Tuesday, July 16, 2013


We approach a writing place expecting to meet the demands of creative ambition.

Inside this world where we sit to work, a writer prepares for transformation—that magical view where the vanishing point of everyday consciousness merges into the fields of imagination. We rebuke distraction yet fiddle & pace. Will something inspire the mind above the ordinary? Is there a view to be gazed upon which will release the torrent of inspired words yearned to capture?

We stare at our fingernails; we check email.

The hours passed inside this womb of potential, combines to serve as a gestation period for the greatest work. A writer should be permitted to include an appendix in their finished product so the reader can more fully understand the time invested in what we endeavour to produce for either entertainment or enlightenment.

In the summer months, we sit worried & pale. When it is cold outside, our faces flush & glow with the frustration of not being able to communicate what simply must be expressed.  Out there, in that outside world which is not yet privilege to the mechanics of ardent imagination, people endeavour things with the hope of producing tremendous reaction

How many times do we lament the vacuum?

Would it not be wonderful to have a beautiful companion, unencumbered by any schedule but the diligent writer’s? Someone who would patiently & carefully read what we labour to create, then lavish us with wise & supportive feedback? Every writer should be blessed with such support but inside the workplace, alas—it is just us, the developing manuscript and whatever else we might require to get a story moving. And so toils the process, incubated within a solitary luxury of the writing sanctuary.

                       {Images by Juul Kraijer}


  1. You write such beautiful words.

    "How many times do we lament the vacuum?" To me that makes me feel how the vacuum is like life or at least the absence of it in a sense. That maybe it's the thing that is draining the essence of us as time goes by, to only time and time again be consumed by it.

    "In the summer months, we sit worried and pale. When it is cold outside, our faces flush and glow with the frustration of not being able to say what simply must be expressed."

    I especially loved that part. It's so true. Even if it's so poetic or a metaphor for things. But I take it literally. Actually I take all your writing just as literally as I do poetically. It's amazing. Yeah when it's cold out it does feel like that you're right. To me it feels like things are in slow motion and anything that wants to be expressed simply cannot for some reason. As if the very world itself is stuck in some void, then in the summer everything feels alive, but to me feels too alive sometimes, just too much. Worry and pale. I love it!

    I would comment more but I need to go. Great post Meredith!

  2. Just delighted this speaks to you. I cannot emphasize enough the small sacrifices that we writers are forced to offer for our craft. The dialogue between imagination and consciousness is a demanding exchange and for those who romanticize the art of writing, these considerations should be factored. This metaphor definitely translates into parts of reality. Thank you, once again for your thoughtful response.

  3. Yeah, sometimes the adversity can be pretty darn adverse. Sometimes I'm amazed books get written at all. Then I remember the seductive siren song of the unfinished story, and I do my best to suck it up and move forward.

  4. Very true, Cathleen. I am slowly learning the rhythm of my creative mind. Patience helps & curiosity compels. Thank you so much for taking the time to leave honest feedback. I so appreciate the dialogue.