Your picture of your idyllic space in Colorado - and knowing that it didn't turn you into a "resplendent, prolific writer" is actually a comfort because it helps me get over the spirals my mind goes into with "if only" statements. "If only I lived in the mountains away from all modern distractions. If only I could dedicate all day every day to writing."
"The writing comes to the surface, but not easily or smoothly or in a way that makes much sense. No matter how much you try to bring a piece into a cohesive thought or takeaway, it tends to wiggle away. It can feel like a character is shapeshifting on you." This is so well expressed, Amanda. The plum rains have reached my part of Japan and are smuding away at firm shapes and clear ideas. It's not everyone's favourite season here, but we all know the benefits.
I once watched a young possum gathering dried leaves apparently for his home. He carefully inspected each dried leaf before passing it carefully to his back legs and then wound his tail delicately around the leaf to carry it home. By the time he waddled off with his wreath of leaves entertained in his tail he looked like a wall hanging for a florist shop.
This is how I feel my musings are gathered. Bits here and there, carefully wrapped and tended as written on a page, to be unfurled later and added as the story unfolds.
Or not, as I have always determined of myself being consistently inconsistent. The season of musings is excruciating because I love detail and processes that click, and I have come to learn machinations can only masquerade as imagination for so long before they get found out. So the pain of things that don't match, don't fit, seemly going nowhere is part of the glorious aha when one thought, one sentence, one saying becomes that golden thread that weaves it all together and makes sense of the entire mess!
Ooooh Amanda, this is so helpful. I would love to join the Zoom gathering and I actually registered, then realized that's the day my sister is coming for a visit. We're going to the Lavender and Lillies Festival! I'm sorry I'll miss it and hope there will be a recording I can watch later. Thank you for this valuable series!
Amanda, love this! I am most definitely in A Season of Musing and have been so ever since a late February serious low back injury and long recovery (still in it) has isolated me and challenged me, physically and emotionally, as nothing else. It has humbled me. And I am still musing, parsing its meaning and timing, even as I finally make real progress in my healing, 3 months later. This has been a time out of time. My body put me in a timeout! And I’ve had no choice but to listen…and muse. I’ll be sure to sign up for the session!
I feel so much in this, Amy. I know that sense of being creatively stuck because of the "swirl" around you in daily life. It's really hard to find the "gold" in this season but I promise you, from experience, something is being culled beneath the surface. Looking forward to the live session next week. ☀️
For me, the season of musing feels like being FLOODED with the scent of stories that want to be told, writing down the few lines that waft in and fade out - like a time capsule waiting for some unknown “later”. And I want to weave these into the rest of my work, because they are so potent for me, yet wrangling them into some semblance of sense is HARD.
Maybe the message for now is to continue gathering the gold and focus on sharing what comes a little easier.
"Flooded" is a great adjective for the season of musing. It's like so much is trying to bubble to the surface and, much like a muse, the organizing of those ideas feels damn near impossible. Surrendering to my season of musing was the only way through. I had to let things just be a "mess" and trust the process much as you're pointing to here. Thanks, Angel! See you next week in the live Writing Seasons Publishing Lab. ☀️
The idea of there being an "undercurrent of desperation" struck a chord for me. I hadn't thought about it in that way, but I definitely feel a sense of urgency and of "why the fuck not?" Maybe it's partially due to all the chaos in the world around us right now, but in addition to the desperation, I also feel - as you mentioned - a sense of rebellion. I'm also experiencing a really weird friction between feeling like I have so much to say, and then not being able to find the words.
Yes, that self-inflicted pressure really does seem to create a barrier to finding the words at all. Sometimes, OK most of the time, I have to put a lot of effort into surrendering to the mess of this season ... And also relating to the mess as a curious thing to get to know, not to tackle to the ground, you know? Thanks for being here, Jamie!
Your picture of your idyllic space in Colorado - and knowing that it didn't turn you into a "resplendent, prolific writer" is actually a comfort because it helps me get over the spirals my mind goes into with "if only" statements. "If only I lived in the mountains away from all modern distractions. If only I could dedicate all day every day to writing."
