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Showing posts with label Hemmingway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hemmingway. Show all posts

Sunday, December 16, 2018

Never too Late - Life Lesson #1


I knew who I was but not where I was going. Then I let them tell me where I should go instead of exploring for myself. 

Stood there boldly

Sweatin the sun

Felt like a million

Felt like number one

I never felt that strong

Like a rock

            --Bob Seger

We were all there but never knew that was our place in the sun. Our place where we shone with a light so bright the world was ours. Had we known it was ours to take there might have been some better decisions. Less regrets. Less wishing for that do over.

The do over comes I believe, later, in the next life, the next go round on this planet or the next.
Some things ring true. Some things touch that space where the soul lives.

Hemmingway

Van Gogh

Poe

Especially Poe

Sometimes I wonder if the connections we have to these people from history is linked to another life, another existence we once had. Did the shiver we experienced when we walked thought Hemmingway’s house give a glimpse into a life we once passed through in another form? When tears form at the mention of Poe’s name does that show us something more than what we learned from books? The emotion so deep that flows up from the depths of the well of our soul when we stand in front of the original Starry Night from Van Gogh  does that mean something more?

Is time travel real or just an interpretation of the lives we’ve been reincarnated through? Can our next life put us in the time of Poe, the city he saw, the steps he took? Who says we reincarnate forward into a new life, perhaps we can go into any time and live beside those who inspire us today? Or perhaps we did live there and that’s the attraction we have to them now.

I believe the brave pursue their dreams. I’m not sure that’s easy to do when we marry too young or start a family before we’ve sought out our dreams. I think dreams should come first. Especially for those with creative dreams. Those are the hardest to cultivate in our society. Go out, make money, and forsake the dreams of your soul for that so-called American Dream. Happy house, picket fence, kids and a dog.

I’ve lived it, but somewhere deep inside I never understood it. A restlessness stayed with me through it all. Like something was missing. Something was out there and just beyond my vision. Beyond my reach.

Robert Frost knew it. He spoke of that road not taken and the bravery to walk that path.

It’s never too late to dream a new dream or plan a new plan. Here at 61 I’m seeking that which has eluded me all these years. I feel the years but they don’t make me stubble yet, they don’t stop me from seeking that which was missing, that which was lost.

Here I start a new adventure, a new business. One of art and sharing this creativity.  One I never dreamed to achieve.

Updates to follow…..




Friday, February 22, 2013

Writer Meet Chair

Writing is simple: writer meets chair. You have to just sit down and write. Carve out your time and just do it.

To which I reply; HA!

If it were truly that easy I'd have more than one book up on Amazon. Those five or ten books that I've actually finished would have more than one draft. I wouldn't be stressing over the cube thing interview I have this afternoon.

So yesterday I locked myself in my newly finished writer's cave, determined not to leave for the whole day. Outcome? I went from page 100 to 195 of my rewrite for No Apologies.

I'm keeping a log book next to my computer of date/time/page numbers of work done. When I got up this morning and looked at my book it felt good. I actually accomplished something yesterday. How the hell did that happen?

It wasn't easy. At times it was hard to keep my butt in the chair. The ghosts of Facebook and Twitter called. My email begged to be opened. The house called out to be cleaned. These were real creatures reaching into my cave and trying to pry me out of my chair. It almost felt like I was beating them off with that Louie-ville slugger I keep next to my night stand.

This morning I'm here again in my writing cave. Space heater cooking, trying to out work the cold February wind that's leaking through my windows, coffee at my side and dogs at my feet. The old calico cat is curled up on the towel I folded on the edge of my desk. I think she wants me to write. She looks so content as I hit the keys.
That's a picture of Hemmingway's desk down in Key West. When we went I took pictures of every room in his house. Tomorrow we'll visit his bathroom. ;)
See you tomorrow.....

Go Indie or Publishing House?

 Like the song says; You can buy your own Flowers.  Yet still we hesitate.  Agent - Publishing House - Indie Okay, getting an agent who can ...