Organization and Outlines

I’m thinking…

Recently this prompt has been one of my favorites to write. In a way I think this is because it’s a bit of an easy out. There are so many blog posts I’ve been wanting to write up, blog posts on this that and the other thing, random thoughts that I should like to sort out, but truthfully writing a blog post on a single subject it a bit intimidating for me. I’m not quite sure how to begin these blog posts I have contemplated writing in my head. That’s always the trouble, finding where to begin. This is why I find writing up this prompt so very enjoyable, because it is as if the beginning is paved out for you. You can take it anywhere, beginning with “I’m thinking…” and watch one’s thoughts unfold on paper.

I think though, I need to get a little better at writing out blog posts. Where I begin with an organized subject and proceed to write out my thoughts, sticking to that subject without drifting all across the map with my thoughts. There is something to be said for organization of one’s thoughts as well as free-writing. I think I talked of free writing in my last journaling page. Of how I liked reading a person’s writing as if one is reading their thoughts, and writing that way as well. Rambling, drifting, flouting easily from one subject to the next, like one’s thoughts drift through one’s mind. However, you really needs to be good at writing something that is more to one subject I think.

I suppose it’s simply a balance. You have to find a balance between writing easily and letting your thoughts drift out into words, and sticking to a more organized subject and group of ideas. I suppose this is where outlines would be helpful, right? I’ve always hated outlines though. Skimpy things formed of the strict idea of something, the bare bones. I want to add so much more to an outline than the barest of details. I want to go in depth, search deeper, find greater meaning to the words I am choosing, but then it wouldn’t be an outline.

I think I need to get on better terms with the outline, rather than he and I eyeing each other warily like two arch enemies I should realize that the outline is there to help me. I can’t help but feel he is my enemy though, I want to kill him dead and unleash the pent up words he hold prisoner.

I shall try to resign myself to making better use of the outline. He should be my map, my guiding light as I wander through a dark tunnel of thoughts, wondering wherever I should come out. I like that feeling though, that feeling of uncertainty, wondering where I shall end up with my thoughts by the end of whatever I am writing. I especially like looking back at the end of it, retracing my steps and looking at the finished item.

Anyways, this really leads me to what I was going to say originally, about wanting to write some more focused blog posts. A little more centered one idea, and the thoughts surrounding that idea. I love my journaling pages and I love writing out this prompt, but I need to write more focused things too. Mondays are for journaling pages though, so I shall proceed to ramble and drift as much as I wish for the entirety of this, and enjoy myself thoroughly while doing so.

I’m reading…

A couple days ago when I was shelving books at the library I came across ‘Anne of the Island’ of course you know I had to open it up and read the first page and then I was caught. Anne caught me up with her magic, and as soon as I came home I had to go straight to my bookshelf and open up my own copy. I love books that no matter how many times you have read them they still contain some of that old magic, they still surprise and delight you with that old first time read glory. I haven’t read ‘Anne of the Island’ in a long while actually. I’ve reread most of the others quite recently, but not this one. It’s funny, it was never one of my favorites of the Anne books growing up, but I’ve found myself loving it more and more. I suppose it’s yet another one of those cases where the book matched my stage in life, and as I grow older the books that are my favorites change with me. It doesn’t mean I forget my old favorites, they’re still there, in the back of my mind, much loved and well read, but each year has a new favorite, a new insight into an old book. You are always getting new thoughts and opinions on old reads, and that’s what I love best about rereading books. You always get something new from it.

 I also picked up a book on grammar yesterday when I was at the library. Called ‘The Grammar Bible: Everything you always wanted to know about grammar but didn’t know whom to ask’ I have to say I enjoy reading these sorts of grammar books. *chuckles* really, I’m quite attached to this book I own called ‘Eats, Shoots and Leaves’ I dig it out and reread it just to amuse myself. It’s because the author has such a funny way about talking about grammatical errors that people make and common errors. My favorite section in that book is this chapter where it is showing a couple copies of the same letter style writing, but by switching around a few commas it means such very different things. It’s really fascinating to think about what can change in your meaning by simply putting commas in different places. I suppose it should serve as a warning too, you know, that you should be very careful about how you write something, because it can be so easily misread. I think I must work on my grammar a little more.

I’m listening to…

 I just recognized the theme to the ‘Titanic’ playing in the background. I’m really not all that fond of that movie, for various reasons, but I am in love with the music. *proceeds to listen to the soft piano rendition happily*

I’m creating…


I just finished this drawing I did for a contest. I’m really quite proud of it. I think I shall post it and perhaps some of my practice drawings for it soon.

 Outside my window…

The pond is glistening back a reflection of the lovely blue sky and the puffy white clouds. A gentle breeze brushes the top of the water from one side of the pond to the other. A soft sprinkling of rain is falling.

