Life is messy

Reflections on things we cannot control

(Respectively, photos taken in Toronto; Hope, BC; New York City; China Beach, BC; Chilliwack, BC; Volcan Arenal, Costa Rica; and Montezuma, Costa Rica)

Waterfalls…but only when pushed

Considering my fear of heights (I can’t even watch a film of a cliff face), my fascination with waterfalls intrigues me. There is something about the descent of all that water that just amazes me.

Maybe it’s the power. Maybe it’s the freedom. I know there’s a thrill.

The following photos were taken in a variety of locations, including British Columbia, Costa Rica and Las Vegas.

Writer’s Block-ed – Part Two

In Part One, I discussed the idea that the only difference between creatives and non-creatives or people who are blocked is a psyche filter that has become clogged; a filter that sits between thoughts generated deep within and expression of those thoughts to the outside world.

Below, I offer some thoughts on what I have found effective in unclogging that filter.

Step over it or go around it. Nowhere is it written that you must solve this problem right now. Depending on the nature of the project in which you find yourself stuck, is there an opportunity to simply mark a placeholder for where you’re stuck and move to the next part? Personally, in any creative endeavour, forward momentum is key and once lost is hard to regain. It’s easier to push a car that is already rolling than to get one rolling. A number of my manuscripts contain notes to myself along the lines of [something exciting happens here].

Likewise, for a written work, don’t feel like you have to solve all of the plot details early on. I had one screenplay that required my protagonist be in disguise. I had no idea how to do this logically, but proceeded as though it would come to me later…and it did. If you’re in a good space, the spirits will guide you and you will find your answers. But you have to be open to those answers.

Walk away. For most of us, these are very personal projects the only deadlines for which we hold internally. So, screw the deadline. Walk away from the project for a bit. Go see a movie. Read a book. Listen to music. Go for a run.

The longer you focus on the problem, the more inflamed it becomes until it becomes a creative cancer. Let it rest. Give the rest of your brain something to do. Let it do the heavy lifting for a bit. You may just find that the rest of the brain has ideas your creative centre wasn’t able to deal with and those ideas may just sneak past the filter (so have a notebook in your pocket, just in case).

Move to another project. I think a mistake a lot of new writers make is only having one project, as that blows the importance of the project way out of proportion. At any given moment, I have at least a dozen different creative projects on the go, at various levels of completion. That way, the minute I see the first signs of boredom or frustration with a project, I can move to another one to maintain my personal forward momentum. Perhaps the one thing that clogs a filter quickest is creative fallowness as lack of movement breeds insecurity.

The nice thing about working on multiple projects is that the creative act on one project often stimulates the creative response on another. You may have your answer to project one; you may not just be able to see it until you work on project two. Which leads me to…

Try another creative activity. Creativity breeds creativity. For me, photography stimulates writing (I suspect it works the other way, too). When I’m taking pictures, I am focused on the task at hand, the object on the other side of my lens, but because I am a storyteller, part of my brain is applying context to that image. You may have seen examples of this in some of my other blog posts. It allows me to visually tap into other emotions and contexts not previously obvious in my mind and those may inform my writing dilemma.

The key is to actively engage your brain. If you want to do something more passive like reading a book, as suggested earlier, try reading it aloud. Forcing yourself to actually engage with the written material will stimulate different parts of your brain, including your auditory centres. Responding to the movie screen, however, will likely get you thrown out of the theatre.

Hang with other creatives. First off, I don’t think there is anything inherently wrong with a pity party. It can be good to commiserate and share war stories from the trenches. It helps us to understand that we are not alone and that there is another side to the current blockage. And who better to help you with that than fellow members of the society.

Likewise, simply sharing your dilemma opens the floor to multiple brains with filters at various stages of clogging. Hopefully, around the table, there is enough creative force to blow the walls of those filter pores and clear things out. Yes, it’s your project, but you don’t have to do it alone.

