A journal of thought

I'd like you all to get to know me as a writer, just as I would like to get to know myself again as a writer. I only joined this pod today, but already, I'm making it a point to allow myself to open up to people I do not know on a personal level and share my experience with and through writing.

I'll start with an introduction, a bit of an autobiography on writing, and perhaps in the future will post some pieces from the past and hopefully there will be some pieces to come.

My name is Tiffany, and I call myself a writer. I'm young in years, but older in thought. I started writing nearly four years ago, mostly poetry. However, stuck with my head in a cloud of negative energies, most of my expression was “typical” anger, sadness and confusion. But, despite the themes of my creations, writing helped me tremendously, because through poetry I was able to vent creative energy, clear my mind, be influenced by other artists, and learn to appreciate music. Negative energy seemed to be my inspiration, and when the cloudy skies passed by, my inspiration seemed to do the same. 

I have written a couple of pieces, since the beginning that I am proud of. I will share these with you. I have written one poem in the last year, and it was not even so much a poem as it was a collection of thoughts. 

One thing that I continuously try at writing is prose. I want to write a novel. I want to write a good novel. Every time I try, I erase what's on the paper, and end up frustrated with myself.

Now, I haven't much looked around this pod, and I haven't looked at the other entries in this thread, but I really hope to use this journal as a way of taking inspiration from everything, and finding inpiration when it's hidden from me, to become a writer once again.

I hope to meet some other writers, whether they are looking to share their writing and inspiration, or whether they are looking to do some searching too. I'm interested in being a part of a community. If that does not happen, well then may I alone have the perseverence to rekindle my love of writing, and rebuild my relationship with the craft.

I'll end with one of my favourite poetry quotes, byu Thomas Gray
“Poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn.”

Peace,
Tiffany

Re: A journal of thought

Don't worry about being alone in your quest in here, Tiffany. Sandra by herself is enough to keep 2,000 people company. And we all are inspired by this space where the quest for true spirit is mixed with the trek for just the right word.

I know what you mean about misery being a great muse. I think that happens to a lot of young writers. It did to me, even though as I look back on that poetry it wasn't all that great. It's a great way to flex your wordability at a young age, get used to carrying around giant phrases and weird concepts, making words your playzone, even if that zone is filled with anger, disgust, and despair.

Fear can be very inspirational, maybe not as much as being pissed off, but if you have the courage to face it, you might find something good comes out. Brink is a good example of that, and a great example of an inspired poem that is inspiring.

Communicate from your heart to us, Tiffany, and we will talk back to you in soul language, guaranteed. Truly that's what we're here for. To communicate between souls and to establish in fact that souls totally rock. Soulfulness, peace, and love are the motivations for our art. What kind of artists would we be if we deserted you?

Thanks so much for sharing your writerly self. It helps us all.

Words in Spirit Sending Love,

Tom

Re: A journal of thought

Hello Tiffany,
just discovered your entry - welcome from one who also made her first appearance here today!
:)
My experience is that there is a lot of energy in the so called dark or negative sides of ourselves, and giving them a space and a voice in our writing is not only clearing and cleaning out dark, dusty and forbidden corners of ourselves, it also adds enormously to the power of our voices.

Funny, I've written something on darkness today on my blog, frist wanted to bring it here, then thought, no, it's not 'good enough', it's not even a story, just thoughts… aaarrrggghhhhh!

Going to bring it here now anyway!

VERY much looking forward to reading some of your work, old or new, dark or light, whatever way it comes out!

Love and encouragement,
Gabriele

Re: A journal of thought

Dear Tiffany,

It's lovely to have you hear, (typo, but I'm going to keep it!) and thanks so much for sharing from your heart in this space. It's inspiring for us all.

I agree with what Tom and Gabriele shared with you - there are no rules here and definitely it can be that the dark places are rich with creative possibility. I'd love you to read my first Notes Along the Way - it speaks very much to what you write.

I want to write a good novel.

Oh, I know the feeling so well! It lives within me like a thirsty goddess.

I'd  love you to read the bit about 'bad art'. I don't think there is a single one of us here in this pod who doesn't have the same desire - to write well, to write 'good', to write the best we can.

And in my experience, we are rarely the best judges of our own work, so I do hope you don't always  rub out what you write, please keep writing, don't read it, (especially while you are writing!), just write, and put it away. One day, you can take it out and have another look.

