Happy Holidays, my friends,
I decided to designate a page for my Christmas series. Keep all of my memories and stories about Christmas in one festive place. There is more to come, but this should get you in the spirit of the holidays. Hope you enjoy them. Just click below…
Ah, the missing gift. Christmastime, a sad reminder that once again there will be a certain To: and From: gift nametag missing from under the tree. A present that no longer finds its way on Santa’s list. A gift we most likely have asked for every year since. It is one of the hardest things about the holidays for me. However, I learned a long time ago not to dwell on that when it came to thinking of the people who are no longer a part of my life. Instead, I started to think of all the memories I have of them and no matter what, they will always be a part of my life that way. That will never be lost.
Continue reading “Post of Christmas Past # 5 – The Missing Gift”
Writing is my happy place. As soon as I do, I’m there. - Ash
A blinking cursor
the heartbeat of a writer
stories forever
One of my bad habits with writing is rewriting my work before I have given it a chance to cook a bit. I am impatiently hanging on a paragraph and the paragraphs before it. In a second, the momentum gets sabotaged because I’m too busy going back to edit. Stories change all the time. Ideas evolve and can head in any direction at any time. So, the next time you sit down to write, remember it is better to collect your thoughts than to correct your thoughts. Make good with your time dancing with creativity. Because it is the rhythm of the write, the write, oh yeah! – Ash
Write in every emotion. Happy, sad, betrayed, excited, vulnerable…whatever. Whatever you feel at a particular moment. When you allow the heart to dictate, the story writes itself. – Ash
If you get an idea, take a second and record it. By whatever means necessary. Because I bet the last time you got inspired, you figured you’d remember your creative thought, you didn’t, and now you hate yourself for it. A jot can become a lot, just write. – Ash
In the hours where most sleep
I sit in a purple lit booth
something beautiful catches eyes as they adjust
neon lights flicker as it dances…I watch
soft music plays the soundtrack of inhibitions leaving
fake smoke to cloud judgement so what is seen is seen
what is felt is felt
the night, the morning, make love to born a single time
where mistakes are suppressed by the high of letting go
bartenders, over there gossip, whisper, and glare
still tolerant of these patron games
but only until the last tip
nothing good comes of the hours between night and day
it is where fantasies live in the moment
and shadows hide the truths of deception
for the thrill of finding places that the world forgets about
are games played by strangers in pass
with lost souls, bruised hearts,
and access to the wrong medicine
It’s the Fonts that bring me Happy Days! – Ash
Earth To Ash 