The Pond - Part 32

Izolda’s mother had often warned her about the consequences of using the dark magic, the price that would have to be paid. This was why the women of their family eschewed the darkness and clung to the light. Though she had nodded in agreement at the time, in her mind Izolda had scoffed at such warnings.

The price for the dark magic she and Varnya performed seemed inconsequential – releasing the essence of special herbs they gathered through fire, the spilling of their own blood, taking the life of an animal – when it gave them such power.

But Varnya had remained hidden, lest others become aware of what she was doing, the source of her magic. And it had darkened her soul. Izolda had been more careful in her dealings in the dark arts, but now, here was proof she had not been careful enough.

“Rusalka!” The name was both a judgement and a curse. “How can this be?”

“Ask yourself,” the creature told her.

Initial shock over, Izolda struggled to her feet again. “My circle compels you to remain; my potion compels you to speak the truth. Why have you taken this form?”

“Because it is my own.”

“No. The one whose form this is was left far from here.”

“And yet, here I am. The manner of my death has allowed me to become what I am.”

“That is impossible. A true rusalka is tied to the water where she died. You did not die in this place.”

“I would not be the first to win their freedom through an application of power.” The girlish voice was all the more disturbing coming from the skeletal, weed covered creature. “Did you not once vanquish a rusalka who had the ability to move from place to place?”

Izolda showed no surprise that the creature knew this. “Varnya was not a true rusalka. She merely took on the appearance of one when it suited her. How are you able to relocate?”

“Power. Much power.”

“Whose power? You had none of your own when you died, nor would a true rusalka have the kind of power you have shown.”

“Mine is not the only soul you have taken. I am not the only one who wishes vengeance.”

There was a clap of thunder, and Izolda’s circle was broken. The creature vanished beneath the water and Izolda was left trembling with impotent rage.

She returned to her home, a little numb with the knowledge of what she was facing. Going straight to her workroom, she sat in the rocking chair and began to rock. She had much thinking to do.


In the morning, she emerged from her workroom to start breakfast for Dmitri and Nicolai. With Marta gone she would be doing the household duties on her own. At least until they could find someone to replace her.

Father and son waited until she filled a plate of her own and sat down before they started eating. No one seemed to have much to say. No one seemed to have much of an appetite either. Finally, Izolda excused Dmitri from the table, to go to his room.

As soon as he was gone, she turned to Nikolai. “We should leave. This place is cursed.”

“Leave? And go where?” Nikolai frowned.

“We could go to the city, where your brother is. We could—”

“No.” His tone was implacable.

“But—”

“This is our home. We will stay, no matter what.”

With that, Nikolai rose from the table. Calling to Dmitri, the pair left for the mill. Izolda’s fists clenched. He may believe the conversation was over, but he was wrong.

Whitney Verse Form

If you like the Japanese forms with their lack of rhyme and strict syllable counts, you’ll love the Whitney. This form was created by Betty Ann Whitney, an American poet, writer, and visual artist living in Florida.

The Whitney is a single stanza of seven lines with 28 syllables in total – 3, 4, 3, 4, 3, 4, 7.

Schematic:

xxx
xxxx
xxx
xxxx
xxx
xxxx
xxxxxxx

And that’s pretty much all there is to it. There’s no mention of a theme, no constraints on subject matter, and there’s no rhyme involved. At first I thought this form is simple enough that even the most timid of novice poets can master it with ease. But when I went to write my example it took a little more thought than I expected. However, once I got the hang of it, it was kind of hard to stop.


Sun setting
temperatures
start to drop
the wind dying
night falling
the moon rises
the stars begin to appear


mist rising
foghorn sounding
a lonely
distant echo
of times past
when ships would sail
sans benefit of radar


one day you
will look behind
and all that
you will see is
regret and
broken pledges
act now, while there is still time

Step Aside, Inner Critic

Turn down the volume of your negative inner voice and create a nurturing inner voice to take it’s place. When you make a mistake, forgive yourself, learn from it, and move on instead of obsessing about it. Equally important, don’t allow anyone else to dwell on your mistakes or shortcomings or to expect perfection from you.
― Beverly Engel

Your inner critic is simply a part of you that needs more self-love.
― Amy Leigh Mercree

When we direct a lot of hostile energy toward the inner critic, we enter into a losing battle.
― Sharon Salzberg

One of the nice things about going away for a retreat is that I don’t have to wrack my brain trying to figure out what to write here for a few weeks. Unfortunately though, some of the workshops I wasn’t able to take a lot of notes, so I won’t be able to share all of them, and as I’m finding out today, some of my notes are . . . well, let’s just say my note-taking leaves much to be desired.

As I mentioned last week, I missed the first workshop on memoir writing, so the first one I actually got to was called, Step Aside, Inner Critic, presented by Adrian Michael Kelly.

He began by talking about resistance. Resistance never stops. When you sit down to write, it will change you. It’s an engine of destruction – implacable, intractable, indefatigable. You need to reduce it to a single cell and destroy it.

This resistance attacks by flooding your inner world with feelings of failure, negativity, and self-doubt. If you don’t fight back, resistance creates a vision of a bleak future stripped of all possibility. On bad days it does feel like a battle. If you’re saying yes to the writing life, you’re saying yes to resistance.

At its best, writing will bewilder you. It’s easier to accomplish it with a better mood. Practice self-care. Upper most in accomplishing this is to maintain a regular sleep schedule. Lack of sleep will reduce your energy levels.

Befriend your unconscious. Train your body and your mind to work together. A healthier life style leads to better, and more productive, writing. Exercise before sitting down to write, it will energize you. Do the most strenuous exercise you can.

Adopt a healthy eating plan. Healthy eating will compliment your sleep and exercise and maintain your vitality. Avoid alcohol or other chemical substances while writing, an altered mental state is not beneficial to the writer.

Regular meditation is also beneficial. It will center you and make you calmer. It enables you to face difficult situations easier. If your thoughts tend to run rampant, meditation, practiced on a daily basis can help calm your mind. It also helps bring awareness of your body.

