Patiently held in time.
A Bed and Breakfast lives nestled against guardian trees – near a water’s edge.
Agelessly creaking as feet move through and pause.
Themed rooms reflect different light, casting moments.
Old world escapes the kitchen, changing fireplace air.
Refining pieces and capturing thoughts; quietly the compulsion unfolds.
Writer’s escape.
I just attended my third consecutive Write on the Sound writer’s conference in Edmonds, Washington. These gatherings always bombard me with new thoughts and ideas while stirring up my mind. The conference mental rush undoubtedly causes plenty of thought, the trick is to get some to flow out of the hand and onto the page. One of my chosen sessions started with three writing prompts (none of which did anything for me, so I wandered off on my own a little).
***
I often lay awake recalling how good it used to be.
The days back in time when with no effort, no thought, nothing – it just happened.
At the end of a day I could just turn on the radio, lay down and drift away… for hours.
Very different from my current life – I could stay asleep.
***
The question comes up, “Do writing conference’s help you become a better writer?”
For me sharing time with others interested in learning about writing, from other writers, charges a battery (that for many years I didn’t know that I had). So as long these gatherings stir something in me I’ll go, as for becoming a better writer – who knows?
Grape Wrath
Angry (often emotional) mood change following the consumption of wine.
August 22, 2015 I attended another Writing Workshop taught by Matt Love at the Fort George Brewery in Astoria, Oregon.
This was my second time in the former car dealership showroom turned brewery conference room, sitting amongst some kegs of aging beer and learning more about writing.
From the various prompts, discussion, breaks to walk around Astoria and a strong beer – I ended up with this:
Ranger Bombed
I usually walk with purpose (I have a dog) and out of necessity (my back chronically reminds me) – I do this daily. Often I simply wish to walk for no reason, to range about. Today my purpose was to unwind my mind and let my feet range.
When walking I typically try not to think – it is my escape. I am however easily distracted by people (not today) and architecture (Astoria has plenty worthy of noticing). While glancing at older buildings (more refreshened since my last visit) and ruins of pilings wobbling in the river, I noticed something new. Colorful bits of random display, knitted patches of several different people’s artwork twisted, wrapped and tied around posts, benches and a gate. Public displays of an orchestrated effort to grab attention and brighten the day for those who notice.
Today my mind was bombed by yarn.
“Everyone wants some magical solution for their problem and everyone refuses to believe in magic.” — The Mad Hatter
How do they steal hearts?
Miniature versions of promise,
rapid growth and gradual change.
Soft souls wrapped in warm fur,
kind spirits oozing through soft eyes.
Overflowing with delight,
playful creatures learning and teaching.
Twitching whiskers move wild tails,
quiet walks find peaceful sleep.
When the thievery stops,
a piece of heart dies.
Can Bryan Write? 