A journal of my thoughts and feelings. Creativity travels from my brain and travels to my fingertips. "Share creativity with the world and, in turn, it is returned to you".
Poetic License: Is the expression of creative writing from a personal and unique perspective. To compose one's thoughts, particularly mine, in an interesting poetic fashion. Poetic fashion is the donning of a personal style. Over the years I have honed my style, which includes short stories. Enlightening as it feels, the composing and expression of it is a therapeutic euphoria. How accomplished the poet feels when a poem is complete and in a readable form that is exceptional. http://jrf8886.livejournal.com/tag/poems A personal dream of mine is to gather as many of the writings as I can and organize them in a book. In that fashion all if not most is presentable for those to read and share. After all writing is the music that is composed of letters or; in others forms of expression as characters. Writers are then illustrated as possessing the talent to sing to their appreciative audience. The tone of this production resonates within the auditorium. A Theater of the Mind plays out its most important role. Being open plays a key role in the understanding of the lyric. Lyrics in writing are the actors who mimic the plot. The plot is what the author is throwing at you. Have you understood what I am implying? Speaking in the abstract may be confusing for some individuals. With a mindset bent on metaphor a situation is brought to life in a rather confusing yet thought provoking manner. This writer prefers to ascend the spiral staircase in that style. Why? Because the creative thoughts arise and flow like a river heading downstream. Motivation grows and blossoms into a beautiful rose with petals gradually opening like an interesting book.
Music that possesses a unique sound to one's auditory senses. Lay down, feet up, and listen to tonal quality of this musical instrument named the array mbira. Its musical sound relaxes the listener, cloaking their mind and body with welcoming relaxation. Invite yourself and others to listen to this instrument that has its origin from the continent of Africa.
This is the new post in the process of being composed. In the wake of sorting out words with the purpose of creating a story that has interest. Development of a story can be a challenge, any author can tell the reader that. Among the coterie of writers each with their own particular style, the idea behind the written words is of extreme importance. The plot, as it is called, should be one that provokes a curiosity on the part of the reader.
Some authors will base their fiction on past life experiences. I, for one, have done that and I would like to share a story with the reading public. The theme has tragedy in its telling but the main character discovers a way to survive. Her sense of inner strength brings her though. http://jrf8886.livejournal.com/49254.html
A memory was revived in the childhood section of my aging brain. How life was institutionalized back then. By the institution of life that expression has to be explained by giving an example of a mental institution housed in a veteran's hospital. A rather cumbersome sentence wrapped in awkward detail. The opening of a book to chapter one of someone's life as narrated by a little girl. This child is the observer. She absorbs and makes the effort to understand the insanity of her father's behavior and her mother's lack of understanding. Childhood is the stage where learning is of paramount importance. This learning is to be used in adult life as we interact with others and work.
How my child mind attempts to interpret mother's non-verbal stare. Is my role in this family to be acted out as an adult both mentally as well as physically? What about father's mental illness; it was never explained to me! Where do my feelings and emotional support belong? I have observed my family falling apart at the seams with no fabric glue to bind it. Hopes and dreams of togetherness are carried downstream and crash against the grey rocks.
Fantasy life has its purpose of acting as a buffer to ease the pain of reality. Play mom's 78 rpm records and physically spin clockwise to reach that euphoric sense of fun. Go ahead wear out that carpet, the linoleum and the soles of your shoes! Ecstasy is on the forefront. Daydream about the boy a grade ahead of you. After all dancing with him is just plain fun. If fortune telling the future was my gift then in a few years I would imagine myself with that Fab Four.
Mom had a habit of crying for no reason at all. When I questioned her as to what the problem would be, her reply was "It's nothing". It must be something otherwise she would not be crying. The problem must be me then. She must be crying because of me.
The adults in the family would converse amongst one another regarding problems. Childhood and adulthood were quite separate in those days. There is not a memory in my head of an adult explaining and supporting my needs as to how family life would different from now on.
As years passed a facade of an unnatural smile or acting silly was the fence around my own depression. A feeling of failing and not being "tough" eroded my poise and self confidence. Those were the days where I felt I should have been in a mental hospital. There, I felt my needs would have been met.
Raising children is serious business. It is a commitment not to be taken lightly. If one has children and needs guidance in child rearing, then seek it out.
