Tag Archives: timeout for art

What Next?

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Today, a mere one hundred and forty-five days into this year-long writing commitment, I’m beginning to wonder how I’ll fill the rest of the days.

Sundays are okay.  The 52 Lists Project is designed for one each week. There are thirty Sundays left in this year, and thirty lists yet to write.

That leaves one hundred and ninety-one days.

Timeout for Art – which has been filling the Thursday slot – has become pathetic. I have exhausted all angles of talking about art right down to complaining about my lack of time for art. I think I should put it on the shelf until I actually make some art to talk about.

I have almost come to the end of my list of addresses. If I stretch them out to the absolute maximum, they still won’t fill more than five or six days.

I wrote about one failed business, and have two others I could write about, on two separate days.

I could (dread!) go back to those thirty days of Creative Fire writing prompts that I hated so much I quit after only seven days. Even if I can bring myself to do that, there are just 23 of those left.

You see my problem.

I need direction. Without proper motivation, this blog will devolve into nothing but the rantings of a self-absorbed, over-worked, dog-loving whiner.

I’m open to suggestions!

Something Else

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I am getting very tired of the 30-day Creative Fire writing challenge.

I have been trying to work with it. I read through the prompts – she gives four or five, all related, each day – and try to choose one or two that I can talk about with truth and a little humor, without baring my soul. I skip around to other topics: Thursdays I write about art; Sundays are devoted to the “52 Lists Project”(which I am loving, by the way); other days, I just throw in a random post about the weather. I’m not a stickler. I have a whole year of daily blogging yet to do: I can take my time getting through one challenge!

Still, even though I’m not doing it thirty days in a row, I’m sick of it. It has taken on a soul-searching, “let-us-all-weep-together-in-our-new-awareness” feel, and I hate it. I cringe at the topics, and struggle to find a way to bring them from the realm of what would be discussed in an encounter group, to something I feel comfortable writing about.

Those of you that regularly read what I write have a lot of information about me. I don’t shy away from true stories, even when they make me look ridiculous, or reveal the stubborn meanness that I wish was not a deep-seated part of my personality. I can write about my deepest sadness or my biggest blunders.

I get squeamish, however, about public revelations that should happen only in a confessional, or on a psychiatrist’s couch. Now, I have never been on a psychiatrist’s couch, but I can tell you honestly that when in the confessional, I go with the assumption that the good Father knows exactly who’s on the other side of that screen, and I word my confession accordingly. I never have been very good at that level of sharing. Or, maybe more accurately, sharing at that level.

So, while I take the time to wrap my mind around the latest prompt, I’m taking a break from the whole challenge. Oh, I’ll finish it eventually. I have an entire year, after all.

 

 

The 52 Lists Project

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Because a year of writing every single day is a lot of writing, and a lot of days to come up with something to write about, I’m starting right out with some “filler.”

Thursdays, I’m going to continue with my “Timeout for Art” post. I’ve been so negligent of it for the last several months, it’s a stretch to even say “continue,” but, anyway.

Sundays, I am taking my cue from a book. The 52 Lists Project, by Moorea Seal, provides suggestions for every week of the year. Since this is the beginning of 2016, I’m going to just start at the beginning and work my way through, Sunday to Sunday.

It may be more than many of you would care to learn about me. Still, if you know me at all, you know that when I have nothing to talk about, I don’t hesitate to jump in with amusing anecdotes about my little dog, Rosa Parks, complaints about whatever is not going perfectly in my life and long tirades about how much I have to do. Better to just bear with me and my lists.

Now, looking at the first suggestion, I already want to cheat. “List your goals and dreams for this year.” For my sixty-third birthday last August, I listed sixty-three aspirations, so it feels like I’ve already done this one. Not only for the year, but for the rest of my life! But, if I skip week #1, there will come a Sunday where I won’t have a list. Dammit! Rules!

Week #1: List your goals and dreams for this year

  • I want to get my garden out of its state of neglect and back in shape with groomed pathways between the raised beds and thriving plants.
  • I want flooring throughout my house.
  • I want to get settled into a routine that gives me time to do all the things I have to do (work, work, work) and all the things I want to do (garden, make art, read, write) and some things that will be good for me (walk, exercise, meditate) and some things just for the hell of it.
  • I want to lose 10 pounds. Maybe 15.
  • I want to accomplish this task of writing every day.

There, I think that’s enough. No sense in pushing it!