I don’t prescribe to the notion that a writer needs to write every day. Writers are people, and writing is work. And I think writing time off is especially necessary if you’ve been taking deep dives into the netherworld to pick up a souvenir boon for your soon-to-be readers, as I’ve been doing frequently lately. Taking a break clears out the muck and keeps the neurotransmitters neurotransmitting their stuff.
A few days ago, on a day off from writing, we packed a picnic lunch and Continue reading
In case you missed it, one of my memoir pieces was published last month in The Literary Commune and in Upender: Art of Consequence. Please support these two fine publications. They put a lot of work into each of their issues to keep a high standard going. Besides, they’re really nice people.
Read it yourself – The Stuff of Fairy Dust
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Let me read it to you –
Last fall I moved from one beautiful state to another. I traded the majesty of the Colorado mountains for the healing powers of the ocean on the California Redwood Coast. My sinuses thank me.
The coast had been calling to me for quite some time, and its voice became so urgent that I could no longer be content to just sit and listen to it. We were fortunate to have been able to pack a rental truck full of our things and drive the 1,330 miles to our new home here.
In California, I expected relief from constant spring, summer, and fall sneezing and stuffy headiness, of sinus infections, of not being able to go into the Colorado mountains for most of the year, of sometimes crying myself to sleep because no relief seemed possible. I expected to take long walks under the redwood trees and to take in deep breaths of the brisk ocean air, all without compromising my sinuses. And that is certainly what I got. But what I didn’t expect was how the ocean would heal my body from years of allergy abuse, as well as how it would heal my soul.
Who dusts all these? That’s the #1 question people ask when they see my bookshelves. Obviously, my visitors are neatniks, but so am I. The difference is I love to dust my books when they need it, and sometimes when they don’t. I like to touch them and worship them. But even more, I love to read and re-read and refer to them often…of course.
Why do you have so many books? Have you read them all? If you’ve been asked this before–if these questions sound familiar–you may be a bookworm, a collector of books, a literary connoisseur. Perhaps even a book snob. I like you already.
So take a look at this. Do you have anything to add?
This is the first of my Still on the Shelf series, where I’ll tell you, book by blessed book, why I periodically run a dust rag across them, pull them off the shelf, and open them up to read.
A lifetime of reading has left me with a sizable number of books. Throughout the years I have donated them for tax deductions and traded them for credit by the carload. But for all the trimming and weeding my collection has undergone these past decades, the ones remaining on the shelves are there for a reason: they’ve withstood the tests of time. Although I’m more inclined to pick up my Kindle these days, there are still plenty of books on my shelves, and The Diaries of Adam and Eve, translated by Mark Twain, is one of them.
I’ve been writing all my life. Well, at least since I was 12 years old. I’ve been published in local papers, poetry and literary journals, magazines, business publications, and I even wrote a couple of film scripts for businesses and was a successful resume writer for a while. Hey, it’s all writing–right?
I’m currently working on my first book. It’s been a fascinating if grueling experience, and I am stoked to actually be doing it. But what I’m most grateful for is the boost up into the writer’s seat. You see, I began writing due to an innocent misunderstanding, and I owe it to John Lennon for the kick start.