Day 34 - Sorrowful piano paté

February 3 - Write about "The instrument of the sorrowful" after Stéphane Mallarme

     Loaded question that, asking this of a musician and singer.  The top three sorrowful instruments, or instruments I would and have used to convey sorrow are the violin, the flute, and the human voice.
     April 24, 2007 was the Virginia Tech massacre.  I was a junior in high school.  The next morning I attended my music composition class and tried to wrap my brain around what I was going to compose with so much sorrow in my heart on such a grey and rainy day.  I came up with a incomplete piece with two harps and a flute.  As I was composing though (just as with my No One Mortal poem) I realized that I have a hope that not many do, thus there is an uplifting transition.  (If I could figure out how to upload a copy of it I would)
     I remember being struck by the poignant, sorrowful, mourning wail sung a cappela by Rafiki when we saw it in Portland.  The human voice carries so much weight and emotion, as it should.  Some of the emotionally powerful songs are those with only one instrument, be it voice, piano, violin, or flute.

     My Top 20 Saddest Songs Playlist (in no particular order)

1. When Somebody Loved Me - Toy Story  - A song about loss and growing up and apart.  While I may find the first two movies annoying over all due to my brother's constant viewing this song has always got to me and made.
2. Cats in the Cradle - Harry Chapin  - Another song about growing up and apart.  The first of two songs on the list that, if my dad is in the room, prompts a radio change.  He and I both find it heartbreaking.  I want to weep for father and son who both missed so much of each other's life.  I can't understand families that disconnected.
3. In the Ghetto - Elvis  - The second song that prompts a radio change/song skip if my dad is in the room.  It hurts to hear about lives of such despair.  And when the video adds the Outsiders to the mix it becomes all the more poignant.
4. Learn to Be Lonely - The Phantom of the Opera 2004 (Minnie Driver)  The song speaks for itself.  In a way it reminds me of Mordred's Lullaby by Heather Dale.
5. Danse Mon Esmeralda - Notre Dame de Paris  - You don't have to speak French to feel Garou/Quasimodo's anguish over Esmeralda's death and his wish that she would arise to dance and sing as she did in life.  And if you haven't watched Notre Dame de Paris, I suggest doing so.
6. Javert's Suicide - Les Miserables 10th Anniversary  - There is no Javert like Philip Quast and no more tortured character than Javert.  As a Police Inspector who has raised himself from being raised in the prisons he has a very black and white view of the world and when Valjean shatters the code he has clung to for so long Javert's whole world is turned upside down and inside out.  "And must I now begin to doubt, who never doubted all these years?  My heart is stone and still it trembles; the world I have known is lost in shadow."  His final note never fails to give me chills!!
7. That Lonesome Road - James Taylor  - Looking back on all the paths not taken and opportunities missed.  We sang this as our senior song in high school.  I'm not sure how I made it through the performance, it is so depressing!  Also, very hard to find a good choral version, anywhere.  The song as sung by James Taylor and his studio singers is also very pretty but the choral version has more meaning to me.  "Never run feeling sorry for yourself, it doesn't save you from your troubled mind."
8. The Last Unicorn - Kenny Loggins  - This song always bothered me as a child because I don't deal well with changes and ending and finality and it continues to make me very sad.  "When the last eagle flies over the last crumbling mountain, and the last lion roars at the last dusty fountain" ... "when the last moon is cast over the last star of morning, and the future has passed without even a last, desperate warning."
9. Tristan and Isolt - Heather Dale  - "It was white as angels' raiments but when feebly he begged her, fairest Blanchmane softly said, "Tis of night."  Who can say which venom stole the soul from Tristan's body and the bells began their tolling as Isolt ran up the sand."  So close and yet so far!  The thoughts of what could have been.
10. Pity the Child - Chess (Colm Wilkinson)  - Dysfunctional families who miss out on the genius that is their child.   I hate it.
11. What'll I Do? - Irving Berlin (Frank Sinatra)  - The only solo I ever had and boy howdy did I mean every line I sung in this song.  It was my senior year and I was dreading being separated from my friends, especially the boy I was crushing on.  I invited my friends to come and honestly I am still a little bitter they didn't come, but life moves on and so must I.  This really should be sung by a female voice but Frankie sounds lovely.
12. Les Miserables Finale - 10th Anniversary and 2012 cast  - The end of Valjean's life, where he is told that all the good he has done in his life will be rewarded.  I don't agree that it is heaven where he will gain his reward but the thought of him at peace, in a place without pain, and Fantine happy, is so touching.  This song didn't truly get to me until the epic visualization in the 2012 movie and Anne Hathaway makes an amazing Fantine!  Plus it has Colm Wilkinson being the lovely old, comforting man that he is and can be.  "And remember the truth that once was spoken, to love another person is to see the face of God."  If only they had included Javert in the finale of the movie!
13. Love Never Dies Finale - Andrew Lloyd Webber - Erik and Christine reconcile and he finds out he has a son and then THIS!!!!  The child's scream twists my heart every time.  I had listened to the music and was swept away by the genius but then I watched the movie.  And sobbed those body shaking sobs that are reserved for someone you truly love for two hours.  Of course I was alone, housesitting where, the time before, I had gotten the news that we had to put down our dog Sam, and had just gotten the news that one of my friends had to put down his ferret.  I was kinda maybe emotional to begin with but I had never responded to a movie like that.  After these last two my sister says I'm not allowed to watch musicals anymore.  :)
14. If I Can't Love Her - The Beauty and the Beast Broadway   - The longing!  The despair!  Oh Adam/Beast, let me hug you!  I realize I'm not Belle but I love you like a sister!  "No pain could be deeper, no life could be cheaper."
15. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again - The Phantom of the Opera  - A daughter mourning the loss of her beloved father.  How could it not get to me?  "Somtimes it seemed, if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here.  Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would.  Dreaming of you'd help me to do all that you dreamed I could.  Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental, seem for you the wrong companions, you were warm and gentle."
16. You'll Never Walk Alone - Carousel  - Saying final goodbyes and hopes for the future.  But ultimately the music is so sad!
17. Your Daddy's Son - Audrey McDonald  - I didn't realize what the last line said until the last time I listened to it but it only adds to the heartwrenchingness.
18. On My Own - Les Miserables  - Poor Eponine!  I feel like her sometimes, only more, everyone is friends, why can't I join in?  "The city goes to bed and I can live inside my head.  On my own, pretending he's beside me." "In the darkness the trees are full of starlight."  "And I know it only inside my mind, I am talking to myself."  "Without me his world will go on turning, his life is full of happiness that I have never known."
19. Endless Night - The Lion King Broadway  - The bitterness and loneliness!  A longing for something better!  I love Tim Rice.  He writes awesome lyrics (Chess, Evita, Beauty and the Beast, Road to El Dorado.)
20. For Good - Wicked  - I would love to perform this song someday.  And that is all I can say.