One of the things all artists need to get 'used' to is this terrible fear of creating bad art. Perhaps the only way to get through the hoop is to do as the Bad Art group did… just go for it, write as badly as you can!

It might even be my next assignment.. ah yes, would you be willing to consider writing for 15 minutes, in the worst possible way you can, I mean really really awful? And share it with us? (in my Optional Assignments section) I realise this is a scary thing to do, perhaps the scariest assignment I could give someone. Even if you don't share your piece with us - experiment, and let me know how you got on!

The truth is we don't need more 'good novels' what we need are stories written from the depths of our souls, from our deepest truth, from the raw and murky and secret shining places in each of us -  which we all have. When someone writes from this place, everyone is nourished. When we read stories like this we know we are not alone.

And you are definitely not alone, dear Tiffany. We are all here, with you, feeling many of the same things you feel.

With love,

Sandra

Re: A journal of thought

Sandra:  OH, JOY!  What an assignment!  To write the very worst writing I can put out for 15 minutes!  Brilliant!  Can't wait to do this one.  It is like the contest that they have at many writer's conferences to see who can write the WORST OPENING SENTENCE TO A NOVEL.  I hope everyone in the workshop tries this assignment, as I suspect we will wind up with a hilarious collection of terrific humor.  I'm off to write BAD…:)

Re: A journal of thought

Wow. I feel like I've been forcefully fed a whole bunch of really warm, soft hugs that smell like lavender and friendship!                 Me likey a lot.
 

Thank you all for taking the time to welcome me. :) I feel like I've just comeback to my bestest friends in the whole world after a really long trip after reading your welcomes.

I'm glad that I am not alone in this quest for spirit and grammar. Despite best intentions, it can still be difficult to get anything on to the page in my notebook. Or a scrap piece of paper. Or my blog. Or wordpad. You get the point I'm sure. I guess I'll have to meet this Sandra, because she sounds like good company! I've encountered the same feelings with my misery driven poetry. It really isn't that great by my standards today, but from my original word-game poetry has come my ability to manipulate words and concepts. I fidn it particularily useful in analytical writing. I've gone back to a different, more natural way of writing meaningful pieces though. Just letting it flow.

I suppose you wouldn't be very good artists (or at least not very nice ones) if you deserted me. So I guess we've volunteered to be in this together. :)

Thanks for the comment Tom.
ps: Souls do rock!

Hello Gabriel.
I guess we're kind of like twins, being born into this pod on the same day. Or something. =P Anger, despair, sadness all do give a very strong voice to emotion, and in giving a voice to these emotions we allow ourselves to be a little bit clearer in mind set. That I do agree with. I've written poems on writing poems, and the way language blends with emotion, it's clear to tell that art is soulful to anyone who has something to express.  

Thank you for your encouragement.

I'm excited about this “bad writing” assignment. I think I might be good at it if I try. ;)

Art, by definition, cannot be bad. We are the ones who make the definition, we are the ones who make the art. Bad art is still a good way of expressing.  I have to agree with you that the best stories are the ones that are nessesarily good. The best books I have read are the ones that both slap you in the face and then help you up and give you a cup of warm tea. They're the ones you get excited about, the ones you can relate to.

So, I feel comfortable enough here that I may even be willing to post some bad art.

Thank you all.

Re: A journal of thought

Tiffany~
         Welcome! Don't ever feel apologetic for anything you write.  If it is in you to write, then write! Often and as much as possible!  I have been writing my whole life, thus far, and have gone thru all sorts of  “stages”.  When I was younger, I wrote alot of dark poetry. Writing was my way of getting it all out, my therapy(it is wonderful therapy!). I have whispered my deepest, darkest secrets into the heart of my poems. The first year my husband and I were married I think I wrote nothing but love poems to him.  There was even a time for awhile, after watching “Dracula”, that I wrote an absurd amount of poetry related to vampirism.  My point is(and yes, I do actually have a point…) that you will go thru many stages in your development as a writer…..ENJOY them all……as you learn and grow  and experience things in life…your writing will grow with you!

Peace, back at ya!
           ~Josy

Re: A journal of thought

Ave everyone!