We can’t think our way around resistance, we have to work at it.

Recommended reading: The War of Art by Stephen Pressfield, and The Tools by Dr. Philip Stutz

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
Sadly, I do not have all that much to review for the past week. I was still feeling a little under the weather from whatever bug I had while I was at the retreat, and when I saw my doctor early in the week she put me on a new medication (for an ongoing problem) that really knocked me on my ass.

I don’t know if it just exacerbated the stomach bug I already had, or if the side effects were just really bad on their own, but I spent the bulk of my week headachy, nauseated, and super tired, among other things.

Anyway, I ultimately decided to go off of it temporarily to let my body get back to normal. Then I’m going to seriously consider the benefits versus the drawbacks of this medication. I was assured that the side effects would only last four weeks, tops, but I’ve heard that before with other drugs that didn’t work for me. And given the severity of my reaction to it after just a few days . . .

NEW WORDS:
1506+638+340+734=3,218
UP – 20 words from last week

Let’s just say the spirit was willing but the body was really tired and sick last week, shall we? I had big plans, and not a whole lot going on for the week, but the stupid side effects took care of that for me.

While I didn’t get all my blogs up on time, I at least got them up, which is saying something. I even got my serial installment done. Of course I’d like to go back and rewrite it, but it is what it is, and the story is just a draft version. It’s starting to wind down, I think, which is a good thing.

Goals For Next Week:
Get some words written besides my blog posts.

EDITING:
0 hours
It’s really hard to think about editing when you’re feeling sick and tired.

Goal For Next Week:
Start work on An Elemental Spirit.

TECH & TRAINING:
Nothing to see here, folks. Move along. I bought myself a laminator, but I haven’t tried it out yet. That’s as good as it got.

Goal For Next Week:
Learn something new. Figure out Dropbox.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
Poetry has once again saved me from being a compete and utter fraud as a writer. I shared the Echo verse as my form for the week. It’s different, but I don’t see me writing an abundance of them. And I wrote a poem about superstition for the poetry group. It turned out okay, but it wasn’t the poem I wanted it to be. *shrugs* It happens sometimes.

Goal For Next Week:
Find another new poetry form to share.

CRAFTING:
*Hangs head in shame* You’d think with all that time I spent feeling crappy where I sat literally doing nothing, I could have been working on the afghan, but I didn’t. A few of the ladies from the stitchery group have been meeting at the library on alternate weeks to our regular meeting, and I did drop in for a bit, but we were so busy chatting I didn’t even pull my afghan out of its bag.

Goal For Next Week:
Push to get the afghan done so I’m free to work on other stuff with a clear conscience.

WHAT I’M READING:
I did a little better, reading wise. I finished Hex Appeal, by Kate Johnson, and also The Witching Well, by Shelley Dorey. It’s the first of a trilogy, and I’ve started book 2, Spellbound. I’ve also started reading The Knockoff Eclipse by Melissa Bull, which was a book included in my goody bag from the retreat.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep up the slow and steady ready pace.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

I’m really hesitant to make too many plans for this week, just in case I go back on that medication and it knocks me on my butt again. On the other hand, I don’t want another week to go by where I don’t get anything done.

I actually did find a few extra minutes before going to the gym one morning to get my morning pages done, but thanks to feeling so tired and crappy, I only made it to the gym twice last week. Of course I suppose I could have done them on the days I didn’t go, but I never thought of it.

I would definitely like to make a bigger effort to start working in my office this week, and getting my writing done during the day so I can be working on the afghan during the evenings. I also want to learn how to use my laminator. This should be interesting, with my two very nosy sidekicks around.

And I really need to start typing out the notes I took while at the retreat. There are a couple of stories I have the bare bones for that I’d like to pursue as well.

Looks like I’ve got lots to do, now all I need is to find the get-up-and-go to do it.

The Pond - Part 31

Everyone in the tiny community came to Pavlina’s funeral. Dmitri stood stoically between Izolda and Nikolai. His father had one hand resting on this shoulder, as though to reassure himself that he would not disappear.

Izolda was like a statue, her face white marble. She shed no tears, made no sound. In fact, after that first wail of grief and loss when Pavlina’s body was brought to her, not a word had passed her lips. Many of those gathering whispered at the sight of her. Some made a furtive sign against evil.

Dmitri snuffled as his sister’s body was lowered into the dark hole in the ground, and even Nikolai had big, fat tears rolling down his ruddy cheeks. But Izolda stood immobile, eyes hard and dry.

And still she stood, as the others filed by, some throwing handfuls of dirt into the grave, others flowers. When all the rest had gone, Nikolai turned and touched Izolda on the arm.

“Come, wife,” he said. “There is nothing left for us here.”

She ignored him, refusing to move. After a moment, he turned again and led their son back home, leaving her behind.

The sun was starting to lower in the sky before a shiver went through Izolda and she finally stirred. Her gaze lifted and she looked from the grave towards the pond. Something passed over her face then, and had there been anyone to see, they would have fled in fear.

Slowly, she made her way home, her steps heavy. There was a pot of stew still simmering on the stove, courtesy of one of the village women, but she ignored it and went straight to her work room, locking herself in.

She went to the trunk where she kept her spell books, delving deep and bringing up the oldest of the books she’d acquired from Varnya. Flipping through the pages, it didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. Silently she read what was on the page twice over, then began gathering ingredients.

Using a mortar and pestle, she ground the herbs fine and transferred them to a ceramic bowl, then added liquids and stirred, chanting under her breath. Waving a hand over the bowl, she chanted a little louder and a wisp of vapour wafted upwards.

Nodding in satisfaction, she decanted the mixture into a small, blue bottle, sealed it, putting it in the pocket of her dress. Then she mixed a handful of dirt she had brought with her from the graveyard into a bag of salt and took it with her. Without stopping to clean up her mess, as she usually would, she left the house and disappeared into the night.