If you think screaming at the gods will help break your writer's block, give it a go! (Photo taken in Hope, BC, ironically enough)

If you think screaming at the gods will help break your writer’s block, give it a go! (Photo taken in Hope, BC, ironically enough)

Seascape

I sit on a rocky promontory,

Gazing over the waters of the sea.

Waves splash below me, sending a spray of water

From a sea, ill-tempered and intemperate.

Somewhere in the distance, a boat has passed

And the waves have reached the shore,

The waters angered by the disturbance.

The water reaches across the rocks

Forming pools in crevices created at an earlier time;

Eroding a little more stone to become

The sand of some far off beach.

In an endless rhythm, the waves strive

For the beach and are mercilessly drawn back.

A twig is caught in the ebb and flow

Never certain when it will get thrown

Too far up the sands or finally drawn

Into deeper waters to voyage somewhere else.

 

Caught in pools, between the larger rocks,

A microcosm has formed of predator and prey,

A world of colour and beauty, life and death.

The flowery anemone, waving in the eddies,

Await their prey with numbing venom.

A small crab picks through the sand,

Scavenging for carrion from other meals past,

Crawling aside to move around a sea star.

Urchins, moving ever so slowly across the rocks,

Their spiny coverings a defence against attack.

Small fish, trapped with the last tide,

Eating plant and animal, their escape

Hours away, at the mercy of the moon.

Vertebrate and invertebrate, together,

Calling this home; for now or forever.

 

The sea is the beginning

And, ultimately, the end.

Travel within and without – British Columbia

It may sound ridiculous to say, but wherever and whenever I travel, I find symbols of my inner journey, the personal transit that extends beyond airline tickets, overstuffed luggage, and souvenir shops. And it’s often not until I arrive home to look at the images within my camera, that I see the patterns.

Am I imprinting meaning where none inherently exists? Does it matter?

Whether inherent or imposed, the imagining of a pattern changes me and the pattern becomes true.

The following are a selection of images from my travels last year through British Columbia, a break before I began on the next great journey of my life, and one I take alone.

Woods you believe – British Columbia

There is something amazing about the serenity of a lush forest. Even as you follow a trail through the woods with other tourists, I find everyone takes a slightly more hushed tone, as though in reverence to what is around them.

Here are some woodsy photos I took on my trip to British Columbia.

The variegation of the light and shadows, and the richness of the undergrowth take me to a place before time. (China Beach, BC)

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On the shoulders of giants grows the next generation. (Shannon Falls, BC)

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A carpet of green warms the forest floor. (Brandywine Falls, BC)

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Where did that elephant suddenly come from, leaping from the mountainside beneath the moss. (Brandywine Falls, BC)

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And some images express irreverence…I believe the tree on the far left is the men’s. (Chilliwack Lake, BC)

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Across the universe – a mental travelogue

(This post is inspired by something I saw earlier today on another blogger’s site. So thanks, storiesbyfrances.)

Whether writing or doing photography, one of my personal goals is to look beyond what is right in front of me, to see objects at levels beyond their macro existence (how metaphysical is that). Given time and attention, patterns form, images present themselves, thoughts meander, reality becomes flexible.

Below, I’ve posted photos taken while traveling through British Columbia last year. I was going to tell you what I saw, but instead have decided to ask you what you see in the images, if anything. For the sake of the wondrous places I visited, however, I will tell you where the photos were taken.

(Botanical Beach, Vancouver Island)

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(Botanical Beach, Vancouver Island)

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(China Beach, Vancouver Island)Image

(Port Renfrew, Vancouver Island)

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(Tofino, Vancouver Island)

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Don’t forget to let me know what you see.

I don’t care if we agree; in fact, if you see something I didn’t, then my universe becomes that much larger.

Taking wing in BC – Chilliwack

As some of you have already discovered, I am a sucker for anything that creeps, crawls and flits, so it should come as no surprise that while I wandered the paths of Minter Gardens, outside Chilliwack, BC, that my eye was tuned to the slightest movements among the myriad flowers.

