Weaving Gold

Mokosha, Anastasia Sophia, and Me, Natalia . . . while the books are written

Abandoning a Book

You are a Wild Thing, Natalia. You have strength and courage. You have a natural propensity to survive, grow, and bloom. But you must choose, Natalia. You must choose.
~ White Tiger’s message to me, one year ago

Menna van Praag‘s novels, House at the End of Hope Street and Dress Shop of Dreams, are similar in their magical, wish-granting themes to my WIP. Since Menna offers coaching, I scheduled a consultation. I sent her the first chapter of Zirka’s Zany Zenanigan’s, which I intended to finish during NaNo.

Professional Opinion

When Menna and I talked by Skype, she said that she liked my story, but that I would not be able to get an agent for the story as it is written. My main characters are happy and the book is structured as a series of short stories that are linked in the conclusion. She told me, quite clearly, how I would need to change the manuscript to sell it.

Some of the suggested changes were acceptable to me, but others were not. Minutes into our consult, I knew I would be putting the manuscript in a drawer. My decision was confirmed when Menna told me that if I did change the story and sell it, if the book were successful, the publisher would want me to write more of the same — which would be hugely problematic since my major WIP is completely different, and I don’t want to write anything else like Zirka.

Ultimately, I was RELIEVED after our consultation. The story had not been flowing. I had been feeling that it was not quite right. I want to get back to the Weaving Gold Chronicles.

Goodbye Zirka’s Zany Zennanigans. It was fun for a while, but now it is not, so you’re going in the drawer.

Hibernating 1


Expressing What Lives Inside Me

IMAGE CREDIT: Carol Cavalaris

IMAGE CREDIT: Carol Cavalaris

If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.
~ Gospel of Thomas

Inside each of us simmer and rattle countless ideas, initiatives, and impetuses clambering to be brought forth. No one story, poem, song, sculpture, painting, relationship, business, or adventure is enough. We are never done, even if we can call it quits at any time. I am perpetually, simultaneously saving and destroying myself. I bring forth, and I repress. I create, and I oppress. I think too much, and do too little.

Because the books that want to be written are foremost in my mind, when I read bring forth what is within in you, I think I need to write this book, or the other, now. I think I’m destroying myself by not writing. I tell myself my delaying, my ebb and flow are resistance, my writer’s excuse. I scoff at my fears: they are not real.

IMG_0489Rock Climbing

This summer, at age 46 and moderate (at best) physical fitness, I tried rock climbing for the first time. It was a modified, safer kind of rock climbing, but I found it exhilarating. A few weeks ago, I began indoor climbing with my fifteen-year old son. He could climb 45-feet to the top on the first day. I’m — not quite there. (Okay. Not even close.)

My favorite things to do are read, sit on the beach, laugh during dinner with my family, and walk in the woods. I am not a thrill-seeker. My adventures are safe and tame: trying new foods, travel to calm places, snorkeling, fishing, kayaking. And yet, I’ve been driving to the climbing gym twice each week. I’ve been strapping myself into a harness, and letting my son belay for me. I’ve been climbing with trembling, jelly arms.

While I’m on the wall, I feel fine. But a night, or when I am quiet, I am TERRIFIED. Yes, all caps, full-body, heart-thumping, mind-reeling SCARED. Fear rolls through me. I imagine, without wanting to, falling, being shattered. Worse, much worse, I imagine my son falling.

With climbing, the dangers aren’t metaphorical. I have good, logical reasons to be afraid. Writing is terrifying, too. What if my books are published, and hated? What if I write for the next three decades, and no one reads, no one cares, my work doesn’t affect anyone, in any way at all?

The Two Sides of the Coin, again

Everything matters, and nothing matters. I don’t have to write or climb or cook dinner for my family, but if I don’t enough, I will surely let repression destroy me. And so, I do. I climb, because daring dwells inside me. I cook, because love dwells inside me. I write, because stories dwell inside me. I save myself.


Ode to my Throat Chakra

th2_mp63Sapphire blue vibration,
Let your pulsing be key
Unlocking songs, poems, and stories
Dwelling inside of me.

Whirling sphere of blue ribbons,
May your movement let flow
Dances long stifled, voices repressed
Smothered secrets I know.

Flow, as words from my fingers.
Sing, express from my heart.
Radical truth, deep sweet magic,
Blue Quiver -- bring forth my art.

Inspired by the art of Mara Berendt Friedman and contemplation of the fifth chakra, center of creative expression.

Posts about the Throat Chakra, by others.

