It was one of those cool, foggy summer days. The kind where you can smell the ocean in the air. A Stephen King day. That's what I like to call it. A day that makes you think about The Mist, or Salem's Lot. I love these days. Great for reading, great for writing.
And then he did.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Long I’ve waited for the chance
To see the faeries in their dance
Come they now, so pale and fairIn the early summer air
Away with us, they beckon meAway beyond the elder tree
Along the faeries lighted trailBeyond the dusky moonlit veil
And knowing not whether I shouldI follow closely through the wood
Through the evening’s misty chillThey lead me to the woodman’s hill
An apple tree stands at its crestThis is where the faeries rest
A quick repose ‘mid fallen fruitThen away again toward fiddle and flute
Haunting music of wind and stringCalls them to the faerie ring
There they frolic to and froAmong primrose and mistletoe
Before they stop I steal awayFor at first light I’m bound to stay
Back to my bed before the dawnSafe before they know I’m gone
Yet in my dreams I see them stillDeep in the woods beyond the hill
Tiny little specks of lightDipping, twirling in the night
I tell you now, if you’ve the chance
Away with the faeries to see them dance
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Every spring I'm bitten by the travel bug, and I usually take that as a sign to get away. Camping at a Provincial Park, or jetting away to somewhere completely new - it doesn't matter to me. This year the bug bit hard around mid-April, and has been nibbling away. It may explain the Doldrums, I don't know.
We have a family vacation coming up to Hubby's home province, and we're planning another in the fall for just the two of us. Somewhere a little further afield. I can already feel inspiration creeping back.
Next to writing, travel is my favourite indulgence.
What I would really love is to hear about your favourite travel experiences. Leave me a comment about your most memorable travels. After all, isn't it all about the stories?
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Cathy Webster posed this on her blog, in response to being tagged in the meme "What Writing Means to Me." In it, she discusses the ups and downs of writing, and the inspiration and discouragement that comes from reading the masters of the craft. It's an interesting read.
Since being tagged in her post, I've thought about my writing and how I can explain what it means to me. To do that, I looked at the things I like to write. Some of it is purely for entertainment, but most of it comes from somewhere else - a deeper, often darker place.
Since childhood my favourite stories have been the spookier folktales, stories about fairies and phantoms. They find their way into my own tales quite often.
I can't really explain why I write, other than to say that I have stories that need to be told. Not 'need' in that it would be a loss to humankind if they are not written, but 'need' in that they insist on taking up space in my head until I exorcise them onto paper. The most insistent of these stories are often the most difficult to write. These are the stories that study sadness and despair, or observe the darker side of human nature.
So what does writing mean to me? It means seeing beneath the surface, telling the side of the story that isn't told. They may not be pretty, or happy, or bright. Maybe that's why they need to come out.
It's taken me so long to get to this post, I'm sure most of you have already been tagged. I would love for anyone reading this to post themselves - What does writing mean to you?