When beginning this blog, my intention was to explore the language that peppers social activism discussions these days. Terms such as virtue signaling, manufacturing consent, false flags, being woke and right to protect were mostly new to me. Instead, the writing was sidetracked and I learned an important lesson along the way.
FAIR WARNING – RANT ADVISORY!
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Is there any subject spanning the ages that has been written, sung and contemplated about more than love? How many battles have been fought and tragedies endured over love?
Seeking inspiration for writing a Valentine’s Day sentiment, I sorted through my late grandmother’s postcard collection and found a few valentines she had received between 1908 and 1913. The cards are little works of art, most printed in Germany or Saxony. Surprisingly, a number of messages included requests to let the senders know if she was still alive. It was hard to tell if the questions were asked in jest or if it was a very real concern given it was early in the twentieth century.
The cards inspire a lot of creative imaginings. They were mailed from distant places and I wonder about those who sent them and how they knew my grandmother.
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Old Long Since is the English translation of the Scottish Auld Lang Syne.
It never occurred to me to wonder about the literal translation. I understood the sentiment as remembering the good times and looking forward to more. The utilitarian words Old Long Since sound less romantic and sentimental and are a suitable farewell to this past year in particular.
The collective euphoria at seeing the end of 2021 is understandable given the chaotic spiraling of much that was familiar and reliable in our lives.
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If there is one thing that can ease the stress of being stranded by a surprise winter storm when traveling, it is getting to hang out with folks who are great storytellers.
This was the lucky situation for me last week when traveling to Fort Frances. After a bumpy landing in Thunder Bay amid blustery seventy-kilometer per hour winds, it was a quick ride to a hotel with the hopes of getting a room. Many other travelers had the same plan. The Trans-Canada Highway heading west was closed as was the 350 kilometer stretch of road to Fort Frances.
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Seeing interesting or impactful images makes me immediately think about how to describe them.
Not long ago, I struggled to describe a sky full of different types of clouds. What I wrote was ‘A variety of clouds filled the sky to the horizon in every direction, tumbling like a slow-motion kaleidoscope’. Despite the time and effort spent, my description fell short of capturing the image.
Believing the clouds were noteworthy was an emotional reaction to a beautiful scene. As I was not writing about storm chasers or pilots, the clouds had nothing to do with the story. What I have learned is that there are times when good descriptions are critical but I often add many unnecessarily in my writing. It is easy to be too elaborate or flowery when enamoured of an image. Likewise, being overly detailed if focusing on facts and general information can be boring.
A recent visit with a forever friend has resulted in a new collaboration; we are going to start writing together this fall. That is, come up with story ideas, contribute to writing and editing and hold each other accountable.
We had not seen each other for more than ten years, keeping in touch only sporadically through email and Christmas cards during that time. She returned to our hometown this summer to sell her family’s home so we got to hang out before her return to British Columbia.
It is one of those friendships where no matter the time lapsed between visits, we pick up where we left off; an example of the old adage, ‘Make new friends but keep the old. The new are sliver, the old are gold”. Sharing mistakes, adventures and naivete as teens and twenty-somethings provides lasting bonds.
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My writing mojo has disappeared. Again. After good progress with character development in recent months, the ever-elusive and serendipitous inspiration has evaporated.
Waiting to stumble upon inspiration or hoping it will somehow just show up is not working. The muse is not going to surprise me and strike like a thunderbolt.
Most writers already know this. Understanding the theory is one thing but now the reality is becoming all too clear.
This is me making excuses and I am tired of my own whining. Writing requires a commitment to work harder. Plain and simple.
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The Welsh word, hiraeth, is new to me. It is pronounced: here-eyeth, with a roll of the ‘r’ if one is so inclined and able. Scholars advise that translation of hiraeth to English is not definitive but I find that, with it’s varied and elusive definitions, hiraeth is the perfect word to describe my mood and mindset these days.
I have been a little off-kilter recently; easily distracted and anxious. My mother would have described this as feeling discombobulated. With higher than usual work stress, extended periods of isolation and our community being under the cloud of a worsening pandemic, my reactions seem logical and situational. Worry is a largely wasted emotion so I’m trying not to worry.