So...the thing is...the play?

The play, Hamlet; it's what got us to London.

I've thought of that sentence many times over the last few weeks, but not what would come after it. My intention upon returning from our two week trip to London was to write, write, write. Not just about our trip, but new stories inspired by what I saw and what I experienced. I was so sure the desire to get down on paper, or screen, every detail of our trip would be present because I would want to remember everything, right? I would feel new, fresh and creative once again, right?

But that hasn't happened. We've been home for over two months and I've written one completely unexpected blog post about one moment of our trip. For the most part the words have not wanted to leap out of me like some sort of crazed beast. Instead they've stayed trapped behind a wall of routine. I often grab a notebook and a favourite pen, hold it too tight and stare at the blank page, but try as I might, the words don't come. The will to write fades and is quickly replaced with an achy sleepiness that is unfortunately becoming a state where I live out most of my days.

There is so much I could say about London but honestly a lot of our trip is still the "feelings", many things done and seen are still locked in a place of emotional experience not ready for words. And what tales I could put into words, I just can't find the energy to write it all down.

This is sad. This is frustrating. This is not me. Over the last few years I've taken to writing much like I've always taken to acting. It became a part of me. It kept me going. I needed to write. And now…it's slipping away.

It is a painful for me to acknowledge, as obvious as it is, that over the last year my creative writing has come to almost a standstill. London aside, there's a lot I would like to say, but I just can't. Like exactly why I'm very angry, often. This anger that I can feel living inside me, eating away on my nerves and sense of reason. Yes, this anger, I'm so very tired of it. It's like a poison. It's suffocating and it's hard to breath creativity into life when are gasping.

There is a lot I need to let go of, I just wish I knew how.

Or rather, that I had the courage to let go.

Because you see, the play, it was the most amazing thing and one day, I hope to be able to tell you why.

London Called: Remembrance Day

    London remembers the wars. Everywhere you go, the streets of London remind you that the city was once victim to the wrath of war and evil. Monuments, scarred buildings, plaques, statues, these reminders not only mark the punishment the city took for standing up to those who thought they knew better, they also tell the world that no matter what you throw at London, she will rise above it. It takes a lot of strength to stand up to the bully and when you do, the fall out is often negative, but it's a price worth paying if you're going to remain true to yourself. London, like many cities, did this and the reward was to remain standing.

I was moved by all markings of wars in London. I too had family who served and lived through World War II. I too had family who served and died in the same war. My family is much smaller than some because of that war, uncles never known to my mother, gave their lives for their country. I knew a woman who proudly served in the WRAF and was in London during the Blitz. She would tell me the stories without fear, a slight smile playing on her lips. Perhaps time enough had passed to take the edge off the horror it must have been to live through. Or maybe, during that time, she blocked out the fear, stood fast, took shelter, and waited it out in a stoic, calm manner of the English people around her. I will never know because I knew her at time when my own life experience wouldn't have drawn the questions from me. I assumed she had been scarred, because who wouldn’t have been, but now I've a feeling it was something else. An emotion generated in war that there is no word for, but a word only people who have served in war know.

  One of our days in London took us to St. Paul's Cathedral. I could try to describe its beauty, its splendor, its majesty to you, but it would only paint a rough picture of what is it really like. It's a place that needs to be felt first and then seen and I've not the words or skill to describe it. A lot of its wonder blended into a sense of awe with a few specifics rising out of that feeling.

  To the left of the Dome, there are two corridors that lead to the North Transept. Going down the further one, leads you to a stunning painting, The Light of the World, by William Holman Hunt. There are chairs for you to sit and contemplate the painting, and find your own meaning. Selfishly, as I had been in the musical Godspell only months before, the song of the same name as the painting immediately popped in my head. However, the memory was pleasant and when I connected it with the painting, it gave the production I'd been in more meaning. Not a bad thing.

   I then moved on and walked to the first corridor and after I turned the corner I came face to face with a

most beautiful alter cloth. Encased in glass, this "art from war", as described on the St. Paul's Cathedral website, was created by over a 130 injured soldiers recovering in hospitals all over the country during The Great War. Soldiers from the UK, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and South Africa were encouraged to contribute to the High Alter tapestry as part of their recovery process. The display says that, "Embroidery was a classic device for the rehabilitation of soldiers during WWI, because this intricate close work greatly helped to reduce the effects of shell shock".

   It is an exquisite piece of artwork and to know that it was created by men who had faced horrors that most of us will never know gives it a deep, almost holy beauty. While living with great pain, coming to terms with their forever emotion and physical afflictions, mourning the loss of fellow soldiers, and missing their home and families, they added colour and magic to the world. Their time in the trenches and the front lines, all the suffering they witnessed and lived through did not take away the ability it rise above it all and make art from war.

