Skip to main content

WRITING IS LIKE GIVING BIRTH...

SOMEONE said writing a story is like giving birth to a child. Each one has its own significance, its own breath, its own place, its own pain in becoming.

Beforehand you were in awe of it, a little scared of it, knowing not what to expect. It moves us forward to the next plane, the next level - giving us the knowledge and commitment that strengthens us for the task of caring for AND launching our charges.

What do you think?
Anything you'd like to compare writing to?
Look forward to hearing from you!
Blessings on this new and unfolding month.

Comments

  1. Barb~ Writing for me is breathing. ♥

    ReplyDelete
  2. Writing is like taking that first step into new snow and wandering out where Spirit leads me.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I'm not a writer in the greatest sense of the term..but my blog is where I connect with family and friends and where I can just be me. I can express what ever I feel is important for me and then I get a surprise..people who comment and we connect too! It's like walking into a room full of strangers, but having everyone turn and give me a big smile, a pat on the back and an invite to come visit them...like I do you!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Writing to me is bringing my imagination to life on paper. When writing my stories that take place in the past, it is bringing my characters back to life again, if just for a little while, and experiencing their lives and their way of life.

    ReplyDelete
  5. I enjoyed reading all the comments and agree with everyone. Writing is like breathing, it's connecting, it's inventing and reinventing.
    Our blogs have added another dimension to my writing life. When it's all said and done I think all we want, all we need is to be connected to others. To be validated and accepted for who we really are.
    Thanks! And blessings.

    ReplyDelete
  6. The giving birth metaphor is one I think about a lot - it's very apt for what we do. It's nice to have you back. Hope you're doing well.

    ReplyDelete
  7. It's like cooking. Get the ingredients right, add inspiration and that special spice that no one else uses, and there you go. Of course, like cooking, there can be failures if the recipe isn't right or the cook gets in a hurry.

    ReplyDelete
  8. For me, writing is discovery. There's always something new – a character that pops into a story, an unplanned scene that just has to be included, a word that suddenly feels right. Or . . . when writing historical fiction or non-fiction, it's a joy of discovering a whole new world and then bringing it to life.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

APOLOGIES....

For those of you who regularly follow my blog, I wanted you to know that health issues and family problems have kept me from my computer lately. Of course my mind has been busy coming up with great ideas to blog about but by the time I sit down late at night to write those lovely ideas have flown out of my head and gone back to wherever good ideas come from in the first place. I miss posting. I miss thinking. I miss resting. I miss just standing and staring, as cows in the fields are known to do. I miss all of you too. Reading about your lives and reading your comments on mine. However, I'm the eternal optimist and I see a teeny speck of light at the end of the tunnel. In two weeks life here should be back to normal, whatever that is. Have any of you figured out what normal is, exactly. I get up everyday and try to live the best life I know how. Is that normal? Or is normal different for each of us. What about a new normal? Are we doomed to live our "normal life" fo

Shingles: not the roofing kind...

Just when I thought things could not get any worse at our house my husband R came down with shingles. On the day I had to be at the hospital in Columbus with one adult daughter in the morning and then go to Cincinnati to pick up her husband after his stomach surgery the day before, R gets up with a rash that had turned to blisters. We made a quick dash 40 miles away to our family Dr. for a check up and yes my diagnosis was correct. Shingles! So armed with two medications we headed to the medical center to see our daughter, then to Cincinnati to pick up her husband and then home to collapse and hope that that's the end of our downward spiral. I'm worn to a frazzle and so is R. No time for writing or fretting about writing. I do feel good knowing that I have some contest entries out (short stories and one novel) and will be working on my novel at least two days this coming week. I have my writers meeting on Monday at Great Expectations Cafe and Book Store and look for

Mother's Leather Britches...

My mother gardened all her life. It was one of her great loves, next to family, God, and country. Because she grew up during the Depression, she learned to use every last item from her garden for canning, preserving, drying or pickling. Every year at the end of the green bean season she made leather britches, dried beans that would keep for the winter. These were the last beans hanging on the vines. The beans inside had grown to full size with outsides a bit withered. They were beyond the stage to can or preserve, or even to pickle. Although her fried pickled green beans and corn bread were the best in the world. (Well, next to her biscuits and fried apples.) Mother started the drying process with clean beans. She would spread a clean white sheet on a table in the wash room and spread the beans out on that, giving them space to dry. Sometime she would carry the sheet outside and put them on a table in the sun to further the process. The next step involved needle and thread