Penny4athought's blog

The way we express our feelings… the diction, inflections, rhythm, slang and tone are unique to each one of us. We may sound like family but even then there are slight differences...We are snowflakes of individual resonance. When we write freely we can hear that voice…it is captured in the dialogue and structure of sentences. It is only when we edit to please grammatical laws or modern writing standards that we lose our distinctive voice. That...

Mischievous wind…playing in leaves… tapping branches on windows… howling down alleys…rattling doors…empty streets…chill air…foreboding lurks round every corner…dark clouds...moonless night...glowing eyes in Orange faces…shadow witches peek from doorways…sinister forms appear in bushes…cries of fright and squeals of delight for October’s All Hallows Eve is nearly here… Halloween...A truly abandoning holiday… A day to be whatever you can dream and...

Adversity…a road to maturity…or to detachment…Love…to believe in forever…or pine for unrequitedly…Which way will the story bend… When we pull emotions forward to create we use so much of who we are…good moments and difficult times help us breathe life into a story. We use pain and sorrow in Drama…tender moments in Romance…silly times in Comedy and a marvelously free imagination in Science Fiction and Fantasy. We are…to some extent… what we write...

There was a place I loved to go as a child… that place held a myriad of stories- in worn pages bound in leather and cloth covers-- it beckoned me to come and play. It promised adventure, laughter, exploration and amazing magic…and it was all a child could imagine. The building was made of large stone blocks…a refuge from the world …It protected, it taught and it comforted. An outlet to all things imagination could conjure. In those pages I found...

A good grey day. How I love a cloudy, sun blocked, clouds rolling in, grey day. I am lazy personified on a typical sun drenched day with the heat melting my rubber soles…but give me a good storm brewing and suddenly I am pulsing with energy and racing thoughts. At the first clap of thunder, I find a window and watch the clouds roll in. I thrill to the sway of the trees and the teaming rain…I am in heaven with the artistic dance of lightning. I...

Conclude-concoct-contrive- acquiesce...strong words, soft words- convey feelings – denote actions – imply meanings. Words-- the playthings of writers…the tools of the press…the weapons of politics – Words to express - to be understood – to argue the point… We strive for the perfect word…and so it goes as we write – When words flow in perfect communion to thoughts…we are happily creating. If we hesitate – think upon it- or block- Words stall like...

A perfect time to write, the quiet moment is filled with music…soft strains of guitar and deep mellow vocals... close my eyes and feel…memories evoke stories...friends, lovers….windy streets, sand dunes of sunshine, snow drifts and sleigh rides….clear strains of memory inducing lyrics. I am swept away into worlds of dialogues and moments of intensity. My fingers fly across the keyboard--barely keeping up-- Thoughts are words and words are...

Today the air was ripe with fresh cut grass and warm with sunshine. There is a remembered day in this moment—a certain taste and smell to the air transported me to a time of childhood, it was a day carefree and full of discovery- and I am that child again with one deep breath. Memories that come back so clearly bring reflections-- to look back—to a time we defined ourselves or perhaps even to search for ourselves again. It reminds me that a...

Writers Wasteland….I am there. This week has been fraught with never ending obligations. Work and home have monopolized my life to the point of stagnant. I have no thoughts to work with and no energy to give to my writing. I know there are weeks like this in every life and so I am not surprised by it…just frustrated. These are the days I wish I could sit upon white sand beaches or gaze up at snow capped mountains from a reclusive log cabin....

Time is non existent as I create this new world. I don’t even feel fatigue as the clock ticks off the early morning hours. I don’t know if anything I write is good - I only know that I am seeing the characters and writing their dialogue, and loving the flow of words. I see the story unfold on the screen. I am alive and sooooo awake. It is as if time does not exist, It is 9pm…12pm…and into the wee hours in what seems like only seconds whenever I...