     The playlist I made on YouTube, which you can find here, is an hour and a half long!  Some songs may dislike being in a playlist so you may have to listen to them separately, should you chose to listen at all.
     *** All lyrics belong to their composers.  I have no ownership over them. *** 

 Day 34 - The Duck or the Paté?

    "Wanting to meet an author because you like his work is like wanting to meet a duck because you like his paté." ~ Margaret Atwood
    Hold the phone!  Authors don't die when they present their work or write!  You at least have a chance to meet a whole, living being!
    That being said, I can understand how awkward it might be to meet any celebrity, be they author or actor.  As a fan you will be familiar with their fictional lives and what little may be in the dust jackets or their Wikipedia page and as such have a mental image of who and what they are but in reality you know nothing about their inner person, and you are unlikely to on a first (and likely only) meeting.  Also, while you feel a connection to them, they feel none to you, have no background to go on with you.

Day 33 - Diving through the crack in the door

February 2 - Through the crack in the door

     The first knowledge awareness brought her was pain.  Her face throbbed, her ribs ached (and not in the 'I've been laughing' way), and her knuckles complained that she had fought without gloves.  As the first awareness of pain faded into the background, painting the first stage of the picture, coldness made itself known.  A damp cold that, while not terribly painful, was certainly uncomfortable, especially when the breeze came.  A fishy, rotten, salty, waterlogged wood carrying breeze.  Opening her eyes, she was not surprised to find wood beneath her face, dark with water, timbers and fibers separating after long exposure to salty air and much use, the cracks encrusted with dirt, sand, and bits of seaweed.  Too trained to groan but too human to avoid a hiss she moved her head, taking in more of her surroundings.  The wooden floor she was on apparently was part of the loading dock to and abandoned cannery, she could see the concrete walls nearby, the company's logo mostly faded, only the impression of a crab left.  Parts of the floor had crumbled and she could glimpse water seething below.  Slowly she began to haul herself to her feet.  Why hadn't they bound her?  Did they think she couldn't escape as sore as she was?  A split lip, black eye, cracked ribs, and swollen knuckles weren't going to stop her.  The sprained ankle might slow her down though.  Ow.  The door, like the floor, was waterlogged and splitting, making it easy for her to peer out through a gap in the wood.  Her eye met with a snuffling nose.  Jerking her head back in surprise she almost laughed.  Did they leave these dogs here to guard her?  They didn't know who they were dealing with.  Nearly cooing to the dogs she set to work.

     The opening for this, in my head, was black and the pieces of her awareness literally started in the forefront then zoomed out until they were in the background or each bit of information was a different color until the whole thing was filled in.  And the dogs were Doberman Pincers.

Day 33 - Diving, Not Drowning

     I am glad I don't really have any traumas or grief in my past, though sometimes I wish I did.  My life is too perfect/average/good to write.  :)

Day 32 - Improv when your button is undone

February 1 - Her button was undone

HIS button is undone!!  ^_^

     Rayella was startled to feel a bit of a breeze on the underside of her breasts and blushed twenty shades of crimson when she looked down.  The thrice accursed button had undone itself, again!  Gritting her teeth she drew her apron up, finished taking the order of the man at the counter and excused herself.  She couldn't believe it!  The shirt had a mind of its own!  Most times she wore the white button up, identical to two others she owned, it behaved itself, remaining buttoned and modest all day.  And then there were days like this.  The fourth button from the top refused to stay.  Rummaging in her purse Rae found a safety pin (by jabbing her finger on it) at the very bottom then stepped into the staff bathroom to begin the wrestling process necessary to secure her shirt without making it obvious or creating more of a gap.  Why didn't she listen to herself this morning when she thought it would be a good idea to wear a cami?  For the love of everything holy!  It was one of those days.  She couldn't say everything was going wrong, and really, some nice things had happened, but just enough stuff like this was happening to make her consider crawling in bed and hiding under the covers for the next two days.  At the very least it was an ice cream and movie night.  Wait.  With the way things have been going, nothing that could spill.  Did she have a sippy cup in the house?  That's it, a no spill water bottle (contents open for discussion), the pre-cut cheese, meat, and crackers in her fridge (no way was she touching a knife) and Darcy.  Sigh.  Now to hope her shirt survived the next three hours.

     It was really hard to start this prompt but I am very pleased with the way it went.  And I am sure ladies out there know how Rayella felt about the shirt!  I do!  And who else has had days like that?  Not really bad enough to really complain but you are a clutz and everything you can do wrong or stupid, you will?  I've been having more of those lately.  Hopefully as the weather improves, so will my coordination.

Day 32 - Improvisation

     Writing is like an actor's improv, you begin and "characters bloom, plots come out of thin air."
     Speaking of actors, who has seen Improv Everywhere?  They are the ones behind the famous Grand Central Station Freeze, the Food Court Musicals, and the No Pants Subway Rides.  My favorite missions though (as they call each prank) are: Free High Fives - it brings such joy to the commuters; the MP3 experiments - it is one of my lifegoals to be in NY for one of these!!!!!; the surprise wedding reception - they throw an impromptu wedding reception for a couple married at city hall, complete with brides maids, groomsmen, a cake and music, it was so sweet and kind and made people so happy; and Welcome Home - they greet complete strangers flying into the local airport!
     Click on the name of any mission to be taken to their page with the video, synopsis, and reactions.

Day 31 - Whispered dreams

August 31 - They're talking in whispers

     They are a handsome couple as they sweep the floor to a waltz and none of those watching would deny it, though they may protect in the same breath that the pair was very odd indeed.  Why a man such as he would deign to dance with a lass such as she, well, they simply could not supposed.  Wasn't the look in his eye that of love?  Well!  They wouldn't dare assume!  He, after all, was a terribly rich and private person, who knew what one such as he thought.  He certainly wasn't the kind to display such feelings.

