work that was driving me crazy. I delegated it to
someone else [now he’s going crazy, poor guy, but I will not relent!]. I refuse
to feel guilty for spreading the work around for others to do.
Balance is the key. I do not make a fortune. Deliberately. I
want my TIME to create! I take that time…. At least I try. Yeah, the “Family-itis”
got me down recently too. It’s so easy to devolve into “Let Me Help You With That”…[sigh]. But I
AM IMPORTANT TOO!!! [you need to tell yourself] Don’t you forget that! Make the
time for yourself. Make it happen TODAY!
Oh, and so I can show my FaceBook team that I’m really being
creative with my writing, here’s the poem I wrote on Monday:
PRECIOUS MEMORY
Continent’s edge—
Sea stacks, sea fog,
Sunset’s glow…
Briny waves clacking rocks.
Rocks worn by time…
Tapping against each other…
Tide, waves keep
Them moving.
Three gray oblong rocks
Brought home as souvenirs—
Heavy in the suitcase—
Now on my dusty dresser,
Not wet or moving
Yet smooth to the touch.
~kc
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