A Reprise

There is a season, turn, turn, turn. I loved that song as a child. I am discovering a new love for it now. Monday I had what I described as a turning. I moved from feeling bleak and desolate to born and clear. Today my optimism rises even higher as I begin new projects and feel like I will have everything I ever wanted, or will want. I am overwhelmed with clarity and newness. I have been wearing white to recognize how I feel inside. But soon I will wear colors again, and then I will wear black again. I know the autumn and winter will come. I don't know when. The cycle of my feelings moves in several months, maybe even two years. Even as I recognize that this inner spring will turn I still feel its glow. I am this spring for the present. Determined to continue my studies I have long left I took an older journal mostly blank for this break since I can't find my current journal. I turn to this entry, 1/23/02 Yesterday I taught 1st grade-- it was more trying than I even imagined. I

Finishing up bits and pieces of my stories into novellas Unpolished work, published live Will not necessarily write every day, but will keep to a story arc i.e. story will begin on the first of the month. By the 15th, the story will be halfway through, and the story will end on the last day of the month. My goal is to spend one month pre-writing and gathering materials, i.e. graphics and design elements to complement the writing, and one month writing the story. I will estimate my story's length at 16,000 words. That will be 4000 words per week, 1000 words in each writing session. However I will not correspond by a word count requirement, but by a story arc requirement. My goal is to keep up with the story arc timing. In my outlines I will set dates and events which will be written on those dates in greater detail.

of writing extremely depressed poetry a wonderful discovery that hazelnut creamer in hazelnut coffee is not too much hazelnut and actually delicious reading vintage romance novel with my cockatiel, who evolved from upon my shoulder to sitting under my chin ironing cloth napkins taking pictures of things doing some dishes trying to fix the file of the novel I am writing which became corrupted when my laptop battery ran out feeling like if I deleted that file and started over I would be better off, ha ha feeling so much better after I wrote that depressed poem took an egg from Snow White's favorite hollow it was cold and gray all morning, the air looked like an autumnal corpse, which suited my mood perfectly it is sunny and cheerful now, which suits my mood perfectly

As I sit in semi-darkness, Surrounded in a tower of stone, I wonder why, Why I don't leave? What holds me here? This curse, a superstition That if I leave my place the tower will crumble, and I will die. A cold wind blows, And the sun comes and goes intermittently. I find I no longer have a mind for writing novels. My thoughts are too quick and insubstantial. I can't make up my mind about anything. I turn the old myths over and over. It's all I trust anymore. They are all I have to explain myself. Why don't I leave? Why do I sit and rot? I just sit and watch the seasons, And from my limited position try to appreciate everything I can see through my small window. I didn't think it would be this way. I don't know why it is. It seems that even once upon a time while I dreamed That life would be so grand, The seeds for my destruction were already firmly planted within myself. I don't know why I believed when there was no reason to, No evidence before my eyes of

Every skill I ever had will be in question. Every ill I ever suffered merely brought on by myself. But the cops will come for someone else. <3

I don't know how I will go and do my paying job now. I have let it go too long, and it is hard getting back.

  I have not shared any photos of my chickens since they have grown. Till recently I kept them in the shed, but that wasn't working out. This summer has been unusually hot, and they were panting constantly. I couldn't even keep them in water because it kept evaporating. So one day I just opened the barn door and they walked directly into my life, and have upended our household. It feels like our land is now ruled by these chickens. Prince Charming, and Cinderella, most likely the layer of all these eggs. The two are constant companions.   Beauty, and Snow White.     In the evening, they perch on the fence, and one by one fly up into a large oak in the front yard. They settle in for the night. In the morning, Prince Charming is the first to rise. Right now, he begins crowing at about 5 a.m. Now that I have begun doing my embroidery in the morning, I am awake before him. While embroidering, I am listening to Shirley , by Charlotte Bronte. I am awed by Librivox, and it s

  On leaving Texas we stopped at a coffee shop. On its grounds lay remains of the past-an old gas pump, an Airstream, a junk car.     Chillicothe, Texas.