     Is it Elizabeth and Darcy?  Belle and Mr. Gold?  Anne and Wentworth?  I have no idea.  I have been on such an Austen/Pride and Prejudice kick lately.  ^_^  No matter who is dancing, all the ladies are in floofy dresses and the men are in suits and cravats and are terribly dashing!  And those whispering are doing so behind fans.  
     I got lost wandering the web looking at pictures of those pairings (even though I already had the Darcys), which is why this post is a little late.  :)  I used the 'newer' Wentworth rather than Cirian Hinds because Cirian looked ridiculous in all the pictures I could find of him.

Day 31 - Dreaming Your Ship

     How much of my work is autobiographical?  Well ... most of my main characters are auburn, have younger siblings, age as I do ... physically they do resemble me but that is about where it ends, which is part of the point Ms. A makes by quoting John Cheever.  "As you dream your ship, you perhaps know the boat, but you're going toward a coast that's quite strange, you're wearing strange clothes, the language you don't understand, but the woman on your left is your wife."
     Most authors include some aspect of their life in their work I imagine, some more transparently than others.

Day 30 - Writing project boxes!!!!

August 30 - Write what came first

The chicken or the egg?
The goose or the gander?
The fiddle or the violin?
The monkey or the banana?
Yes or no?
Adam before Eve
Perfection before sin
The flora before the fauna
And the fauna before the man

     I cannot believe this prompt came so quickly after the article in the other book!  Hilarious!  I feel like I've been asked this question before.  :)

Day 30 - Out of the Box

     Four authors (Spalding Gray, Twyla Tharp, Sherman Alexie, and Jennie Nash) are discussed, who all use boxes to organize their craft, filling a box with "art, photos, research, CDs, news clippings, ... drafts, story ideas, ... jokes" that are related to their memoirs, dance, or writing project.  What a brilliant idea!
     My bigger and older projects (Rae, Lori, Senya) have binders filled with printed and hand written sections of writing, character profiles, research, quotes, pictures that inspire, location references, outfit ideas, and doodles.  Newer, smaller projects (Sam, Robyn, Leona, Z) have folders and folders on my computer (I would die if it did) with pictures of current characters, characters I want to include, locations, outfits, and objects that make me think of the story/character.  Online, which is where I store 95% of my writing now, I have the actual writing, brief character profiles of all those involved, an in depth profile of my MC, and usually a page/doc devoted to related links, references, quotes, or plot bunnies.  And don't get me started on the playlists I have all over!  Windows Media Player, Spotify, YouTube!  Oh my!
     I've bought trinkets that remind me of characters or stories but they don't have 'homes' per se (they don't fit in a binder or online) so they clutter up my desk and window sill, but having a box would solve that.  I see a JoAnns run in my future!  Yay!

Day 29 - Putting the forbidden first

August 29 - Write what is forbidden

Vorboden

You can't do that,

Don't bite your sister,

It is forbidden

Say "pain" in the hospital?

Speak in the library above a whisper?

You can't do that.

Don't go in your parents' room

Don't go in the dragon's lair

It is forbidden.

Cheat on that test?

Scare your mother?

You can't do that!

Don't ask a lady her age,

Don't ask a man his religion,

It is forbidden.

Don't question tradition,

Don't say God's name,

You can't do that,

It is forbidden.

-----

Potty talk (bodily functions)
Politics
Sexual orientation
Pulling sister's hair
Layoffs - 'the left the company'
Co-worker's salary
Making your own fireplaces (Dad as kid)
13th floor
Mine shaft
Medicine cabinet
Buying your own car before graduating high school (Dad)
Dad scaring/jumping out at Mom
Asking a lady her age/weight
Stupid prejudices - 'tradition'
Drag races
British man's voice
Gandalf - 'you shall not pass!'

     This was really interesting.  I decided to get some input from my family on what they thought of when they heard 'it is forbidden'.  Most of their responses (see list above) were very serious or work related, whereas I had though of lighter things like whispering in the library, pulling a sibling's hair, or a giant 'Do Not Enter' sign on a mine shaft.  To draw out more of what I was looking for, I asked what things they remember being forbidden as a child and my dad immediately came up with being forbidden to make his own fireplaces, even if he was using firebrick.  I laughed so hard!!  It illustrates his personality so well, being independent, an engineer, and willing to try things a little dangerous with safety protocols in place, and speaks to why he won't tell us about his childhood until we are twenty-one, and hopefully past the point of copying him!  My sister heard a British man's voice, like Gandalf saying "You. Shall. Not. Pass!" and my brother had an immediate, negative reaction, the word bringing to mind stupid prejudices and unreasonable minds.

Day 29 - First Things First

     The first step in a novel or story can be the hardest, the first step in to infinity, when you can't see the rest of the steps.  No matter how much planning you put into a story, you have no idea how it will truly turn out until you actually begin to write, alternately swept along with or dragging along your characters into the void.  There are those who begin writing at the beginning, those who begin at the end, and those who begin somewhere in between, but no matter where you begin, no matter what the project, that first leap is the hardest.

     I wanted to include a picture of mossy/ivy strewn stairs disappearing into fog but I couldn't find any that worked!  The pictures were either from the bottom of the stairs looking up, or the stairs from across the way, or stairs that you literally stopped in the middle of nowhere.  No pictures from the top of the stairs, looking down.  I guess I'll just have to go to the Japanese Gardens some evening and snap some pictures of my own.

