A quiet retrospect on this #TuesdayswithTaryn

Been thinking lately about how quiet I've been. I've been more crafty than writerly in my mood. Making homemade gifts for my loved ones feeds my soul and blesses me with a form of joy I can only get from doing those kinds of things (even when some people look at me like I've lost my ever-loving crafty mind), but tonight I keep thinking about my stories and the joy they used to bring me- those written, those not yet finished, and even those not yet begun & I feel melancholy.

I miss writing- I mean I miss it so much it hurts. It feels like I have a deep black hole in my heart because it's missing and yet, I don't know how to get back to it. Certain revelations about myself as a writer, about my stories, my characters, what's lacking in the stories I've written has bogged down my creative juices for months, and the process just doesn't want to come to me. I feel alone in this journey and have at times wondered what I'm even doing and why.

I know WHY- it's because my heart does not stop desiring to put words to page, even when I'm feeling creatively blocked, emotionally disconnected, and frozen in place by fear and self-loathing of myself as a writer. Self-doubts and misgivings press in on me from all sides and make me question whether the stories I have written and want to tell are even worth it. I keep thinking that there are so many other more talented authors out there and that what I have to offer would fall short of the readers' expectations, and mine.

I know I have a lot of work ahead of me and there are changes I need to make to my characters- in their personalities, their strengths and their flaws, the very essence of their stories and who they are. I feel so overwhelmed by it that I can't even begin... Every time I think of opening a file and working on it, I feel panicky and scared- and I'm not sure what scares me more....the fact that what I might find could be trash by my own standards, or might be trash in the eyes of others----

And worse yet, what if it only serves to reveal to me that I'm a sub-par author with little to offer in the way of a heartfelt story that touches a reader and proves that I'm nothing more than a fraud--- that silly dancing chicken on a hotplate. (I seem to recall that being something George Strait talked about in Pure Country when he was tired of all the razzle-dazzle of the business and how he felt like that dancing chicken- which seemed like a neat trick at a county fair or something, but in truth, it was just on a hotplate, burning it's feet and just dancing as fast as it could to get away.)

I do think a lot of it has to do with the fact that it's not just one book, but many, that I know I need to take a good hard look at and decide their fate through editing, rewrites,(and it might mean massive rewrites) before I can move forward with my plans to self-pub. Some days I wonder if I should even continue, but its nights like this when the ache to get back to work on it burns so brightly it hurts my chest and brings tears to my eyes.

I will sleep on it tonight- hopefully.... and maybe this is just a sign that my time to come back to it is drawing closer....that I need writing to quench a thirst I can't quite seem to vanquish...

Taryn's Snippit Sundays~ #excerpt Sensuality so fluid...CASTAWAY HEARTS

     Gone was the prim and proper young woman from earlier in the evening. The stiffness in her before had given way to a sensuality so fluid he could feel it in the air and her movements. Her body tempted him like a waking dream, as she blew in on the breeze, wild and free. It reminded him of desires he had not visited in years.

     In the moon’s glow, milky skinned and delicate, Catherine was oblivious that anyone watched her dance of free-spirited joy.

     Dawson’s blood pounded in his veins the longer he spied on the young minx.

     Those supple curves had crossed his mind earlier in the evening, those swells and dips along her edges made his fingers itch and his manhood betray him in the most uncomfortable way.

     His brother’s words taunted him. He might find someone else…it flickered through his mind in disdainful amusement.

     Gall burned through him—for his body betrayed him in that instance.

     He caught his breath and turned one last hungry gaze toward her before he rode off in the other direction.

     Then he gave Gypsy full rein to slice through the night as she carried him away from a temptation that would burn him if he didn’t get as far away as possible.

Thursdays with Taryn~ Join me in talking about nothing much... #Life #Time #Determination #Blessings

I honestly don't know what to write about anymore. I used to post blogs almost daily and never failed to ramble on about something. That was also during a time in my life when I was most productive in my novel writing as well. Perhaps I need to do this as an experiment to see just where my thoughts veer off the path today. And maybe I need to do this more often to keep the writerly juices flowing...

We'll see...

I've still been struggling with myself- my journey- as a writer. I finished the edits of Love By Design a while back, but I withdrew into myself and I'll admit, I've been suffering with a bit of self-doubt that I'm just starting to feel lifting its weight off of me.

