Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Writing as root

Savannah burgeons with trees. Oaks and pines, mimosas. Hibiscus and Oleander, big as trees, wafting in the marsh breeze: one gives sweet tea the other slow poison.

The oaks stretch skyward with arms as big as buildings, beckoning wayward angels to perch home in their leaves. And the roots, the roots push upward as well, leaving their dirt houses, their land of wisdom.

Isn't that what we tend, to remove ourselves from the blanket of warmth, that tender web of knowing that this, yes THIS, is where we belong? We uproot and uprooted wander from stem to stream, begging for moss, for lichen and bread.

All do wander but not all are lost. Usually we come back round full circle, full moon to full moon and sit fallow, wanting. Then, if we sit long enough, if we quell this unholy itch, something will begin to grope and bury and we feel ourselves rise taller. Our arms, hanging lank, reach upward and stretch, stretch from spine to tip and we can feel - ah yes! - the glory of the clouds. Why did we roam? Why did we leave the deep places of our passing?

We leave to learn: about ourselves, about our world. We roam to wonder and hear tales from other lands. There's stories in the market, loves, been had and heard over pole beans and collards. Listen and you'll hear songs on that same marsh breeze, the one that smells of dank, rotten things. And always, always we come back to root, roosting on the eggshells and coffee grounds we tossed out from long days wandering.

Don't need them, we suppose, and topple them behind, and Spirit brings her broom and sweeps them onward to the place she knows we'll find. The ground is fertile because of our wanderings and when at long last we dig into that soil we can pick up the pen and draw up the ink blood and write the words our hearts have been beating all along.

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Where have you long wandered?

Where have you found your writing roots?

Have you wandered from genre to genre? From story to story? Or perhaps from self to self?

Me? I've wandered them all. But I'm feeling, quite frankly, a rooting on the rise.

Happy Wednesday!
Write on,








[photo found HERE]

6 comments:

  1. I physically wandered as a kid since I was a military brat.
    Not wandered so much with genre. Think I've found my niche.

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    1. I love that you've found your place in writing and stuck with it! I floundered back and forth for years before I realized I'm a multi-genre writer. That makes it a bit tougher to define yourself to the market, but I can't not write one and not the other :D I suppose I have Writer ADHD!

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  2. Like Alex, I have stayed with my genre. It is where my life, history, understanding lies. Like you, being part of our natural world is vital. Great photo.

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    1. When you find your passion you have to steep yourself into it! I'm still in the process of honing mine, trying to decide if writing multi-genre is really for me or if there are ways to solidify my writing into one easier definition. But then again, why force your writing into boundaries?

      Thanks! I found the photo via a Google search. The link to the original is there. It's just gorgeous :)

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  3. The wandering is becoming the story. Lovely post.

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    1. Thanks so much, Mary! I long for the day I stop wandering and settle into the story. :)

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Well, hello! I'm so glad you made it. Come inside and sit by the hearth. I'll take your coat and hat. The kettle is singing and there's cake and candles and good conversation. Settle in and make yourself at home. Don't mind the wolfhounds; they're friendly if you give them a bit of lemon curd.