Jealousy is that emotion which can drive one to jump to conclusions and tear apart a relationship. This short film, well acted out, dealt with a wife's jealousy of her husband working late. As he arrived home and greeted his wife in a friendly manner, she bombarded him with her unsubstantiated thoughts, adding fuel to the fire. Attempting to reason with his unreasonable spouse, he realized his attempts were futile. Feeling agitated he left. The love of her life leaves without her knowing where he was going. Her thoughts ran rampant as she tried to reason what she thought and what had actually occurred. The phone rings. It is the husband's boss informing her of what transpired between the both men. Feeling awful she decides to search the downtown area for him. Guilty feelings were projected upon the unknowing husband, making him the guilty party of committing adultery. The culprit was her with her unexpressed desires for the cute guy in her acting group. Grabbing her coat and wrapping a scarf around her neck, she walked into the crisp night air in search of her husband. The storefront businesses where she peered into, were brightly lit. One small restaurant on the boulevard was where the husband sat alone in a booth eating his modest meal. Watching through the window made her realize that she was wrong for assuming his intentions were unfaithful. A woman whom they both knew in the small eatery was about to leave when she noticed him. This woman turned and headed for the occupied booth where she sat opposite him. Their conversation was sociable. The wife contemplated whether or not she should enter the eatery. A wise decision came upon her to start heading home and change for bed. At home while laying in the darkened room her husband enters the home calling out to her in a pleasant manner. All seems to have been resolved.
A bucolic scene is envisioned in my imagination. Its rustic allure tempts me to walk amongst its flowers and smell their perfume like scent. A busy honeybee goes about its business and extracts nectar while pollinating each pretty blossom. Morning glories grow vine like and bloom each morning, only to close their lovely blooms by the early afternoon. Their loveliness always attracted me as a child and I missed them when their bloom was closed. Lilies of the valley had a distinguishing charm about them. Their bell shaped bloom hung in small groups upon one stem. I would imagine them as tiny bells ringing. The lilac bush I had adored. Its lavender blooms and unique scent attracted my curiosity and tantalized my senses. This bush was large in size and provided shade in the summertime. As I sat in its protective shade I would reminisce about the summer nights where I would catch fireflies.
Next to the lilac bush was the forsythia bush. Each spring this bush would sprout beautiful yellow blooms which would turn green when summer arrived. I would imagine these yellow blooms as flowers; gather a few small branches and place them in a glass jar filled half way with water.
Forsythia Bush Photo: Property of J.R. Frieman
The pussy willows happened to be one of my favorite springtime flora. Their furry outer coats were soft like a kitten's fur and they grow; several were sprouting just on one branch. I would pick a few branches and place them in a vase as decoration.
As the sun headed toward the western horizon, my stroll through this imaginary nature scene was complete.
A bucolic scene is envisioned in my imagination. Its rustic allure tempts me to walk amongst its flowers and smell their perfume like scent. A busy honeybee goes about its business and extracts nectar while pollinating each pretty blossom. Morning glories grow vine like and bloom each morning, only to close their lovely blooms by the early afternoon. Their loveliness always attracted me as a child and I missed them when their bloom was closed. Lilies of the valley had a distinguishing charm about them. Their bell shaped bloom hung in small groups upon one stem. I would imagine them as tiny bells ringing. The lilac bush I had adored. Its lavender blooms and unique scent attracted my curiosity and tantalized my senses. This bush was large in size and provided shade in the summertime. As I sat in its protective shade I would reminisce about the summer nights where I would catch fireflies.
Next to the lilac bush was the forsythia bush. Each spring this bush would sprout beautiful yellow blooms which would turn green when summer arrived. I would imagine these yellow blooms as flowers; gather a few small branches and place them in a glass jar filled half way with water.
Forsythia Bush Photo: Property of J.R. Frieman
The pussy willows happened to be one of my favorite springtime flora. Their furry outer coats were soft like a kitten's fur and they grow; several were sprouting just on one branch. I would pick a few branches and place them in a vase as decoration.
As the sun headed toward the western horizon, my stroll through this imaginary nature scene was complete.
A bucolic scene is envisioned in my imagination. Its rustic allure tempts me to walk amongst its flowers and smell their perfume like scent. A busy honeybee goes about its business and extracts nectar while pollinating each pretty blossom. Morning glories grow vine like and bloom each morning, only to close their lovely blooms by the early afternoon. Their loveliness always attracted me as a child and I missed them when their bloom was closed. Lilies of the valley had a distinguishing charm about them. Their bell shaped bloom hung in small groups upon one stem. I would imagine them as tiny bells ringing. The lilac bush I had adored. Its lavender blooms and unique scent attracted my curiosity and tantalized my senses. This bush was large in size and provided shade in the summertime. As I sat in its protective shade I would reminisce about the summer nights where I would catch fireflies.
Next to the lilac bush was the forsythia bush. Each spring this bush would sprout beautiful yellow blooms which would turn green when summer arrived. I would imagine these yellow blooms as flowers; gather a few small branches and place them in a glass jar filled half way with water.
Forsythia Bush Photo: Property of J.R. Frieman
The pussy willows happened to be one of my favorite springtime flora. Their furry outer coats were soft like a kitten's fur and they grow; several were sprouting just on one branch. I would pick a few branches and place them in a vase as decoration.
As the sun headed toward the western horizon, my stroll through this imaginary nature scene was complete.