Another newbie here… and I'm already gnawing my nails and grind my teeth in dispair *crocodile tears *. There's so much I would like to write and write properly & beautifuly and distinct, would like to bend the words grecefully - gently lean over them some times and some other times I need to knock the breath out with that one word… yes, you know, with that one.
Instead of bending my words I find me bending in silent scream and making my fist's. My tools, oh my tools, come to me when I need you. With a magic wand I shift my vocabulary to content all these lines, dots and curves that built all the English words.
Instead I'm forced to use simple language sometimes and the meanings line up as some dummie's linear perspective. Childish even, not that that is wrong.

Well, I need to be patient with myself and with my finite expression, dwell in these chaimbers and consume all the constellations I can come across. These lines took me some time to write because I needed to use my translator. And that put's me out of flow.

I have written 3 books and a LOT of poems. My favorite genre is fantasy and I have one fantasy book as an e-book, in Swedish. Maybe I could do some translating… some day.

Re: A journal of thought

I want to thank all of you, both individually for welcoming me, and also I would like to thank this community. I've been reading through some people's responses to optional assignments, and reading through some poetry. It's made me dig up some of my old poetry (and a bit of prose), good or bad. I've spent a couple of hours writing today. I've done a couple of the assignments that I've found, though I don't think I'm ready to post them for the world to see yet. *blush*

I've remembered something today. I was outside bikingin the evening, and it was just starting to rain, so I was heading home. I was listening to Chopin, and perhaps because of the rain, or the melancholy piano, I just wanted to write. So, I came home, and just wrote some random stuff. And, while doing so I really remembered why I used to enjoy writing so much. It wasn't because my writing was good. It was because it felt good- to take a word, a topic or an emotion, and just let spill. It really feels good!

It seems so simple- it's basically what's already been said here. It's not about good or bad. I read what was said by all of you , but it didn't reach me. Now I remember- being able to write poems about poems. I've been so focused looking at the computer screen and being jealous because there are people who, because they devote themselves to writing a bit all the time, can  actually put something onto paper (or wordpad) that they don't erase. :P

I have all of these random blog-type journal entries, which are more like prose, and I hope that I don't lose them. I'm sure one day I'll come to them- and I will find that my good book has already been written by me.

And, so you all know, because we're opening up and all here- I was going to erase this whole entry- but I didn't. ;)

One step in the right direction. =)

Tiff

Re: A journal of thought

August 4, 2007

It's been a while, I haven't been on zaadz very much, let alone contributing anything to the community. However, I'm here now. And, not only that, I'm here about writing, if you can believe it. I started writing today and it wasn't forced, so for that, I am happy.

Usually my writing consits of me, sitting down and telling myself that I want to write, getting one line, finding it not very good, and giving up. Sometimes I'l have something to write about, but I find portraying anything is difficult. However, I've been on this website, thefempire.com, reading articles that seem to really affect me right now, and for some reason the writing came.

I've never been much of a article writer, or an editorial writer either. I tend not to like the formal writing, however today I've been finding it quite good for teh soul. Now, I haven't been writing editorials, but some cross between a magazine article and a blog entry that holds some pretty down to earth messages. I guess it's sort of a sign that if I haven't been able to read fiction lately, I wouldn't be able to write it either.

Now, as for my inspiration… in the past it has usually been happiness, great joy or sorrow/ unhappiness. However, I seem to be struck with a sort of determination. I feel empowered. I'm writing, and as I'm doing so I'm reading the words that I'm typing, and they're things about myself that I am only discovering at that particular moment.  It's really refreshing.

I hope I can be accepted back into this community here, despite my absence.
;)

Tiffany

Re: A journal of thought

As far as I'm concerned anyone who posts once here is *always* here :-) I'm just delighted to read you again, dear Tiffany.

I found your description of your journey and description of feeling empowered & and determined very wonderful. Those are words I'd also use to describe how I feel about writing these days.

Love,
Sandra

Re: A journal of thought

The other day I was surfin around on Zaadz, and came across a group of people who were dedicated to improving their writing skills.  Oh my, how could I ever join this group of professionals who will read every word I write and think.. 'he isn't one of us', but since he joined, we better humor him.

So, off I went, surfing on another wave looking for love in all the wrong places.  Next place I stopped was a Zaadz cafe that didn't have the vanilla mocha half calf latte I wanted.  It was like a cafe, but they didn't serve anything, and you couldn't buy a single piece of high caloric sugar loaded caffeinated red bull on steroids.

