She rubbed her chin as she hunkered down to stare at the footprint in the snow. The powder was fresh, over six inches had fallen overnight. It was unusual for this time of year, at this altitude. Not unheard of, but unusual enough that it had taken her by surprise, not to mention annoyed her horse who gave her a look that said she could walk herself to the next settlement when she had made it outside of her tent.
Now there was the issue of the footprint. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else up here, not with the festival coming up in less than another cycle of the moon. Meeting someone out here didn’t worry her. She could take care of herself and her horse. What was worrying was there was only one footprint.
She stood up and scanned the area with her hand shading her eyes. There was nothing. Not a single other footprint, only miles of unadulterated snow as far as she could see. Who, or what, left only a single footprint outside her tent? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Here we are in the midst of winter (or if we aren’t technically in winter yet, it sure feels like it outside) and the end of another year. It has been a surreal year and I’m not really sad to see it go. Winter is often a hard time, a brutal time, one that makes me want to hibernate instead of doing the dozen of things I should be doing. So I rather think it is fitting to share this quote as the last quote of the year.
I love this idea of an invincible summer inside us all. No matter how horrible it gets we have the possibility of tapping this well of warmth and goodness and hope deep inside us. And my goodness, do I believe that we’ll need all the summer-like hope and joy that we can get going forward. Because hope is a good thing (check out this Chuck Wendig post for more on the necessity of hope) and we need it to fuel our actions so we don’t get dragged down by winter’s inevitable chill.
I hope that you feel there is an invincible summer inside you, too, and that it powers you to do great and good things in your art, your craft, and your life.
This is the last post for the year. I’m taking a bit of a break and will be back with more calligraphy quotes and Saturday Shorts in the new year. Until then, I hope you make these last days of 2016 and first days of 2017 as wonderful and joyful as you can. I hope you have a mug of delicious tea or coffee or cocoa and time to relax. I hope you have time to create something special or find a spark of interest to try something new. I hope you find comfort and caring and show the same. I hope you have a very happy new year. 🙂
Do you ever feel like you spend too much time in front of some form of computer screen? I do. It’s hard to get away from between work and writing. It seems like so much of my time deals with doing something or other that requires the internet and screentime. And sometimes it’s more draining than fulfilling. So I had to share this quote from Von Glitschka:
While writing may be faster on a computer, some of my best ideas are developed when I’m handwriting and scribbling notes in one of the many notebooks lying around my house. It seems like handwriting is a sort of magic that allows thoughts to make connections to plug plotholes and problems, find new twists and link random events to make a cohesive narrative. Even though I know that I’ll have to transcribe my words on my laptop, it is worth it to sometimes step away from the screen to write by hand.
The same holds true for my other creative activities, most obviously in calligraphy, but also with drawing and designing. These were the areas that Von Glitschka had in mind when he said that analog beats digital for idea generation. But it works for most forms of creativity, in my experience, too.
So how about you? Do you find stepping away from the screen and working in analog format useful for idea generation? For sparking your creativity in new ways?
I hope, whatever medium you use, that you find something that inspires you this week to create something beautiful to share with the world. We could all use some more beauty and inspiration in our lives. Happy creating. 🙂
“Looks like paradise to me,” he said staring out to the horizon.
I looked at him sideways before turning my attention back to the ocean. It was a beautiful day, a perfect blue sky after the threat of rain, palm trees swayed in the breeze that sprayed droplets of saltwater into our faces. I hadn’t caught his name or I didn’t remember it. Didn’t really matter.
“Looks can be deceiving.” I adjusted my hat so the gust of wind wouldn’t blow it away, over the rocks and into the shallows that were sacred, and be lost forever.
He turned towards me as he laughed. “Sometimes.” He wiped his eyes and slapped me on the back as he began walking down the road. “But I still call it Paradise. Let’s go see what else’s along this beach.”
I watched him go, but knew it was useless not to follow. He’d find out soon enough the cost of so-called Paradise. They always did and I then I’d be left looking for another soul who could someday set me free.
Have you read Elizabeth Gilberts, Big Magic? I have and I liked it so much that when I was stuck in an airport fairly recently without any unread books left in my bag (the horror!) that I bought a copy for reading on the plane. It was as great the second time around as the first and I say this because today’s quote is from that book:
I really love this quote because it makes me smile and keeps me from worrying (too much) about if my work is “art” and if I really have any talent whatsoever. We all worry about this stuff sometimes, right? (If you don’t, I’m both happy for you and slightly envious of your confidence.)