Day 28 - Jellicles and our other furry friends

August 28 - He called you by your real name

     Coricopat's ears laid flat on his head as his tail bushed and he bared his teeth at the man.
     "He called you by you real name!" he hissed to his sister.  Tantomile simply smiled enigmatically.
     "Yes," she purred, rubbing her head along the outstretched hand.
     *He?  I am offended,* a feminine voice echoed in his head.  *I am glad to know the disguise is effective but really?*
      Cori's eyes crossed as two battling waves hit him.  On one side was his Jellicle self, screaming that this was a human and they were neither telepathic nor able to see their Jellicle forms as he and his sister were in right now.  The other was his animal/cat side telling him that this was a very powerful force that he needed to bow to and love and obey and follow.  Normally his sides dwelt in harmony, the instinctive feral cat and intelligent cerebral Jellicle making up the overall fabric of his being, never before had he felt so torn.  His instincts were trying to tell him something and he quieted his mind to hear the tiny voice.  It came across in bold, capital, bedazzled letters.  GUARDIAN!  This was the being chosen to protect animals, his rational side interpreted, and deserved the obedience of a pack/tribe leader.
     *Very good [             ].*
     Coricopat flinched.  No one ever spoke a Jellicle's Third Name except extremely close mates or siblings.  It was a part of their self-identity, of their soul and it felt like she, for he now knew it was a woman, was poking his life force with a stick.  Only Tantomile knew that name.  It was the only thing he had ever had to consciously share with her, and even then she had never spoken it aloud.
     *Pax child.* Peace brother* came simultaneous messages from his sister and the Guardian.
     *I apologize,* the Guardian sent along with waves of peaceful emotions as his sister twined herself around him.  *Jellicles are on the edge of my jurisdiction so I know less about their society that most creatures I come across.  Know that I would never speak your Third Name/Self-Name aloud or to anyone but you.*
     "Thank you."  His voice was still strangled with emotion but he did his best to convey his appreciation.  Then a thought occurred to him.  "Do you speak Jellicle?"
     The form nodded then replied in the same tongue.  "It requires rearranging my vocal chords a little and I don't think any slang or colloquial terms would translate well but I can understand."

     I wasn't sure where to go with this.  My first thought was Rae but I feel like I am harping on her and not developing her like I should.  My next thought was a Jellicle ... and I really wanted to simply explain why you don't call a Jellicle by their real name, if you should guess it, which you never will.  They don't pull a Rumpelstiltskin and dance around singing it.  I ended up combining them.  For some reason it was always Coricopat saying the prompt, never anyone else in the Tribe or any of my original Jellicle characters, though it did waver between him warning Tantomile or Cantata.  And if I could bedazzle the word Guardian in a sparkly pink-red, I would.


Day 28 - In the Company of Animals

      Ms. Abercrombie discusses various authors who have/had pets, both cats and dogs, as faithful companions, cheerleaders, and muses.  She also briefly discusses the fact that her current furry shadow is a rescue named Nelson.
      I am glad she made the decision to adopt and I think that using a rescue program is an excellent way to go about it.  We have used American Brittany Rescue to adopt our last two dogs and are so happy with our choices. 
     Our first rescue was Sammie, a young male who had been rescued from two different abusive homes (one neglect, the other worse).  When we went to meet him he was already named, well mannered, housebroken and crate trained, and while a little reserved, he got along with us all well.  He was the most nervous around my dad, which broke my father's heart, as he had grown up with Brittanies and even had one named Sam.  We decided one of his previous male owners must have kicked him when he went out the door because he either refused to go outside or was skittish if my dad was standing in/near the door way.  After he had adjusted to the family and warmed up to us all (though he claimed Mom as 'his' person, with me as beta) my dad and sister took an afternoon and slowly taught Sam that Dad wasn't going to hurt him by having Deanna lead him in and out of the house on his leash first with Dad standing next to the doorway, then with Dad petting him as he went though.  Later, from time to time, he would still feel too much pressure if one of us was in the doorway but by and large that was the only residue from his previous life.  Poor thing had terrible genetics and lost several teeth, ended up being mostly blind one eye (which led to several false alarms), and developed arthritis but he enjoyed cuddling and snuggling with everyone and was very glad to meet new people.  He had his preferred spot on the couch and if it was occupied during a party and the person got up, he had no qualms about reclaiming it!  Did I mention Sam's favorite spot during the day was the back of the couch?  He could see the whole neighborhood and get a nap in the sun all at once.

Pleeeeeease will you feed me?

     Our second rescue (whom we have right now) is Charlie.  Charlie is a purebreed, owner surrender, meaning his owner contacted ABR and asked them to come take him away, in this case because the wife and kids weren't happy with the dog the hubby got and wanted a pug.  They had the gall to brag about it to the person who picked him up.  Makes me sooooo mad.  The two major issues we've had to deal with on Charlie were socialization and his hunting drive.  His first family kept him outside, on a chain, so he was very happy outside, with very little interest in people or affection.  Now he gets jealous if we kids are snuggling with Dad on the loveseat, that's his spot!  lol!  We noticed a definite change after our latest camping trip, our first with him.  After dark he would curl up in people's lap or on a camp chair around the fire and since then he has staked out Dad's lap as his, which is really funny because Charlie is on the long side for a Brittany, not really 'lap' size!  For his hunt drive we ended up taking him to a dog trainer and worked with her, getting him to focus on us and learning how to calm him down when he starts racing from window to window, 'hunting' squirrels and birds and moving leaves.  Initially it involved putting him in his crate when he wouldn't stop, but now a firm 'Down' and 'Stay' works very well.  He'll complain a bit at first but then he'll settle down for a nap.  Phew.
     I could write pages and pages and pages about our beloved Brittanies, their similarities and differences and quirks and adventures (and not even start on our gerbils or my favorite cats) but sufficed to say, writer or not, pets are very important, to love and to snuggle with, with no judgement or malice or ulterior motive (unless it's dinnertime).

Day 27 - Catastrophies and fruitcakes

August 27 - In anticipation of catastrophe

     Two things sprang to mind immediately, from two different phases/parts/ages of my life.

     The first is a scene from Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott is which Rose, the main character, her seven male cousins*, along with an assortment of friends and aunts are putting on a series of short skits, the theme of which is a part of a word.  The answer is catastrophe which they break into "Cat" (one of them makes a fetching little kitty), "ass" (as in Baalam's donkey), and "trophy" (the early bird gets the worm).  At the end they reenact a train wreck (it's before the time of motorcars).
     The second thing that sprang to mind is a wonderful fanfiction: Apocalypse Week by Eternal Contradiction.  EC writes excellent Shenny fanfics.  Shenny, for the Big Bang Theory fanfiction uninitiated stands for a Sheldon and Penny relationship, usually as a couple but sometimes as friends.  In Apocalypse Week Penny is introduced to a yearly tradition Sheldon drags the boys into, a week spent trying to train the boys to survive the end of the world through paintball (need to know how to shoot), sessions spent reviewing different forms of world ending events (zombies, aliens, natural disasters, etc), bomb-making, -throwing and -aiming practice, running (gotta keep ahead of whomever is out to get you), proper survival clothing (no leather but denim is good).