   It gave me pause; it brings tears to my eyes when I think about it. I've been very lucky in my life but I've had sufferings, and yes, they have been on smaller scale, but they are my sufferings. While going through a rough patch this past summer, and wondering if I'd done the right thing by speaking my mind, my husband, frustrated but supportive said, that when you stand up for yourself, you have to be prepared to deal with the consequences. He said London stood up to Hitler and paid a heavy price for doing so, but it had to be done. He was in no way comparing my issues to the Blitz, but the parallel of not backing down was clear.

   Our lives are precious and fleeting and we can waste so much time wishing they were something else and not appreciating what we have. However, days like Remembrance Day should remind us that a lot of what we have is because of the men and women who have served our country. And like these brave souls, and in particular like London and the alter cloth, we can all find a way to rise above our pain, our sufferings, and give the world something beautiful.

First Day

There is a story that I cannot tell without crying. It doesn’t matter where I am, or who I’m telling it to, my throat tightens, my eyes tear up, and I cry.  It is the story of my daughter’s first day of school.

She was only 4 when she started school. We’d had the option, because her birthday is in late October, to hold her back a year. But she was ready for school and had been since she was 3. Holding her back was not an option. She was eager for her beginning and we were happy to share our child with the world.

September 7, 2006

We took first day of school picture. Her big smile looked perfect with her pig tails, new sweater and skirt set from her great aunt, and brand new back pack. Both Sean and I walked her to the bus stop, but it was I who took the first day of school ride with her while he followed us to the school in our car. Immediately, the smell of the bus, the feel of the seats took me straight back to all my bus trips, but it was new for our daughter and I thought she might be scared. However, Sorcha’s smile continued as she scanned the bus, the kids, the scenery out the window with no trace of the nervousness many other children around her showed in their hunched shoulders and shy eyes.

Sean met us at the school door and together we walked our skipping girl to her kindergarten room. We’d met her teacher the week before, and she greeted us with familiar kindness while she showed Sorcha her to her seat. Other names, Kale, Mikale, and Jack had been placed at the same table. Sean and I shared a smile not even needing to express our amusement that Sorcha, on her first day at school, would be sitting with all boys.

As we said goodbyes to Sorcha, who was already deeply involved in a Pooh Bear colouring page, her teacher handed us a Ziploc bag with a few items inside that we examined later. We drove away from the school, a mix of emotions swirling in our hearts, one of them being pride. Our little girl was on her way, starting a path that we would guide her on, but one that would ultimately lead to a place she wanted end up.

Last week, I talked about this day to a co-worker whose little girl is staring kindergarten today. I said,

“In the bag were three items: one herbal tea, a cotton ball, and a note. The note said that the tea was to drink as you thought about your child on their first day of school and the cotton ball was to hold as you drank your tea and to remember the softness of the hand of your child as you led them to their first day of school. ” I paused to wipe my eyes, “And that was 9 years ago and it’s gone like that.” A snap of my fingers didn’t really do justice to how fast the time has passed, but it’s all I had.

Today is Sorcha’s first day of grade 9. The back pack is bigger than her first one, the clothes are her own

September 8, 20015

style and choosing, and her hair has purple streaks without the pigtails. She only has 4 years of required schooling to go and while the path is not terribly clear, we’re still proud of her. No, she doesn’t skip to school anymore, and she’s often more nervous and anxious than happy, but she’s her own person, with her own goals. She’s got passion, creativity, and a brain that will take her far.

And maybe that’s why I can’t tell the story without crying because it has gone so fast. I can remember that first day, that cup of tea that I drank on a bench down by the river, and the softness of her 4 year old hand in mine as if it was yesterday. It was a precious moment, letting her go, being proud of her, not spoiling her happiness with our tears. She took that moment, let go of our hands, and embraced her future. That moment in the past created a time loop, a point of such breathtaking beauty that I will happily live it out every time I tell the story and every first day that we share together.

Even though it makes me cry.

Cin

For the Love of...Combining with Jo

Good Tuesday Everyone!

My guest today on this slightly, not exactly, regularly scheduled For the Love of...post is my friend Jo. Like many of us she has a lot of interests and aspires to make a living doing one or the other, or in Jo's case, combining everything she loves and rolling it into one lovely, workable, ambitious,and productive package. 

If you're a writer looking for solid, reliable, smart, and friendly promotion, Jo is your girl...or should I call her something else? Well, you'll just have to read her post to find out!

