Steinbeck's Nobel Speech

Saw this today and had to share it: Steinbeck's Nobel Speech. 

Also puts me in mind of what has happened with the band Pussy Riot in Russia (follow the link, for real).

Let's never underestimate the power and responsibility of words, especially when expressed through art.

Let Me Out!

Martin Creasey

I’ve been nervous lately. My writing seems stale. So many writers have personality drenched blogs and I wonder how to break the cage I’ve built around my own creative self. It seems like something that must be done from the outside. The tiny screeching beastie flying around inside can’t seem to get out on her own. I’ve been trying to free her by indulging in the things that made her happy, back in the days when she was free. I’ve been listening to music more, looking at more artwork, taking pictures, singing, writing. Every now and then, we can hold hands through the bars, but I can’t seem to get the fucking door open. I’m feeling desperate. Like if I can’t free her now, she’s doomed. She’s fading away, her little wings fraying, her glittery skin turning sallow, her eyes becoming sunken. Once in a while, she grabs the bars and shakes them furiously, screaming her frustration and I weep on the outside, knowing I have the key…somewhere.  But WHERE?!

I’ve been pouring over the internet searching for inspiration.  For a while, I found it here at S&S. I spent enormous amounts of time and had a blast building the blog, my twitter presence and even a facebook page. I’ve been delving deeper into the internet and the rabbit hole sucked me in. Eventually, my eyes lost the ability to focus in the real world, I had something like sun-blindness every time I turned away from the computer; and my brain, my poor brain, it started to hum, then rattle and finally it shuddered to a halt. I’d lost the spark. The artwork, the music, the other fantastic bloggers, didn’t get me in the mood for writing anymore. I almost shut down the computer. But like an addict, I kept at it, a burnout with glassy eyes and twitching fingers.  

I hit on a horoscope widget site. I don’t even remember how I got there, but it reminded me of how much fun I used to have with astrology and tarot cards, I even have my own tarot deck (where IS that?). I kept randomly surfing the net, like a rat foraging for food in the landfill. I ended up on Pinterest and saw an image of a beautiful “Moon” tarot card, and I thought, what if I tried to break through this malaise by writing flash fiction inspired by this card? What if I did this for all the cards? Hmn, that would be really hard. But maybe this is the key…but what if it takes away from working on my novel? But I haven’t been writing my novel...maybe this will help me create a habit of writing. Maybe this will help me break that damn cage. 

I really hope so, dead fairies make me sad.

PS: This is the long-winded introduction to my new page: Tarot Inspired Flash Fiction.
UPDATE: Sorry, guys, I've disabled the Flash Fiction page: to see the tarot inspired poetry I've written check out my wattpad page, it's all there. Thanks! 

Multi Media: Art Feeds Art

I have a writer friend who has spent enormous amounts of time online, downloading songs that help inspire her writing. When I say "enormous amounts of time", I mean, like, weeks. I owe her an apology because I always secretly thought it was just a way to waste time. Sorry CMF, I get it now.

Several weeks ago, I heard Adele's Rolling in the Deep for the first time. (I know, have I been living under a rock, or what?) This song gave me chills, in fact it still gives me chills. Because I see and hear one of my characters raging at my face every time I hear it. This song has made this character real for me. Totally, (furious, sad, confused) vengefully, real.

So now, I'm all about helping my creative soul find its nourishment in art. Art feeds art. This is why vision boards are so loudly touted, and why I now have one in the works. Nothing inspires beauty, and the desire for beauty, like beauty itself. As I pour over beautiful imagery and close my eyes into a rocking song, I am reminded of my teenage days when everything I did had a soundtrack. When I went out with my camera I always had my walkman (yes, I'm that old) strapped to my belt loop. Every time I sketched, the boombox was blaring. (It used to drive my brothers crazy.) And even late at night when I was reading with a flashlight, I still wore my headphones. It's no wonder my creative mind was starved into near extinction as I moved away from this lifestyle and into the corporate world; consumed with the driving need to achieve some kind of financial pot of gold, all the while my hated job slowly sucking my joie de vivre. It's time to go back. Back to a place inside that allows, needs, begs for, beauty and art.

Thank you to all my friends (you know who you are!) that over the years have encouraged me to go back to myself. To feed my self. I'm working on it.

Cheers!
A.J.

I'm working on a big scene in my WIP. My MC has run away, and as she rolls farther and farther on her own road, she is overwhelmed by a sense of guilt at the debilitating fear and despair she knows she has caused her guardian. 

The song I hear for this is Done All Wrong by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. This image represents the moment well.

Happy soul-feeding, friends.

Pink Sherbet Photography /Free Photos