Torrent Rising…

 

Torrent Rising

The bass of the speakers

makes my heart change rhythm

and I am old, and uncomfortable

with crowded people

hurting me with their rudeness

and sharp elbows.

So I find a quiet spot

where I can hear the music

de-obnoxious-fied.

I wonder why I’m even here

and I’m answered when

the band starts playing

blued, and blue notes

but it’s only for one song

as crisp lightning shatters the sky.

And then, it’s just you and me

and a handful of young girls

who all want your attention,

and I don’t want to be them,

but I don’t want to leave,

for I, too, still have dreams.

And so I dance up into the sky

with the memory of a song

not played

and the storm makes me beautiful enough

for me.

–Willow Croft

The Storm Within

 

 

Where to Write? (Location, Location, Location)

 

Have pen, will travel...
#amwriting

I’ve been a little at loose ends. Scattered and off-kilter.

But I’ve been discovering that wandering around with that “lost-between-worlds” feeling is a staple for me as an emerging writer.

But back in the real world, I’m having to look for a new locale. 

I miss the the ocean. Lush forests. I even miss the swamps of my home state. But economics, of course, are playing a large role in the quest.

Even though my search has to be practical, I still like dreaming over the maybe-someday homes at Old House Dreams. (Who could resist this one that lends itself to a horror writer persona? https://www.oldhousedreams.com/2019/06/05/c-1940-log-deerbrook-wi/)

Location, to me, has evolved to be an essential part of my creative life. (Perhaps it always was but I wasn’t paying attention in the drive to be somebody; anybody.) I draw inspiration from my locale. From the atmosphere I’m in. I’ve heard other writers have their favourite places they go to seek creative nourishment. Some write in noisy cafes, some seek out solitude, others, well, I’d be interested to know what your go-to places are to write, to refresh, to find that next great idea.

Share in the comments, if you like.

 

Where the Deep Takes You…

Last night I decided I was gonna have a movie night. Usually, I just have time to watch one episode of something (currently Midsomer Murders, which I’m loving.).

I really went all out (the glamorous life of a writer, I tell ya) and watched not one, but two, movies that wandered onto my queue courtesy of my go-to movie review site, Assholes Watching Movies.

I watched A Little Chaos and Man Up.

Oh, how I wanted to love A Little Chaos. I mean, Alan Rickman? Kate Winslet? *swoon* I’ve also been exploring a reawakened fascination with France. When I was a kid, I was reading in French and even speaking in it a little. I’ll leave the reviewing to the Assholes (click title links above to read their reviews). So I was excited to watch this movie take on how the gardens at Versailles were created. But, gasp, I was underwhelmed. I couldn’t even really get into it until Stanley Tucci stole the whole movie with one little scene. I did like the scene with Kate Winslet and the rose. The backdrop, as lovely as it was in parts, just made me think, “Why not just go visit Versailles in real life.” To me, it just couldn’t compare seeing it in a movie. But maybe that’s the history/art nerd in me. My takeaway? In my next reincarnation, I plan to be French. And with lots of francs. Tucked away in my French estate, with gardens that have a lot more than a little chaos to them. Where I ride horses all day, or just eat twenty times a day, and get the gout as a result.

In the true spirit of paradox, I fell for Man Up. Hard. Despite all the sexism that AWM points out (and which I agree with, and more), I loved it. I mean, (apologies to Simon Pegg), I’m not sure if he was really even on my radar (like the absence of one matters, with his gazillion fans. Ha!). Not even after Star Trek. I’d forgotten about all the other movies he was in that I’ve maybe, probably, definitely seen. But I will remember him after this. I liked him in this movie. And I thought the movie, overall, was charming. Like I wrote in a comment, though, on the AWM’s post, I want to chalk it up to a “right time, right place” mindset. I could split hairs over tons of things, especially from a feminist perspective, but for now, I’m just gonna enjoy the residual glow the movie left. A nice taste in my mouth (no pun intended, har, har, har!*) to wash away some of the dreary middle-aged icky feeling of the past few weeks months.

So where does my blog title come in? It’s not a very deep post, after all. However, sometimes you find deep meaning in places you don’t expect it. In dreams that surprise you, in rom-com movies, or in the darkest parts of the ocean. 

