words. words. words.

"Ok. Time to write. What do I write? Words. Then more words. Brian said to just write, but how do I just write without something specific to write about?"

I told Brian last night that was how I was going to start this project. It really is just about words. Anything to write. He's amazing to me, he knows what's at the singularity in my soul. He sees where I am at my "most." He's told me that he's seen it when I'm in my garden, and when I write.

He said that the way I currently use LJ is stifling my creativity. That I use it as a social venue. He's right. This journal isn't like that. It's for me to write in. To really get the words out of my head where they spin continuously. They're wearing thin. Out with the old, in with the new. Writing for the sake of writing. Morning pages. Afternoon pages...any time pages. I should have pads and pads of notebooks filled by now. It's how a book will eventually be compiled, when the notebooks can no longer hold the stories than need to be told.

Sideways thinking for me. I choose a project, a topic, and I write about it. I research along the way. But what about just putting down all the stuff in my head? The things that I'm currently chewing over and over and over. They need to come out and be documented. As it eventually forms into cohesive concepts, then I can compile them into a book. He's right, I'm hundreds of pages away from starting the herbal book. I have it in my head...but it needs to see itself come out of my head to know if it will really work.

So this journal is going to be that. When I have the urge to purge, this is where I'm going to do it.

(no subject)

It's hard to decide how to put the words down. The scratch of the pen is delicious, but paced. It slows me down and shows all the mistakes. Writing on the computer is faster. My fingers can more easily keep up with my brain. Nearly, sometimes. And mistakes can be corrected with spell check. I have a better flow of thoughts when I type. But I miss the scritch. The keys need to make a scritch sound instead of a click. Best of both worlds and no ink stains on my fingers

Hands in the soil. When did I learn to love the feel of dirt under my nails and stained hands? When did taking care of so many tiny plants become a valuable endeavor for me? Something has changed. I like it.

I'm wrapping my mind around change and loss. I don't expect this to be a short issue. I am really trying to find my voice and who I am when I'm not connected to my work. I am a writer, a photographer, a business owner, an herbalist, a wife, a mother, a step-mother, a step-grandmother, a friend, a confidante, a wild woman, and a thousand or more other things. Some of these things are things that I do, and I don't want to define myself by what I do. I also don't want to define myself in terms of the roles I play. These things can all change. Maybe not all...I can't not be a mother. That's truly something that just is. I'm trying to find out what else can't change. Other than being female and having given birth to a child, I can't imagine anything else that can't change with circumstance.

I feel like I have all of these disconnected thoughts going through my head all the time. One thought, then a totally different topic. My mind floats and spins through a myriad of superficial sentence long thoughts. It's disturbing to write the flow and see all of the places it goes. And the layers of thought, there's the one that I am currently on, then they layer of "ought to think about this" stuff below it. Below that is the churning of the stuff I'd like to think about. Below that, fears and desires. Below that, irrational and illogical and random effluvium. No voices other than the one that sits on top and is what I call thought.

Overthinking again: What to write next. Do I consider this a session and post, or do I leave it open and add as I think of things? If I think of something really worth noting, that should be a different post. Thinking, planning, considering. Not really writing. Just...words. How I love those little bastards. Such intricate meaning laced throughout one group of letters. If I say "blue", do I mean the color of the sea in a tropical port? Perhaps I mean the color of a clear sky, or the shade of a marine's dress blues, or the blueberry, or the blue that only happens in that certain someone's eyes.

Thinking of all the subtle differences in the words to describe feeling happy. blessed, blissful, blithe, can't complain, captivated, cheerful, chipper, chirpy, content, contented, convivial, delighted, ecstatic, elated, exultant, flying high, gay, glad, gleeful, gratified, hopped up, intoxicated, jolly, joyful, joyous, jubilant, laughing, light, lively, looking good, merry, mirthful, overjoyed, peaceful, peppy, perky, playful, pleasant, pleased, satisfied, sparkling, sunny, thrilled, tickled, tickled pink, up, upbeat.

Words. I want to paint pictures with words. I want to create an interactive picture with the reader. I want to give fine detail and let them put the finishing touches on. I want to paint in broad strokes and let other's minds finish the parts I don't touch. I want to compel.