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I’m ready.

For all sorts of reasons, this time of year points to new beginnings. After a long, drawn out winter, I say, yeah. It’s about time.

I took a long walk with a friend today, and we passed by tiny purple flowers pushing through last year’s lawns. We saw daffodils and the beginnings of tulips, too, but the purple flowers held my attention. One bloom by itself did little to change the landscape; clustered together, though, they whispered a promise.

Wood Violet Petals 10

I can’t wait.

Lately, I’ve been behaving like a madwoman, cleaning out drawers and clearing out space and rearranging furniture in the house, perhaps making way for this new energy.

And, while this post speaks of “new,” I’m re-posting something old, a Wednesday’s Word poem written around this time last year, because it too says, Hey. Get up. Get a move on.

Shake it off and look around….

Wake Up.

I am nudged awake
By the snout
Of my black lab.
Whose chin,
Wet from her morning drink,
Shocks me
And ensures
I don’t drop off
To sleep again.

She demands her walk.

Eyes barely open,
I slip into last night’s jeans,
A crumpled shirt, my crocks.
And, I turn to see
She’s holding the leash
In her mouth-
A sign that I
Am moving
Too slow.

“It’s early yet,”
I whisper,
And, I hope
For a quiet walk.
But my sleek, dark friend
Has a different plan,
And she pulls me
Through a cacophony
Of music.

The sounds of a city revving up its day.

Squeaky brakes from a bus
Pitch an off-key tune,
And a jackhammer down the block
Sets the beat.
Bada-dum.
Bada-dum.
Bada-dum.
I am pulled by my dog
‘Til my pace falls in line.

I hear sounds from the left
And noise from the right
Like instruments, I think,
And I swear
People are hiding
In alleys,
With cymbals
And triangles
And maybe a wood block.

They play a song
Of the city
Coming alive.
A tune
That celebrates.
Invigorates,
And culminates
When we reach
The fountain.

She stops,
My four-legged guide,
And looks right at me
With a grin. She’s sly.
I cock my head.
The water rises and falls
Like the sound of applause
From an audience, unseen.
~
What new things are coming to life in your part of town?

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Ride the internet waves.

Today, I’m guest posting at Lisa Rivero’s blog, Writing Life.

Lisa and I live within easy driving distance of each other, but it was the ever-expansive internet that brought us together. I won’t bore you with details on when and where we connected, or how long we “chatted” before we finally met in person (writers’ forums and social networking sounds a lot like online dating, don’t you think? Only we exchange website domains instead of phone numbers).

How Lisa and I met isn’t half as important as why I value her as a writing friend: her blog continues to inspire me, and she’s a constant bouy of support. So, jump on the broadband and slide on over to Lisa’s blog, where I write about how one genre of writing informs another:

On Stanley Kunitz, Memoir, and Fiction.

If you’re like me, you’re always in search of the perfect How-To book when it comes to the craft of writing, but sometimes the lessons are found in other books. You just have to pay attention.

Browse around Lisa’s blog, too, while you’re there. She publishes some great posts on writing and some amazing flash narratives.

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Just make the pancakes.

The other night, I decided to make breakfast for dinner. There’s a thrill in deviating from the norm, isn’t there? But, the real reason I opted for flapjacks was that they’re easy.

I had a list of writing projects on my mind. I worked on a few pieces during the afternoon and then found myself short on time for dinner. Keep the meal simple, I thought, easy and stress-free. But, even as I whipped together the batter without cracking open a book (we have breakfast for dinner often), I still created my own little chaos.

I studied the clock and wondered how long it might take to get things cooking along. I calculated the amount of edits I might get done during my late night writing time. I felt the pressure of self-inflicted deadlines.

Maybe, I figured, I could edit a few sentences here and there, in between batter drips and flips.

Pretty soon, I was praying for an extra set of arms, burning myself on bacon grease, and reading the same sentence over and over. My stomach grumbled, not from hunger but from anxiety, and my head began to swell with whispers from my internal critic.

Watch out that you don’t burn dinner.
Do you even know what your kids are doing right now?
There’s no way you’ll ever finish that story on time.
By the way, that batter’s too thick.

What happened to that quick and easy, stress-free dinner?

Then, I heard that still, small voice that can break through my insanity like the sun, when it cuts through a cloudy day, and I heard a simple solution:

Sometimes, you just make the pancakes.

You put the writing aside.

You let go of the fear of unfinished projects.

Just for now.
Make the dinner.
Listen to some music.
Relax.

Amanda Hoving talks about a similar moment in her post on unruly To-Do lists. She dared to put her list aside; she embraced the day and found respite. She says, “The point is, it will all eventually get done.” She’s right.

Because, do you know what happened? I flipped one pancake at a time, cooked up some mean bacon, and set a lovely table for breakfast…well, dinner. Then, I smothered my inner critic in syrupy goodness, so that she stayed quiet the rest of the night.

And that writing? Little by little, those stories are coming together. I even sent out one submission before the deadline.

It’s Sunday.
A perfect day to bask in the steam from that cup of coffee.
To mix up some bread dough and knead, knead, knead.
Go ahead.
Make pancakes for dinner.