Nikolai made as though to follow her but she flicked a hand towards him and suddenly he had the urge to sit by the fire. Women were mysterious creatures, there was no need to see what his wife was up to. She would mourn in her own way.

It was fully dark when Izolda left her house, but she did not need a light to make her way to the pond. Without hesitation, she began to pace around the edge of the pond, leaving a trail of salt in her wake. When the circle of salt was complete, she stood just inside it, raised her hands high in the air, and began to chant.

A wind rose up, but she ignored it. The water in the pond churned and bubbled, and she ignored it. Three times she chanted, never wavering from her place. When she finished the third round of the chant, she took the bottle from her pocket, unsealed it, and hurled it into the pond. The water seethed and boiled, accompanied by an unearthly shriek.

“By my power, light and dark, I demand you show yourself,” Izolda shouted.

Still shrieking, something rose from the center of the pond. It’s woman-like figure was draped in the remnants of a gown, it’s hair entwined with seaweed and crustations. Black water sluiced off of it as it fully manifested.

“What are you?” Izolda demanded. “Who are you?”

“Do you not recognize me?” the creature asked.

Izolda took a step closer.

“You made me, dear friend.”

“No, it cannot be!” Izolda sank to her knees.

Echo Verse Poem

As might be inferred from its name, the Echo verse repeats the sound at the end of each line in the imitation of an echo. It was popular in the 16th and 17th centuries in Italy, France, and England, usually in pastoral poetry or drama.

There is no set rhyme scheme, meter, or length to the Echo poem. The echo can be the same word or a homophone (a word that has the same sound but a different meaning and spelling, like two, too, and to, or there, their, and they’re).

There are a couple of different ways to write an echo verse.

The echo can be on the same line:
This wasn’t meant to be, be
There is no need to plea, plea
It’s all the same to me, me
But I drank up all the tea, tea

It can be given a line of its own:
The melting snow
snow
Is good to see
see
Spring is here
here
Without a doubt
Doubt

Or you can write it so the echo compliments, or continues the previous line:
I walked along the aisle, isle
To see what there should be, bee
And stopped beside the dam, damn
I couldn’t really hear, here

Even though it was the hardest of the three, I kind of liked the one using the homophone, it seemed like more of a poem. Leave it to me to wait until late at night and the choose the hardest of the three examples. :-D


The tome I held had weight, wait
I read this book last week, weak
With the end of mourning, morning
That shone with the sun, son
That was so sweet, suite
a symphony of peace, piece
That pierces the soul, sole
That makes me whole, hole
Left by a knot, not.

Shake It Up Baby!

When I write, I can shake off all my cares.
— Anne Frank

'Shake It Up' definitely teaches kids about the importance of reaching for your dreams and setting high goals. It also teaches great lessons about friendship and family.
— Zendaya

I think that if you shake the tree, you ought to be around when the fruit falls to pick it up.
— Mary Cassatt

Well, here I am again, at a writer’s retreat in Kingston. I’m hoping this will be what I need to shake things up a bit and jump start my writing mojo. I think it might be working because as much as I like being here, I’m kind of looking forward to going home and working in my newly re-arranged office.

I have to say, the retreat did not get off to a great start. I thought I left in plenty of time on Thursday, but I hadn’t counted on some unnaturally heavy traffic. So . . . I was already running behind by the time I got to Kingston, and then my infallible sense of direction failed me when I turned right when I should have turned left. By the time I reached the hotel, it was already more than 30 minutes into the first workshop. So I parked the car at the hotel, and went wandering until the second workshop.

I’ll be discussing some of what I’ve learned in future posts, so for now I’m just going to share my first impressions. Of the nine workshops that have been held so far (I’m writing this on Saturday evening) I have missed two – one accidentally and one on purpose – I really enjoyed two, I’ve been disappointed in two, and today’s were great, so-so, and okay.

There’s not as much actual writing as I expected, and these people talk way too fast for effective note taking. So really, I’m not sure how my future blog posts are going to turn out. I did write a rather humorous story about a talking hand though.

There are about half a dozen of us who paid for the four-day pass, so I see them at most of the workshops. Then there are a few who are local and were able to just pick and choose what they wanted participate in. I think the most surprising group was the workshop for writing Rom Coms, which included several men.

And I don’t know if it’s stress, poor eating, or what, but I’ve been feeling pretty crappy since I’ve arrived. Coffee started having an adverse effect on my stomach, so I’ve been drinking a lot of water and green tea. I felt slightly better today, so hopefully I’ve taken a turn for the better.

The other part of the shaking it up I’ve got for you, is the changes to the wordage report that I talked about last week. Turns out the retreat has left me with some time on my hands that I don’t care to fill with watching TV or reading. And the weather has been too crappy to take any of those nice long walks I was planning on.

So I redesigned the Wordage Report a bit to include “The Week in Review” and “The Week Ahead.” I’m hoping having what I intend to do written down will encourage me to actually . . . do some of it. :-D

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
Well, let’s see. It started out with my car having to go into the shop. Is it just me, or does my car go on the fritz every time I have to go more than 100 kilometres out of town? As you recall, the last time my car went on the fritz was around Christmas when I was supposed to go to Hamilton. And here’s a bit of trivia for you, Cobourg is almost halfway between Hamilton and Kingston.

Fortunately, the dealership was able to take my car in on Monday and I had it back on Tuesday. But I was still forced to take the hubby’s car to my stitchery gathering. I’m not fond of his car, I feel like I’m sitting on the road – I drive a GMC Terrain, he drives a Hyundai Genesis.

Despite this being the March Break, we only saw the granddaughter on Wednesday, which is a shame because she’s a lot of fun to be around. Then after her mother picked her up I spent the rest of the evening getting ready for Writersfest.

NEW WORDS:
1895+399+272+632=3,198

UP – 438 words from last week

Technically, I do have more words to show for my week, but I haven’t had time to type them out, so I can't really include them.

With the exception of Sunday’s post, they were all up on time, even the serial installment which I had to finish here. And kudos to me for getting two of them written while I was in Kingston.