*  I remembered after I wrote this that it is only Rose, her cousin Mac, cousin Jamie, and the young people they are staying with that perform this.  They have gone into the mountains after Mac has had his terrible fever and nearly ruined his eyes.  Cautionary tale for anyone who reads with only a little light!  I know it certainly scared me as a child!
     I love Eight Cousins and it's sequel Rose in Bloom and have reread them many, many, many times.  It was a long time before I realized they were written by the same author as Little Women, which I adore because of Jo, a tomboyish writer with younger siblings.  Rose is such a sweet, kind and lively child who grows into a beautiful, benevolent, and wise woman under the tutelage of her many aunts and two dear uncles.  I have always wanted to be her or be like her, ever since I discovered her when I was very young.
     I had forgotten how much Apocalypse Week focuses on Penny's feelings!  Most of what I remember from it is how well Penny and Sheldon work together and the fact that, together, they could take over the world.



Day 27 - Fruitcakes and Discipline

     OK, what is everyone's problem with fruitcake?  Admittedly I've never had the traditional fruitcake soaked in rum w. gummy fruit (yay no Christmas?) but our family makes what could be classified as a fruitcake with canned fruit cocktail and an evaporated milk and sugar glaze that is not only heavenly but you can get away with eating it for breakfast because it has fruit!  </rant>
     Now that that is out of my system.  The point Ms. Abercrombie was making regarded her mother's self discipline, yearly making fruitcake as gifts and daily practicing piano.  This is a quality I greatly envy.  Follow-through is something I have struggled with my entire life (and is something I was discussing with my father just yesterday).  In school struggled to complete homework, not because the work was difficult usually, but because it was boring, repetitive, and/or I allowed myself to get distracted (A/N- this started in first grade).  Long term projects are/were deeply loathed and always completed two days (or less) before they were due (unless the teacher required some sort of proof of progress, which was rare).  And I usually got A's so I feel completely justified.  Neyah.
     Obviously I also struggle with goal follow-through/self discipline, such as in writing (sorry), exercise, tooth brushing (honestly, yes, I am 23 and I struggle with it), responding to important emails (the pressure!), talk writing (last minute anyone?), and service time (which makes the goal of pioneering really scary and seem completely unattainable without a Red-Sea-parting amount of holy spirit).
     Unless I am answerable to someone else I have a hard time completing a task, no matter how much I want to!  It is so very frustrating!

Eight Cousins image from GoodReads.com
Fruitcake image from Neopets.com

Day 26 - Highwaymen and Trampolines

August 26 - The stranger at the crossroads

     It wasn't the first time Anne had felt eyes on her as she made her way to the bakers to retrieve their order of rolls for the dinner crowd.  Trevaine Road was the straightest shot out of town and
     Here the story tried getting away from me, adding more people than I wanted and changing the geography of the town.  The hashed out part is what I wrote before I redirected it.
the shortest route from her father's inn to the bakers was down Absthem, the road that ran the breadth of the town.  Where the two major pathways met was understandably busy and gossips enjoyed lingering to people watch , but the gaze Anne felt on the back of her neck was too intense for a mere gossip.  Surreptitiously she tried to catch a glimpse of whomever found her so fascinating but the milling masses shifted so quickly, no one staying in one place very long.
lined with inns and shoppes on one side, taverns and stables interspersed with forest on the other, bisected here and there by smaller roads leading to more homesteaded parts of town.  In other words, it was populated by those who had ... an interest in others. Forcing herself to merely glide, a lady doesn't run, she still reached Tevya's yeasty shop in record time.  If the kindly old man noticed her twitchy and rushed behavior he made no mention of it as she paid their weekly tab and scurried back into the street.  She was nearly home free, past the worst of the taverns when she heard a drunken hail from behind her.  It sounded like Jacob Fitch, a young man recently gone into business for himself and feeling every inch the man.
     Refusing to acknowledge him, despite the fact she was the only one on the street in earshot to hail, unless her mysterious watcher had shown himself.  That thought nearly made her turn and the hesitation hurried Jacob's steps until he was sweeping her up from behind.  Her basket of rolls flew down the road as she was swung by the waist in a dizzying circle, a shout dying as the air was knocked from her lungs.
     "Anne!  Sweet, dear Anne!  Ever so good to schee you!  Pretty Anne with the pretty green eyes.  Eyes like a cat," Jacob rambled setting her back down but keeping a firm hold in her.  "When are you going to marry me my little cat?  I've a business of my own now.  I can buy you pretty ribbons my little cat."
      She could smell the whiskey on his breath as nuzzled her hair  Enraged, Anne's spine straightened and she struggled against the blacksmith's vice like grip and iron arms.  "Jacob, let go of me.  I have no wish to marry you, you know that.  Let go!"
     "Don't wanna.  Wanna get married," Jacob said petulantly, his face still buried in her brown locks.  He sounded like the small child he had been when they first met.
     "If you're looking to marry, Anabelle has been making eyes at you," Anne replied, still struggling.
     "I don't want Anabelle," Jacob snarled, whirling Anne around to face him, his goofy, childlike attitude suddenly gone.  I want you, Anne Reeves!"
     "Jacob, you're drunk and you're hurting me," Anne said, stilling her movements and doing her best to speak placatingly despite the anger and fear burning through her veins.  The bright mild day suddenly turned dark and cold as Jacob gripped her tighter, hissing again in her face.
     "I am going to marry you Anne."
     At once his lips her pressed her hers and Anne went wild.  Flailing, she scratched and clawed what she could reach while in his painful grip.  She managed to wrest one fist free and raked her nails across his face.  Then, as suddenly as Jacob's attack  had begun, she was wrenched from his grip and a blade point was above his heart.
     "One more move," the blade owner spoke and the rest was a bit of a blur to Anne, who finally succumbed to her nerves a bit.  There were impressions of the blade biting Jacob's flesh, his fear and anger.  A brief scuffle and then it was only she and her rescuer.
     "Are you alright?"  She could scarcely believe that it was the same voice that had told Jacob off.  The tone was suddenly quiet and calming.

