I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon.
I would've never guessed you to be an adrenaline junkie, Sandra. Way to go girl. I agree swallowing salt water isn't refreshing. As a child I loved swimming in the ocean, as an adult I think about all the stuff dumped it in.
You have lovely memories of your library. You must have lived close enough to go on your own. I loved my local library too. I went on Saturday morning with my dad.My favourite books were Little Women, What Katy did, Heidi, and any Dickens books.
Happy 10th WDC Anniversary, SandraLynn Team Florent!! I'm sorry I can't battle alongside with you, dear Florent. Go forth and go well! You are doing excellent!
WWAD-what would Andre do! Maybe he could get a 3D-printer, make bracelets with WWAD on them and sell them on the side.
We get our dogs braided rope toys to chew on and use dental sticks to help clean their teeth. Perhaps Andre would enjoy a nice braided chew rope, and if someone would make a banana flavored dental stick, he could use it for a swizzle stick in his drink and chew on after he downs it.
My grandgiggles now ask if I'm wearing bubble wrap when I venture forth for a meander/walk/stroll. I thought a clumsy monkey could be conceivable and that he'd be told the same thing I am. Be careful. What is that? Accidents happen, to me any way.
QueenNormaJeanGreeneggs&vegham You win! I've never been shot at, well, not directly. I once experienced the back window of my car being shot out as I drove along a highway. I believe it was a hunter's errant bullet. I wrote about us accident prone people. I refer to it as O.U.C.H. I believe I intended that to mean Our Unique Clumsiness Hurts. We create our own writing material.
Oh come on - I've had so many weird accidents - last one I swear I tripped on a feather. Broke 2 bones in my hand, cast for 4 weeks and now I'm going to see the doctor tomorrow. Cannot move the blasted hand at all.
Car accidents, been shot at, blew my knee getting into a truck. falling down drunk and waking up looking like a prize fighter when I had to go to a family funeral. I've had a few good ones.
I must admit I've never thought about, or approached writing as Elizabeth Gilbert does. I mean to say I 've never examined it, or attempted to explore why I write, or excused it, or explained the writing process. I just write. I don't believe I agonize over every word I choose. I commit something to paper. Choices swirl in my brain and most of them could be viable. Sure, words and phrasing may be altered at any time, but I do not sweat about it. If I worried and fretted what would actually be created? Ms. Gilbert speaks of fear and the creative process. The number one fear seems to be rejection. My attitude is take it, or leave it. If my writing doesn't appeal to someone, I will survive. I will not lose sleep, or waste away from a lack of attention, or acceptance. I found Ms. Gilbert's presentation thought-provoking. She suggests that non-creative persons consider artisans to be mentally unhinged. Those same people sit in judgement and believe artists should be suffering for their art. I agree with the speaker, this is an "odious, dangerous assumption." We as writers need to live and enjoy that living. Words should set us free not imprison us. This author mentions muses as assistants, drill sergeants ordering us about, teasing us with tantalizing story lines, scolding our indolence, praising our meager efforts. What does prod/encourage me to write? Is there a mirror me existing within my brain? Is that other me the creative one who wishes to be heard and hijacks my thinking, my reactions, my physical output? I do know something, someone visits me when I am attempting to turn off my brain for a night's sleep. In that nether world between unconciousness and awakefulness, I struggle to clear my mind. I am not distracted by other people and their conversations. I am not entertained by a television program, or a movie. Music is not forcing me to listen. I am alone and winding down. Perhaps that is when I am most receptive to suggestion, creative sparks. It's as if the ideas themselves think finally we have your undivided attention, so listen to this. You cannot ignore us now. You are a captive audience. Snippets of dialogue may dance through my mind. A story arc may introduce itself. Characters may stop and say hello. Of course, they know I will be forced to rise, turn on a blinding light, search for paper and pen, and proceed to document all that has delayed my slumber. Is that a muse? Is this simply my overworked brain delivering ideas which were put on the back burner during the day, but must now be delivered/acknowledged? Before you retire for the night these important matters must be brought to your attention. I respect Ms. Gilbert's advice. "Don't be afraid. Don't be daunted." Like the Nike ads, just do it. Writing is a process, an outlet. Try not to lose any sleep.(495 words)
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