Goals For Next Week:
Get some words written besides my blog posts.

EDITING:
0 hours
Well, you can hardly blame me, I was a little busy getting ready for Writersfest. But thank you Writersfest! I’m actually looking forward to getting back to work on Elemental Spirit.

Goal For Next Week:
Start work on An Elemental Spirit.

TECH & TRAINING:
No tech to speak of, unless you count attempting to connect to the hotel wifi (they changed their access and forgot to change the info card that came with their key cards) but I’ve got seven workshops of training under my belt. And I’m coming away with a new desire to keep learning. AND I really need to get on top of backing up all my stuff to Dropbox.

Goal For Next Week:
Learn something new. Figure out Dropbox.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
Technically, last week’s poetry words should have been included in the word count from the week before, because that’s when I had them written. I believe there’s a gathering of my poetry group scheduled for this week – guess I’d better check my email to see what the poemwork is.

Goal For Next Week:
Find another new poetry form to share, do my poemwork.

CRAFTING:
Seeing as there was a stitchery gathering last week, I got a few more rows done on the afghan. Only three more colours to go! And if I actually stick to my plan to do more work in my office this week, I’ll get to crochet while watching TV at night.

Goal For Next Week:
Push to get the afghan done so I’m free to work on other stuff with a clear conscience.

WHAT I’M READING:
Believe it or not, I didn’t do much reading last week. Not even while I was away. I took four books with me, figuring I’d have plenty of time to read, but I didn’t. I’m about a quarter of the way through Hex Appeal, by Kate Johnson, and that's it.

Goal For Next Week:
Maybe try to increase my reading just a little.

THE WEEK AHEAD:
As much as I’ve enjoyed being here at Writersfest, I’m looking forward to being back at home. The chairs here are not as comfortable as they are at home, and the weather has prevented me from venturing too far from the hotel to forage for food. The restaurant here has a limited menu and it’s pretty pricy.

One of the things we learned on the first day was about daily pages – where you get up in the morning and immediately free write for 15-30 minutes before doing anything else. This is fine while I’m here, or even on the weekend, but during the week I get up at 5:30 a.m. and have just enough time to get dressed and drive to the gym, I really don’t see myself getting up 15 minutes earlier just to freewrite. I’m going to have to figure out how to modify this.

I would like to spend more time working in my office, and I can’t see any reason why I can’t begin to do so, other than my own mental hangups. And if I’m working in my office during the day, this will free me up to work on crafts during the night. The projects are piling up again.

We had one poetry workshop, and while I was a little ambivalent about the instructor, I did come away with a few ideas to apply to working on a poetry anthology. Or two. Or more. Time to pick up that big book ‘o poems and crack it open.

Two more workshops to go, and then it’s home again, home again, hot diggity dog.

The Pond - Part 30

With Mikhail safely away, things became very quiet. Izolda did not trust the quiet.

There were times she caught Nikolai looking at her with a strange look on his face, as though he was about to ask her something, but then he’d turn away without saying anything.

The water in the well of one of the outlying farms became tainted, and the entire family died, as did much of their livestock. No one could understand how such a think could happen – none of the other sources of water were affected.

Nikolai fought with his elder brother Konstantin. It began as something trivial but exploded into near violence. The result was Konstantin uprooting his family to look for better luck elsewhere. Others took this as a sign and began moving away as well.

Izolda kept her remaining children close by her side. If anyone thought this was odd, they knew better than to say anything. Her temper, never even at the best of times, was beginning to fray. The stress of her continued failure to stop the entity was wearing on her.

Where once Nikolai enjoyed good fortune in everything he did, now he seemed to have nothing but ill luck. It became rare that a week would go by without an accident happening at one of the logging camps – one man received a serious slice in his arm when the cross cut saw he was using snapped, another lost the use of his legs when a tree fell wrong, and a third lost his life when a log stack gave way.

“Another family has moved away,” Marta, the woman employed as a housekeeper and to help watch over the children, said one evening.

“Who was it this time?” Izolda asked, when Nikolai said nothing.

“Lavin and his wife Sara. They packed up their children and their belongings, and left like thieves in the night.”

“That is the third family this month,” Izolda said.

“It makes you wonder who might be next.”

Nikolai rose from where he’d been sitting and left without a word, slamming the door behind him.

Izolda could hardly blame him. Life had never been easy in their small settlement, but now it was becoming next to intolerable. It was like an impending storm was about to break. And when it did, it was a blow none of them expected.

A few days later, Marta came to Izolda, white faced. “I have looked everywhere, but I cannot find her,” she said.

“Who are you talking about?” Izolda asked impatiently, angry at being disturbed.

“Pavlina. I left her napping in her room, but she is gone.”

Izolda went white as bone. “If anything has happened to her, I will kill you with my bare hands,” she vowed.

All work was suspended and search parties were quickly gathered and sent out. Dimitri had been out with his father at the time and knew nothing of his sister’s whereabouts. Izolda demanded that he stay with her while the others searched, and if she held onto him a little too tightly he knew better than to protest.

When the men finally returned, just before sunset, she had only to look at their grim faces to know the worst had happened. Izolda’s keening wail of grief sent the birds in the surrounding tress to wing.

Pavlina had been found in the pond, floating face up, but still quite dead, ringed in water lilies.

The next day, Marta was found hanging by her apron from a tree just outside the village.

Piku Poetry Form

There’s a very good reason my poetry post is a day early this week, it’s to introduce you to the Piku (pronounced pie-koo).

This form was sent to my poetry group by one of the members, James, last year on Pi Day – March 14 (which I’ve also heard called geek Thanksgiving). It’s not just a diminutive form of the Haiku, it’s a form all its own.

A Haiku is written in three lines with a syllable count of 5-7-5. A Piku is also written in three lines, but has a syllable count of 3-1-4. Three one four – get it? The first three numbers of Pi.

Now apparently there are three classifications for a Piku:

1. The poem follows the structure, but in nerdy or geeky in content.
2. Any poem meeting the basic structure.
3. Meets the basic structure, is nerdy or geeky in content, mentions science or technology.