     This story wanted so badly to become an epic beyond what I have the time or abilities currently to write, which is why it has taken me so long to post it.  Wrestling a highwayman is a difficult task!
     This was inspired by "The Highwayman" as sung by Loreen McKennitt (from the poem by Alfred Noyes) and The Scarlet Pimpernel movie starring Jane Seymour, Anthony Andrews, and Ian McKellen(!).  Unfortunately when I wrote most of this I didn't have access to either one so it was written to "The Highwayman" by Celtic Thunder and the Trial of Lancelot CD by Heather Dale.
     Anne here has definite flavors of Belle a la Beauty and the Beast and Once Upon a Time.  The highwayman (who is the rescuer considering I don't think I made that clear) is part Scarlett Pimpernel, part rogue, part local boy gone big, and completely in love with Anne.  Interesting fact, I realized that this is not the first story I've written where a man/boy falls in love with a girl, watches her from afar and then swoops in to save her and the things dear to her.  In middle school we had to write a newspaper from the perspective of the people living in Roanoke before they vanished, and come up with a theory for why they left.  In a side story I started writing (which I abandoned when I realized it was going to turn into a romance novel), an Indian boy falls in love with a settler, meets her on the beach as White leave, gets wind that a rival tribe is going to raze Roanoke, and warns the settlement, saving her dear brother in the process.  I gave an edited version (they were only friends and it was much shorter) to my group.

     Anne succumbed to nerves because I have no idea what her swashbuckling hero says and I don't know how to write sword fight scenes.  What do you say beyond thrust and parry?  I can write cat fights (as in the actual felines) but not human fights.  That's what I get for roleplaying cats when I was younger.

Day 26 - The Trampoline as a Metaphor

     The author discusses her fear of jumping on a trampoline.  Perhaps it is because I am still very much a child, but I love the trampoline and don't find it scary at all.  Boring maybe, but not "impossible to feel safe on".
     She also discusses the freedom of just letting go on said plaything, in which she has a point.  If you don't care how you look it is a lot of fun.  Also, if you have something to do beyond just jumping in one place.
    As metaphors go it isn't the best one I've ever heard but is is a case of knowing your audience.  Thank you Ministry School for my public speaking and human interaction and teaching skills.

Day 25 - Searching, Impossible, Failing

August 25 - In search of impossible light (after Larissa Szporluk)

Music - Interlude VII from Fresh Aire IV by Mannheim Steamroller; The Impossible Dream from Stage Heroes by Colm Wilkinson


Striving
Hand outstretched
Grasping
Searching
Trying
Hoping
In vain
The struggle
To find it
To reach it
That impossible light
That unreachable star
That unreachable dream

What kind of crazy awesome name is Szporluk?  Wow.  I need a pseudonym that is half as awesome.

Day 25 - Failing Better

"No marks on paper can ever measure up to the word's music in the mind, to the purity of the image before its ambush by language."  - Mary Gordon
"What we need to do is think of all our failed drafts simply as steps toward the final one, the one that works."  - Barbara Abercrombie

You have no idea how many times I have bewailed and bemoaned the fact that we don't have telepathic abilities.  Star Trek, you are cruel for introducing me to the idea/possibility.  The images I see in my head and scenes I write have so much more depth and flavor and character and emotion than what I am capable of conveying on paper.  Sometimes I can rewrite or edit in some of what I miss the first time but there comes a point where there are too many words and they begin to obscure the image I am trying to paint/clarify.  See, right there.  We don't have a word to convey the thought/feeling/emotion I am going for so I resort to slashes.  Some day, my friends, I can only hope, some day we will have the ability to convey ourselves perfectly.

I was feeling like this was a little 'blah' so I am glad to be able to include pictures!  And on an unrelated note, I think Barbara is a weird name.  Bar Bar A

Day 24 - Drool in Z-Row Gravity

August 24 - Writer the place the landscape dissolves

Musical inspiration: Fresh Aire V album by Mannheim Steamroller
Songs: Lumen, Z-Row Gravity, Dancin' in the Stars, Creatures of Levania

The door this time does not lead to idyllic pastures and soaring trees.  This door is similarly small and rounded but metal and rivets have replaced wood and scroll-work.  This door is cooler to the touch as it opens on its own landscape.  This is clearly another planet, dusty and dark, stars lighting the silky sky above abandoned monorail tracks.  Behind the door, above us is an abandoned and desolate city, angles and blocks of crumbling metal surrounded by the gentler lines and curves of the track.  Beyond the city is nothing.  Well, nothing artificial.  Spires rise in the barren landscape, stretching to touch the looming, rosy moon, but they are made of rock and stone, not iron or steel.  These will erode some day, not be eaten by rust and time.  While the city sits in tones of grey and black, the spires and land are sepia, brown, red and blush.  The city ends starkly, a line drawn in the sand, but beyond the landscape simply dissolves, dust becoming dust becoming stars.

This is a companion piece to A World of Pure Imagination and both were very inspired by music.  Any of you whom have not listened to Mannheim Steamroller's Fresh Aire CDs (there are seven of them) or Saving the Wildlife (especially 'Wolfgang Amadeus Penguin') I recommend them.  Sunday Morning Coffee and Sunday Morning Coffee: Day Parts are both good too but a little sedate for anything but dinner background music.  :)  My favorites are Fresh Aire V, which is space themed, Fresh Aire 7, based around the number 7, Fresh Aire IV, especially 'Dancing Flames', and 'The Cricket' from Fresh Aire III.  The music is instrumental with definite manipulations mixed with some vocal and natural sounds (rain, a cricket, a fire, etc.).
I don't convey it well in the piece but there is a GIANT moon looming largely over the scene, almost completely filling the sky directly in front of the viewer.

Day 24 -Writing While Drooled Upon

Evidently Ms. Abercrombie got serious about writing after having two children and spent most of their childhood writing.  She isn't the first author I've heard of that started writing after the birth of a child and wrote during their naps and practices and classes.  Thankfully there are also plenty of examples of authors who never had children (Ms. Austen) or had children after they were published.  I want kids some day but I'm not planning on them any time soon!

Day 23 - The smell of winter and crazy writers

August 23 - The smell of air in winter

The air in winter is plain, smokey and boring.   Except for right after a snow.  Then the air is still, clean, clear, warm, and magical.  I love to stand in our backyard and sing "Winter Wonderland", preferably after dark so the porch light illuminates the snow and casts the prettiest shadows.  (Fewer chances of eavesdroppers too.)
Spring mostly smells like snot to me because I am so stuffed up I can't smell anything else.  Spring smells like mud and dirt and rain and new things growing.  And wet dog.  :)
Summer smells like sunscreen and chlorine and campfire smoke.  And it is not summer until I have used my SPF 15 Sun Shades Harvest Berry lipbalm. ♥♥♥  Summer smells like wet concrete ans sea and, if I have my choice, sulfur.  Yellowstone or airshow or both.  Acrid but comforting.  Home.
My favorite season to smell though is autumn.  There is a change come September and October (my favorite month ;)) that I live for.  As the cold air begins to creep in the first wood fires are lit in stoves and fireplaces in the neighborhood giving the air a warm, rich scent.  There is also a smell in the first week of September, psychosomatic I'm sure, but it smells like school.  Old musty books and new pencils and binders and backpacks and jams of people.  The smell of Eastwood and happiness.  Autumn is also when those bags of cinnamon pine cones show up.  When the shelves are stocked with apple and cinnamon and spiced candles and everything becomes cozy and happy.
Winter is nice, but I love autumn.