I’m ready to dive deep.

Where the deep takes you...
Writing prompt of the day…

 

*This will only make sense if you’ve watched Man Up. And forgive me for going there. My little world is a strange and wacky place as of late.

At the Core is Another Core…

 

at the core is another core.png

Cored out.

Having to find the core.

Build a core after the old one is lost.

Realise it’s not the core.

Is there one?

No.

Yes.

Maybe.

Only in dreams.

Only in a dream of you.

A dream where you are, and aren’t.

A dream of a ceiba tree.

The world tree.

A tree in layers.

Peeling back the layers.

Layers of an ogre’s onions?

But there’s no more.

Onions.

Self.

The pantry is empty.

The self is gone.

Alone.

You.

Your self.

Your words echo

Through all my cores.

Through all my lives, and dreams.

Filling all of my fault lines.

Faults I can’t hide.

So many cracks.

Bare.

Exposed.

But I want.

I want to see.

I see you just as you are.

And am seen.

Seen just as I am.

Core.

Cores.

Cores connected.

Binary.

Binary stars.

How are we classified now?

 

 

Drifting Thoughts: Without a Sense of Place

Home.

A word both tangible and illusory.

One of the most problematic words in language.

Most people feel incomplete without it.

Others, tragically, have learned that home is a false concept of security and warmth.

But many still look for it.

Even life’s wanderers.

Even me.

And I never wanted to stay in one place.

Three years, max, and I feel the desire to move on. Especially now, feeling a geographical dislocation in this high desert.

I still want to burn bridges.

To leave a wake of delightful chaos and destruction in my wake, however inconsequential.

Enough, I say. I’ve had enough of this place.

It’s okay to be a stranger. To be out of place and step no matter where you go.

But then I got tired.

I didn’t expect that.

To wake up a stranger in this aging body that I have trouble believing is still mine.

“Own it.” (No, thank you.)

What do you do when noplace wants you?

I found a cover letter for a job with a local company back in 2007 in my files. I applied when I lived here before. I’m back in this locale, and have applied to the same company quite a few times recently. It felt so silly, wasting all that recent effort that (in a random. passing realization) still hasn’t wanted to hire me.

I felt like Don Quixote. My whole life a series of tilting-at-windmills.

What do I do with a whole bunch of middle-aged angst? Excusable in the young, sometimes, but all these mixed emotions as an adult? It’s not allowed. I’m supposed to have it all figured out.

But what if you just realised you never even had the chance to figure it out when you were a kid? To not be who you were, inherently? To be taught that everything about you was somehow implicitly wrong, but then get slapped with the wake-up call that maybe, just maybe, that might actually not be true?

An entire sense of self just stolen, and you didn’t even realize the extent of the theft?

How do you go back and recover it? And why would you, at your age?

But you’ve exhausted all the possibilities. Or it feels like it. Physically, you can’t do the working-three-jobs solution you did when you were young. Jobs that sucked but gave you the illusion of independence. Of home.

But I was homeless within four walls. I didn’t own anything. I had nothing.

So I opened the door to a different room. An internal door. A door that led into creativity. Maybe not into the room of being an artist the way I always wanted as a child. Or the violinist. Or a million other lost dreams.

I was so scared.

But I opened it anyway.

I took the gamble.

And now I can’t close it.

But, why would I? So many years just trying to fit in. To conform. To keep my head down. To not rock the boat. To dress for the workplace. To work, at the cost of everything. A starving artist without even the comfort of art.

And guess what?

The gamble’s working.

I’ve had more acceptance the past few years as a hopeful writer then I have had in an entire lifetime of just trying to “get a job”.

So much support, even in rejection letters. Journals, editors, magazines–all mostly offering valuable feedback even when my stories or articles aren’t accepted.

And they are so nice.

