Favorite things... (an exercise)

*One exercise in The Right to Write is to make a list of 100 of your favorite things and then take out the list to cheer yourself up or remove yourself from the "drama" of life. I decided to take one of my favorite things and just write about that. *

The sun's beam gently washes over her fur, sparkling against the striations of brown, orange, black and white. She's curled up in a ball, defying all logic and making me incredibly jealous at the same time. How wonderful to be able to close in on oneself like that! Her whiskers twitch as she scents something in her dream: a mouse? a bird? a bug? The fierce hunter within her is ready to pounce... but maybe later.

She opens one eye, partly, to see if there's anything for which she should feign interest. Finding nothing, she stretches out of her ball, extending her body to twice its former length. She lays there, looking vaguely sphinx-like in the sun: head held upright, eyes shut, paws outstretched. The sun dances across her fur making its own light show in the sparkle of reflection from her shiny coat.

A flexing of her claws in her sleep suggests contentment- not a cat on the hunt. The model of relaxation, a soft purr reverberates from deep within her chest, modulating in time to her breathing. Her purring, combined with the sun glinting off her fur, is enough to lightly hypnotize anyone nearby.

Her head relaxes, chin falling to rest on her outstretched paws, again defying all conceptions of flexibility. The pose looks so uncomfortable, yet the cat appears boneless, weightless and enviable as she naps in the soft light of day.

"Bad Writing" - an exercise...

(This is an exercise from Julia Cameron's Right to Write- Write a tabloid story... as crazy as possible)

Londonderry, Ireland.

In what appears to be a mass movement, the Tuatha de Danaan have emerged from their fairy mounds and are once again laying claim to Ireland. One observer of the mass exodus from under the hills stated, "They were just floating, tall and serene, more beautiful than anything I have ever seen."

As all in Ireland know, the Tuatha de Danaan conquered Ireland by eliminating or enslaving the Fir Bolg. They were later banished, or retreated, under great mounds throughout Ireland, due to low birth rate. They became the popular reasons for colicky children (changeling); wailing upon the death of a loved one (ban sidhe or banshee) and all other forms of mischief throughout the centuries.

With the re-emergence, one has to question the timing of the move. Many attempted to ask the fae ones questions, but were rebuffed or ignored completely. It was as if the creatures from under the mounds neither knew, nor cared to learn, our language.

Local businesses, homes, and traffic were disrupted for several hours until the Garda remembered that the Fae are allergic to steel and rounded several of them up with steel chains, ostensibly bound for prison. Unfortunately, this was not before several members of the community were enraptured by the ethereal creatures and taken under the mounds with, what appeared to be, fairy soldiers.

It remains to be seen what will happen to the fairies now that they have revealed themselves, once again, to the world.

A story

This is something I wrote as a sort of exercise... comments/feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Looking out over the sprawling prairie grasses, I could see a hill with a tree on it. It reminded me of the fairy mound I saw in Donnegal during my visit to Ireland ten years ago. The sun was beating down on my head, which was, strangely, uncovered in the heat.

There was nothing around me for miles- just grass and flowers; soft blue sky and clouds; and of course, the sun. I could see that tree, branches spread like a leafy umbrella, offering shade to those who could make the journey.

I started off towards the tree, feeling the sweat dripping from my brow and down my face. The shadows rippled under the tree with the changing leaf patterns, little semaphores suggesting shade and rest. It seemed so far away from where I stood among the grasses.

I walked slowly, trying not to sweat any more than I absolutely needed to sweat. I hate sweating, but it’s our body’s way of regulating our metabolism and temperature, so I allow it to happen. Taking a deep breath, I smelled the growing grasses, the rich earth and the wildflowers that populated the field. From the direction of the tree, I smelled a freshness I hadn’t expected- a cool breeze wafted across my face.

I reached the base of the hill upon which the tree stood and was surprised to find someone already there. “Hello,” I said cheerfully. The old woman just stared at me as if I was a bug she’d be squashing in a few moments.

“Sit there,” she said brusquely, pointing to a cushion on the other side of the tree. A cushion. Why was there a cushion under this tree in the middle of nowhere? Why was this woman sitting here, as if waiting for me?

