Now I sit me down to write
Please let the words come all night
Dictionary and thesaurus are at my side
O muse, I pray thee do not hide
My editor is calling, the deadline looms
Dare I end the story with a boom?
A happy ending is what she says we need
That’s what gets em to fork over the green
I rack my brains as I end this scene of the big fight
Now to get the heroes together and finish it right
“I love you!” the hero cries as the sun sinks low
She jumps in his arms and murmurs “Ditto.”
There! I hit save with a shriek of laughter
The story is all done with a Happily Ever After.
True love, together forever
At least until the sequel, after all never say never.
It was bound to happen. There was really no way to stop it. And really, why would I want to? It makes me happy but…(There always seems to be a but, doesn’t there?) Yes my little man is two now. Growing up, maturing, all that good stuff. He all ready has such an independent streak, being a big boy and all. No, I don’t need to hold your hand to walk down the sidewalk. I can pour my own drink, Daddy(it turns out he can’t). And I do not feel that it is necessarily a bad thing. A bird never learns to fly if it doesn’t leave the nest. Sometimes a child needs to fall if for no other reason then to learn how to pick themselves up, dust themselves off and carry on. And he might be a big boy but he’s still a little guy and ends up on mine or Mommy’s lap quite often. Snuggles and comforting are a daily requirement.
It’s hard to remember a time when he was not with us. It seems like he has always been here while at the same time it seems like he came home from the hospital just the other day. We’d been married for about two years when he was born and I’d been home with the three stepchildren for that time. I love them like my own but nothing is like the birth of your child. It truly is a life changing experience. I could not imagine not being in the delivery room. Hell, I was so lost looking down at this tiny body while holding him that I wasn’t even going to hand him over to Momma. But that’s a story for another time.
And now it’s two years later and that little bundle of joy is toddling all over the place, telling me no and picking out his own clothes.(A future in fashion, perhaps?) The other day we went through three shirts and two pairs of shorts before he was happy with his outfit. And I still have no idea what the criteria was. It has been an amazing, watching this little eating pooping baby grow into a little boy, with a clear distinct personality. He is all ready a burgeoning gourmand, no fast food fare for him when there is real food to be had. Although, he does love his Happy Meals when that is what he has.
I look forward to watching him continue to grow, to see his personality continue to develop and have a part in shaping this boy into a man. Hopefully, as I carry on with this blog, I’ll get in the habit of writing more in depth and document this time together.
An Ordination at Summerland: Also at the completed Summerland Gathering in Ohio, at the Unity Rite for the Druid organization Ár nDraíocht Féin (ADF), Michael J Dangler was ordained within that tradition. The rite was captured on video, and uploaded to Youtube.
“The ordination rite of Rev. Michael J Dangler at Summerland in 2010. The rite was done during the ADF Unity Rite, and just as he is called forward, the heavens opened up into a downpour. Just as he was proclaimed by Rev. Kirk Thomas (Archdruid of ADF) as a Priest, the rains stopped.”
Despite the ubiquity of video today, it’s still rather rare to see modern Pagans capture their rites and rituals on video, so it’s a real treat to see an ADF ordination shared with the public. Congratulations to Rev. Dangler on his ordination.
Copied from the Wild Hunt, link above. As mentioned, there is not a lot of video of pagan ritual available. It is a wonderful thing to allow those not present, and perhaps those not of that particular faith, to be able to watch. And the bit about the rain makes one wonder, eh?
I do not know what to write, but obviously something needs to come out. The Muse comes and whispers in the ear; a word, a sentence, maybe a whole scene laid out like watching a movie. But nothing comes free, work is still required. Ideas must be fleshed out and completed, characters built and given a reason to exist and a world to exist in. Discipline is the most important thing for a writer to possess. It is not enough to have flashes of brilliance, an elegantly crafted scene with a kick ass protagonist. The Muse has done her part; now what? Short story or novel, there is plenty more to be done. You must sit down and write, putting words on paper. Hopefully these words relate to your story but sometimes the act of writing is enough. Get it finished then edit out the description of the hot chick in line at McDonalds. Finish the piece; fragments don’t get published until one is a famous dead author.
Maybe someday I will follow my own advice. Lord knows I don’t need to start yet another story, to have another fragment residing in a notebook. Discipline, eh? Sit down and write? Seems there is always an excuse but in the end that is all they are. If one has time to prowl the internet or finish another quest in a videogame, it is hard to say one has no time to write. Discipline. What do you want? To be a scribbler of pieces that stay locked away? Or to be an author, to get paid to write words that people pay to read?
No, I do not need to start again, have a couple thousand words that remains unfinished. But ideas are everywhere. It is carrying these ideas to their finish that has been my problem. There’s that word discipline again. Today’s idea comes courtesy of a biography of Sir Francis Walsingham, spymaster for Queen Elizabeth 1. It is toying around the edges of my consciousness, begging for birth, a meeting in an Elizabethan-esque tavern, a man in sombre clothing contrasting with the bright hues of the others.
Who is this dour man? Perhaps that is why I write, to answer the questions that arise from these little snippets played out by the Muse. Lets see where this goes. But is this enough? It runs on for a while, peters out, oh I don’t know where this is going, and another idea takes it place. Perhaps it is time for some sort of outlining, something to help focus when the initial fervour wears away and I am left asking “What now?” If not a complete plot outline, perhaps enough of a background to show where these people come from, why they do what they do.
I say Elizabethan-esque because usually I stay away from the constraints of a real place and time. I am a huge fan of Robert E. Howard and his microcosm of a world. What ever culture that could be mined for good material is found living in Hyberboria. And they all mesh together perfectly without jarring. Howard is an author I look up to, both for good reading and as an example of an outstanding craftsman who has much to teach. Even when writing for a paycheck, it is still amazing work. Louis L’amour is another who could take formula writing and sell it to millions. And in the end, isn’t that what it all comes down to? Despite our desire for acknowledgement, I would trade a glowing review for L’amour’s sales. Writers may want their brilliance recognized, that crafty literary allusion chuckled over, but we also want to be read, and to eat. And I’d wager L’amour has eaten a lot better than many an ivory tower darling.
So, if I kick myself in the ass, we may find out about that dockside tavern meeting (I hear there’s a chute in the backroom and a blackjack under the bar). Its on paper so the idea is claimed, is mine, and won’t be going anywhere. If I kick myself properly, some other things will be finished first. It may get foggy down there but I am sure we can find that tavern again. And if Neil Gaiman can tell truth as good as he can fiction, perhaps we can reach the castle of Morpheus and find a copy of “The Tavern Meeting” in Lucien’s library. At least one of us should get to find out what happens in that tavern.