Empty Nest

Empty NestThis afternoon, instead of finishing my outline, I watched Momma and Poppa Goose honking at their goslings from the bottom of the shed. The goslings bobbed up and down in their nest on the roof and chirped back.

Momma and Poppa continued honking and pacing urging the babies to the edge. One baby summed up the courage (unless he was pushed) and tumble over the side. Luckily, the ground beneath is covered in jasmine and pine straw. So, he had a cushy landing. By this point, the dogs discovered that the geese had been busy multiplying in the back yard, and they were none too happy about it.

The dogs barked and fussed, running from one window to the other to protest. Momma and Daddy continued honking, and goslings continued tumbling over the side until only two were left. With additional encouragement from without and protest from within, the last two made the leap.

Gosling March2Momma and Poppa have everyone accounted for (all eight). The Gosling March proceeded to the lake front, leaving the empty nest behind.

I should get back to that outline. The mutts are already passed out under the table, fatigued from their hard day’s work, warding off the impending goose evasion.


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A Fools Errand

Today, I have chosen to embark on a fool’s errand, a quest to begin anew.  For today, April 1st, is also the date of my migratory birthday. This day of fools and misadventures was designated as the landing place for … Continue reading

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Persistence Means Avoiding Distractions

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Today turned out to be a fairly good writing day, despite my persistent nesting goose distraction. I woke to find Mother Goose still sitting vigil on her nest. She barely leaves her nest even to eat. Father Goose tries to … Continue reading

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Mother Goose was busy building her nest in the backyard this weekend. She was not very happy about having her picture taken.  She chose a spot on top of an old shed safe from most predators, other than those pesky … Continue reading

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The Smudge

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~ A Precaution to Writer’s Block To smudge a perfectly clean sheet of paper — It’s not right. You and I both know it. I suggest you do it anyway. It is the best precaution for Writer’s/Painter’s/Designer’s Block. It is … Continue reading

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Night Night NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo Winner

Last night I put NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) to bed for another year.

This November I limped across the finish line with a mix of determination and desperation.

Prior to NaNoWriMo, I enrolled in MyStoryDoctor, an online writing course taught by Dave Wolverton (aka. David Farland). The class has proven to be just what I needed at this stage of my writer’s journey. I hesitate to brag on it too much only because I have a tiny troll who likes to incite greed, to tempt me to keep it all for myself. But I’ve built this site as a no-troll-bridge to the imagination.

Yes, yes, I know about the horde of trolls camped out underneath the DreamArc. I’m fighting to keep them off the bridge and to rip out my own trollish streak by its hairy green roots. So, I tell you, The Story Puzzle, the course I am taking, is exactly what I need, and maybe what you need, if not now, then perhaps at another fork in your writing road.

Through October, I wrote. I edited. I rewrote. And I submitted. Then I received comments and rewrote some more. I tried to continue this through the first couple of weeks of NaNoWriMo, but editing and carving your scenes down to the essential words is not the way to NaNoWriMo bliss.

I sulked my way through the first 15,000 words, editing and carving before I reminded myself that NaNoWriMo serves a different purpose for me. I have participated in the glorious abandon that is NaNoWriMo for six years and have learned that it serves me best as an idea generator. A creative brain dump. I set aside my submissions for the last two weeks and let the words flow.

Today, however, November is behind me, and NaNoWriMo has been put to bed. It is time to take the pile of words left behind and sift through it for the seeds to grow a story.

Sure the pile is a bit stinky, but without the manure (well, let’s call it fertilizer), the seeds won’t sprout into the colorful creatures that inhabit the land across the bridge just beyond reality. And that is the garden in which I choose to live.

~Julia V Ashley

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