Here are some of the photos that came through.

It wasn’t until I blew up the photo that I saw the small flowers that explained her interest.

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I like the way the petals practically mirror her wings as she works so intently.

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How one walks on this flower I have no idea, but she seemed to have no trouble.

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These guys always looked like they were on their last legs…a little too ragged to get off the ground.

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On flowers like this, it was almost impossible to see these butterflies at first glance.

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The angle couldn’t have been any better for this shot from my perspective.

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The purity of his white next to the satin-like red of the flower was just amazing to me.

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I wanted to capture some of the chaotic nature of the garden with the butterfly…could have done better, but it’s nice.

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Just hanging out, taking 10.

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BC creep crawlies – Chilliwack area

As you’ll eventually learn, I have a special place in my heart for critters and particularly creepy crawlies, photographing them every chance I get. Again, going to have to learn how to use a macro lens.

The photos that follow are from a couple days with family in the Chilliwack area of British Columbia, which much like Volcan Arenal has been amazingly dormant for years.

The contrasting textures were too much to pass on when I saw this little guy in my mother’s back yard.

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Sequestered in the bottom of a terrace lamp, this scary looking guy would descend in the evening to catch prey attracted to the light (or anyone foolish enough to bump into him).

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It wasn’t until I started playing with the image that I saw the ant and decided he had to be included in the cropping.

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Yes, I believe they are doing what you think they’re doing. What really attracted me though–aside from insect porn–was the way the light shone through their wings, colouring the rocks below.

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I was so happy that one of these frames was actually usable as I must have taken a dozen shots of this guy.

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This one and the next one were taken in a park and the biggest challenge I faced was the wind blowing the spider in and out of focus. I’m never quite organized enough to set up a wind break.

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Regardless of what you may personally think about spiders, you have to admit his colours are amazing (or you don’t).

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Butterflies and moths fascinate me. They always look like they will disintegrate into a fine powder on the next strong breeze.

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My muse is a bastard

Okay, that’s not really fair, but it is fair to say that my muse and I have not always had a great relationship.

I have abandonment issues. I won’t deny it. I am working through them. But my muse has not been a lot of help in this department. For decades, I have sought inspiration in my writing and my muse has let me down. He was more “mute” than “muse”.

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For years, my pen has hovered over my notebooks, tantalizing close to writing, but ink doesn’t transfer. My fingers have hovered over computer keys, ever so close to making physical and spiritual contact, but the flashing black line in my Word document taps its virtual foot in anticipation of ideas yet to flow.

And even more frustrating, my muse can be a right royal inspiration tease—giving me glimpses of ideas that simply turn into moments of premature  ideation, leaving me feeling used as I clean my laptop.

What I realized recently, however, as that my muse isn’t my muse. He is, in fact, a muse—the irony of that phrasing is not lost on me.

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Inspiration isn’t something that comes to me. I have to go out and get it. Hunt it down. Leash it and bring it home. And in keeping with good psycho-eco-social practices, release it back into the wild when I am done.

Here I thought I had become so bloody advanced because I had an opposable thumb and personality that worked in clever union to produce written works of a certain majesty (more often than not, Ethelred the Unready, but majesty nonetheless).

Instead, I find I am still the hunter-gatherer of history. Leaving the comforts of home to find sustenance in the wilds of the universe or less melodramatically, a park bench watching people, the zoo watching animals watch people, a coffee shop watching the level of coffee in my cup recede.

Slowly, I am becoming a better hunter-gatherer. The threshold does not seem so high. I can generally snatch a muse without doing too much damage to it or myself.

Oh, it still doesn’t want to get caught, but what that means is I have to change my position slightly. ALL muses are bastards.

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(Photos taken at Minter Gardens outside of Chilliwack, BC. An amazing place to hunt muses!)