I suppose music is great. Even just to listen. But for me. I would find it to tempting to remember a verse from a song and write it into my piece. I do love to listen to music... preferably the Blues. Sometimes I may use the flavor of an old forgotten melody to post a phrase that would be noted to that memory. When I write however I like peace and quite. To find my muse, before I write a word, a thought comes to me. Perhaps while driving, or looking at the horizon in the early morning. One word roams in my head. Then I take it to a place with a sentence. Sometimes that sentence, a subject will mull on me for weeks. Like a nag. I have to find a place for it to spill. Sometimes they are lost. But when I get to writing them down there they are. I have to have complete silence. Sometimes TV is ok. But to get interrupted is the worst. I rant and rave, in fear I will break the chain. Getting up in the middle of work. I will lose the scene of the word. Trying to find it again never seems the same. Still I make it through even with the constant interruptions. I’d write way into the wee hours of night or dusky morn. There I’d be tapping away at my Computer. Writing pen to paper …well never go there except to jot down a note or two for remembering that poem.

First thing is that I write for me. Something I know and love to take about. Second I put it aside… Rewrite it.

Then read it as a third party looking into it as if the first time.

And ask myself. Does this piece mean anything to me? Or send a message to the reader? Will the poem pass the test of time? Time meaning will all the clues to the puzzle still solve the answer in the end.

Then! Write again for you the reader. Who would be first to see a fresh page waiting to be read.

I hope that makes some sense… Find the muse… Write from the heart… Then Write again!

I find in the quite times of the morning are the very best for writing. It is a time for peace, and solace, when I write. But most of all I find the best words come from the moment I see. The words can never come close to the feeling of that moment. My mind expresses the thought. I find it hard to recapture by the time I am able to place it on paper. I wish I had a recorder in my thoughts. When I see, the dream starts its trail. The words come pouring out as if a spring of water.

How hard it seems to capture, like slipping blades of grass through my fingers. How to stop time? So I may remind the viewer of the beauty of the sight. It’s like trying to describe color to the blind. You just can’t place a word to that. By the time you find the words, it has lost way along the path. So in my time that I chose to write I must place each word carefully. For time is fleeting and in that very moment I write all is but forgotten. Time now to remember and write. Piecing words like a puzzle hoping to find the right fit.

Truth can be the only glue to be used. So this is why I’ve decided to make this journal. So that I could write and remember that by writing and only then can you stay on the path to your story. I’ve had writers block and when you write you must find the reason. Sometimes it is just a word. One word that keeps gnawing at your brain till you can find a sentence. That sentence is the meaning of the truth, the very reason for the moment. The truth comes in the telling of the story. Every page written must have a truth, a reason, a lesson to be learned. When I write I try to tell what I have seen, learned. So that in the quite of the mind between you and your alter self. You find your truth, a light that helps you through the day.

What brought me to this thought was yesterday morning. While I was driving to work I had that feeling again. I was looking into the first light of day. That is usually the best and most pristine time for me. All the time in the world seems to slow and I see moments as if hours. In that brief minute a feeling in my mind of words spring from that day. I felt a perfect thought. Chiles sparkled about me, like nerves trying to awake. I had been there before. And now I still try to reclaim that essence. It was there in the light before dawn. The weather had to be just right, and the sun had to be there at that precise moment in time. I took that snap shot and have it held in my memory.

The cool air, the silent stillness, I take you there. The sky was brighter then dawn should be. More still then a cloud could remain present. Cool I remember, not brisk, but the thought remained. It’s coming! No sunrise of filament rays to behold. Only the stillness of the gray blue sky filling with light. Cool was the word. Bright white, but dawn was far from sight. I remembered back when I was a small child. That cool silent morning.

I was in a car beside the road sleeping. I was the only one sturing with one eye open. That same sky. I remember. It was all mine!

I'm a poet in life's road. I’m a singer of songs to the wind, and a dancer to the spirit of nature. I’m a writer to my story. This is my life.  So you want to know more about me? I suppose I could go back to when I was 12. But that’s a long story. At 12 I began writing and from time to time in my life I’ve had to place it aside. I have been in my life a singer, dancer, musician, artist, writer, and a mom. But always there are the stories in my head waiting to be written.

What is life but the stories untold? So in my writing I’ve found a place to tell all, teach all, and let the reader learn the lesson to be told. Poetry to me has a story, a beginning, a body of life, and an end which comes to the conclusion of the experience. In my writing you’ll find me there.

It is always good though to give a little background. Here is the reality of my life. At the age of 35 I developed near fatal ovarian cancer. I went to the hospital and they did take everything out in my surgery.  For almost nine months I went though the agony of chemo therapy. I would not wish that on my worst enemy. But it saved me and I’ll do it again if I had to.  I lost my hair and went through massive doses of meds. I do hate them so. With the patience of my family and loving Husband who stayed next to my bedside the entire time. I pulled through fine. But I believe that mister death was waiting for me each night to take me. I’ve made a full recovery.

I’m 51 and life has been full… of everything. I’m married to the love of my life for 25 years now. I had two children. My daughter is married, and is on her own now. My son was lost to us in 1990 at the age of 15 due to a car accident. That sets us to where I started writing again. I had to find a place of peace to come to grips with our loss. I found in writing there was a truth and strength. Most of all is that in all that I’ve been through in life my words have finally come together. And I found the Best of the best in me, “on paper”. Story to be continued!