A Christmas Poem

A Time

 

 

Year of light

Bells of wisdom

at year’s end

the world returns to reason.

 

Reds and greens

silver and gold

crimson hearts

singing joy songs.

 

 

Memories of love

the child in the manger

Peace on Earth

the jolly Claus carries.

 

A time to sing, to give, to love

a time for carols, food, and mistletoe

A single thought of Love Divine, God’s gift of love

A child was born to shine.

***

 

There are many things for me to be grateful for during this Christmas and Holiday Season. I will return to write in this blog by next year. I will leave you with this Christmas poem, and wish for you and your family, that whatever holiday you celebrate, you enjoy it, and find it full of peace and joy. Many blessings to you and yours in the new year.

Inkspeare

 

 

Breaking a Lifetime Tradition

December is almost here. For me, it always meant a time for reflection, introspection, rating of my performance, and goal setting or resetting. Over the years, for most of my adult life, and even younger, I followed the tradition of setting New Year goals. I enjoyed the process. Hot cocoa at hand, pen and paper, I would sit and think of the present year, review past goals, and silently rate my performance. I was good at keeping what I set to do, and I accomplished most goals. However, I was disappointed for what I didn’t do. It felt as if I came short of something. It always left me with an incomplete feeling, and even a bit of sadness. Then, I would decide if to include those unmet goals for the new year along with new ones. I would finish my cocoa, and be ready for a fresh start.

I changed all that. I don’t set goals quite like that anymore. Call it wisdom in aging, or whatever, I don’t rate my performance anymore. Instead, I’ve decided to think of the “meaningful thing” that I would like to do for the new year, whether it is only one thing or more. As far as planning for it, the only planning I will do is to make sure that everyday I try to take a step in that direction, and leave the lists, rating, and self-judging to the side. Discarded are the breaking into small manageable goals rituals, as well as written tasks, along with the self-reviews. Either I am on track to do a meaningful thing (to me) or I am not. Breaking a lifetime tradition is never easy, but it is as simple as that.

Fallen

FallenA Thanksgiving Poem

 

Rust, yellow, brown

Life becomes death

Fallen leaves, withering trees

Spirit sleeps within.

 

The earth sleeps countless dreams

The heart beats a million thanks

To live to die, to die to live

Spirit lives within.

 

A thankful heart

Fallen to Earth

Asleep in rusts

Alive, still, rests.

 

Spirit blesses the earth below

Awakes the heart

the sleeping soul

from dusk till dawn.

 

 

The Great Revelation – A Square at a Time

Imagine that your life is a canvas or a screen, a picture made of pixels divided into tiny squares that come together to reveal the big picture – the wholeness of it. Sometimes, life feels as a series of squares, of compartments that are not related. We keep a home life, a work life, a church life, a secret life (in some cases), and so on. We disconnect ourselves from the big picture, and end up feeling anything else but whole. We lack continuity because we have compartmentalized our existence. In the process, we have separated ourselves from the source of it all, the divine force of our existence.

Sometimes, it takes a step back or a few steps back to change our perspective from a square by square or pixelated vision to a wholesome perspective. It takes many times, more than a few steps back, to realize the connection between all the squares, all the compartments of our life, and in the end, they disappear and all we see is continuity, neither beginning, nor end, but continuity. That is more than the big picture; it is the great revelation.

More Than One Hat

Fiction writers wear many hats. We wear a costume everyday. When we create a story, we create worlds, and people in those worlds, characters to whom we give life through challenges and the emotions we try to convey through them. Sometimes, readers might mistake a character for its writer or believe that the writer shares its attributes. Although I believe that there is a bit of the writer in between the lines, fictional characters are fiction. We rely on our mind, imagination, observation, and life experience to give life to our characters, but many times, we rely on research, on learning a particular subject to present a character and a story in a better light. Depending on our writing style, we might become poets, song writers, prophets, and even preachers. I have done a little bit of those jobs when writing my books. I’ve written a poem, a prophecy, and pages of an imaginary book, as I did in The Book of Sharon and in Sunrise Souls, books two and three of The Dinorah Chronicles trilogy. I’ve written riddles on Moonlit Valley, and a song in Sunrise Souls. On my work in progress – The Five-dollar Miracle, I had to write an entire sermon.

My point is, we sometimes have to become our characters and see the world through their eyes for a little while, to be able to write the story. Sometimes, the writing feels effortless, and at other times, it is more challenging, but always with levels of engagement. We are separate from our characters but we step inside their world, their minds, and their feelings/emotions to be able to convey a story to the readers as best as we can. In that regard, we wear many hats. We become the heroine, the villain, the priest, the prophet, and even an inanimate object, such as a book of prophecies and teachings.