No Regrets

This is short story I just finished writing. I'm toying around with the idea of writing something along the same ideas but in a longer form. As it is I'm rather pleased with how it turned out. I feel like it's a bit of a new writing style for me and I was rather happy with the first person tone. I'd like to still tweak with it a little more and make it better but I think I need to hold off for a bit and come back to it after a few weeks or so and see what I think then.
No Regrets


It is but a part of life that past decisions must be reconsidered, their wisdom debated, and inevitably, a few of them must be regretted. Choices of old must be considered with a wisdom gained only by the subsequent result of such a choice. A question must haunt the back of the mind with a persistency created by past regret, the question of "What if..."

The question lingers in the air, in the back of the mind, in the thoughts that mix with memories like new rain upon a long standing body of water.

Sometimes, this question is formed by idle curiosity, rather than even regret. Yet it always contains a strange poignancy, a power of haunting, for it is a question that can never be answered.
I used to regret. My thoughts used to dwell on how different things could have been if only my actions, words, and even thoughts had been different back then.

No longer do such thoughts disturb my mind however. I find myself satisfied- nay, grateful for each event, each choice, for they led me along a path that was to prove a formation of my mind, creating myself into the being I am today. Why should I regret such action and events that have had such a happy result? Why should I be troubled by what could have been, when what is now, is so much pleasanter?

It is true, the question can never have an answer. We can never find out what could have been, but only question and surmise. Not I, however, I have no wish to question, no wish for surmises. I am well pleased with the results of past events and past choices. The past has no power to haunt me. I am free from it.

There is a certain phrase that was uttered in reference to me that comes to my mind unasked for this day. An utterance from years ago, I do not know why I remember it. The words were spoken by a girl, she was simple and dim-witted, why do I remember her? She said, those many years ago, I should come to regret. How wrong she was proved. Poor silly girl, I used to think her very sweet and clever. It is almost amusing to consider one's thoughts back then, as a child.

It is my belief now, that in a child's mind anyone who happens to be friendly and cheerful is considered then both sweet and clever. It is the only explanation I can give for my finding any of my childhood playmates charming, for I was not dim-witted, nor was I simple, yet looking back now I find most of these playmates to have been thus.

Certainly Willa was thus, and if I were to regret anything in my life, I might almost say it would have been her friendship. It is rather painful for me to speak so of someone, I should not do it if I did not feel in every form this girl was a bad influence of my child self.

Days could have been better spent, instead they were wasted, as we whispered in our secret hideaways. Thoughts that could have been directed in productive manners were instead spent on false fantasies of magical lands. Childhood could have been better spent, instead it was spent with Willa.

"David," she had whispered one day, as she leaned against the windowsill.

"Uh huh?" I had nodded sleepily, still caught up with the clouds we had been looking at moments before.

"Don't you ever change. I don't like how people change as they grow up. They lose something, something beautiful that can never be regained, and then they seem to spend their entire lives searching to find that something once more. They can never find it though, and because of that they are left miserable and unhappy. I don‘t want to see you unhappy, I don‘t wish for anyone to be unhappy, but especially not you."

What did she want me to do, stay a child forever? Illusions die, fantasies are crushed, people grow up.
It is the order of things, how things are, and how they should be. Childhood is a short-lived stage of life, it should not be clung to or dwelled upon. It is a time of wasted opportunities and foolish dreams.
We must all grow up. The time of transition between childhood and adulthood comes at a different stage for each, but come it will. I did not expect it to take the form it did, but then, did I expect much back then? I knew nothing of life, of it’s fears, of it’s sorrows. I knew only the passing of each day, of counting stars and chasing butterflies, and Willa.

She was the only one who seemed to remain untouched in the possession of her childhood. While my other playfellows found to their surprise, each in turn, that they had parted with childhood forever, Willa remained the same. She grew taller, slimmer, more womanlike in appearance, yet her thoughts remained a child’s speculation. Speculations on dreams and fantasies and imaginings. I tried to tell her none of it was real, but she wouldn’t listen to me.

“Dreams are beautiful things, David. Don’t let go of them. Hold on to them. Don‘t you remember?” She had said.

I could only shake my head and wonder how she could remain such a child.

It was then I had realized for the first time how simple she was, how near-sighted. Why wasn’t she touched by the cold hand of reality that had so shaken me? Why didn’t she change? I had changed, it was good, it was for the best.

Of course I remembered those dreams. I remember them now, I remember lying on my back looking up at the sky and counting stars. Willa had tugged my sleeve and pointed out the falling star, we had both screwed our eyes closed and each wished. I remember those wishes now, and how sure we had been that they would come true. Perhaps Willa’s did, all I know was my wishes were lost in that all consuming darkness, the darkness of the night.

They were foolish wishes, foolish wishes of foolish children. Why should I remember them now?
I wanted Willa to change. I wanted her to loose that childish way of hers of always hoping, never fearing, knowing no worry, always hope. I wanted her to grow up, to be an adult, to face reality. I wanted that cold hand that had touched my soul to touch hers as well and make her see life as it was. I couldn’t understand how she remained untouched by any of it.