I've been in avoidance mode, or it feels that way. If I don't think about it, maybe my not-up-to-snuff stories will just vanish. I've let this drag me under the tow for a while now, but I think I'm starting to resurface and I'm catching my breath again. Perhaps I will find my inspiration and desire once more and stop letting the childish part of me wallow in massive heap of self-pity. I have work to do, it's just a matter of slapping myself around some and knocking the good sense back into me.

I know it does me no good to wallow like I have been, but I just feel at a loss, uncertain where I'm heading with my writing and my life, and sometimes I feel like I'm going at this all wrong, or totally alone. A lot of the time, it looks something like this blurry mess below- rolling down a secluded back road, a solitary traveler with a dirty windshield who's moving so swiftly I can't enjoy the scenery or stop to think for a while. Maybe that's just Life whisking by and it's pulling me along with it whether I want to go that fast or not.

It would be great if Life would slow down for us, but it doesn't. If we don't enjoy it, it will get away from us and that goes for all things- whether it's enjoying the flowers blooming in your yard, a quiet sunset, watching your children grow up, celebrating another year of marriage, finishing those novels you set out to write from the heart, cherishing the time with your parents, siblings and extended family and friends.

We need to make the most of all the time we have in this Life~ relish it, enjoy it, revel in it, rather than wallow in the muck and mire, allowing the negative to suck us under and try to drown us.

Take time to breathe today, look around you and count your blessings!

I know I'm going to because I have so many wonderful things to be thankful for.

Thursdays with Taryn~ The Older I Get #life #distraction #learning

Life's been smacking me around a bit lately- so much so, that my writing, edits and anything to do with my stories has taken the backseat to everything else life is throwing at me. There are some days that I'd love to just curl up in a ball and sob the day away because I just can't fit everything in. I can't be every place I need to be, or where I want to be for that matter.

My writing's suffering for the sake of Life in general- laundry, meals, school will be out soon for my kids, I've been making an effort to do yoga and dance exercise as well as dealing with emotional/hormonal issues and I have lost nearly 30 pounds (and sticking with this new lifestyle has NOT been easy!) and I'm trying very hard to learn to drive- as an adult - Which is VERY frustrating for me. (I practiced parallel parking for the very first time today and thought I might pull my hair out and grind my teeth down to nubbins! Oh, and the turnabouts...yeah...don't care for that EITHER! But I have to know it.)

So anyway...I might have mentioned this before, but when I lived in my hometown, I walked pretty much everywhere I went— to the store, work, wherever I needed to go, unless I was going somewhere with friends or family who drove. For me, there was no need or rush to get my license, though it would have made traveling more convenient and perhaps opened more doors for me career-wise, but then I never anticipated moving away from where I grew up and I had a teensy fear of driving to cap that off, so I didn't worry about it.

Of course, all that changed when I moved here, a good 2 1/2 hour drive from everything I knew. I never thought it was that big a deal then either, when I first got down here, but as time has marched on, it has become an issue for me. Living in the country is nice, but it places me far from being within walking distance of most anything. Even the closest gas station is a mile there and back and that is one LONG walk, lemme tell ya! I've walked it, and that was back when I still weighed a lot more than I do now!

I don't work outside the home, so that's seemingly convenient, but more and more these days I feel stuck and stagnant and often, when there are things I could go get or pick up or go do, I can't because I don't drive. And oftentimes, it makes me feel beholden to others, having to rely on them to the point that I feel burdensome and I HATE that feeling. I feel like I'm missing a keystone to what's essential to most every living thing- a sense of freedom and movement.

Now I'm here, nearing that big "black" milestone birthday in blah blah blah years, I have two kids in school and I live in the country- quite a ways from town and quite a LONG ways from my roots.

I used to think that being away from where I grew up would get easier with time, but the older I get, it actually seems HARDER. I've been away for almost 12 years, but there are days that make my heart ache so fierce, its hard to get through the day. Maybe it's because my kids are getting older, but maybe it's also because my parents are as well and life is moving too swiftly and it can easily get away from us before we realize it.

That fact does not escape me. Life is far too short and several things recently have reminded me that if you aren't living your life fully, then you need to stop and assess that, especially when you reach a point where you don't know what you're passionate about anymore- or when you don't feel passionately about your life.