Day 23 - What Writers Do

Some authors have very interesting ways of writing.  One gets up at 4 am, sets his laptop screen so dark he can't read what he's writing, writes for a few hours, then goes back to bed until 8:30 am at which point he edits what he wrote.  Another writes 250 words every fifteen minutes from 5:30 am to 8:30 am.
They are both NUTS.  Or morning people.  Or both.  How the heck do you get anything coherent or legible out that early???  I prefer writing in the afternoon or at night, depending on my schedule and mood.  Some scenes only come out after dark, when I'm alone.  And that sounds bad!  :)
It also lists two authors who use different font methods: 8 pt so they have to squint to read and 14 Courier.
I'm more of a Verdana/Georgia myself.  Times New Roman if I'm using a word processor too.  I prefer rounder fonts to think with, in a comfortable 10-12 pt reading size.

Day 22 - Packing for writers

August 22 - You're packing a suitcase

The first step to packing a suitcase is print off your packing list.  Then your pants and shirts go squarely in the upper left hand corner, held in place by the underwear and socks packed on the bottom left.  Any skirts or dresses get packed next, folded on top of the shirts if there's room, rolled up on top of the socks or folded flat in the right hand quadrants if there isn't.  Next, make sure you have jewelry for every outfit packed in the tackle box and store with any makeup  that is coming.  Next is shampoo, conditioned, soap, hair ties, comb, brush, and tooth washing implements.  Anything else gets to play jigsaw puzzle to fit in.  Except any nail polish.  That gets wrapped in the socks or shirts (with the outfit it matches if possible).  Then you zip the case and you're done.  Ta-da.

I realize this isn't creative but that's all I could think of.  :)  Now I've got a vision of Tony Stark walking into Pepper's room and leading off with a very confused "You're packing a suitcase.  Why are you packing a suitcase?  You have clothes at all of our houses.  Stop packing.  Where are you going?"

Day 22 - A Writer's Lifestyle

"Writers don't have lifestyles.  They just sit in little rooms and write."  - Norman Mailer
While the act of writing may not be the most exciting thing in the world, I'll grant you, I would object to the statement that we just sit in little rooms!  I can't think to write id that is the only place I go/am!  I must have green at some point.  Blue sky is nice too but honestly, this is Oregon.  I'm soaking it up now.
I can agree that writers don't have lifestyles though because we are each unique.  There is no set way for a writer to live and perform their passion.  On pages 150-151 of A Writer's Book of Days it lists fourty three authors and the various jobs they had while writing, including pasting labels on bottles of shoe polish (Charles Dickens), selling roach powder and playing the piano (E.B. White), selling tombstones and playing an organ in an insane asylum (Erich Maria Remarque), banking (T.S. Eliot), compiling encyclopedias and teaching chemistry (Isaac Asimov), and serving as a University Postmaster (William Faulkner).  The variety and eccentricity of jobs is mindboggling and fascinating.  Some where married, some weren't , and a variety of religions are represented.  Each writer has their own unique lifestyle and style of writing.
Don't pigeonhole us!

Day 21 - Home in the spotlight

August 21 - The geography of home

Home is where the heart is.
Interesting that it doesn't say "the geography of a home".
I used to design a house I could live in with my family that would allow me to have cats.  It involved two seperate air systems, an airlock, and a laundry room between the cat and cat-free halves of the house.
Home is my family, a place to eat, a place to sleep, my pink blanket, and my dog. ♥  Which mean, when we are camping, home becomes our trailer or the tent I am sleeping in.  When I am housesitting, that house becomes my home after the third day, unless I've stayed there before, in which case it becomes home as soon as I've mostly unpacked, put away the food I brought, and greeted the animal I am caring for.

I cannot type today.  Spell becomes speel, is becomes id, would becomes woild..  -headdesk-

Day 21 - Finding the spotlight

The author discusses a guest speaker in her writing class who was "beautiful and forceful and self-assured" because she had given up "the fear of people getting mad at her".
I look forward to the day when I am calm and self-assured.
Evidently I can fool many but I always think of the illustration  my mother uses to describe my father.  He is like a duck on a pond; he appears calm and serene and knowledgeable, but under the surface he is frantically paddling.

I don't remember who took the pic, other wise I would credit.

Day 20 - Sleeping ... naked?

August 20 - Write about the weight of sleep (after W.S. Merwin)

Swimming upstream under wet concrete.  It drags you down, away from the sunlight of day.

Day 20 - Naked in the Hallway

Gwahhh?  The author has a friend (middle aged) who has a naked photo of herself, and one of her husband, hanging in their hallway.  O_o  The point the author is attempting to make is that "writing is indiscretion".
I think a better way to use the analogy is that you bare all when you write.  You can hide bit with lighting, leaving parts in shadow, but you are still exposed.

Day 19 - Faith in good writing

August 19 - You can have faith in _______

You can have faith in humankind and Jehovah.
This is a huge, deep topic and I am super tired.  So I give myself permission to fill this in when I put it on the computer.

Yeah.  Too busy.  Not happening.  Nice thought though.

Day 19 - The Five Characteristics of Good Writing

"... you might want to take another look at E.B.White's list of twenty-one reminders about style in chapter 5 of The Elements of Style.  It's the most complete and eloquent writing lesson you'll ever have."

I put off writing for two weeks trying to find the time to read this.  I checked out the book from the library and everything.  Guess it's going on my 'To Read' list.

