Writers Resources

night time_DxO

What we dream about can influence what we do in life, but without a dream, we’re an empty vessel.

Dreams come to us children, sometimes wanting to get out of the places we’re stuck in, or maybe wanting to get rid of the life we have.

With age, we learn our dreams are only as big as we want them to be.

We learn from our parents who may have given up their dreams to have us, or possibly they’ve given us up to follow their dreams, either way, a dream is something we should follow.

The day we decide to follow our dreams, that day, is one of the most important days of our lives.

Our decision to follow our dreams, like the decision to attend college, travel through Europe after high school and get married are not things we should do without thinking about them. If you find yourself thinking about something often, do it.

The thought of not writing daily is something that gave me bad dreams.

When I began TM I discovered that writing came easier than ever, and I didn’t stress about the content; I knew good content would come.

My life comes alive in the 20 minutes of TM in a way I don’t understand, but my writing is something which I love.

I’ve discovered more worlds, new stories, and found myself traversing a deepness in my stories that I never found without TM. I’ve discovered since starting TM a connection and rhythm to the characters, and sometimes I wonder if I’m going crazy being able to see things through their eyes.

The connection with a story is what makes me a writer, it’s the reason I write this blog.

I like the connection, the way I find new blogs through new readers, and though I write only twice a week, I find peace in that time.

I write about TM and I hope the words on the page lead those who read them to look into TM, whether you’re struck with depression as I was, or having problems with a spouse or loved one, TM is the one thing I’ve discovered which made me feel like the person I’ve always wanted to be.

“You have to believe. Otherwise, it will never happen.”  – Neil Gaiman, Stardust

The things we see, feel and hear are how we interpret our life.

These things change from the time we’re children until we grow into adulthood, but what we never understand are the thing before us define who we are.

The definitions we use to describe our lives…happy, sad, frustrated or depressed are who we define ourselves as.

Those definitions are the who we believe ourselves to be. These categories tell us, what to believe, feel and how we should act toward ourselves and others, but there’s more to it than that.

These definitions of our beliefs, they’re only for that moment in time. That moment we choose to be happy, sad or whatever.

The way we view our world is something which can be changed.

We follow what we’re told to follow, believe what we’re told to believe, especially as children.

We want to become what our parents tell us we should be, but we’re often let down by that, mostly because parents set such lofty goals for their children, and those goals are unattainable, whether by financial means or by intellect, but if we get past what our parents say, what then?

Our beliefs as adults are no longer reigned in by our parents, or at least they shouldn’t be.

We’re never taught to think for ourselves, to do what we want or to believe in what is closest to our heart. This is the travesty of society.

Finding the belief in yourself which has always been there is not as difficult as it sounds. We’re told finding ourselves will be a challenge, that it takes something significant to make that discovery.

That’s wrong!

Nothing significant happens to make us change who we are, or what we believe, it’s merely trial and error. The road we take is our own, and it’s the only road which leads us to where we should be in life, because of this we don’t want to work as hard for it, mostly because the work is hard.

If your belief in yourself is greater than the belief of those around you, then maybe you should change friends or jobs.

The belief you have in yourself should always be greater than that of those around you, if you have no belief in yourself, you’re only walking through life, taking the road everyone else takes, but you should take the road you want, and to hell with what everyone else thinks.

You have to believe in yourself, otherwise no one else will!

 

The road follows its own course, we’re just along for the ride.

We stare at the road presented before us, its trees, thorns ad cracked and splintered surface, but what we rarely see are the wildflowers growing in the ditch on the side of the road.

The wildflowers, though beautiful, are hidden from view. They’re rarely seen and seldom talked about, but the cracked and splintered surface is discussed often.

Our roads lead only where we want them to. The only thing we can do is get off the highway, find a gas station, and ask for directions, but we don’t like directions, or at least not a lot of us.

Our direction, whether going through a big city, or a small town, always leads us through cracks and thorns, but once we reach the city, do we stop and look for beautiful areas, no, we’re resigned to believe there are none.

Cities are beautiful, but we often forget about the architecture around us unless we’re standing in it.

Towns don’t have the rush of the city, but they have the problems, and once we’re entangled in those problems they become bigger than the city.

A stop in the towns is wonderful for some people, as are cities, but getting beyond those and discovering what lies beyond the city gates or the township’s borders, that’s when you discover the correct road.

Stay on the road, follow the course and let it take you where you need to be.

As a child I remember my father critiquing me for anything he believed I did wrong. If I stood with my hands on my hips, “That looks Gay”, or when I’d get bad grades, “You’re stupid.”

This type of critiquing didn’t go well with my creative side, it impeded it.

Now that I have kids and don’t say those things to them, I learned more about what is a good critique and a bad one and how TM figures in to my writing.

The one thing about TM, is that I no longer care as much about the past, or the future. I’m finally able to live in present, and with the present I’m able to handle criticism a lot better.

