Blossoms and Quotes

My week was filled with flowers and words. Here are a few of both for your enjoyment.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. ~~Anais Nin

 

 A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love. ~~Max Muller

 

Any human anywhere will blossom in a hundred unexpected talents and capacities simply by being given the opportunity to do so.~~Doris Lessing

 

For a writer, published works are like fallen flowers, but the expected new work is like a calyx waiting to blossom. ~~Cao Yu

I couldn’t resist adding the buttercups.  As children we played this game: if someone held a buttercup under your chin and yellow reflected on your skin it meant you liked butter..That little game used to be a good source of entertainment during those simpler times. Why is it we seem to miss those simpler times?

Enjoy your weekend!

Writing Through The Mist

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. ~Anaïs Nin

Lately, I’ve been feeling as though I’m in a fog. Not in my every day life, but my writing life. I have a story idea in my mind but can’t seem to get my brain in gear. It’s as if the story is far off in the distance and I’m in the foreground squinting my eyes to see.

I’ve tried not to make it a big deal. There are other things I can busy myself with, other stories to be revised; notes to be made. There is even cooking and cleaning to do if I am desperate enough. Always, there is a book I can pick up and read. But it’s difficult to feel settled hearing the whisperings of this story inside me, niggling, taunting— “Write me..”

The ground work for this next story is already in place. The characters exist, and for weeks now I’ve been living with a vague sense of where the story will go.

But today, I had a break through. I caught a small glimpse of the sun through the mist and fog, and I ran with it. Suddenly, the story began to unfold before me, details began to reveal themselves to me. All those vague plot ideas came together and made sense.

I jotted down the storyline at lunchtime, in the notebook I carry with me to work. I love when a story, that once seemed murky, begins to make its way though the fog and mist. This doesn’t mean the story will simply write itself. I’m sure along the way the fog will overtake me again, but for today I saw the sun and I was well pleased.


Have you ever felt as though you were writing through the mist? Did you wait for it to clear or did you trudge your way through until you made it through to the other side?

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