in my next life...

I used to be a dancer.

I loved dancing. I still love dance. I ache a little when I see a performance; desire deeply to be on that stage.

If I had to state a regret, it would be this...that I gave up dancing.

There is a little part of me who would love to be seventeen again, thinking about going off to college...I would have taken that opportunity I shrugged off...applied to Cornish College of the Arts...danced my heart out...and maybe, just maybe, I would have landed it!

but.

I didn't do it. I didn't apply. I didn't try out. I didn't keep dancing.

and, oh...how I miss it!

Prompt #61: Write about the thing you've always wanted to do, but didn't.

be a painter...be a genius...

Words create sentences; sentences create paragraphs; sometimes paragraphs quicken and begin to breathe. ~ Stephen King (On Writing)

How I love this quote. It stirs something deep within my soul; awakens a sleeping dragon of creativity.

It churns the same cauldron music does - amazing to me, how just a quote can bring such a sparkle to my psyche.

But maybe that's because he's Stephen King...genius of lyrical writing. He is a talented spider, weaving gruesome webs to entrap his readers. Even though the Horror genre is not my favourite thing, I appreciate his ability to wrap the reader in the soft silk of his writing (and not all he writes is creepy, screepy horror.)

Writing is a chance to paint a picture with words. 

Prompt# 60: find something to paint. use words to create a Monet, Van Gogh, Pollock. choose your subject and paint it. 

roller coaster, yo-yo, angry vortex...release...

I don't tend to share a lot. my emotions are mine to swaddle and smother and keep locked away.

except when writing poetry (which is probably why I had a huge panic attack when Three Thousand Doors was sent off to the printer last year.)

Oh gawd! I'm going to throw up...
it's like...opening up my journal (if I kept one) for all the world to read...f$@#.....

yep. those are pretty much the thoughts that went racing through my head, one after the other, repeatedly.

panic. vomit. journal. swear.

rinse. repeat.

that said, it's been a rough year. stumbling through changes, jumping off emotional cliffs, building wings while falling, tearing my wings to shreds on twisted branches, tumbling through frantic waves of emotion.

tears. panic. uncertainty. frustration. anger.

it took awhile, but I finally found myself brave enough to admit (slowly...to myself at first...and then out loud to a few precious friends) that I was broken, lost, upside down...and I needed to find my own way back. build new platforms. recharge. reconstruct.

it reminds me of a line from an article I read years ago..."I don't care who you are, at some point, life will bring you to your knees." (I wish I could remember who or what the article was about, but it was more than a decade ago)

the thing is, when you're on your knees, you have to take a deep breath, and somehow...find your footing again.

Prompt #59: how do YOU fix broken?

in the words of the poet....

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~ William Wordsworth

Thank you William, that's exactly what I aspire to do every time I scratch out a poem. The breathings of my heart...yes exactly...did you read my mind?

little bits of my soul go into my writing, take wing on my words, and soar out into the ether...

some things take a while to surrender; work up the courage to give them to the world. some things may never be shared. that's okay. some writing is just for the writer.

Prompt #58: Are you filling your paper with the breathings of your heart? write something that you've kept locked within, something that you've put off writing.