I'm still learning...but sometimes I don't feel that I'm living and there are days I feel like a shell of myself. Think a lot of that is what's jamming me up creatively and until I sort myself out, or push through, it's just going to take time...I just don't want to waste time being unfulfilled and unhappy.

I am a #Writer ~ A Poetic Soul ~ I am a Dreamer #writing #inspiration

(Image from MorgueFile photographer Darren Hester)

I am a writer- a poetic soul- I am a dreamer-

I've known I wanted to be a writer from around the time I was 10 or 11 years old, playing with an old upright Royal typewriter in our basement on hot summer afternoons pretending to work for a newspaper as a reporter, or handwriting my "high-school-sweethearts-happily-ever-afters" and illustrating them in pencil and crayon or colored pencils. My neighborhood friends can attest to this, but the proof was destroyed years ago, so you will never see them! Haha!

I wrote a lot of angsty (horribly embarrassing) poetry in my teens- yeah, that's still around but you'd have to pry it out of my cold dead fingers. I stayed up late on weekends, scribbling short stories and the beginnings of YA novels in those Lisa Frank rainbow-colored-LSD-trip notebooks on pastel pink and blue colored pages until my parents got me a Smith Corona typewriter/word processor and 3 1/2 inch floppies for Christmas the year I was 17. That was also the year they gave me "The Romance Writer's Pink Pages" and a package of paper and a good long talk from my logical dad about how "hard" it is to be a writer, that I might not ever be able to do it for a living without a back up plan and a regular day job, that not everyone can break into the business, just like artists and singers...it's lofty and inspiring, but not always practical.

I continued writing, but never finished anything. A lot of spitting and spluttering. I got older, got a job rather than going to college and had very little time for writing any more. Ah, Life...

Around 21 I started writing a more serious novel, one I consider to be a work of women's fiction after some very personal issues I was dealing with, but the story became hard to write, emotionally- the relationship I was in was failing and though I started taking a writing workshop, I just grew more and more frustrated with my instructor's guidance. I wasn't mature enough to handle criticism, constructive or otherwise. Add to that, I had a fiance who didn't believe in me or my dreams of becoming a writer. The relationship ended after much fighting and arguing and back and forth of "I want you, but I don't know what I want" and "I love you, but I can't love you if you don't have a job." (His wishy-washy, not mine) That is one for the record books of unsolved mysteries...I STILL don't understand it, but I'm okay with how it all turned out or I wouldn't be where I am today.

I tucked away my writing, deeming myself unworthy, incapable, etc. All the self-pity I could wallow in. I wrote angsty twenty-somethings poetry and decided that maybe writing and publication weren't my dreams to chase after all. I did have a few who encouraged me along the way, but most of what I wrote was still poetry, still not quite believing in myself enough.

Fast forward almost a decade, I'd been married 4 years, had a school-age stepson, a young daughter and I was a housewife who hit a very low spot. Writing kept egging me from the corners of my life, reminding me that it was also something I wanted to go with the husband, the family, the life. I couldn't get away from it. It taunted me as I settled in to go to sleep at night- "You NEED to be writing and have something just for you."

I'd never really told my husband how much I wanted to be a writer, so for a while, he looked at me like I was just trying to find a hobby to bide my time as a stay at home mom and wife. He didn't take it seriously, but I started coming back out of my shell, started to think that maybe all the stories in my head needed to be out on the pages. I began to write again, but more seriously than I ever had and the best part- it boosted my self-confidence- but so did the encouragement from my mom(who had always encouraged me to get back to it because she said I had a way with words)- from friends, from fellow writers I was meeting online.

I finally finished that one story- the one that was emotionally hard on me- I finished it in August 2006. Then I discovered NaNo in October and did my first one that November with only my mom and a friend encouraging me to do it- to see if I could write a novel in 30 days~ after all, it had taken me a decade from start to finish on the first one~ I needed to prove to no one but myself that I had more in me and could write it in less time.

And I did it. I penned and finished my 2nd manuscript, then followed that with two more the following year, and 5 the next. Then I hit a slow down- I burnt out, but I still wrote one for NaNo '09 and the most recent one- the 11th one I've written, was a NaNo '10 that I finally finished last month. Now #12 is looming on the horizon, and I know I have more than that hidden inside, bubbling to the surface a few ideas at a time.

As a writer, a poetic soul and a dreamer, I'll never let someone steal it out from under me again. That's just NOT going to happen.