Day 18 - Porch posse

August 18 - On the front porch

From the front porch he could, and had, seen everything.  Neighbors moving in and out, old friends dying, children playing, family fights, new boyfriends and girlfriends sharing thier first kiss goodnight, cars full of whooping youths off to a football game and limos at prom time.  You can see the lifeblood of the neighborhood pulse from his front porch.  A silent guardian, he watched.  Once upon a time it had been him; playing in the street, getting his first car, kissing his girlfriend goodnight, going off to prom, bringing his new bride home, welcoming a son, then a daughter, watching them follow the same pattern.  Now his children lived across town and his wife was dead.  He had retired years ago and all he had to do now was watch.  Some of the older neighbors knew him and would greet him as they passed by on their weekly ambles, "Hello Frank."  He would raise a spotted hand in return and ask after their children, or grandchildren, or newest hobby.  They would chat a few minutes then move on and he would return to his watching.  A few of the newer neighbors would stop too, greeting him with a respectful "Mr. Foster".  These conversations were shorter, the younger generation buzzing with energy and eager to be off.  And then he would return to watching.
The local police knew him too, and if anything happened on his street he was the first to call or the first they asked.  So when someone broke into the Hamill's house and he didn't call, the officers didn't feel bad about breaking into his house.  They found him in his armchair by the window, a plate of mashed potatoes and cor sitting on one side, a picture of his wife on the other.  And sitting in his lap, the phone.  91 were the last numbers he dialed.
His funeral was held on a sunny Saturday morning, attended by his family, the few friends he had that were still alive, and half of the local police force.  When his son and daughter went to his home afterward they were shocked to find his front porch covered in flowers.  There were notes from almost every house on the surrounding two blocks.  A few minutes later the neighbors themselves began to trickle in, a few bringing food to eat.  Soon his little house was full of all the people he had ever known.  Neighbors who had never spoken exchanged stories of how he had rescued their dog or stopped an egging or simply been a friendly face.  He would have been proud to see how he brought the neighborhood together.  And tickled by the annual BBQ held in his honor.

I've read this to two people.  One cried and the other teared up.
This prompt took on a life of it's own!  I immediately saw a little old man and an old, grey, tall Victorian/New England style house when I read the prompt and it went from there.  I've since decided that Frank Foster was a police officer before he retired and his kids were more than a little embarrassed about their father's "meddling" in the neighborhood but were put in their place by the neighborhood's turn out.  
I've had it strongly suggested that this be turned into a screenplay/movie.  What do you think?  I can certainly see composing music to go with it!

Day 18 - Your Validation Posse

"We're all skinless when we write, all nerves and need.  To find the right people to read what we're writing ... is fraught with danger."
"We need people who have no agenda with us yet have faith in us, who will validate what we're trying to do and let us know we're not wasting our time.  People who know how to critique with generosity, honesty, and wisdom.  We hand over a lot of power to these people, so choose your posse carefully."

Rarely have truer words been spoken or written.  It is so hard writing without validation, and so hard to share without worrying too much about what others think.  I am very fortunate to have several friends I can ask for critiques.  Deanna and Cat are my validation posse.  I can trust Deanna to bring my flights of fancy back down to realistic earth or make a humorous scene twice as funny.  And I can trust Cat to tkae the time to read what I've written and give me feedback.
I do questions my scenes still though and wish I got more plot reviews.  Help anyone?

Somebody, review, PLEASE!  Am I talking to myself here?

Day 17 - You're not here but I love you still

August 17 - You woke up and found him gone

Rae rolled over to find the other side of the bed cold.  Her body heaved with a sigh before she rolled back over and began blindly patting though her side table.  Her hand soon landed on the slim object she was searching for.
"Fauna Feral to Nightwing.  Come in Nightwing."
"Rae, is everything alright?"  Nightwing's voice was clearly concerned as it came through the communicator.  "How's the baby?
"We're fine," Rae laughed, still raspy from sleeping.  "But I really want starfruit and pistachio ice cream."
There was a moment of silence then Dick spoke again.  "Together?"
His tone was concerned, confused, and a little disgusted.
"No," Rae rolled her eyes and Nightwing could hear it through the speaker.  "But I do want both.  Do you have a moment?  I could send the cats or bats to pick it up."
Dick surveyed the area.  "I'm near downtown.  Give me a minute and I can get the ice cream from Meijers and there is a little Chinese market for the starfruit."
"Thanks love," Rae purred,  "Fauna Feral out."
"Nightwing out."
As he flipped the comm shut he could feel Tim's eyes boring into him.
"You are so whipped."
Dick didn't respond as he flung himself off the building.  Anything for his wife and child.

I realize this prompt could have been taken very depressingly and the part of me that is a sucker for a tragedy and loves country music certainly thought about going there, but then I decided that we don't want to read a sad story today.  'He' is not gone because their relationship is over.  He is gone because of a duty and he will be back.
And I forgot when I was writing that I changed her name after she came back from hiding.  And discovered that while pregnant with Merlin and Niada she craved raw fish and rare steak.  Emily prompted 'nicer' cravings.

Day 17 - Love Thy Reader

"Readers deserve to be treated like your closest friends ..."
Well, at this point all of my readers are my closest friends.  Or good friends at least!  But I will keep this in mind should I become famous, or more widely read.  :)

Thank you and much love to Deanna, Caitlin, Chelsea, Brian and Luke!

Day 16 - Smoke of burning typewriters

August 16 - Write about smoke

Drifting pain
   Heats companion
Billowing, billowing
   Restful odor

Funny, got this on the last day of camping.

Day 16 - Exploding Typewriters, Smoking Computers

I would love to see a burning typewriter, though I wonder how they could keep it burning without consuming it.  Great performance art.

Seriously.

Day 15 - Shadows and poem puzzles

August 15 - A shifting of shadows

A shifting of shadows was all the warning she had before he swooped down and pinned her with his gaze.
"What were you thinking?" he hissed.
Teeth flashing, she snarled back, "He should know better."
"Rayella," came the un/only slightly sympathetic response.  "You are off patrols until further notice."
"WHAT?!" the puma like shreik brought bats down from the rafters and had her cats puffing twice their size.  "You can't tell me what to do!  I am a valuable resource!"  You!"
"You made a stupid move and took it too far," he cut through her tirade with one sharp comment.

I was going to write more.  I even have quote marks and the word "and" ... but nothing else.  This is a key scene I have been avoiding for a long time.  The fight that leads to Rayella quitting the superhero business for a while and running away to have her kiddos.  This takes me a step closer to writing the scene where she loses her temper and beats the snot out of an abusive man.  Yay?

Day 15 - People in a Jam


"Poems prod.  They aren't meant to be a puzzle.  ... it's like a secular prayer."


There are two schools of thought on that.  I rather like imagery based poetry that allows you to interpret what the author is trying to convey.  On the other hand, straight forward poetry, that doesn't require thinking or too much imagination is relaxing and entertaining too.