"Did he just go crazy and fall asleep?"

~Firefly

So I've noticed something about writing... Y'know how some writers get their greatest inspiration, they create their finest works in moments of greatest depression, self-doubt, and darkness.

I'm not one of them.

It's odd, but I'm not sure if I get down because I don't persist in writing enough (writing certainly can turn a down day into a, up one)--or maybe when I'm down I just don't write.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg? :)

As you can see though, I'm writing today. Today's been pretty decent. It's not raining, but it probably will this week! Yay! (Yes, I'm one of those weirdos, don't hate me)

But it's still an interesting question. To put it differently (& in a simpler fashion):
Do I write because I'm happy?
Or does writing make me happy?

Not that I haven't written when I'm down, but ... that was usually poetry, and I don't count that. I don't know how most poets write, but for myself I can honestly say that the poetry muse only moves in me occasionally--and that's the only time any poetry I write is worthwhile. She also moves very unpredictably in me... but that's another post.

Also on writing, I finished another journal today. It was red with a shiny gold pattern, and it was hardback. The pages were beautiful, a light red (oh alright, pink) with a more solid toned pattern on the edge where the lines for writing stopped. Her name was CoraSueño, Heart's Dream (I know, that's not the literal Spanish translation, it's a name I made up so I don't care! :P).

R.I.P. CoraSueño, may your last page be filled with beautiful dreams.

"Act well your part, there all the honor lies."

~Alexander Pope

There is sunshine outside today, and I felt perfectly comfortable in a t-shirt! (Plague on those red squiggly lines, they are such a concentration breaker!!) I love warmth, but the skeptic within keeps sneering at the gleeful five-year-old and reminding me that it's only February, snow will yet return. :P That's alright though, the five-year-old is still excited, it's hard to dampen that.

But enough about the weather...

Life, how's it been going lately? Hmmm... well... There was that uber-exciting trip to Indiana to see the Bethel production of Cinderella, and to see all the friends that were there, and the road-trip part of it...

Hmm... this blogging seems to be rather unproductive. I don't know how I can have gone on such a magnificent trip and come back with so little to write here about, but maybe it has something to do with all the other ideas running around in my head. No worries though, I'll leave you with something, if not something interesting. Then I'm off to write fiction--pure, unadulterated (why do writers use that particular word there so often I wonder?) fiction.

I've written about love, have I told you about joy?

Joy is the winter that eventually ends.
Joy is the starlight in the present black.
Joy is a friend, miles away,
That wishes you never had to leave,
But loving you all the same.
Joy is memories fondly recalled,
And the hope of new ones to come.
Joy is strong enough to stand in the darkness,
And free enough to break any chain.
Joy is sunlight remembered and hoped for.
Joy is friendship, past and future.
Joy is in the moment, forgetting sorrow and fear.
Joy inspires in spite of the drought.
Joy smiles at love, and laughs at doubt.

I'm Not Crazy, I'm Rehearsing

Ah! Who knew getting out of the house with enough time for writing could be so difficult?!

I'm so happy to have found a coffee shop again--is it odd to miss being in a coffee shop? There just seems to be a certain aura that can only be found in a place that specializes in coffee & tea that cannot be found anywhere else. Maybe it's the writer in me, I hear that writers tend to be drawn to these havens like moth to flame... Maybe that's why I've missed it. But I've found one now, so there's no need to miss anymore! Yay!

But enough about coffee shops (well, digression from thence at least).

The parents are back, life has returned to normal, I'm no longer in charge of cooking in the house. That's kind of a happyness, but kind of saddening too. I rather enjoyed the adventure of it all.

All the same, I'm glad to see the parents back.

This weekend is Bethel College's production of Cinderella! Whoohoo! I'm going to see it tomorrow! Huzzah! Wait, it's freezing outside, so I'm heading ... north?! What? Who's bright idea was that?!

Ah well, can't have it all.

This is crazy, I've been thinking so much lately, & wanting to write here a ton. But here I am AGAIN!! Mer. Fine. I would forget to bring my writer's book with me this one time. Ah well, hopefully a routine can develop soon such that I will not do this nonsense anymore.

Before I go, I will leave you with this, a poem I wrote a while ago:

How can I say
What I know not?
How can I play
If I know not the rules?
How might I dance
Not knowing the steps?
Must I take a chance
With my life in my hands?
With the flames dancing high
Whilst the thunder rolls loud,
I look to the sky
And sing!
Such stuff is of life
Not knowing but guessing,
Fighting through strife,
And leaping in faith.