People who try to tell you what you are doing isn’t “art” or that you shouldn’t be creating whatever your work is are totally annoying and it is nice to have someone call them out on it. No one likes to hear about the “chosen few” when they are struggling to get something–anything–published or trying to get their first showing or whatever other goal you are working towards.
I need the reminder that creating doesn’t belong to only a few and that creativity belongs to everyone in whatever way they want to bring forth their art in the world. This quote reminds me to tune out the haters and get back to my work, whether that is at the computer, in my sketchbook, or in the world. As we are constantly reminded, haters gonna hate, but we don’t have to listen to them even if they are self-styled guardians of culture and arts. We can just keep on making art and making the world a little bit better, a little bit more beautiful through our efforts. Creating a place where we belong and reminding ourselves that we’ll never be that annoying, even when we reach our goals.
I hope you have a wonderful week full of inspiration and creating your art. 🙂
“Well, could be worse,” Sheldon said as he looped his thumbs behind the straps of his overalls. He was always one for looking on the bright side.
I scowled. “Could be better.” I picked up a smaller fallen branch and poked at the heartwood at the base of the branch that had taken off part of the tree’s trunk. Instead of resisting, the wood collapsed like a piece of moldy bread. “Damn it.”
“Such language.” Sheldon shook his head. For someone who dealt with the scum of the city when he wasn’t harvesting corn or squash from his farm, he had a surprising distaste for obscenities. You’d think he’d be desensitized by now.
“Sorry,” I said as I stood up and threw the stick onto the ground. I looked around the park. There was no one else up and about yet as the clouds overhead still threatened rain, even with the wind pushing them along like they were late to another engagement. I turned up my collar to protect my neck. I hadn’t yet gotten used to remembering scarves for the cold since my hair was hacked off.
“Best be getting this branch taken away before a little one gets too curious and gets hurt.” Sheldon walked back to his truck. He called over his head. “You best be figuring out what’s going on. That mentor of yours said he’d fixed it.”
“On it,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “Damn it all,” I said quietly so Sheldon wouldn’t hear.
My mentor, the Great Alastair Wilde, was not only not great, but not my mentor after he up and left a week ago without a word leaving me only a third of the way through my apprenticeship and first on the list of suspects in his “suspicious” disappearance. I looked up at the tree and back down at the rotted heartwood, half expecting a horde of termites to come roiling out of it.
The only thing suspicious about Wilde’s disappearance was that he took all my funds and my one piece of nice jewelry when he split and now the mages from the next town over were sniffing around, looking for a weakness to exploit or a trace of him to track. I shivered. And he had to leave me with rotting heartwood on top of everything else. It couldn’t just be a pixie infestation or something of the like. Instead it had to be a problem with the heartwood. I looked around at the other trees in the grove and sighed before starting towards the closest one. Time to see how far the rot had spread and figure out how well and truly screwed we were going to be.
So here we are at the end of another month and, oh my goodness, what a month it has been. It’s been a month of highs and lows and moments of” I just can’t believe what is happening, but I better keep breathing because not breathing won’t make anything better.” So today, for my first calligraphy quote post back after a little break, I share a quote that I did earlier this year and quite liked, but wasn’t quite sure how to articulate a post around it.
But now I know what I want to write. It’s a good thing to remember that we all have consciences and that we all have a choice on how we will behave and act and think and do in this world. And even when it seems like the world is going crazy and darkness really is overtaking the light, I need to stand firm in my conscience that tells me that it is still important and right to fight for social justice and kindness and empathy when others are spewing hatred. That it is right to take concrete actions to help others, both those who are in my neighborhood and those who are far away. That is is true that art is both frivolous and a necessity. It can be resistance and solidarity.
So this quote from Hellman gives me an extra bit of resolve that cutting my conscience is not only not right, but for me it isn’t possible. And that how I create and share my art must be aligned with my conscience.
I hope you find strength as we head into the last month of the year to be bold and empathetic, kind and just, merciful and strong. We need all these facets in our lives and our art. And I hope you always have someone in your corner to help pick you up when it all gets to be too much.
There will be a Saturday Short this week because there needs to be one, for me and for you.