I recently got my edits back from an editor, though they’ll change the way I write, they’ll also let me grow as a writer, which is more important.

The edits were on a draft of a novel I wrote and they’re what I’ve wanted to hear from someone who knew what they were talking about.

I’ve attended Meet-Ups, but a lot of them are just a bunch of people gathered to drink at a bar, which may be fun for those who aren’t serious about the craft, but for me they limited what I wanted to do and they were detrimental to my craft.

I knew going in to writing that I needed work, and with the notes I received, I know what I need to fix, and I’m also now more aware of my writing issues.

I no longer live in a world where I care if I’m berated for not cleaning my room, but that prepared me for writing more than anything.

As a kid I had to have thick skin, but I also became aware that I could write to escape things, which went hand-in-hand.

TM allows me to worry less about the critiques I received in the past and let me focus on my present writing issues.

Being critiqued is part of writing, and being critiqued well are the best kind of critiques.

Before TM I was fearful of being critiqued and based what I knew on my experience with my father.

I now know that a critique should be a lesson and not a reprimand.

Searching through the files of our lives, they must look like the deleted technology of a long-lost civilization, long burnt down, crashed and falling to ash.

We watch the reel, enjoying the moments of joy and cringe at the moments of self-realization.

Each of these moments have created who we are, the wrinkles, age and that odd grey color in our hair which we swear wasn’t there yesterday.

These moments are unspoiled by time, life and the things we’ve done since.

Through the years of tears, and every one has a year of tears, no one’s life is perfect.

Staying in a reel, we see watch the life we had, and think about the things yet to come. The loves, loss and the disappointment.

There’s nothing more disconcerting than not being able to see these things. Pulling these files from their roster, some collecting dust, others fresh from the other day, none of them are bad, they just are what they are.

Leading our lives through years, days and hours, each new thing we discover is different, but it may feel the same.

We have the same feelings, but different. The same pain without consequence or the laughter without the joke.

There are some of these which lead to our goals and our strength.

Running through the life which never changes, or appears not to things don’t fall away.

These things add caution and fire to what we want. Going  through, we see the difference of who we’ve become, what’s fallen away, what our foundation has become and where the ash has fallen.

Staring into the future; the road seems long.
The less we know about what’s coming the better we may feel.
Last week I hoped for the best,  but those hopes were dashed Monday.
My writing and this blog have become my extension. The part of me I let out into the world.
This happens because I like letting people,  especially artists into my world. There are many reasons I enjoy this. Mainly because I want to help new writers who feel their writing being crushed under the weight of their day job,  family and responsibilities outside of writing.
I often think of where I was a few years ago,  and how I dealt with the frustrations of finding the time to write.
I dealt with them by arguing with my wife,  getting angry with my kids and hating who I was.
These things took over who I was,  and they made me unbearable to live with, my wife will attest to that fact.
With each short story or novel I’ve gained more confidence,  and I feel my writing has grown by leaps in the last year.
I attribute that to writing as much as possible.
It’s best to finish stories,  but sometimes you learn more from the unfinished stories and how not to craft a story than from finishing the story.
When I started writing I’d never use an outline,  today I find them indispensable.
I sketch the outline,  get the points of that part of the story down and start writing.
I thought it would restrict me,  I was wrong.
Get through the story then edit, but first write the story.

Books Stacked to the ceiling in New Orleans book shop.

Books Stacked to the ceiling in New Orleans book shop.

The window is cracked,  there’s a soft breeze across the desert and the blue skies stand out against a cloudless sky.

I watch my kids run through the room,  their clothes catching the breeze, my daughter’s cape flapping,  my son’s mask pressed tightly to his face.

My superheroes tear up the house as they chase each other.

Watching I’m reminded of the things I focus on too much, and the things I must focus on more.

We happen to think about our writing, at least as early writers, as horrible.

The reason we think this way is mostly because it is, at least for most of us, I mean we’re not all genius level writers, we have to learn to write well.

The thing about watching my kids play on a daily basis, they do their playing oblivious to the world around them.

This is what new writers usually don’t do.

They don’t write and ignore the world, they may get their writing time in, but they don’t lock themselves away like the more experienced writers.

The wind begins to die down, my kids are preparing for lunch, or dinner, I’m not sure as the day has moved by faster than normal, and in between the hours of my writing schedule; I see their asking for daddy to play.

I skirt away from the desk to play with them, as they beg me to get away from my writing.

I stop them, “I have a few hundred words to go. After I’m done, I promise.” I tell them.

After the hundred words, I set aside the laptop, rush downstairs as they sit on the couch, eager for a trip to the park.

Another sunset comes, we head back to the house, my wife is getting started on dinner, I pitch in, cutting the chicken, as I learned in a meat store in my late teens, and sit down as the I put music on the radio.

It’s one of my favorite days, but it’s still a writing day.

They’re finally asleep, my wife is doing the dishes, I have my laptop out again to get my notes from the day added to my laptop.

I finish and sit with my wife for an hour watching Supernatural.