I remember that day, the day when childhood slipped out of my fingers like a sunbeam quickly fading in the evening. It had been my fault, I should have realized we had climbed too high on that steep little slope, I should have realized the edge was sheer and jutting and that Willa was worn out from the climb, but I was a child and I was thoughtless. She had slipped, just like that, and there she had been, lying on the dirt with her face drained of all color.

She had lived, but only just. I thought she was going to die that day and that I had murdered her, but she had lived. When I had found out I had almost wished she had died, I knew I would have wanted to have died in her place, anything rather than that. She was paralyzed, those young legs of hers would never walk again, and it had been my fault.

I waited for her to scream at me, to shriek out those words of hate and loathing. None had come.

“I don’t mind, David. Not all that much. I used my legs so very much all those years, perhaps it is good that I shall rest them now.” She had said with a smile.

I couldn’t understand it. I wanted her to hate me like I hated myself. I wanted her to show some accountable reaction, to look down at her stilled legs and cry at the thought of never running with them across the field with me. I didn’t understand how she could smile, how she could tease.

I know now that she was simply a foolish and dim-witted girl, too simple to understand the reality and hopelessness of the case. She would never walk again. It would never get better. There was no hope.
I couldn’t stand being around her. I couldn’t stand to see the results of what I had done. I had said goodbye, moved off to a boarding school, resolving to leave her and my childhood behind. When I left I could tell that she knew why I was leaving.

“It wasn’t your fault, David.” She had said.

We both knew that was a lie. It had been my fault, it was my fault, she would be forever caged in something that was my fault. I couldn’t believe she forgave me, it was impossible. She only took my hand out of memory of those childhood years, nothing more. She hated me.

“Goodbye, Willa.” I had said, trying not to let her see my hopelessness.

“Don’t go away, David. Don’t go away.” She had said suddenly. “If you go away now you’ll regret it. It will forever be something that haunts you as what could have been.”

Of course I don’t regret it. It was a choice that shaped my being into the man I am today. A business man, a man of intelligence, a man of sense, drive and skill.

Yet sometimes I wonder, what if...

Writers Block

It is a malady most terrible. The heart that does not tremor before sword or lance is rendered helpless before it. The most courageous must find themselves daunted as they look upon the vast wasteland struck dumb before the hand of this monstrosity. For by its fearsome hand, the very words are stilled from the pen. As is the pen mightier than the sword, so is the malady that stills the pen a more all consuming and petrifying one than that that stills the sword. The very name chills the valiant hearts of so many gallant writers across the world; such is the awful and horrifying thing that is called writers block.

Writers block, procrastination, intimidation, which is it that I am struggling with?

I really can’t tell you at the present time. Perhaps it is a mixture of all three. I think however that it is of the most, intimidation. You see, I have reached a certain point in quite a few of my stories, where it has become intimidating for me. I want to proceed. I know how I want to proceed. I open the word document and start scrolling down through all of the pages and pages of paragraphs saved under a certain title and I just don’t know where to begin. It doesn’t help that when it reaches that point it takes rather a long time to scroll through it all, and to top it all my computer freezes when I am scrolling through more than twenty pages in any one file.

Intimidation then strikes procrastination. I fiddle a little bit with a few sentences but leave any in depth editing and continuation for later…and we all know how that ends, don’t we? Later never comes, it’s always just a day away. Like “tomorrow” we can never really arrive at “later” it eludes us and escapes with each day that passes. A winsome butterfly that we are chasing but it slips through our grasps and we see it calling us, still just a day away, always just one more day and we will be in tomorrow, but when tomorrow comes it transforms into today, and a new tomorrow is shining for us to see.

With intimidation and procrastination comes writers block. You don’t want to proceed on anything new without first proceeding on the old. So we are at a standstill.

But enough, enough, I say!

Enough intimidation! Enough procrastination! Enough of this writers block!

What I need is to start writing consistently, and the only way to write consistently is to get into the habit. The habit of writing a little bit every day, which is a habit I want to be in. So my new goal (goals are very good things, you know) is to write a little bit every day- I think I shall start with my goal being a thousand, maybe two thousand words a day. That is really a quite easy amount, but the difficulty is not the amount but in the consistency.

So that is my new goal, to bring about an end to this dreaded disease, this writers block!

End of my proud little speech.

(Small print)

Wanted: a cure for writers block. Contact our agency with any new found information concerning this malady. Tips, suggestions, helpful advice would be welcomed with opened arms. Also accepting; basic rambling on dealings with this disease, sympathy, pats on the head, chocolate and coffee. Any addition would be welcome. We are open Monday through Sunday, twenty-four hours a day. All responses will of course be accepted through our commenting system. Thank you, and have a very nice day. *cuts off with a burst of loud static*