Day 22: 500 Word Challenge with Jeff Goins

Write about Fear

Fear blog media

I am afraid of not fulfilling my purpose in life. I keep picturing my future as a bus or train arriving on a set schedule and I stand by too busy dreaming to hop on the vehicle of opportunity and journey to my destiny. I am anxious that I am a wastrel: wasting precious hours and minutes comparing, analysing, and dreaming when I should be listening, speaking, acting.

My deepest fears and concerns are about missing something precious. All my life I have grown most concerned when I misplace something, and occasionally lose things all together. Ironically, I am poor at putting things back in the same place, so I have multiple cheap versions of the things I use all the time black pens, notebooks, journals, water bottles, and jackets.
I want to write profound, ironic, emotional and uniquely expressed articles and stories. The longer I do this with no change in my audience the more frightened I become. In the last twelve months when I’ve been stressed I stop writing for days, even a whole week at a time. Lately, I’ve been feeling my brain grow fearful of writing. It is as if my brain is saying no, no to the thing I am most passionate about because I put in so much effort and grow excited, only to discover people don’t know, and when they do know they are not interested. I am worried about the adrenalin spike when I think of writing, as if my brain is perceiving the act of writing as a threat. How self -defeating!
Tenaciously, I determine to press in. Although my writing of morning pages is becoming spasmodic, I keep telling myself I am a writer.
I say to my weary brain, “You are a writer. You thrive when writing.”
Sometimes I feel anxiety and judgement saturate my grey matter.
They are saying, “Writing is associated with the breakdown of your marriage. Writing has robbed you.”
I reply, “Writing has given me a richer way of living. It has given me the motivation to open myself to observe the world and others, continue to be sensitive and loving towards them, despite my failures. Writing, editing, and the study I did, and the friends I made because of it, have enriched me.”
The inner judgement nags on, “But you did not do very well in your Masters Studies this year. Really you didn’t do much more than pass. I saw your disappointment at the deadlines. You knew your work was mediocre.”
Those words sting, but I pull myself up by the mental boot straps. I remember that I have always been determined when I decide to do something. Seldom have I quit anything halfway through. I’m uncertain of my destination, but I know the journey is not over. I am a hard worker, though I struggle. Knowing I did not try my best is what I fear the most.
Tomorrow I will keep writing the short story challenge and rebuild a new life.

Capture butterfly

Some links for you:

My dear friend Nicole – The Short Story Queen : https://theshortstoryqueen.wordpress.com/

Check out Cristian Mihai : https://cristianmihai.net/

A link to Jeff Goins website : https://goinswriter.com/

 Links to past posts I’ve been thinking about.

https://factitiousvignettes.wordpress.com/2017/05/04/may-a-photo-poem

https://factitiousvignettes.wordpress.com/2016/03/21/lady-gaeophias-wisdom

 

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May : A Photo Poem

 

May arrives in the south surrounded by smoky air of burnt leaves…

burnt leaves Webster street

Her blue toes and icy fingers stroke your hands and face at dawn…

Icy fingers at dawn

Her heart carries warmth: russet red, butter yellow, burnt orange…

ading to the practical colours of an Aunt’s woollen cloak.

Aunty's Cloak 2

be arrested by her colours, her last potent and bright blooms

Despite her afternoon heat she reminds you of a cold, grey gloom that is coming.

Wendouree late May sky 2

Her evening shows of diffused golden light, appearing like Elven* play slides between the branches of half-naked trees, join earth and sky.

Elven slide of Light Late April

Her magic tempts you to linger in the cool to watch the Milky Way’s unmasked clarity.

20170423_174624

She dons her navy velvet couture embellished with diamonds

StarScape13-0105w Astro pixelshttp://astropixels.com/milkyway/autumn/StarScape13-0105.html

She dances with you through her dusky mist and charmed mirrors.

Autumn light window of promise.jpg

The End

All photos except the night sky © PhraseFarm

Milky Way Autumn Starscape © Astropixels

http://astropixels.com/milkyway/autumn/StarScape13-0105.html

 

Sustained Metaphor: “May”

[ I decided this morning to personalise May, the last month of autumn(Fall) in the Southern Hemisphere, and play a little. My experience of May  is influenced by  a lot of time spent outdoors, and in rural or semi-rural areas. I hope you enjoy what is a dissonant sort of tribute to my favourite time of year. It reminds me that Ballarat’s winter is coming…]

May arrives in the south surrounded by smoky air of burnt leaves, her dress is vapour thin. Her blue toes and icy fingers stroke your hands and face at dawn. You experience reluctance to meet her but her heart carries warmth: russet red, butter yellow, burnt orange fading to the practical colour of an Aunty’s woollen cloak. You cannot help but be arrested by her colours, her last potent and bright blooms, but despite her afternoon heat she reminds you of a cold, grey gloom that is coming.

Her evening shows of diffused golden light, appearing like Elven* play slides between the branches of half-naked trees, join earth and sky. Her magic tempts you to linger in the cool to watch the Milky Way’s unmasked clarity. Her magic hour is exquisite , her tea gown a deep blue that invites you to wait until she dons her navy velvet couture embellished with diamonds , and dances with you through her dusky mist and charmed mirrors.

Never mind that she comes to aid the lengthening of nights and the freezing of your breath; her unique charm bewitches you until her first showers drench her burning heart.

(* a reference to elves ( belonging to elves)- the word Elven was made famous by Tolkien- not to be confused with elfin which denotes something elf-like with associations finely built, lively, magical )

The End

Faraway by Rianh Wynne Silvertree

A story by Rianh Silvertree “Nestled in 110 acres of natural bushland the Mt Helen Campus of Federation University…” the wind whips the brochure out of the hands of Kelly Maguire. The blue and white promotional flaps from the doorway of the upper reaches of the Albert Coates Centre and stops abruptly, pinned by […]

via “Faraway” — Rianh Wynne Silvertree

That Pink Rose

The history and symbolism of the pink rose in my front garden, and of flowers generally, has become a topic of interest to me this week. Flowers symbolise not only love, friendship, and beauty, but also death, sympathy, unfaithfulness, and fragility.

20170220_132441-lyons-st-pink-rose bud-and-bush-pink-rose

Concerning the specific history of the pink rose in my front yard, which has excited interest in passers-by, with its delightful double blooms, sweet fragrance, and delicate colour I did some research. I don’t know if I am 100% right but after making some observations about bloom appearance, hardiness in unstable weather, vigorous flowering and insistent fragrance, my money is on the rose being a Bella Rosa® standard.

I took these photos of the lovely belle on my front fence line.

http://www.magicgardenroses.com.au/proddetail.php?prod=bella_rosa

This is a commercially available rose and is categorised as a Floribunda Standard. It is a large full rose in appearance with a minimum of 26 petals. Its’ registration name is KORwonder. https://www.helpmefind.com/rose/l.php?l=2.579.0.

Reimer Kordes of Germany (1922-1997) was the grower who bred and registered this wonderful flora. It first appeared in Germany in 1981. Mr Kordes must have been fond of pink roses as he also bred the Pink Kardinia ® which is another pretty rose. It is a taller standard, producing blooms on a single stem

The link to this video provides an overview of rose production, and features a red variety of Bella Rosa.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0p5aSGI-eY

My next blog post will concern a story in which I played with the Victorian era obsession with the language of flowers to add a distinctive undertone to the narrative.