I lowered myself down to the cushion, wishing for the thousandth time that I was graceful and agile instead of a lumbering cow. I leaned my back against the big oak tree’s trunk and closed my eyes, letting the shade cool my fevered body.

“What do you want to know?” The old woman said suddenly, startling me from my meditative reverie. I looked up and moved to go around the trunk.

“Stay there!” She commanded. I stayed.

“What do you want to know?”

I closed my eyes and thought long and hard. It seemed as if this woman could give me answers to questions that had been plaguing my mind for so long. How could I sum that up into what I assumed would be my one chance?

“I want to know why I exist. What is my life’s purpose?” I finally asked. Then I waited for her to tell me to get the hell off her hill and out of her field. She cleared her throat and I thought to myself, This is it- this is where she tells you to either go to hell, or that you’re supposed to have twenty babies before you die.

“Long ago, before the earth and sky separated, there walked a woman named Walani Wahana,” the old woman began in a singsong voice. I settled back against the tree, closing my eyes and listening to the rhythm of her voice.

“Walani Wahana walked the earth and sky not knowing why she existed. She assumed that The Wu had created her for a reason, but she could not understand it. She ran with the horses, seeing their purpose as beasts of burden and transport, but she couldn’t carry as much as they, nor move as fast.

“Walani walked across the face of the earth, stopping each time she met a new creature, to see if that creature’s purpose was her own. She was disappointed, time and again, to find that she shared nothing in common with the creatures of the earth and sky except a creator. She kept walking.

“One day, when the sun was high overhead, Walani was walking and bumped her head against a cloud. She was surprised to find it moist and almost intangible as she tried to learn what it was. ‘What is your purpose?’ Walani Wahana asked the cloud as she rubbed her head.

“’ I bring water to places that have none. I provide shade against the bright sun. I float and help the breeze blow.’ Walani was disappointed to find that again, she had nothing in common with a creation. Walani kept walking.

“One evening, the sun was just about to disappear behind the clouds, when Walani Wahana heard a sound she’d never heard before. She moved quickly toward the sound, recognizing it was one of distress and perhaps pain.

““Help me,” a voice cried from beneath Walani. She looked down and saw that a creature had fallen into a new fissure in the ground. She was surprised to see that he resembled her in many ways, having two arms and legs, one head and no tail. He also spoke in words she could understand.

““Please help me,” the creature said again, his mouth turning down into a picture of distress and pain. She moved carefully to stand over the fissure, bracing herself before bending to help pull him out of the ground’s maw. She stared at him as he struggled to stand upright.

““Who are you? What are you?” Walani asked as he wobbled against her. A trickle of red liquid seeped down his leg, and another was forming along his left ear. He looked at her, eyes pinched in pain, then responded.

““I am Mahana Malanu,” he said softly, as if the strength of his voice had been lost from shouting for help. “I thought I was alone here. So when I fell, I thought I’d die alone here. Then you came, and now I won’t.”

“Walani took Mahana by the arm and led him back to her dwelling place where he could rest and recover from his injuries. He stayed with her a long time. Eventually he was fully recuperated and the time came for him to leave. “

I held my breath, waiting to hear what had happened to Walani and Mahana. I could feel the parallels to my own life- always helping others, always wanting companionship…

The old woman continued the story, “ Mahana was so grateful to Walani for rescuing him that he gave her a child who grew into a strong young man. But Mahana did not stay with Walani for that was not his destiny.

“Many years after her son was grown, Walani took to wandering again. She roamed the earth and watched when the sky separated from the sea. She visited the place where she had met Mahana, but did not cross paths with him again.

“When she became too old to walk any more, Walani settled her bones beneath an old willow tree and rested until her bones were swept away by the earth.”

I was surprised to find tears streaming down my hot cheeks. I had thought Walani and Mahana would stay together- that her purpose was to nurture and love and raise their child. But that didn’t seem to be it at all. I was more confused than when I had first sat down behind the tree.

“That was a beautiful story, but I still do not know what my purpose is,” I said softly, from the other side of the tree.

