When writer’s block sets up camp in your soul and refuses to leave, it’s only natural a writer find another way. My other way comes in the form of Letters to My Daughter. Mind you, they are housed in a black leather-bound journal, but they begin with a date and “Dear Lovey”  and end “with love from Mom.” To me, that constitutes letters and it’s letters I’ve been writing to her since December 5, 2011, 372 days after her dad, my ex-husband announced he was leaving. It was at that point I decided that I had to get some things off my chest, exorcise a few demons.

I must admit, not every day has been filled with love. In the beginning I poured out my heart in the only way I knew how, talking about the pain, the games, and how the torture just kept going. The clocks kept ticking. The sound that made me insane when my daughter was first born – tick tock tick tock – reminding me how quickly she was growing became the sound that my heart synced up to in order to keep beating. And with every heart beat life moved on, slowly. Lovey grew upward, up to 44 inches in March, and my heart grew a little stronger. I’m still waiting for wings to sprout, but for now, at least it can beat on its own.

It kept time with the world yesterday and granted me joy in experiencing the little things and the ability to write about them. Things like:

The color Moroccan red, which now artfully adorns our kitchen and makes me smile each time I glance in that direction; cats purring and mewing around my ankles as they seek out a snack, and a little Buddy who refuses to leave my side; the smell of roses and gardenia growing together; any blue bird God ever created followed closely by red, then yellow; the romantic trill of a cowbird; a bullfrog croaking along with the sound the water makes as it pours over the rocks; the smell of rain as storm clouds begin to loom; the sight of brightly colored leaves and flowers spreading out across our vegetable garden knowing tasty, fresh vegetables aren’t far behind; learning Lovey had written her very first stories in school yesterday and her confidence as she proudly read them to me; the sound of her sobs as she begged, “Mommy, please, please let me sleep in your bed tonight because I miss you and…I’m crying” – sweet, funny girl; the sound of her softly snoring as she lay on the pillow next to mine; the breeze rustling the leaves outside my window and the tinkling sound of rain drops bouncing off the window; the sound of friends laughing, especially Mickey who has the heartiest laugh ever to leave a man’s chest; my mom and aunt as they feed off of one another’s hysterical laughter until they both begin to cry and the priceless looks of confusion on my father’s and uncle’s faces; the sound doves make as they launch into the sky; and the moment I once again experienced true joy.

Every day I write a letter to my little girl. Each day is different, yet each one offers the promise that life really is getting better. MAybe someday she’ll accept it as my gift of wit and wisdom about how purely crazy our lives were way back when. Maybe someday the pain, the games , and the torture will stop. Maybe someday my heart will sprout wings and lift my soul whistling as doves do when they fly away.

What little things have you experienced that have brought you joy?

We’ve all been there, plugging along at our WIP (work in progress) then life interrupts – don’tcha just hate that? – and when we finally get back to it, there’s something missing. The spark, the excitement, dare I say JOY, has just evaporated.  Now the phrase work in progress has taken on a whole new meaning.

It’s time to take the muse on a play date.

So often, as writers, we hear about refilling the creativity well.  Ideas abound:  Read a good book.  Take a long drive.  Go shopping with a friend.  Get your hair or nails done.  Get a massage.  Give your muse a fun-filled day and she will
give you back the JOY in your WIP tenfold.

Recently, I took an excursion that not only refilled the well, it had my muse practically giddy with excitement as ideas and new, fully-fleshed scenes rushed to my fingertips faster than I could write!  Let me pause here to say that I LOVE
waterfalls.  I’ve made it a personal goal to visit all of them in the state of Georgia, and any others I hear about when I’m traveling.  So, it’s no wonder that I
have a river with a notable waterfall in my current book.

This past November I had the opportunity to hike deep into the Appalachians to find a little known waterfall.  There were no hiking trails, maps or signs to point the way.  You had to have someone who’d been there before guide you.
Seriously.  People have gotten lost trying to find it.  Not only did we find this amazing waterfall.  Guess who was sitting right at the top, waving madly and grinning from ear to ear.  You’re right. My muse.

Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?  I didn’t need a day of shopping to help me
get back that loving feeling, I needed to see a part of my story come to life!  Sights, sounds, smells, sensations coursed through me with such power that for a minute there I really was my heroine.  Scenes, dialogue, descriptions became so clear.  It really was an awesome experience.  JOY had found its way back into my writing.

So tell me, what would you do, if given the chance, to refill the well with regard to your current wip?  What are your characters doing or how are they living, that you could experience somehow and find new inspiration?

In the spirit of celebrating our third anniversary this month, one lucky commenter will receive  a $10.00 Starbucks gift card.

Did you know that today, the 15th of November is always America Recycles Day, National Bundt Pan Day (I know. Weird, right?) and believe it or not… it’s also I Love to Write Day!

How serendipitous is that?

When I learned of this obscure celebration, it was and it wasn’t so serendipitous. On one hand, it was great, seeing how I’m a writer looking for today’s subject. But I wasn’t feeling the joy because this year has been the worst yet for me in terms of feeling the urge to write, the need to get words on paper and finding inspiration. Many of you here know what an emotionally devastating year 2010 was for me. Multiple family members with health issues, three deaths, etc. But I’d also sold a book to Red Sage and had to keep pushing myself to finish rounds of edits and publisher info sheets for cover art and such. I had a contract, therefore no choice but to meet my obligations. Having something else to concentrate on was both a blessing and a curse.

During the first part of this year, I concentrated on getting Insight and Phantoms & Fantasies self/Indie published. Then Bittersweet Obsessions released on June 1st and I could relax a little.

Promotions were a different animal from the creative writing. Sure, I had to write guest posts and such, but I didn’t have to dig for character motivations and build a plot. Everything in me shied away from the creativity of fiction writing. I’m an empathetic person during the best of times, eyes prickling hot at Hallmark commercials and such, but suddenly I was crying over even small kindnesses portrayed on gritty police procedural shows.

Digging into a character’s emotional state was beyond my tolerance. You see, my empathy extends to my writing, my characters. If they’re sad, I’m sad and crying with them. If they’re cracking a joke, I’m chuckling along too. Digging into their emotions meant dealing with my own, and I still felt too fragile. Readers of Bittersweet Obsessions wanted to know if Klaus’s story would be next, so I started it, but couldn’t get past the first chapter and a little planning.

I gave myself a stern talking to several times, not that it helped. Others have encouraged me, and I appreciated their support, but the words still didn’t come. Gradually, though, I began to yearn for the feel of creating new characters, exploring their lives, helping them find their happily-ever-after’s. The anniversaries of the trio of deaths came and went. I survived and felt somewhat stronger. I re-read notes I’d made for new stories, but didn’t feel inspired to write them. Nothing spoke to me.

Every morning, I’d awaken, wishing a new story idea would be there like a gift waiting to be opened. Today it was there. It was there!

I eased from the bedroom quietly, went to my computer and began to make notes on the three strong, independent women clamoring to tell me their stories. They’re friends with uniquely personal sorrows and triumphs to share with me. They have hurts to heal and better days ahead, much like me.

For me, today is definitely I Love To Write Day!

Have you ever hit a writing slump that it didn’t feel like you’d ever get out of? Or do the ideas come to fast for you to get them all down? I’d love to hear your experiences too.

I’ve had times in my life when I’ve been positively euphoric with bliss. Times when it seems like I’m overwhelmed with good fortune. I remember falling in love and feeling as if my heart would burst from my chest with happiness. There were many days after my children were born when my life was so full of love I wasn’t sure my heart could hold all the joy.

I have known deep sorrow and grief the likes of which I didn’t think I could survive. Yet I’m still here.

There is a lot going on with my extended family these days. I won’t depress you with all the details. Let’s just say I’ve been bombarded with devastating news and keep the tissues handy. Unfortunately there will be worse news before this hard-to-breathe period is over. There’s no getting ’round it, I’m afraid.

Some days my heart is so heavy with sorrow, I struggle to find the happiness in each day, struggle to draw air in and out of my lungs because of the suffocating weight.

Yet the joy of life is there, in my marriage, in the voices of my children, in the friendships that keep me sane, in the process of writing. I pray. I give thanks for them and cling to those tidbits of good, reminding myself of all I have. Those things help me to just breathe.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Just breathe.