Creative Rivers Flow

I truly believe that everyone has some font of creativity.  Most never see that streak within themselves. For some it comes out in form of fashion, In some it is an eye for color in Decor. Some write, some draw. Every creative act nourishes the soul.  So each person needs some way of expressing that. I personally think that those with an uncertainty and self doubt end up expressing more of a creative nature. Which is why much poetry and art has pain and darkness at it’s base.  All forms of creative expression are the mind’s way of dealing with extra stress and extra doubt.

Mind you, I am not claiming this is a bad thing. I applaud any way that leads the mind to cope with life. I think that creative expression of pain and doubt lead to much of the beauty in our world. It amazes me how much  beauty exists.  I am all over the place when it comes to beauty. Enjoying a well written song, a beautiful poem. Smiling over a gorgeous picture, a well done show. Eclectic in my personal decor and jewelry. There are many enjoyments I have in all forms of beauty and creative expression. What is it that you think of creativity? What is your thoughts on Beauty?

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Drawing life

In All the things that my phone did, that I lost because the phone died, I lost  my access to a camera. I have a digital camera, but it eats batteries. I say that because I love doing art, in many forms. I draw, I practice amatuer photography, and I write.  I also do various crafts. Even with out my phone i do all of it but the photos because of the aforementioned camera difficulties. However, I just end up unable to share any of what I do, except the writing.

Perhaps it is a ego issue, but I enjoyed sharing my pictures and drawings. I felt like it was a good way to gather constructive criticisms. I admit it is also a chance for the random compliment fishing session. I don’t know of many creative types who don’t need to hear that what they have done is worthwhile. That is why writers publish what they wrote. Well, it is one of the reasons, anyway.  Many reasons exist why I want to share my art. It isn’t just my ego. I absolutely believe that art is meant be seen. Even if it is not of masterpiece quality. After all art is a piece of the artist’s soul. I believe in the beauty of an artist’s soul.

Teaching Chess to a preteen

Chess is a game of strategy. One that requires one to think their moves through very thoroughly. We are trying to teach our twelve year old the game. In teaching, her dad is making her explain why she makes the moves she does. He does this to make her think about why she is making the moves she does. When I tried to explain why Dad wanted the explanation, I told her in many ways chess was like life. You have to think before you act. Decide if it is worth the consequences of your actions.

I am a big fan of consequences. Every thing in life reacts to the choices we make. In the end of the lesson, it was decided that she wasn’t really ready for the game. She made it through over three quarters of the game. Claiming a headache then.  This is the second time we have tried. Each time it feels like she understands a little more, and each time it feels like we are able to teach her important life lessons. it is amazing how easy it is to squeeze life lessons into anything.

Separation

Such different people

We have become,

When once it seemed,

We would always be

One.

 

Growing, Changing,

I lost track

Of who we used

To be.

So innocent,

Foolhardy, and Unaware,

Growing Up,

Old and Cynical.

Dreams Become chasms,

Divisions of the heart,

Separations become memory

Reminders apart.

 

So in memory I’ll hold

Those times so close,

When you and I

Were inseparable and bold.

Catching a cliche

Well even though my phone was my main way of writing, I found a way. There is an android emulator for windows, Blue Stacks. I have been playing around with it off and on since it first came out a couple of years ago. It doesn’t work as good as my phone did, because the computer is old and slow. But it does work. So I downloaded my Notebooks app. I went to restore…as it has the option from dropbox and google drive.

Wouldn’t you know it, I accidentally backed up on the dropbox and when i tried to restore from Google drive, it couldn’t connect. so I was miserable wondering how i would be able to continue what i had been working on. Then i was looking at Kindle fire tablets. I may try and buy myself one for a birthday gift next week. I was looking in to app compatibility, and got to thinking, So i went to Dropboxes site to see if i could restore an older version of the file. Guess what? I can. So now i am able to write again. I swear i don’t normally do this. Tonight when I was trying to write, I kept  switching every few minutes to scrolling facebook. When I caught myself doing it, I felt like i had caught a cliche…a writer who is surfing more than she writes. Hopefully now that my setup is fixed, I will no longer hunt the cliche.

In the loneliness

here i sit uncertain and alone,
Planning uncertainty
for so little is known.
Hearing the negative,
so loud inside my head,
Tossing and turning.
can’t go to bed.

Those who should praise me
Do naught but to doubt,
Those who should see me,
For them i am not really around.
Invisible and struggling.
Sinking when I should swim,
The ocean of doubt crashes within
The struggle about
Just trying to begin.

I know better than to hear
The darkness within
I know i am better than I ever
possibly have been.
Yet in the loneliness,
Deep in the night,
That is when the voice within
is hardest to fight,
when no one is there
to help fight it off.
no one is there to remind you
of the cost

How has the times changed…

I remember as a Preteen hating to wear my hair short. I have always been bulky and slightly tomboyish. So I was picked on because apparently I looked like a boy…even though I had breasts. So I always wore my hair long back then. I fought for the ability to wear it long. Tonight I had a talk with my preteen daughter. She fights to wear her hair short (because it requires less care). I asked her if she gets picked on because of her hair. Her response was that she doesn’t get picked on, apparently she is invisible.
I guess in these times of gender neutrality it makes sense. I was her age in 1988…so many things have changed in that time. There are other differences as well. In my daughter’s time there is so many more hazards that were either not there or not obvious when I was her age. I remember the struggles and try to use that when dealing with her, but even with that memory it is so different for her than it was for me, so there are times when the generation gap feels like a chasm.