Writing is easy, editing is a pain

Took a sick day to keep from spreading my cold cooties around the workplace.  Worked on the the Journaling e-book some this morning, but it's slow going since I've begun the editing process.

Writing it was easy, but this going back and editing, formatting, expanding the thin parts, adding explanations where needed, compiling examples, zeroing in on helpful links and books for the recommended reading is tedious and seemingly endless.

I always like to hear how others do something I love to do.  I'm not just telling how I have published and been paid for stories I got from the pages of my personal journal, but showing what famous authors have to say about the value of a journal.

I think best with a pen in my hand, so I write alot on the pages of my journal for this ebook.  The handwritten pages become the first draft, because as I transcribe them into word, I edit, add, change, expand.  It's a way to edit that is more palatable that sitting over a manuscript with a red pen.

Here's to the common cold

disease is a cold
called common and so it is
no life threatened here

Yes, I came down with a cold today, suspected its coming yesterday.

Thought to come home and feel sorry for myself on the couch. Instead I had a bit of a celebration.

Yes, I put my Jammies on (Victoria's), but I opted for my fav lean cuisine spinach souffle and garlicy pesto toast for dinner preceded, accompanied and followed by Veuve Clicquot.

A little celebration. All I have is the common cold - it'll pass. So many people with far worse things going on in their lives.

So I'm on the couch with my cat, my woobie, a Downton rerun and the last of the champagne - cheers y'all.

Books that light the way

The challenge to each human is creation. Will you create with reverence, or with neglect? - Gary Zukav

That is a valid question. In my quest to reach escape velocity, I need to understand the life I’m creating and do it with care for the person I am as well as the one I aspire to be.

To do lists are not enough. I’ve taken to re-reading books that open the mind to infinite possibilities and help with drawing my own road map.

Rilke’s Book of Hours, Zukav’s Seat of the Soul, Campbell’s Power of Myth and Heroe’s Journey, Estes' Women Who Run with the Wolves, Cameron's The Artist's Way, Brechnact's Simple Abundance, The Secret and more.

Books hold so many ideas, cosmic thoughts to mull and ponder. Just as each teacher will appear as needed, so will the ideas coalesce and the path clear a little at a time so I can enjoy the journey and not rush to the end too quickly.

I'm counting down - 62 days to go.

I'm retiring from my day job March 30, 2013, and I'm counting the days.

----
Oh, The Places you'll go!  You have brains in your head.  You have feet in your shoes.  You can steer yourself  any direction you choose.  You're on your own.  And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.
----- Seuss

We all do it; we put all our hopes on the destination. You know the litany: When I graduate; When I have money; When the kids are grown; When I retire... Don't deny it, we've all done it - still do.

Well, I have 61 days until I retire. That's 1,464 hours; 87,840 minutes, 5,270,400 seconds.

I wonder how many of those things I plan to do when I retire, I can get a head start on between now and then. I have a list, and here are just a few.

• Publish my e-books (I have 5 in varying stages of completion, but I always start editing them again when I decide to upload them to Amazon).
• Publish my NaNoWriMo novel this year. (I've participated in and written 50,000 words for 'national novel writing month' every November since 2004, but have never edited, rewritten or published any of them.)
• Start sending out query a week, instead of every now and them. (Follow-up on the submission to Victoria Magazine - haven't heard back from my last query a few months ago.  Last published with them in 2008.)
• Hang a photography show at a local gallery: (Two galleries are interested, but although I have the slides picked out, I have yet to get them digitized, printed, matted...)
• Ditto Art show (I've been painting and drawing again, but not as much as I can.)
• Start back to yoga classes (it's been 5 years of gonna, and I'm still pretty limber.

There are more, but this is the enough to start with.

This list ends with 'Move to Some Beach Some Where'.  I'll have to add - visit some beaches between now and then so I can make an informed decision.  I'm leaning toward Virginia Beach so I can visit the ARE library on a regular basis. - tick, tick, tick...

Spring fever

Persephone preens
impatient to climb the stair
to sunshine and air

I'm ready, too. The lengthening days tease me with the promise of green growing things.

Camus can have his endless summer; give me Spring.

63 Days & Counting

my future rides the night wind 

ruffles curtains, caresses skin 

whispers promises at the edge of dream 

leaving traces of something almost seen 

 

I wrote this poem, long before this journey began in earnest.  I knew then, that I wasn't following full time, my bliss.  Pulled in so many directions by an exceptional (modern terminology for lots of problems) child.  It was necessary to have the best job with great insurance and live in the best neighborhood with the best schools with special education programs.  After that, a husband with cancer...I won't belabor the point - I'm sure you get it and I'm not the only one that works the 8-5 and then some to provide for family.

 

Well those days are long gone and I somehow stayed in that rut. 

No more.  It is so time to move on. 

I planned this once before (the poem above was written in 2007), but somehow I got sidetracked - not this time.  I'm exploring the dreams that still whisper in my ear, and giving them form, so it is no longer ephemeral.  I'm making 'real' plan for the real change that once 'rode the night wind'.

 

64 days and counting.

here's looking forward
never back to undone things
spring waits in the wings

I recently remarked that my Poetry e-book would be a 'piece of cake'. It's written I said, it's just a matter of uploading and book.

Well no, such is not the case. While I continue to post poetry to my other Blog on a daily basis, it's not posted by category.

So, I'll be printing all my posts out and sorting them by categories such as nature, life lessons, etc. I also need to strip them of photographs and save them as text so I can upload to the e-book software I bought.

What a pain. Patience is not my forte, but I will follow through - I must.

My pen my wand

my pen casts words cross
pale blue lines creating worlds
oh my pen my wand

I love the feel of my pen on the page. I've always written by hand. Is it my age? I think not. I'm not alone in this. The pen is gaining on iPad, laptop, desktop for the writer on the run, who scribbles their first ideas, outlines, characterizations on a notebook in their pocket, a napkin...

