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Rated: E · Book · Arts · #2244024
A blog about my roots for creativity and the endless hunt for ideas and motivation.
A bastion of inspiration.
March 24, 2021 at 11:05pm
March 24, 2021 at 11:05pm
#1007018
I've been suffering from a deep block for the last couple of weeks. It was rooted in my being overwhelmed.

I'm sure we've all been there, in The Land Of "There's so much to be done and so little time to do it in."

I've fallen a little bit behind with homeschooling my daughter . . . due to getting sick and quarantining in case of Covid.
My husband was diagnosed with Diabetes this week so we've had to overhaul what foods are kept in the house.
I've got a problem with pantry moths that I've been battling, valiantly, I think, but vainly.

That's really just a few of the things I'm kicking around in my head.

My mind can only hold so much at one time.


But after this kind of fall, there's always an upturn, even when I'm convinced that there never will be.

I've managed to get something written today, just a sketch, the roots of an idea and a lot of dialogue. Chatty characters

But what's gotten me back to it is what always gets me back to it.

I unplugged. I stopped checking my phone.
I bought an mp3 player so that I can listen to music, alone.
I lay on my kitchen floor with my dog and daydreamed for 20 minutes.
I went out to the river and listened to it sing.
I planted some seeds with the kiddo.
I moved my mind into places unfamiliar.

I wish I could always remember that these things help.
March 7, 2021 at 10:42pm
March 7, 2021 at 10:42pm
#1005988
Saw this image the other day of two skeletons that have been in this embrace for between 6,000 to 9,000 years. :


https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0ejlXqki5G0/WPRigz0vm4I/AAAAAAAABX4/Eh5bW1IvO9cgpmcGa...

I got to thinking about how everything else melts away until only the bones remain. The fragility and strength of life and death.

And I got to thinking about how the idea applies to how I think about stories. When everything else is stripped away, what are the bones? What connects and what is the root of the story? What is holding it up, in effect. Even just that, can be beautiful.

. . . They were only about twenty years old when they died. Twenty years alive and thousand of years gone since. They exist now as an echo of a memory, tangled up in each other.

I found myself studying the spaces between them just as much as I was studying their proximity. Shadows and light. The hollows of their eyes and the spaces behind their teeth . . .

Were they holding hands?

They have taken up a fair amount of space in my head over the last few days. And added a hollow ache in my chest from time to time. I can't tell if it's sadness or longing, that ache. I suppose it could be both.
February 21, 2021 at 11:06am
February 21, 2021 at 11:06am
#1004919
Starting something is always hard.

I named this blog with the idea of the fairy tale in my head. The Singing Bone.

Link: https://www.grimmstories.com/en/grimm_fairy-tales/the_singing_bone

A story that is, at it's core, about how no matter how hard one may try to conceal the truth, it always comes out. It always sings. I feel that way about writing sometimes. I can try to hide in it but really, it's all just me. Me in fancy dress. Me playing. Me running away.

I mostly wanted this blog to keep track of things that inspire me or make me think and to have a place to put some of the random thoughts and avenues that I end up going down. To help me remember where I've been, essentially. And if anyone does happen to read it and have some things to add or expand upon then that's awesome, too!

I had some ideas of what the first one could be about but as I was reading today, something came up that I thought might work perfectly.

It's an excerpt from John Purser's study, 'Scotland's Music: A History of the Traditional and Classical Music of Scotland from Early Times to the Present Day.'

"Connections between bird-song and music and speech and piping cannot be given a time of commencement. In the European context we can go back far enough to satisfy the sceptics - back to our first visitors some eight thousand years ago... Pipes are as old as man's ability to take a bird bone, which is naturally hollow, and blow through it, perhaps adding a hole in the side to add a note... Just such a pipe was found on the coast of Denmark dating from 5000 BC."


This captured my imagination immediately. I thought about this early human sitting around, full after a meal, perhaps. Turning this small bone over and over in his hands until he raises it to his lips to blow. Music. The beginnings of piping. A singing bone. What an idea.




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