The Throat Chakra: The Center for Self Expression

Throat Chakra: Free Your Self-Expression

Yoga Poses to Open the Throat Chakra

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A Very Scary NaNoWeen

Lady with quillWhat if no one reads it?
What if no one cares?
Am I crazy, brave, deluded
to be one who dares?
  Dares to fail
   bleed, weep, flail.
  Dares to flounder
   grasp, go under.
  Dares to rip her soul asunder
    to write until The End.
But what if no one reads it?
What if no one cares?
Must be crazy, brave, deluded
to be one who dares.
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Doing Writing Right

Writer’s Block by =Phatpuppyart Digital Art / Photomanipulation / Emotional©2011-2013 =Phatpuppyart

I’m writing a novel. Except when I’m not — not working on my story, not writing at all.

The phrase, “if you’re not writing…” has been running through my head for months (during which I have not been writing), so I googled the words. Writing bloggers affirmed what my great brain had already gleaned from the collective unconscious:

From Dana Sitar:

You Might Not Be a Writer If…

We hear so often that “to call yourself a writer, all you have to do is write.” Aww. But, the flip side to that feel-good pat on the back is that if you’re not writing, maybe you’re not a fucking writer.

If you have to trick your mind into being ready to write, maybe your mind doesn’t want to write.

If the words don’t come to you, maybe you have nothing to say.

If anything else in your life is holding you back from progressing as a writer, maybe you don’t actually care about that goal.

From Chuck Wendig at Terrible Minds:

Writers: You might be doing it wrong If…

If you think of yourself as “aspiring,” you might be doing it wrong.

If you talk, tweet, think or write about writing more than you actually write: doin’ it wrong.

If you always find an excuse why you’re not writing, then UR DOIN’ IT RONG.

I might not be a writer. I’m doing it wrong. Fortunately, I know practices and tricks that will help me:

  • Write x words every day.
  • Write x minutes every day.
  • Write first thing in the morning.
  • Write at the same time/same place each day.
  • Write whenever and where-ever you can.
  • Make writing a priority.
  • Write. Write. Write.

Writing It My Way

On my Swan Mothers blog, I often write about trusting myself to parent my own way. Of course, I’ve read piles of parenting books. Of course, I am interested in mothers’ blogs and books, in learning about and from others’ experiences. After I read and integrate what they’ve written, I trust myself to do what is right for my children and myself.

If I can trust myself in parenting, I can also trust myself in writing. An apple tree buds and blooms prettily in the spring and produces apples in the fall. But even in the winter, when its branches are bare, when it is not producing anything tangible, it is an apple tree. Dormancy is a phase in the cycle, not sign of failure or ineptitude.

I have been in a phase of dormancy. I don’t want to write. I focus on other life activities. I also have a wonderful story in my head.  53,422 words of Spinning Gold (Book 1) are written. My Scrivener documents for Coming Out of Hiding (Book 2) and Integration (Book 3) are full of notes and started sections. I have not added to these documents in almost three months, but they are dormant, not dead. I will finish putting these stories on (virtual) paper, because I am a writer, doing it my way.


Sun as Brain

A few weeks ago, my friend Charan Surdhar posted a link on Facebook to the Solar Revolution Book and Movie. The sun is a major theme in Coming Out of Hiding, so I immediately ordered the book.

The book arrived last week. I imagine the cover illustration is interesting to many people. To me . . . well, read the following, which I wrote in November 2012, seven months before I saw the book cover.

Brain-Sun 6-11-13

From afar, the Learning Center in the Sun glows golden. It resembles twisting coils, stacking and folding upon themselves like a big beautiful brain. The hum of its vibration penetrates each cell as one approaches. It smells of heat and manuscripts. It tastes of metal and meadows. It feels alive.

The Twilight Zone music has been cued, and I’m off to learn more about the story that is coming through me.

June 12, 2012 Edit: The sun synchronicities continue. This morning, I listened to a few minutes of an interview on Madness Radio with  Anusuya StarBear. She relayed an early-childhood experience of Being the Sun, and the title of Book 3 for the Weaving Gold Series emerged. It shall be Integration: Being the Sun. 

If you are interested in sun activity, check out my favorite i-Phone app: 3D Sun. Sponsored by NASA’s Heliophysics Division, the 3D Sun App displays animated extreme ultraviolet images of the sun in near-real time.

February 11, 2016 Edit: I was rereading this post and decided to share it on Twitter. The retweet at the top of my feed, was from @SecretSunBlog.

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