Honestly it's humbling.
"The writing comes to the surface, but not easily or smoothly or in a way that makes much sense. No matter how much you try to bring a piece into a cohesive thought or takeaway, it tends to wiggle away. It can feel like a character is shapeshifting on you." This is so well expressed, Amanda. The plum rains have reached my part of Japan and are smuding away at firm shapes and clear ideas. It's not everyone's favourite season here, but we all know the benefits.
Amanda has such a beautiful way with words, doesn't she?!
She does indeed!
I once watched a young possum gathering dried leaves apparently for his home. He carefully inspected each dried leaf before passing it carefully to his back legs and then wound his tail delicately around the leaf to carry it home. By the time he waddled off with his wreath of leaves entertained in his tail he looked like a wall hanging for a florist shop.
This is how I feel my musings are gathered. Bits here and there, carefully wrapped and tended as written on a page, to be unfurled later and added as the story unfolds.
🤎🐀 🌿🍃
Or not, as I have always determined of myself being consistently inconsistent. The season of musings is excruciating because I love detail and processes that click, and I have come to learn machinations can only masquerade as imagination for so long before they get found out. So the pain of things that don't match, don't fit, seemly going nowhere is part of the glorious aha when one thought, one sentence, one saying becomes that golden thread that weaves it all together and makes sense of the entire mess!
Ooooh Amanda, this is so helpful. I would love to join the Zoom gathering and I actually registered, then realized that's the day my sister is coming for a visit. We're going to the Lavender and Lillies Festival! I'm sorry I'll miss it and hope there will be a recording I can watch later. Thank you for this valuable series!
Thank you for reading along, Phyllis! We’ll have more writing seasons ways to connect in the future!
Amanda, love this! I am most definitely in A Season of Musing and have been so ever since a late February serious low back injury and long recovery (still in it) has isolated me and challenged me, physically and emotionally, as nothing else. It has humbled me. And I am still musing, parsing its meaning and timing, even as I finally make real progress in my healing, 3 months later. This has been a time out of time. My body put me in a timeout! And I’ve had no choice but to listen…and muse. I’ll be sure to sign up for the session!
I feel so much in this, Amy. I know that sense of being creatively stuck because of the "swirl" around you in daily life. It's really hard to find the "gold" in this season but I promise you, from experience, something is being culled beneath the surface. Looking forward to the live session next week. ☀️
That made me feel SO much better, thanks, Amanda! And good luck on today’s 1,000 words!
For me, the season of musing feels like being FLOODED with the scent of stories that want to be told, writing down the few lines that waft in and fade out - like a time capsule waiting for some unknown “later”. And I want to weave these into the rest of my work, because they are so potent for me, yet wrangling them into some semblance of sense is HARD.
Maybe the message for now is to continue gathering the gold and focus on sharing what comes a little easier.
Thank you for sharing these seasons of writing 💛.
"Flooded" is a great adjective for the season of musing. It's like so much is trying to bubble to the surface and, much like a muse, the organizing of those ideas feels damn near impossible. Surrendering to my season of musing was the only way through. I had to let things just be a "mess" and trust the process much as you're pointing to here. Thanks, Angel! See you next week in the live Writing Seasons Publishing Lab. ☀️
The idea of there being an "undercurrent of desperation" struck a chord for me. I hadn't thought about it in that way, but I definitely feel a sense of urgency and of "why the fuck not?" Maybe it's partially due to all the chaos in the world around us right now, but in addition to the desperation, I also feel - as you mentioned - a sense of rebellion. I'm also experiencing a really weird friction between feeling like I have so much to say, and then not being able to find the words.
Yes, that self-inflicted pressure really does seem to create a barrier to finding the words at all. Sometimes, OK most of the time, I have to put a lot of effort into surrendering to the mess of this season ... And also relating to the mess as a curious thing to get to know, not to tackle to the ground, you know? Thanks for being here, Jamie!