A rustling laugh came back to me, “Did you think you’d find your purpose in a story, young woman? You find your purpose by living your life, by going out and doing things, not waiting around for them to happen to you. “

I blushed a bright red, although I knew she couldn’t see me. I rose quickly to my feet and went down the hill in the opposite direction from which I’d gone up the hill. I walked faster and faster away from the old woman, the tree and the hill that I soon found myself running through the prairie grasses.

I was stopped, eventually, by a long split-log fence about chest high. I couldn’t see a gate at all along the length of it, so I climbed up and over the fence and dropped to the ground. I needed to get as far away from that tree as possible, and the woman beneath it, who had made me feel such a fool.

-Jean M. Hurley, August 11, 2009

Literary musings...

As I've been reading through the wonderful e-mailed comments I've received from friends and family, I've been thinking really hard about where my strengths and weaknesses lie. I was also really inspired by Julie's blog and what her husband said to her that got her started- what do you love to do when you're not working? She loved to cook- it relaxed her and made her feel successful. She could complete a meal and have the satisfaction of knowing someone else was enjoying it. She received positive, supportive feedback from those who tasted her dishes and felt good. So she decided to use that energy in her chosen career path as writer and combine the two. Thus, the Julie/Julia project was created.

Now, I'm not a big cook. I've been experimenting more as I've come to nutritional awareness, trying to use the bounty of Nature to sweeten my palate, as opposed to over-processed sugars. Do I feel good when I hear the "yum"? You betcha. But it's not something I'm going to do full time. I don't have the patience or drive for it.

What I do have patience and drive for is reading and talking about books. I'm someone who gets wrapped up in a story, falls in love with characters, and cries when they hurt. There are novels I've wanted to jump into, and novels I wish I'd never opened. There are novels I've wished would go on forever, and some which I wish had never been written.

So, I was thinking about this a lot yesterday. How can I combine my love of reading with my desire to write? I already know I have weaknesses with writing my own, original fiction. So, I thought about writing a chapter for books I've loved over the years. Now, could this be called "fan-fiction"? I guess so. But I'm also thinking that this could be a jumping off point for me. If I start writing in different genres, mimicking different styles, I may be inspired to create my own, original works. My writing style may improve.

So, my question to you, dear readers (and please post your comments on the blog, so others can see/respond)... what novels would you like to see have another chapter?

Afraid of my creativitiy

So I've got some issues tapping into my creativity. I feel like there's this artistic genius who is trying to get out of my incredibly crowded brain, but is trapped by fear of rejection and failure. I've been told that I write beautifully, but when I try to write a story, I always end up feeling as if it's a juvenile undertaking- the characters are too flat, the dialogue is stilted, my descriptions are lacking in finesse. I don't know if I'm hampered by the fact that I've been teaching writing to people under the age of 18 for 10 years, or if I'm really incapable of writing a complete work of fiction. A few years ago I started using The Right to Write as a guide, but stopped for various reasons.

So now, I find myself in a position of not having a classroom in the fall and really questioning what I want to do with my time. After seeing Julie & Julia I realized that I had a lot in common with Julie: academically gifted, government employee, unhappy with her life's current direction. I also see myself at a turning point. After the past eight months since I started my mind/body transformation, I see myself as someone with more possibilities than I had thought previously. At the same time, I'm lacking direction- where do I go with these possibilities?

Yes I can sing, but will I make money at it? Probably not. Okay, so there's another thing- I'm too grounded in the "probably not". Maybe I'm too afraid to audition for something because I know there's no shortage of talented singers in the world, but there is a shortage of contracts to be had. I also know that I'm gifted in that I can sing, but my voice is not original. I can imitate Alanis or Sarah McLachlan, but my voice isn't unique like theirs. It's just a good, strong voice.

There are a few things I feel *really* good at: reading, typing, giving presentations, and planning trips to Walt Disney World ;) So, based on that, what do I do with my life? Join the crew at DVC?

It's such a weird feeling- maybe other artistic types can understand/explain... I feel like there's this excitement within me that's always on the verge of breaking out/breaking through/bubbling up, but never quite gets there. It's the potential that's never actualized and it's driving me nuts.