It’s so simple it almost doesn’t need a schematic, but here’s one anyway:

X X X
X
X X X X

They’re so short and fun that I couldn’t resist doing an example of all three:


Watch Star Trek
or
Star Wars? Choices!


Chirping birds
greet
the morning sun.


Math is lost
in
space/time for me.

I invite you to celebrate Pi Day by writing a Piku (or two, or three) of your own. Bet you can’t stop at just one!

Miscellany

A Miscellany is a collection without a natural ordering relation.
— John Edensor Littlewood

A river cuts through rock, not because of its power, but because of its persistence.
— Jim Watkins

Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway.
— Earl Nightingale

Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.
— Neale Donald Walsch

Well that was interesting, trying to come up with quotes for this post title. Originally I was going to title it “This ‘N That,” but that really got me no where fast, quotes wise. Then I searched for “quotes about miscellaneous,” and ended up taking my title from the very first quote that popped up.

The state of my mental health has been really up and down lately. And it’s a little wearying. It really doesn’t help that the time change happened last night, where we “spring forward” and hour. I really needed that hour!

Kids everywhere have a whole week to get used to the time difference, seeing as this week is the March Break. I have just a few days and then I’m leaving to go on my writing retreat to Kingston. Had I realized this weekend was the time change, I would have booked an extra night at the hotel so I could drive up Wednesday. Instead, I’ll be getting up early Thursday morning and driving into the sun the whole way. *sigh*

But the good news is, this time I registered for the event early enough to reserve a room in the hotel it’s being held in. Theoretically, once I get there I don’t have to leave the hotel for the four days I’m there. All the seminars are going to be there, my room is there, and they have a restaurant.

That’s not to say I’m going to stay inside the whole time. Weather permitting, I’d like to take a daily walk, and I definitely want to go to that coffee shop with the amazing almond croissants. But I’ve looked at the line-up and I’m pretty sure I won’t be skipping any of the workshops this time. And you know what that means, lots of fodder for blog posts!

Speaking of blog posts . . . As I was filling out the Wordage Report of this blog, I was thinking I need to do a little house-keeping. Maybe come up with a title for the part where I just ramble about the past week. And the Goal Review seems a little redundant because I kind of do that as I go along in each little section. And maybe instead of the goal review, I can look ahead to what’s going to happen/what I’d like to see happen in the week ahead.

Obviously, none of these changes are happening this week. And probably not next week either, seeing as I’ll be writing next Sunday’s post while I’m still in Kingston (there’s no way to write it ahead of time because I won’t have written any words yet).

But soon, my pretties, soon.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

I really like the new set up for my office. Too bad most of the work I got done in there was cleaning up, and personal correspondence. I got my table from Amazon and spent Monday morning putting it together. Have I mentioned how much I hate using allen keys to put furniture together?

The table is perfect for the typewriter, and is the perfect size. But Monday was just one too many in a series of grey days, and putting the table together was pretty much the only thing I got done.

Then Tuesday I went to a long, early lunch with a friend, so it wasn’t until Wednesday that I spent any significant time in the office. But it was quality time. My new set-up is really working for me.

I spent the entire morning on Thursday in there, and it would have been longer, but I had a bunch of errands to run in the afternoon. It left me with a good feeling though, and I’m actually looking forward to seeing what I can accomplish in there.

NEW WORDS:
1856+0+286+618=2,760
DOWN – 396 words from last week

Goals For Next Week:
Get some words written besides my blog posts.

EDITING:
0 hours
I’m actually looking forward to getting some editing done this week. Wish me luck!

Goal For Next Week:
Start work on An Elemental Spirit.

TECH & TRAINING:
Once again, the TV came to my rescue for learning. This time it was Netflix. I went through pretty much the same rigamarole I did with Paramount +, only I didn’t have to go through the Roku. I signed up for both services at the same time, but I didn’t try to access Netflix until yesterday. Anyway, I ended up having to change the password for it, too, and after jumping through a bunch of hoops for it, I discovered that I can get into it by simply pressing the Netflix button on the TV zapper (instead of going through a bunch of menus from the TV). I can do that with Amazon Prime, too. *rolls eyes*

For the tech part . . . my trusty Neo has one stuck key and one key that’s missing altogether. So I thought it might be time to replace it – I like using it for letter-writing, if nothing else. A few years ago I bought a back up Neo and stashed it in my closet (after removing the batteries). I hauled it out, put the batteries back in, and immediately got a message about the batteries – I think, probably, because it had been sitting without batteries in it so long. I kept getting error messages for a couple of different things, until finally I shut it off and replaced the batteries with the ones from my original Neo.

Turned it on again and it seems to be working fine. Of course I wasn’t going to take the chance of writing the letter to my sister on it, so I did a couple of test files and then shut it off. I’ll check it this week to see if it’s still okay, although I’m not sure if I’m going to be trusting it any time soon.

Meanwhile, the Freewrite Traveller is looking pretty good, if I could justify the price. Although . . . it would make a good incentive to get An Elemental Spirit finished. It could be my reward. :-)

Goal For Next Week:
Learn something new.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
I don’t seem to be having much trouble finding forms these days, but finding ones I’d like to try is another story. Remember high school English class where you were forced to work on poetry? It never ended well, did it.

A couple of years ago I was doing forms I didn’t particularly care for, just for the sake of presenting a new form every week and I kinda burned myself out. Forcing myself to work on it took all the fun out of it. It took a long time before I remembered that I actually liked poetry.

Goal For Next Week:
Find another new poetry form to share.

CRAFTING:
Well, the whole point of going through all that rigamarole to get Netflix set up was so that I could start watching it while I work on the cancer blanket. I got a bunch done, and I’m happy to say I only have three colours to go. Whew! And seeing as there’s a stitchery guild meeting this week, I’ll be able to knock off a bunch more.