Speaking of steriods, what do you think about Barry Bonds, and the way he is being attacked and charged for lying to some grand jury?  I didn't meet Barry at the Zaadz cafe, although he may have benefited from being there, instead of popping pills and shooting up on drugs that make Viagra look like a cough drop. 

Do you remember the old Smith's cough drops.  MMMMM they were so darn good.  Cherry was my favorite, but the problem was I used to eat them like candy.  I certainly never had a cough for years, but it resulted in a permanent case of puckered tongue and eyes that bugged out at least an inch from where they should be. 

Speaking of cough drops, I remember the old Coke machine that dispensed coke bottles for 10 cents at McLeod's corner store in Galt.  We concluded it takes people about a quarter mile to drink a 10 oz Coke, because all the bottles ended up on our lawn, or the MacIntosh's lawn, which was just a bit beyond us.. for the slower drinkers.  I was always amazed that you could get 2 cents back for the bottle on a 5 cent bottle of pop.  With our two cents, we always got two huuuuge, humungous gumballs that took about an hour to crunch down to chewing gum, if you didn't lose a tooth first. 

Oh, those were the days, until one day my brother was trying to pick up the pieces of a broken bottle in front of our house.  His hands were full with glass shards, and some of them started to fall, so he pushed his hands together to stop the carnage.  Well, I will tell you, he pushed so hard, glass embedded into his palms and fingers, and well, you could tell he was badly injured by the cream soda flowing out of a coke bottle.  That's what my mom called it anyway, cream soda. 

The poor guy went to the hospital and when he got home both his hands were all bandaged up and we used to take turns feeding him at dinner.    After a while, we laughed at it, but also agreed it was pretty darn nice of him to pick up the glass without being told to do it. 

That reminds me too, of walking to school in the morning.  The Catholics went east and the Public school kids went west.  As long as there were rocks or snow on the ground, some Catholic kid got beat up for being a pansy.  We weren't pansies, we were just trying to be nice kids, playfully tossing iceballs at other kids heads.  They didn't think it was playing and proceeded to chase the Catholic kids.  One time, my brother, same one, fell down and two secular twin brothers kicked him in the back and in the shoulder.  He broke his collar bone and a rib, and headed home so mom could take him to the hospital.  Unfortunately, it was one of mom's rare days where she was off shopping, so Peter sat on the front steps for 3 hours until she came home.  He was pretty much comatose by then, but remembers how much he liked seeing the blue sprue trees in the front yard melt into a flowing cacophony of needles, bird chirpings and pine cones.  Soon, the skies opened up, and brother Pete took shelter under those same trees.  He didn't know what was worse, the pain or the rain.  Oh my, that rhymes. 

I'm a poet and didn't know it! 

Pete was fine, and he got lots of ice cream and attention at home and the girls at school wanted to take care of him.  Once he was cured, and the attention diminished, I think he said he was going to go for a bike ride and break his other collar bone. 

So, I know I've been rambling, but it was nice to visit Main Street again.  Oh.. and then there was the time I was carrying a really big rock home from school, playing shotput with it on the sidewalk.  I was really happy with how far I could throw it, and my technique improved substantially just over two or three blocks.  It really hadn't improved as I thought. 

There was a car coming down the street, and I decided to shotput the rock over the car as it passed by.  Well, the set up was beautiful, the launch incredible, and I watched the rock rise higher, higher higher, and then for some reason, it did not have that perfect arc I envisioned.  Instead, it plummeted straight down through the windshield to the car.  Uh oh.. I was not quite ready for the Olympics yet.  I was only 6 years old, and hadn't had any coaching yet, so perhaps my visions of grandeur were premature.

Anyway, the lady got out of the car, started yelling at me, and asked me why on earth I was hauling boulders into the street.  I told her I was a good Catholic boy, and that I was very sorry, and would never do anything this deliberate.  I told her I would pay for the damage, but the tears in my eyes, and my trembling lower lip were all that she needed to see that I was more upset than she was.  She told me it was alright, the windshield was insured, and she drove me me.  I was afraid she was going to tell my mom, but she just let me go.

Anyway, it must be 15 minutes now.. and it was quite a beautiful exercise to write about memories that I thought were long gone.

Thanks Sandra.

Love

Dave