Turning Stumbling Blocks Into Stepping Stones

Thanks to a friend for suggesting that I go back in time and review old writing to spark something new! As I perused my old works, I noticed that I had 3 things that kept me going.

• Writing Partners to keep me going on a series and throw in new ideas and twists. Having a writing buddy to take your characters into new settings, genres, even meeting new villains broadens your horizons.
• Muses who were usually humans that encouraged me and whom I thought about a lot. In thinking of them, I found I created stories about characters loosely based on my perception of who they were.
• Unrequited Love/Emotional Baggage and regrets/trials and tribulations that I just couldn't let go of. With time and hard work, that kind of baggage falls away. Life changes. 

I am currently lacking in these 3 things. I feel very out-of-whack, akimbo, in limbo, and indecisive. Projects unrelated to writing are taking the forefront.

In order to get back, I need to find ways to make these 3 things return.

1. Find New Writing Buddies! Working on ficly dot com, many of the same writers still visit. I need to work on meeting new writers to fill the voids left behind by those that have moved on or visit less often. I could also go back to other sites and find new buddies there as well; Protagonize, Dark Media City, even a group on Critique Circle.
2. Search for my Muse. One of these new people could become a new muse. I could also look for inspiration in other places like people watching, jotting down things my children say, or journaling memories and random thoughts. When I find it, I need to write it down before I lose it.
3. Consider my stressors. While emotional baggage is a bad thing, stress can be good if it fuels creative fire. I have had a lot of stress this school year, and I did write about it twice. I always have to preserve confidentiality when it comes to work related stories and that does put a kink in the process. I don't want to simply change names or places because too many descriptive words will give away the characters to those that know them. I don't want to get in trouble. (Yeah, I'm afraid of trouble.)

What helps you write? What keeps the creative juices flowing? Who are your muses? What fuels your creative fire?

Don't be afraid to tell me in the comments..I won't get you in trouble!

Summer Creativity; PLUS a Sneak Peek!

Summer is a great time to be creative!

Whether it is building a track for your cars,

 Or doing some counted cross-stitch,

The entire piece, so far.

close up of my stitching

What it should look like when finished.

The lions on the bottom.

Or doodling a journal page,

The creativity bug has bitten!

Anything you can do to keep the juices flowing will help your writing. If you can carve out a few minutes, or hours, to do a craft, you can do the same with a blog post or a blank Word document.

Doing a craft with your kids is also a great way to keep in practice. Hit up a sale at your local craft store for anything and google crafts to make with them.

P.S. I've been working on the lion cross stitch for 10 years, doing a little in the summer or winter when I feel like it. I bought it on sale for about 5 bucks. I told my 9 year old I might still not be finished in another 10 years and asked him if he'd like it as a graduation present. :)

Have I also been writing? Oh yes. Would you like a sneak peek? Of course you would!

Vivian had taken down the thick curtains that had given the shop a warm, homey feel and moved the comfortable reading chairs for selling. I only just realized they were gone. Sadness swept over me. The store was really closing.

This place had been my home away from home the past 3 years. I could curl up in a chair by the curtained window and dive into any book under Vivian’s watchful, but distant eye. She was like a great-aunt to me, even giving me quotes as advice and picking out books for me when I had exhausted all the titles I knew. She was a librarian as well as a saleswoman, and more of a guardian to her treasures and wizened old woman than a mother hen. I was going to miss her.

I ran my fingertip across the old spines unfocusing my eyes from their faded titles. The inked letters were all worn away, anyway. Dust mites flew in a sunbeam across the shelf from the naked windows. Something flashed before my eyes, a face, a handsome young man, but he looked sad, troubled, and brooding. It was a face that stopped your heart and left you wanting to help him at the same time. Then he was gone. Such a clear image for a millisecond: one that I wanted to see again. Maybe if I retraced my steps. I ran my hand back over the spines again, slowly. I concentrated, my entire being desiring to find him.