The theme for this years father/daughter ball is Disco, so I’m just waiting on some direction from the daughter and granddaughter before I start looking for material for the dress. Should be lots of fun.

Goal For Next Week:
Push to get the afghan done so I’m free to work on other stuff with a clear conscience.

WHAT I’M READING:
I’m about halfway through a paranormal romance anthology called Moon Shadows. The stories all revolve around, you guessed it, the moon. The first one was about a woman who was bitten by a werewolf and is looking for a cure, and the second one was about a moon witch. Not far enough into the third to see what it has to do with the moon.

Goal For Next Week:
Maybe try to increase my reading just a little.

GOAL REVIEW:

I really dropped the ball last week by skipping Monday’s post. Once again, I just didn’t have anything to say. My other posts got up on time, though.

Technically, I think a 5,000 word letter to my sister should count as new words, even if they were personal words, not fiction. But these words were written in my office, which is a big step forward. Just think what that could mean if I was at my desk to write fiction?

No editing, unfortunately. It’s not that I’m not ready to get back to it, it’s just that I had a busy week with other stuff, and I wasn’t in the best of mental health early in the week. Probably won’t get any editing in this week either, but it is what it is.

I’m not sure it was what I had in mind for tech and training, but figuring out how to access all my streaming services on the TV takes some learning, and getting the back up Neo to work I think should count as technical.

The one thing I can count on is poetry. I guess that’s because I started out as a poet before anything else.

The probably with crafting is that I prefer to do it while watching TV. But I also tend to have my laptop on my lap while watching TV. Now I did spend one morning catching up on a couple of my Netflix shows, so I got some work on the afghan done. Hopefully, I’ll get more writing done in my office so that my evenings are freed up to do some crafting.

Very little reading last week. Half a book – what’s up with that? I do have a couple of books to take with me to the retreat – maybe I should take my Kindle with me too and figure out how I’m supposed to access my books. And its charger because I haven’t used it in months.

I’m keeping my attitude status to myself this time. Last week I said it was getting better, and then the next day was a complete write-off. While it did improve for a couple of days, by the weekend it was right down in the crapper again, as you may have guessed by the lateness of this post.

But attitude or not, it’s going to be a busy week this week. Let’s hope I can get ‘er done.

The Pond - Part 29

“No!” Nikolai said emphatically. “I will not agree to this.”

They had been having the same argument for more than an hour.

“But think of the benefits for both Mikhail and us. He—”

“Benefits! There are no benefits. He needs to stay here to learn the operation of the mill. One day he will take my place here.”

“And if there is no place left to be had here? What then?”

He gave her a hard stare. “Is there something you know that I do not? Some secret that warrants sending our son away? Are you a seer now, that you can divine the future, or a magic worker?”

She schooled her features to ensure she did not give away her shock at his reference to magic. “No, but even you must admit these troubles—”

“Bah! These troubles are nothing.”

“Think, my husband! You, yourself, have said how business has been failing. Don’t you see? This is Mikhail’s best chance for something better should the worst happen.”

“The worst,” Nikolai repeated, glaring at her, standing immovable with his arms crossed over his chest. “And what could be worse than sending our son away?”

“Your youngest brother saw the wisdom of making a different choice. He does very well for himself in the city. Mikhail—”

“Mikhail’s place is here!”

“Here where there is one misfortune after another? What of the dropping level of the river?”

“It is a temporary setback. We’ve had trouble before, my wife, and we have always prevailed. These troubles, too, will pass in time.”

Izolda laid a hand on his arm and softened her tone. “Have you not noticed the diminishing of the village? How farms are being abandoned – by ones and twos, people have been leaving to seek their fortune elsewhere.”

“That does not mean—”

Though she hated to do so, Izolda sent a tendril of her magic into his arm. The spell was a subtle one, and took a few seconds to take effect. After a moment, Nikolai shook his head.

“What was I saying just now?”

“You were telling me how much you were going to miss Mikhail when he goes to foster with your brother Aleksander.

“I was?”

“Yes, and it is only natural. Of course you will miss our son,” Izolda assured him. “But he will have the opportunity to learn so much under Aleksander’s care. It will be much the same as the old country, where children were often fostered out so they could gain new experiences.”

“New experiences, yes,” said Nikolai, a little confusedly. “I do not know why we did not consider this before. It will be good for him to learn more of the world.”

“Exactly, my love,” Izolda said with great satisfaction.

The first hurdle surmounted, it was still several weeks before everything was arranged. During this time, Izolda kept Mikhail close to keep him safe. And as much as it pained her to do so, she needed to use her magic on him as well to reassure him that he was not being punished, that this was a great opportunity.

Finally, the day arrived when Mikhail left with Nikolai to journey to the city, and Aleksander. He would live with his uncle and go to school, or if he preferred he could apprentice to a trade. But no matter what he would be safe.

At least that’s what Izolda believed.

The Magic Nine

This is a relatively new form, attributed to Divena Collins. It’s a nine-line poem and doesn’t have many rules, other than you need to follow a strict rhyme scheme. There is no set line length, syllable count, or meter. There is no particular subject matter required.

Rumour has it that the rhyme scheme came about when someone rushed the spelling of the word ‘Abracadabra’ and left out the r’s. This gives it a rhyme scheme of a-b-a-c-a-d-a-b-a.

As you can see, lines 1, 3, 5, 7, and 9 rhyme with each other, lines 2 and 8 rhyme, and lines 4 and 6 are stand alone. This is what makes this poem tricky, because the ‘a’ rhyme is used so many times, so you have to choose that first end word carefully.

Using the random number six for a syllable count, here’s a schematic:

xxxxxa
xxxxxb
xxxxxa
xxxxxc
xxxxxa
xxxxxd
xxxxxa
xxxxxb
xxxxxa

I had a hard time getting a rhythm going, thanks to the strange rhyme scheme. And I found it interesting that the ‘a’ rhyme lines were just naturally longer than the others, just like most of the examples I read by other poets.