And, even more astounding, my articles and stories are actually being accepted. At a mind-blowing, pinch-me-I’m-dreaming level. Even other writers are wonderfully supportive. I want to give acknowledgements to all but I’m forgetful in my old age sometimes, so I don’t want to leave anyone out. But you know who you are. If you follow me on Twitter, or look at the blogs I follow, and share via social media, you’ll find them. Or ask, and I’ll be glad to share links to read/purchase my works. And I try to be as supportive as possible in return, but I struggle with time management. As in there’s not enough time in the day. I feel like ambitious, hardworking Hermione, who still needed a time-turner to accomplish everything she intended to do at Hogwarts.

Have I arrived?

Not yet.

But, for the first time, I feel the inklings of what it would be like to have a sense of place. A connection. To not be the outsider eternally looking in. And I want to say, don’t let people take away your dreams. To put you down. To steal your sense of self. Even if you’re not making any money. Better to be broke and happy, then miserable and eking out an existence at a dead-end job. (Having said that, I still have a day job. *laugh*)

And, maybe someday, I’ll have roots in an actual community, too. In Glasgow. Or in Europe, somewhere. A little sea cottage by a tumultuous ocean, even. Surrounded by wilding trees, and roses by a blue front door.

Home.

 

 

( Feel free to share links to your actualised dreams, or write about them, in the comments below!–Willow)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letter to a Literary Muse

Letter to a Literary Muse

Your time is spent nurturing your fans, and I am preoccupied with once and future worlds. I am never in sync, but I see you in each parallel; we touch and go on our way. Constantly inconstant forces in each other’s lives.

But I, unlike you, have never been anytime; born in a thistle maze, kept captive in a briar patch, wandered worlds only in my head, where I dream dreams in Mobius strips: nightmares and fears; misplaced intentions and missed chances; a thousand thousand deaths, countless lost and founds.

This night, I dreamt in Celtic lore, both modern and past, simultaneously; my mind’s eye’s mirror reflection; dark red hair in cascades, hunter-green dress, among glass and metal and life-in-a-pod on a strange new world. There is no prickly nest to trap me; to hide me in thorny safety. I am exposed. Alone.

You. You see me. Not a mirror reflection. No haint from a past world. This is the future. Our future. You gently work a twig from my hair, and hold it for an eternity while our worlds dream themselves together.

 

A Lily for the Valley

A Lily for the Valley

Frosted guardians keep watch

yet I still feel alone

winter blue, and

I am tired of angels

angling towards me

handfuls of bait outstretched.

How do I know what’s true,

even here in the empty desert

with no hiding place for cruelty.

Trapped by four walls, I burrow down for winter,

sinking deep in the depths of my splintered-ice mind.

There, I dream of a greening world from long ago,

tangled, wild, warm,

just like you.

 

–Willow Croft 2019

 

(My inspiration came from these Canva-created posts I made and shared via Pinterest and Twitter. Feel free to use them for today’s creative inspiration, and link back if you wish.  https://www.pinterest.com/pin/422986590001080493/ or https://twitter.com/WillowCroft16/status/1100425111042174983 )

 

Treasure Box

Treasure Box

It’s the end of the world

in this dream that rests in eternity.

We have lost the outside to poisons

made by our own hands.

This thought carries so much pain.

Heartbreak

for our lost animals

but here, inside the abandoned office

next to the empty soda machine 

and paper that was once trees

I find the magic you

and everything is put right

both inside and out

and the treasure box I hold

has only trinkets

but you love it anyway,

and we plant it in the last wild wood.

–Willow Croft

No Disney Mermaids, Here


No Disney Mermaids, Here
No Disney mermaids, here,
in a predawn net of dreams
that won't let me go.
But that's not quite true. 
I hold onto them, too, over reality
because life is the nightmare that's real.
And so I drown, at long last, in tangled water,
choosing the insanity, where
water becomes a hand. 
And I hold onto it, too,
because I'm also scared to drown, 
even in this wonder of dreams.
We're not Disney mermaids; not svelte, with lovely voices, and
it's suddenly fine that we are our real selves.
The ones battered by storms and rocks, that have many scars,
and that we drown together
in this space between worlds. 
Because that is the love we need.
A something real one. A strong one.
But our waking thoughts try to rip us apart.
I feel your hand in mine, still, and I don't
let go, but it's hard to make the tea that will
bring me back to the world I hate.
But it's that world that brings me
your message in a drowning bottle.
And I'm glad I haven't let go.