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A Blog of Inspiration Unhindered by Perfectionism.


.............{A work in progress}................


Writing exercise 02/25/10

Monday, January 25, 2010
Today I spent most of the day working on a writing project--and all was good until I hit a wall. And then nothing would budge in my head. So frustrating. My poor husband had to put up with me. From here I began some exercises to work my brain out a bit. I started with different phrases, such as "I wonder", "It makes me tired when", and "I love". From there I typed for 5 minutes straight (at least) and refrained from editing. Here is one of my exercises and an illustration to go with it (keep in mind that I'm not an artist!)

Exercise three.

I wonder what it would be like to be a Cynthia. Not a Cindy, but a Cynthia. Or Cordelia. I know a cat who lives next door, and her name is Cordelia. Her fluffy calico coat can’t resist a petting when she’s called. Most days in the summer you’ll find her nestled onto her small porch in the vintage red wrought iron chair and cushion. Sometimes I walk over and call to her, “here, kitty, kitty! Hi sweet cordelia!”. And she is as sweet as her name. Now for a Cynthia, I picture a welcoming, curler wearing, lipstick swiping woman who makes friends with cats like Cordelia. If I were a Cynthia, I would keep a garden of roses, peonies, and Queen Anne’s Lace. I would love roast chicken, tea parties, and growing my own vegetables. Especially tomatoes. And crimini mushrooms. (How does one grow crimini mushrooms? Does one need to grow a forest first?). I would write my own books, and illustrate them, too! I would also stay up until midnight reading books, writing, and stroking my friend Cordelia.

If only I were a Cynthia.  


Thursday, January 21, 2010

Coffee Shop Exercise #1, January 20, 2010

Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Why do older men tend to walk with their mouths hanging open? In a sense, it is a bit endearing. White haired, bent over, with their own little routines and ways about them. But don't they worry about stray flies getting sucked into their open jaws and then shooting down their throat? What if their denture cream wears out--won't they risk their teeth flopping out onto the floor?

Perhaps it's a habit of concentration. The mind is working so furiously at the one task on hand that the mouth is forgotten. Or perhaps as you age your airways are limited. Blocked nasal passages force the throat to fling open the mouth.

Maybe it just that expressions and movement get more exaggerated over time? First off, anything connected to the head seems to grow to twice its normal size as one ages. Eyebrows, ears, lips, even the skin seems to grow and hand from the jowls. There is required much more effort to control and shift these with their increasing size. For example, an elderly man reaching into his breast pocket must, in order to see, scrunch up his chin, lift an eyebrow to move that pesky under-eye baggage, and open his mouth to catch his breath as his chin is pressing against his throat. In this process, the breathing becomes heavier and deeper. I forgot to mention the glasses hanging onto his scrunched nose for their very life. 

To this day, I may never know the reasons for such expressions and ways of going about. Not even when I transform into a white-hair someday, as I will never be a man with his mouth hanging open. Now an old lady with her mouth hanging open, that my friends, is possible.

Until next time,
LKK xo

Delinquent Writer.

Sunday, January 17, 2010
It's true; I have been a delinquent writer. My fingers reach for the keys...only to draw back. They quiver. Wringing together, they attempt a second try. Third. Twentieth. And finally, here we are amongst the darkest hours of  Writers Block. Again, it's true that I haven't done much writing--at least on this blog. Or on any blog. Only scribbles here and there to be scattered among dejected notebooks from college classes filled with the initials of my crush.

 Alas, it is time. "I, Lindsay, promise to take thee, Creative Writing, and to uphold thee on a regular basis and to care for thee until death do us part." Or, until I decide my fingers and I are done. Perhaps this means I need a deadline? (Julie & Julia, I am inspired if not to eat, to make deadlines and follow them through, thank you.) I need to at least make a promise to uphold, such as "I promise to write two hours per week; Monday and Wednesday".

And here I revise my previous statement:
"I, Lindsay, promise to take thee, Creative Writing, and to uphold thee on a regular basis and to care for thee for two hours every week in sickness and health, sunshine or rainpour. Lord, help me. Amen."

Signing off for now,
Lindsay Kate xo