Don’t stare into the sun too long,
my mother used to say,
your eyes won’t like the light so strong –
think of the damage to them.
I wonder, was my mother wrong
to give me this advice?
And still, I always played along
even to this day.
My mother’s advice lives lifelong.

Snowballing

Success is like a snowball. It takes momentum to build and the more you roll it in the right direction the bigger it gets.
— Steve Ferrante

Life is like a snowball. The important thing is finding wet snow and a really long hill.
— Warren Buffet

I think very often problems are so big, people approach problems from the bottom up: ‘If only I do this little bit, then hopefully there will be some sort of snowball effect that will be bigger and bigger’.
— Boyan Slat

Have you ever started something, only to have it snowball into something much larger? Yeah, that was me last week.

As you know, I’ve been having problems when it comes to working in my office. Don’t get me wrong, I like my office, but I just wasn’t finding it inspiring to write in.

One of the problems is that it’s too bright in there. I know this seems like a strange problem for someone who claims to be solar powered, but my office has a large, south facing window. BK (before kittens) I had the bookcase that spans under the window covered in plants. These plants nicely filtered the sunlight.

Not wanting my plants to end up all over the floor, I wisely moved them to the bookcase on the wall opposite the window so the kittens could takeover the bookcase and window ledge. They’re happy, the plants are happy, but me . . . not so much.

My desk was set perpendicular to the window, and the light coming at me from my left is rather distracting. On sunny days it was downright annoying because the sun would be right in my eyes. Depending on what time of day it was I could wear a broad brimmed hat to block it, but often it would hit the screen of my lap top and I still couldn’t see anything.

Last week I was kicking around a few ideas on how to solve this problem and the solution I came up with was to turn my desk so it was facing the window. It seemed easy enough to give it a try to see how I liked it. To my surprise, I liked it just fine. This is where the snowball effect came in.

With the desk perpendicular to the window, I had easy access to the two-drawer filing cabinet that my printer sat on in the corner beside the bookcase that was under the window. Between the bookcase and the filing cabinet was my wire cart with the file drawer.

Turning my desk so it was parallel meant I needed to shorten up the space between the back of the desk and the bookcase to make room behind the desk for the chair. This made it more difficult to access the filing cabinet and wire cart.

So . . . I whipped out my trusty measuring tape and started measuring spaces before moving things around. The filing cabinet went against the narrow space between my office door and the closet door – this space was formerly taken up by a square table that had my antique typewriter on it. The square table went in the corner formerly occupied by the filing cabinet, my printer on top of it.

The wire cart fit nicely between the square table and my desk, leaving an alley between the bookcase under the window and the back of my desk so I can access the file drawer of the cart and the books on the bookcase. The new layout actually makes my office seem bigger. Then I realized I had a problem.

While I could still access the files in the filing cabinet easily enough, I’d have to get up and go around my desk to access the files in the wire cart – and these were my important files. So, instead of enjoying the new layout of my office on Saturday, I spent it moving file folders around until I had them where it made the most sense. Then for good measure I straightened up the two bookcases on the wall behind my desk.

And that’s where my writing time went Saturday. :-)

The only thing I don’t like about my new office layout, is that I had to put my antique typewriter on top of the filing cabinet. It looks silly there. So I went to my good friend Amazon Prime and looked at tables until I liked. It should be here sometime today.

Meanwhile, I get to sit at my desk and get some work done finally. The short hutch on the back of my desk (it’s a roll top) is just high enough to block the light so the sun (if we have any) won’t be in my eyes, nor will it hit the screen of my lap top.

All that’s left for me to do, is write.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

I really thought this would be the week I’d finally show words other than blog words. Funny how we can deceive ourselves, isn’t it?

This time the spirit was willing but the opportunity kind of eluded me. It wasn’t just moving my office around, but there was the shifting of files and cleaning up the bookcases too. And then there was the snow.

I don’t know what it is about how our house is positioned, but every time we get a snow storm with blowing snow, we get huge drifts right along the front. The first storm we got last week wasn’t too bad, but the one we got Friday through Saturday was massive and the snow was heavy.

Anyway, it wasn’t just the shoveling that took away from my writing time, it was the recovering from the shoveling. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. LOL

NEW WORDS:
1611+509+319+717=3,156
DOWN – 427 words from last week

Goals For Next Week:
Get some words written besides my blog posts.

EDITING:
3 hours
Look at that! I finally did some editing. Too bad it wasn’t on Elemental Spirit. *sigh*

I found a rather long story I’d forgotten about when I was going through my files, and next thing you know I was reading through it and making changes. And while I’d like to say that I spiffed it up enough to do something with it, that would be a lie. I realized I was going to have to do some research to move forward with it, and that was a time commitment I wasn’t able to make.

Goal For Next Week:
Start work on An Elemental Spirit.

TECH & TRAINING:
Nothing here but good intentions.

Goal For Next Week:
Learn to use Dropbox properly so I can backup my files.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
Last week there was a meeting of the CPW (my poetry group). We were actually a week late due to a snow storm the previous week. Much poetry was shared, as well as a few laughs. Always a good time when the gang gets together.

My weekly form was actually finished early, and I did a post to be scheduled for the week I’ll be away at the writing retreat. I’m not going to count it in my words yet though, I’ll wait for that week’s wordage report.

Goal For Next Week:
Find another new poetry form to share.

CRAFTING:
The closest I came to crafting was moving the craft files I had in my filing cabinet to a file holder to put in the craft closet.

There was a meeting of the stitchery guild last week, but that was the day of the first snow storm. Apparently only eight members were able to make it.

I’m kind of hoping that now that I’ve got my office whipped into shape I’ll be able to spent part of my day working in my office and I can get back to crafting in the evenings. Sounds good in theory, doesn’t it?

Goal For Next Week:
Work on the afghan. Figure out what to embroider on the granddaughter’s dress.

WHAT I’M READING:
Would you believe I read nothing last week?

Okay, well that’s not exactly true. I did start reading Whiskey Beach by Nora Roberts, but I didn’t start it until yesterday, and even then I didn’t get very far along.