Usually on Wednesdays I post one of the quotes I’ve written in calligraphy that has helped or inspired me during the week. But last week I didn’t post anything and this week I’ve not quite found the energy yet to do so. Next week, I’ll probably be back to my calligraphy, but in the words of Stephen Colbert, right now, “this sucks.”
I don’t talk politics on this blog because it is one of my sanctuaries for writing and art and trying to share what makes my world a bit brighter, more beautiful and politics far too often isn’t beautiful and doesn’t make me inspired to create. But I can’t ignore that this last week has been hard, depressingly hard, and that politics is at the front and center. Or, perhaps, more accurately what the last election in my country has made painfully clear is front and center in my mind–and it hurts. And in my case, and in the case of a lot of others who have been writing and sharing, pain and sorrow and grief and anger do not make for easy creating of art no matter what the popular notion of a tortured artist shows us.
So for this post, I wanted to share links to other people’s writings that have helped me in the last week and I hope will help you, too.
Chuck Wendig’s blog posts have been thoughtful, funny, and full of good advice. I highly recommend reading, “Stronger Together, But So Far Apart” and “Mourn, Then Get Mad, Then Get Busy” It is okay to feel however you feel. And, when you’re ready, we need you back to make the art you make and to give the help and support you can give.
This post, “A Letter to My Blog Followers” by The Blabbermouth Blog sums up my feelings so well. Just because I don’t publicly share all my thoughts and actions and donations and such doesn’t mean I’m not involved and still doing what I can to help. All our help is needed, whether or not we choose to give a shout out to what we are doing on social media.
And, as always, there is Neil Gaiman’s “Make Good Art” Speech:
Next week, I’ll be back to sharing calligraphy and Saturday Shorts. Until then, I hope you have people who have your back, who you can talk with, and who can help you find your way back to those things that center you and remind us that there is still joy and meaning in creating art. Also, I hope you are on the side of empathy and understanding and social justice and kindness and you show that through your actions and your art. We need it now more than ever. Take care and, as Neil Gaiman says, “make good art.”
Patrick had walked by the stone wall and arch with its wooden door everyday of his life. The door was always closed and locked. He’d tried once to open it, but it was locked. The handle didn’t turn an inch even after he put his entire weight into it.
He didn’t know what was beyond the gate or even who owned whatever was on the other side of the gate. No one in town seemed to know either, but they could hear the laughter that sometimes floated up and over the wall like wisps of smoke on the breeze. They could smell the heady floral scent of exotic blossoms in summer and the loamy smell of freshly turned dirt at harvest season. But no one dared to climb a ladder to get a better look over the fence. Someone had, long ago, and it didn’t end well.
For thirty years, Patrick walked by the door that was always closed on his way to work and his way home. He’d gotten into the habit of trying the latch every time he passed and the handle was worn smooth from his attempts. But the outcome was always the same, locked and closed.
One morning in late October, Patrick passed the door on his usual walk. He tried the latch like every other day, but today it turned. His breath caught as he pushed open the door on silent hinges and his eyes widened to see the garden path before his feet and smell the scent of summer still hanging in the air. Without hesitation, Patrick stepped through the archway and into the garden, the door swinging slowly shut behind him and soon his laughter could be heard floating over the wall, swirling on the breeze.
Lily’s mother said there were only two reasons that bean pods ever turned maroon and looked shiner than the pastor’s shoes on Sunday. The first, Lily never paid much mind about. It was the boring reason having something to do about sun and warmth and soil nutrients. Lily never cared much about any of that, unlike her mother who knew every plant’s needs better it seemed than her daughter’s. It was also the most likely reason that Lily’s corner of the garden never grew much more than a few sickly vines that produced squash as hard and flavorful as rocks.
The second reason though intrigued her like the songs the traveling bards sung in the village square. The second reason her mother would only speak of in a whisper, far away from the garden, before throwing a handful of salt over her shoulder and casting a glance back towards the door.
The second reason was that the beans had been touched by the Fae, who would come to collect them when the moon was full. Lily thought the Fae far more interesting than learning how to tend the soil and coax herbs from the ground. When she saw the maroon bean pods and watched her mother shiver at their sight, Lily knew this year it had to be the second reason. That was reason enough for her to hide herself behind a hedge overnight when the moon was full to watch the pods. It didn’t occur to her that it might be dangerous until the moon was high overhead and a long shadow fell over her like a dark cloak chilled in winter’s gloom.