I write stories, I create worlds, I give life to characters and become one with them, and then, disengage. I put on a costume everyday. I write fiction and love it.

 

 

Inevitable

How did you fall into writing? The inevitable question. I’ve been asked the question many times. Other times, followed by, “I never knew you were into that?”

How do you answer it? I fell into a pile of books while going downstairs half asleep. No seriously, have you thought of the moment when you became interested in writing? Not when you felt “a writer,” because that moment might never come. The usual answer people give is, “I’ve written since I can remember.”  If I go back in time, I can see a child who read everything she got her hands on, a child who amassed a large quantity of pens and pencils, a child who thought that a typewriter was the greatest invention on the planet, and also loved the scent of new notebooks and old books (I still do). I also see a child who followed members of the family, while holding a notebook and pen, and wrote in it everything they did. I see a child who kept diaries, and then, burned them. How many stories do I have from my early years, my teenage years, and the years until I decided to become a writer? None. Not even one. Why? For some inexplicable reason, I had a habit; I burned everything I wrote or broke it into tiny pieces. I never kept one story. It puzzles me today. Although I had the desire to become a writer, I never pursued it. I went into many different careers, pretty much anything that I fancied at the time, but always kept that secret desire well-kept inside me. I had an image of writers that didn’t fit who I thought I was. I saw writers as old people with money. Where did that image came from? I don’t know.

Well, to answer the question – How did I fall into writing? When I resigned from my last job, I felt a strong urge to write, and I did. Almost as a long-lost calling, too loud to keep ignoring. At that same job, in one of our meetings my former boss asked an exercise question to start the meeting. It was, “If you were not here, what would you rather be doing; what is your ideal job?” Each one of us was urged to answer, and we did. Some of us answered honestly, including her, who’d rather be a detective. I answered, “I see myself writing at a cottage near the sea.” Of course, I got the weird looks, but not from her. She said, “I can see you doing exactly that.” Going back to that memory, I think that was the moment when I fell into writing.

My Forever Books

I love books. I love to read. Since I can remember. I am an eclectic reader. I read different genres, pretty much anything that will hold my attention, from fiction to self-help, to finances, reference, anything and everything. After I read a book, it will either be put aside to be read again much later in the future, probably years, at least one more time. It will be donated or given away to someone, or kept for reference for some time. However, there are books that I loved so much the first time I read them, that I know for sure they will have a permanent place on my bookshelves. I will revisit them all my life. I call them my forever books. I would love to share some of these on this post.

Although the Bible, some of the classics, and (important for me) reference books will be permanently on my bookshelves, I am referring to the books that on that first reading, enchanted me somehow. Here are a few.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis

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I wish I had kept the early copy when I read this one as a child.

 

Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach

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The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo

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The Grievers by Marc Schuster

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The Last Hunt by Cliff Burns

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The Old Man and The Sea by Ernest Hemingway

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How to Stop Worrying and Start Living by Dale Carnegie

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The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch

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Love the book, but much more because it is a gift from my sister.

 

These are just a few that will be forever on my bookshelf. I enjoyed them immensely. As you can see, they range in topic, genre, and time written. To me, reading is almost a religious experience, and I understand that every reader experiences and interprets a book in a very personal way, and therefore, a book can touch lives and entertain in countless ways. This is why reviews are not as important as we think they are. The same books that I love so much, another reader might dislike. I may love a book, but that doesn’t mean that I will like or enjoy other books from the same author in the same way. I might read them, and enjoy them very much, however, not necessarily give them a permanent spot, reserved only for those enchanting tomes.

As an author, I am in a different state of mind and “being” every time I write, so I think it would be unusual that I would write in the same way or with the same degree of inspiration all the time. To expect the same degree of inspirational awe from an author every time he/she publishes a book is like expecting coffee to taste the same all the time (I love coffee), and maybe that is why I’ve never understood traditional publishing. On the same note, as a reader, I approach a book with different intent at different stages in my life. It seems so as I mature. Life takes on another color, another flavor, and things evolve in importance. Although a story remains as it was written, another story lives and breathes in between the lines, waiting for the reader to find it and give it the meaning that is so unique and special to each person. That is why I am so careful with my opinion of a book, and any reviews are only my experience with, my view, my take, on a book that I enjoyed reading. My interpretation, that is ultimately influenced by the stage I am in life, and my surroundings, as well as all the thoughts, feelings, and emotions that accompany it. A good example is The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. I read it when I was around 10 years old, maybe earlier, and at that time I thought it was the most exciting adventure I had encounter in the pages of a book. I lived it, and I loved it. I read it again as an adult, and I got so much more out of the same story. The story in between the lines emerged.

I hope I have inspired you to give these books a try, if you haven’t done so already. On a future post, I will share some of my dearest collections that I treasure and will also keep on my bookshelves forever.