I carry my journal everywhere and currently am jotting down character traits, locations, ideas, possible plots for my wip.

The beauty of writing first drafts by hand, is when I type it up later - voila - second draft. Gotta love it.

66 days and counting

my aerie a perch
to watch comings and goings
leaves grow fade fall

This old 4-plex was built in the 30's or 40's with big sprawling rooms, windows everywhere. Actually it's bigger than I need, but the only place that met all my criteria after losing my last home to fire on 2/12/11.

The little bistro in one corner of the screened in balcony is perfect for me, my coffee, and laptop. One chair for me the other for cat Jazmine.

The loveseat on the opposite side is for reading, relaxing, editing, journaling or just patting Jazmine and watching the street below.

I've covered the screen with plastic to keep winter cold at bay.

J called and reminded me to get cracking on the Journaling e-book. I do need someone to crack the whip, I seem to be coasting as if I had all time time in the world. But at 66 days and counting before i retire, I need to get on the stick. I have to get these income streams into place to supplement my ssa.

I'm ready to dust off a few dreams

dreams ride the wind through
windows I’ve thrown wide open
no pillow needed


I feel that time is running out and it's now or never to dust off a few dreams and follow them.

So, I turned in my notice today.  I'm retiring from the day job come  March 30.

I only go in 4 days a week, but it's a stressful 4 days for me now.  Maybe it's age, but I think it's more than that.  I feel caged in - It's like spring fever, but for a whole year now

Whatever the reason, it's the job not my coworkers.  They're good, sweet, ethical, hardworking folks.  It is I.  I have to move on for me and for no other reason.

My entitlement (and I am entitled to it) is more than enough to cover monthly bills. My income from all my sidelines will be gravy.

I used to sell my art regularly.  Having lost everything in the fire, though, I've had to buy supplies and start from scratch.  I've started on a series of colored pieces for now in various media.  I'll need at least 3 or 4 to pitch to galleries and a least a dozen to hang a show.

I'm working at various income streams. Beyond the e-books, the first of which will launch end of this month, there's my painting and freelance work.

 

We are immortal

I was there with the first myth makers and monks who made up your stories... -Rilke’s Book of Hours

 

I believe that’s true.  We all were there then, before, and since.  These bodies we don, through our seasons of evolution, are garments of varying size, color, style. 
 
The universe, one song, goddess, gods, god’us, allah, yahweh, and many more names long forgotten through time out of mind live in each of us.

At our core, that thing called soul connects us with everything that is, was or ever will be.  We, unlike our bodies, are immortal.

Before we knew we knew

Before we knew we
knew we knew we knew it all
piri reis mapped it
longitude unknown
known and the map proves it true
mapped fifteen thirteen

Where did the rabbit go

why and whither to
show me now that child’s eye view
someone put it out
I’ll take any clue
to reclaim that carelessly
lost gem from the wood
when the sun breaks through
its glimmer teases then clouds
hide my path again

The hunt begins

we laid the altar
lit fires gathered in circle
faced each direction
made the signs in air
cast words to the elements
the wild hunt begins

Pole Shift

aperiodic
a third motion of our earth
back to caves for man

one more time into
the prehistoric abyss
then to wobble on.

No longer tight in the bud

poet of no mean

proportion short-lived van gogh

of words bent to self

destruction on paths

to knowing raw pleasure love

parallel of hate

lips a line drawn thin

no resemblance to a mouth

dry laughter dying

pall not here at all

lids distort the sound of eye

winter’s brittle bones

break on siren’s rocks

desperate to leave the bud

finally blossom

Always Questions

I moved soundlessly
yet ears perked at the gates swing
whooo whooo sounded near
who’s not the question
better to ask why instead
I’m not sure old one
yellow eyes took flight
winging up the small hillside
without wings I walked

No smooth stone

no smooth stone I am
hewn from deep crags all edges
one rough diamond

Childish questions

far away and long
ago there's a child I used
to know with wide eyes
asking why inside
not out loud but just the same
why we live why die

Beach dreams

come ride with me along the sand
where dusk sits easy on the land
feel her presence close at hand
the guardian Naiad of the strand

© Perle Champion 5/4/07

Fine wine

I would taste of you
deep as mountain spring water
vintage manly wine

Walking in the rain

walking in the rain
jumped in puddles, caught raindrops
on my tongue, got soaked
warm raindrops falling
lured me down from my aerie
'tis all just a tease

Words are jewels

pry gems from the ore
cut facets, polish, set, show
words strewn cross the page

Tuesday's Child

Tuesdays child is full
of grace; this week I am she
magic surrounds me
money flows to me
everything falls into place
spring is poised to bloom

Pay Attention

daily history

swirls round us in time’s eddies

the pen is our net

Paths

paths endlessly fork
our choices forge who we are
would we do better
or stop cold en route
given more time to ponder
insures us nothing

I walk in dreams

wisps of night fled dawn's
stealthy step across the lawn's
diadem strewn wood
i roam frost laced dreams
dancing with rainbow prisms
ephemeral gems

As you believe you perceive

they're gossamer thin
veils that hang between the worlds
magic and muggle.

opaque to mundanes
clear as glass to magic sense
real ephemeral

Wear purple now

be eccentric now
wear purple polka dots stripes
run barefoot through rain
don't wait for old age
they’ll just shake their heads and say
ah well, she’s just old

Use the nice sheets now

use the nice sheets now
wear the fancy lingerie
now not some later
special occasion
with no name no time no date
funeral perhaps

Burn the candles now

burn the candles now
they were made for flame not dust
and this gift of life
too was meant for flame
that melts us down to essence
idle we but rust