This is AWESOME!
I have a ton of plants already planted and waiting to be rehoused outside once the threat of frost is passed. I am seriously thinking that some of these plants (lavender, chamomile, maybe some of the others) are going to become a micro garden. All I need is a little shelf or something to set on my desk to put the bottle caps in.
David's comment was merely "hippie". Yes, I'll cop to the designation.
I am very much looking forward to my little outside garden this year. Now I can look forward to a little inside garden as well :D
And now I'm thinking...I have holder for votive candles. I could start seeds in the glass votive holders. I have soil. I have seeds. I have a plan :D
Saturday, April 9, 2011
An introduction
This is the sister-blog to Toxiclight. Toxiclight is subtitled 'The Poison Within,' Toxicdarque is also the toxicity inside...but whereas art allows the poison to escape and purifies my soul, writing is very different. Writing is also a release, an escape. But it doesn't allow the darkness that festers inside to escape.
I am a darker person when I write. I have always preferred to be alone when I write, because it goes into a place inside that is deep and dark. I'm not me. I'm whomever I'm writing. The more people I'm writing for, the more personalities I have.
I've been looking forward to getting back into writing. But for me, it's very much a surrender. Surrender to the voices inside that cry and beg to be let out. When I write stream-of-conscious, it's my own inner voice coming out to play, and it's usually a chaotic mess. Reading it is like talking to me. I tend to jump from one topic to the next in tangents that make sense to no one but me.
Writing fiction is different. Anyone that writes knows that characters have their own voices. It's finding a way to get that voice onto paper that's the challenge.
I mentioned earlier that I feel my earlier career in journalism really ruined my writing in a way, because journalism is, at least when and where I wrote, very much just the facts. When I write, I need and crave details. The same for when I read. It doesn't have to be a lot of detail, sometimes just the subtle little things that add flavor and texture to a story. It's color. It brings the writing to life, and it's part of what I lost. I do try. But sometimes I struggle. I have it easiest when I'm walking. I compose story after story in my mind, but when I get back and sit to write, everything leaks away. I lose my inner voice, I lose whatever connection I have to the voices within.
Every word, phrase, that made so much sense when I'm walking struggles to come out when I actually sit in front of the computer.
I theorized that part of it is the position I sit in. When I used to write fiction, or for pleasure, I was generally sitting comfortably, writing with my typewriter on my lap, or sitting on my bed with the typewriter in front of me. Yes, when I was writing, I used a typewriter. I loved it. I was much more careful about my words when I couldn't just backspace to correct.
I am now in full-on ramble mode.
Anyway. I created this sister blog to write. I don't know what. Daniel suggested writing reviews. Or blogging about the different dinners I make. Anything to break the silence and get into the writing mode. This is my first attempt.
I am a darker person when I write. I have always preferred to be alone when I write, because it goes into a place inside that is deep and dark. I'm not me. I'm whomever I'm writing. The more people I'm writing for, the more personalities I have.
I've been looking forward to getting back into writing. But for me, it's very much a surrender. Surrender to the voices inside that cry and beg to be let out. When I write stream-of-conscious, it's my own inner voice coming out to play, and it's usually a chaotic mess. Reading it is like talking to me. I tend to jump from one topic to the next in tangents that make sense to no one but me.
Writing fiction is different. Anyone that writes knows that characters have their own voices. It's finding a way to get that voice onto paper that's the challenge.
I mentioned earlier that I feel my earlier career in journalism really ruined my writing in a way, because journalism is, at least when and where I wrote, very much just the facts. When I write, I need and crave details. The same for when I read. It doesn't have to be a lot of detail, sometimes just the subtle little things that add flavor and texture to a story. It's color. It brings the writing to life, and it's part of what I lost. I do try. But sometimes I struggle. I have it easiest when I'm walking. I compose story after story in my mind, but when I get back and sit to write, everything leaks away. I lose my inner voice, I lose whatever connection I have to the voices within.
Every word, phrase, that made so much sense when I'm walking struggles to come out when I actually sit in front of the computer.
I theorized that part of it is the position I sit in. When I used to write fiction, or for pleasure, I was generally sitting comfortably, writing with my typewriter on my lap, or sitting on my bed with the typewriter in front of me. Yes, when I was writing, I used a typewriter. I loved it. I was much more careful about my words when I couldn't just backspace to correct.
I am now in full-on ramble mode.
Anyway. I created this sister blog to write. I don't know what. Daniel suggested writing reviews. Or blogging about the different dinners I make. Anything to break the silence and get into the writing mode. This is my first attempt.
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