To dream is to begin

to begin is to dream



I am committed to a national novel writing month journey.
To taking something misty and intangible
and pulling it down onto page.

To dream is to begin w text

to begin is to dream

since I am still typing up notes from notebook, here is some stuff I found in it about my writing

I should write it like a dream, the most beautiful dream I have ever had. Let myself step into it. Fill me, fill it, with everything that makes me heart, my mind, my soul, smile. Child delights and womanly ones, and not say no, not once.

I am reading, Eat Pray Love, off and on, and when I came to the description of the library with the garden courtyard in the middle of it, with a fountain in the center, and trees, and flowers, and benches all around, I thought, what a perfect place to be, to sit and read, how wonderful it would be to be there. And I asked myself what would be the perfect book to read there? What would I want to read while sitting on one of those benches? What would be the perfect story for me? What would it contain? How would it feel? What would touch my heart, mind, spirit, make me sigh, make me glow? Be a song I would love to sing, refrain repeating in my head all day, like sunlight and a soft breeze, I close my eyes, listen and dream.
And I thought of all my favorite books, the stories that have filled me, become part of me. And I thought of one book, that could contain them all, all those things that I like best, a story that could touch me deeply, and pull light inside me. And I asked myself to try to write, create, such a story, for myself. *

What sort of a thing would it be-Romantic, dreamy, about love, full of beauty. Funny in parts? (I hope so). Of course overcoming (there must be challenges and obstacles). The process of knitting together that which has been torn apart, or merely is apart. What would be a balm; what would both amuse and calm? Falling in love, magic, giddy playfullness, a spirit like childhood, safe for dreaming, mystery, a quest, discovery, chrysalis to butterfly. When I dream of it, it sounds so easy, lifting my hand to the sky, and thousands (50,000 to be exact) of lovely butterflies dance, and land in turn upon my fingertips. BUT...but, while there are sweet moments, joyous moments of writing, I feel not at all as though I am about to enter and walk through my perfect dream. Instead at this moment I am scared, knowing pain and frustration lie on the path ahead, and they will rise up to meet me. This journey will be a struggle, and I will be my greatest foe, wanting to run away from painful sad emotions, and torturing myself over parts, over things, I don't know.
But still, to begin is to dream, to believe the journey is possible and the attempt worthwhile.
And I know it will both be wonderful and horrible,
but I believe in my dream, so I begin.


*I should clarify, that I am not sitting here pen in hand, attempting to write for myself a story that contains the best of what I like best, to do so would paralyze me with fear, be impossible, and I would of course write nothing. The reason for embracing the concept of embracing all that I love best is not something to live up to, but rather giving myself permission to be sugary if I wish, to not badger myself if it all sounds just too sentimental. It is funny that I worry so about that when writing (my internal editor is always going on about it "cloying, treacly, saccharine, syrupy, honeyed drivel ") because when I type up my notes, I often find I am painfully upset and choking back tears, not really a teddybear tea party after-all.

This will be the home of all your sorrow
and happiness
pour it out of you
and into this story

loneliness, longing

Halloween totem

that's what Cheese calls this

pumpkin patch

This place is a fruit orchard. It is great when you want to go out into an orchard and pick your own apples, peaches, cherries, or raspberries. But when it comes to pumpkins, well, not so good, we got to the pumpkin patch part of it and I was so disappointed, it was just a field, grass with pumpkins placed on it! There was no tripping over vines, not picking one out, then using might and skill to release it. There were just rows of really big (=$$$$) pumpkins. I felt like I might as well have just gone to the grocery store, and that would have been much cheaper. I was further bummed because my camera batteries were depleted. So I have no shots of the strange wooden cow, you could "milk" and goodness knows what came out into a bucket. And no shots of the giant slide made with what looked like plastic industrial tubing. (Cheese refused to go down this, saying "Do you know how many people's butts have touched that thing, smashing down into it at high speeds.) (no it wasn't a question it was a declaration).

All and all we had a good time.

As you can see, we haven't carved the pumpkins. Emotionally/mentally, I still think it is September. I am surprised Cheese has shown no interest in carving his, because we have a family tradition, where you carve your pumpkin, then on Halloween night, the great pumpkin will come and leave you a present inside it. (no jack-o-lantern = no gift)

Oh! Deer

blurry, but dry deer.

wet pebbles

wet rocks