Goal For Next Week:
Maybe try to increase my reading just a little.

GOAL REVIEW:

While I still haven’t managed to get any writing done other than blog posts, I still think it was a pretty good week. I didn’t slide back into my bad gaming habits, I got all my blog posts done with no late nights, and I’m really looking forward to start working in my office.

I managed to get some editing in, even if it wasn’t on Elemental Spirit. And it didn’t kill me, either. Does this mean I’m finally ready to dive into Elemental Spirit? I sure hope so.

While I had nothing to show for tech and training, I’m hopeful that’s going to change too. I’ve got all those courses I’ve paid for but haven’t accessed yet, and I have a couple of books I’ve been meaning to check out. Even spending just an hour a day on this is better than spending no time at all.

I was on a roll with the poetry, and did two posts, including the examples. One of them won’t appear for a couple of weeks yet, but still, it feels good to have it done. I also did a poem for the poetry group poemwork, but it was super short. I could have made it longer, but I realized it would just be padding. The short poem said what I wanted it to say, so I left it as it was.

Crafting was a little disappointing. Not only did I not get any crafting done, I didn’t even get to go to the stitchery guild meeting. At the very least I’d like to finish that darned afghan.

Can you believe I did no reading last week? It’s rare that that every happens. But one of the things I couldn’t help but notice when I was cleaning up my office was the number of unread books I have lying around. Maybe it’s time I picked one of them up.

Hmm. It appears that other than blog posts and poetry, I didn’t get much accomplished last week. So what makes me call it a good week? I think it’s all in the attitude. Mine was a little better towards the end of the week.

Maybe if I can keep it up, I can make this week not only a better week, but a more productive one as well.

The Pond Part 28

As a temporary measure, Izolda cast a spell on the paths leading towards the pond, to discourage visitors. It was not a perfect solution, but it was the best she could do for now. Discovering the identity of the invading entity was proving more difficult than she could have imagined.

More time passed. Fewer people were drawn to the pond, and no one cared to use it for swimming anymore. Those that went there for a picnic often returned with tales of glimpses of a beautiful woman. Sometimes she was floating among the weeds, just under the surface of the pond, and sometimes she was strolling along the edge of the water.

There were a few who claimed she appeared on the far side of the pond. She never said a word, but would beckon them forward and they would find themselves walking towards her, almost as though hypnotized, stopping only at the touch of the cold water on their feet. They would watch as she continued forward, sinking beneath the surface. Often they would hear an echo of a woman’s laughter as she disappeared.

Rumours sprung up that she was some kind of forest spirit, but no one could agree on whether she meant good or evil. At least until another of the villagers was found floating face down in the pond. It was Tomas, Nikolai’s nephew, son of his brother Sasha who had died in the pit.

Izolda felt his loss keenly. He was not much older than Mikhail and the two were often to be found together. He was almost like another son to her. To her shame, while she had redoubled the protections on her husband and children, she had not thought to extend that protection to others.

She did not normally tuck the children into bed at night herself, she left that to Marta, the housekeeper, but this night she had a desire to make sure all was well with her sons and daughter. Dmitri and Pavlina were already asleep, but Mikhail was not.

“It was my fault,” he told her, working to keep the tears at bay.

“No, my son,” she said, sitting down on the bed beside her. “Tomas’s death was a tragedy, but it was not your fault.”

“She wanted me,” he said.

Izolda’s hand, that had been stroking his hair, stilled. “Who wanted you?”

“The spirit in the pond. We saw her, we could see right through her. That makes her a spirit, doesn’t it?”

“So it would seem,” Izolda said carefully. “What happened?”

He gulped, and moved just a fraction closer to her. “We were at the pond. I know we weren’t supposed to be there,” he said in a rush. “But we just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“What’s done is done,” she murmured soothingly.

Emboldened, he continued. “It just looked like a scummy old pond. But then Tomas said there was something moving in the water. Then the woman appeared, right up out of the center of the pond. She didn’t say anything at first, just smiled. Then she kind of glided towards us.”

Izolda held her son a little closer. “What happened next?”

“She reached out and tried to touch me, but something stopped her. She kind of hissed, and looked angry. Then she spoke.”

“What did she say?” Unconsciously, Izolda’s grip on Mikhail tightened.

“She—she—she said to tell my mother that her protections would not last forever. Then she sank into the water and disappeared. What did she mean, mama?”

“She meant nothing, my son. You saw naught but a spirit.”

Izolda kissed Mikhail’s forehead, murmuring a spell that would fog his memory. She stayed sitting on the edge of his bed, staring into space, for some time after he drifted off to sleep. No, her protections would not hold forever, she needed to try something else.

She had a thought of something else to try, but it was somewhat drastic. And Nikolai was not going to like it at all.

Kouta Poetry Form

Traditionally, this Japanese form was a song of the geisha. The name kouta means “little song.”

There are two accepted variations of the Kouta. Version one is a quatrain (four lines) with a syllable count of 7-5-7-5, and version two, also a quatrain, has a syllable count of 7-7-7-5.

Schematic:

Variation One
x x x x x x x
x x x x x
x x x x x x x
x x x x

Variation Two
x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x
x x x x x x x
x x x x x

As with most Japanese poetry, it has no rhyme scheme or meter, nor does it require a seasonal reference. Though associated with geishas and love songs, the Kouta does not need to be romantic. It commonly celebrates the ordinary life, referencing mundane or personal, everyday topics.

Although it is a stand alone poem, it can also appear with other Kouta with the same theme. But each individual verse should be independent – it should not just pick up where the previous verse left off, expanding on the verse before it.

For my examples I did the first and last one in the first variation, and the second one in the second variation. As you’ll see, you can read them in whatever order you like.


Snow has begun to recede
the wind blowing warm
with a breath filling us with
anticipation.


Breathing in sun laden air
my thoughts turning towards spring
I watch melting snow sink back
into thirsty ground


The snow is melting away
leaving mud patches
behind – such a beautiful
sign of pending spring.