The script I am about to compose involves a rather necessary ingredient; that ingredient is creativity. Creativity and I emphasize this is the spark that ignites the blaze.
A spark is the idea and the motivation is the ignition. The blaze is the actual composition. Ignite the spark from within one's imagination and fuel the story with fire! Watch it spread and engulf the entire page as it consumes every inch of it. A white hot script emerges from the ashes. In the metaphorical blue light, words are projected on the screen; saved and published by its unknown author. By the invention of modern technology the composition travels the threads of the internet and sews reading interest into its synthetic fabric.
Readers feel amazed as the blaze enters their imagination firing up their levels of interest way up to the boiling point. Steam escapes with a sensual warmth surrounding its haze.
Time has its own way of pressing onward; it navigates the rough as well as smooth seas. As I glance into the mirror I see that time has moved forward and will continue to do so. Memories assume the cloak of being more endearing as I count the decades that I have walked upon this earth. Wisdom and experience are my companions, as they walk alongside of me. What once was has changed and will continue to change. Another page has turned in the diary of me. As I look back memories seem to accumulate. When I look forward I realize that I am the mentor of the generation who is learning to step forward in this challenging world. Still I am the one who is learning about myself and I will go on learning and analyzing myself. This process I name "centering". Centering, in my opinion, is the learning and understanding of one's own self. This aids in overcoming obstacles whether they be physical or mental.
This time in my life has its advantages as well as difficulties. These past few years I have seen many people who I had admired, pass away. This is one of the signs of getting older. The generation before me is moving on and I can feel this loss more dearly. Preparation is in the works for when I reach that milestone someday. For me it takes time. My proactive nature reminds me of the necessary things that must be done before it falls into the category of "unfinished business". Pacing one's self is of utmost importance in this stage of life.
Engage in activities which are therapeutic for one's individual lifestyle. By doing this it will be a blessing in one's senior years. Remember life is short and as Bette Davis once stated,"Old age is not for sissies"; make the attempt to at least have those moments of peace and contentment.
A night which is exceedingly humid, the sweat of my overheated body denies me of any relief from this torridly hot summer. Electrical fans have been the main source of cooling and providing a blessed breeze. Characters dancing around in this former child's imagination are brewing like a percolator of hot coffee. Fingers, long and plain, type the letters forming the imagined flow of words molding this fiction.
The ride is not always smooth on this second hand tricycle. The involvement of effort is of utmost importance. Run on the sidewalk and skin your knees trying to attain sentences of the highest quality, in your own opinion. Midnight has come and passed with no particular interest from this author. After all it is only time, or an organization of time invented by humans. Night time has pulled its shade down, blocking out the sun until the wee hours of the morning. Another day will soon be arriving in a couple of hours. In the meantime, writing is in the forefront.
The words of Journal Janie, otherwise known by the pseudonym as Janie Unknown Writer, is being splashed on this page as if the typing keys magically turned into water. The liquid form of thought flows, with waves pushing toward the shoreline. As my serotonin and dopamine levels come into play, a story should be coming forth with a "tongue in cheek" outlook. The process of this undertaking is perceived as clay molded in the hands of the creative writer. Blog as the term implies, is the popular format for online writing. Subject matter for the blog is as diverse as unending outer space. Open up the so called blog as if it were a magazine which you favor and start reading. Your known world will start to grow like seeds planted in the potted soil and blossom into colorful flowers.
Read and try to understand what the writer is telling you. It can be difficult at times since the writer's style may be too technical or abstract for you to comprehend. Sometimes the subject matter is too ridiculously wordy or boring which creates the atmosphere of you, the reader trudging through a snowstorm wearing high heels.
Last but not least, since I have bored you to tears with all this rubbish, find the style of writing that serves your reading interest.
Being free form in thought opens the dam waters, permitting the water to ooze from its source and spill onto the papyrus or monitor. Many of us select the modern technology to spill out our creativity and there are those who cherish the hands on media of quill and paper. Paper can be creatively developed by our artistic hands or purchased at the store. Whichever one chooses is fine; what counts is expression manipulated by metaphor or simile. Get these two modes of written expression ignited and feel the inner Shakespeare come alive from mere mortal thinking. Those words shall stand erect and reverberate not only in the individual's mind, but on a format written in the language she or he understands.
Mere words can touch us like a hand caressing a feline or words can be filled with malevolence. Words are the sculptor's hands as they mold the story befitting to the author's intentions. Expression is the confession of the author. I confess that I have been using media, whether it be journals or social media, to enhance creative thought. Therapeutic is this for writing summons the inner demons and angels to the surface of the brimming ocean. The white caps of the waves signify the rough seas are coming and haunting the inner anxiety of blocked thought. When this malady occurs seek a muse to inspire by setting a fire within one's brain. The sane along with the insane walk hand in hand towards the light which shines the brightest.