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Hi everyone and thanks for stopping by to visit. I love being asked to visit blogs… as a natural introvert, it's one of the easiest ways of being social from the comfort of my sofa *grin*. I have been trying to figure out what to tell you all about myself, which sounds silly, but it's far more complicated than you might imagine. Here in the real world I am an event manager – a job which I love. I love coming up with a great idea and then assembling all the elements that I need in order to make it real. I enjoy the challenges and even the stresses that are all part of the process. There is something about standing back on the day (usually in the last hour or two of the event) and looking around at everything, knowing you've succeeded in what you set out to do. Many of my events are also charity fundraisers and this gives the sense of achievement a whole different, and altogether more satisfying, spin.
 
Away from the real world I have a secret life as a writer. I've loved writing ever since I first learned how to string letters together to form words. At school, my essays were always just a little too long because I kept getting swept up in the story. I'm currently working on a fantasy novel, a romance story and a collection of children's stories. Yes, I have a wide range of interests and it's great to be able to shift genres when I feel like I'm hitting a wall in any of my manuscripts.
 
For the past two years I've been very fortunate to be able to marry my love of books with my love of organising things in my role as Marketing Director for Breathless Press, a small Romance and Erotica publisher which recently closed. As part of my job I discovered that I really enjoy organising blog tours for authors and being part of their journey. When Breathless Press closed, I saw an opportunity and decided to pursue it. Thus, my new freelance blog tour and promotions business – The Book Mistress - was born!

My aim is to provide authors with affordable blog tours as well as audio extracts that they can share on their websites and through their social media. I'll also be offering to provide guest posts for authors to use on their blogs, social media assistance and author PA services. It's an ambitious project, but one I feel strongly about. Authors love writing, they're not always so keen on the marketing side *grin* and unfortunately while there are some great, affordable marketing options out there (aside from doing it themselves which is free), there are sadly some businesses out there that are hopelessly over priced!

Step one, to set up all the online "stuff" for the new venture, is done. I have a few tours booked for June and now I start the real work of promoting my services. The only way to make this work is to connect with as many authors as possible.
So… here goes. Hello world, I'm The Book Mistress and I'd love to help share you with the world.

Cheers, 

Jo 



The Book Mistress on Wordpress
The Book Mistress on Facebook
The Book Mistress on Twitter
The Book Mistress on You Tube
The Book Mistress on Pinterest
The Book Mistress at Good Reads

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I'd like to give a big thanks to Jo for being on my blog today. Finding a way to help others while doing what you love is a position in life many of us would like to be in. I really admire Jo and I hope you've found her post to be inspiring!

Until next time,

Cin

For the Love of...Writer Friends with Mary Corrales

Hello Hello

Welcome to May 11th! It's time for another For the Love of... post.

A few years ago through blogging and what not, I met an author named Mary Corrales. She's sweet, kind, funny, supportive, and very talented. And before you read her post, please know that I had no direct influence over her topic other than asking her to be a part of my blog. :)

Enjoy and please welcome Mary Corrales.

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For the Love of…Writer Friends

Every friend has a role in your life. Writer friends are no different. We have similar struggles throughout our writing careers that we share with one another, and hope for some inspiration or help. We're like daisies the way we spring up and cluster together in the sunshine.

When one of my publisher had to close shop, I turned to a writer friend, Kari, to figure out how to deal with rights reversal and covers. She'd assured me, since she'd been through something similar, that it'd all work out. Indeed it did and I'm okay now.

Kari and I have been through a lot together and, from writer's conferences to personal tragedies, we've never wavered in our friendship. While she lives in a different city than me, the distance has not changed the friendship. That's the essence of writer friends. We're always there for one another through emails, even when we can't spend time together in person.

Similarly, my lovely friend Cindy, inspires me with how much she writes and how fast she turns out stories. She has no end to her creativity. It's amazing. She reminds me how great life can be when you let your creativity flow. She's also one of the kindest, most caring people I've ever had the honor of being in contact with. Whether we ever meet in person or not, I know I have a true friend in her. Thanks for that, Cin. :)

Friendships should enhance your life, make it better. I've known people who have toxic friends and it's tragic that these toxic people are given are much value as a good friend. None of that for me, thank you. I hope none of that for you either. While life happens, I hope you maintain a circle of friends around you that supports you in your pursuit of dreams and lends you their strength when you need it.

Everyone deserves one good friend. I'm lucky enough to have two.

Thanks Cin for this opportunity to share what's been in my heart very strongly. Sometimes, we just don't say it enough how much it matters to have friends that understand, support, and commiserate on what it is to be a writer. The act of writing may be a solitary undertaking, but writer friends make being a writer the best profession in the world.

Happy Reading,

Mary Corrales

Mary Corrales is a multi-published romance author who writes in several genres. 

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Many thanks to Mary for being a part of my post today. I think, in this day of being to meet people all over the world through our various internet ways, that many of you out there can relate to this topic in that I know I 'm not the only one who has become good friends with people I've never met in person. It doesn't seem to lesson the bond. You're friends or your not and with Mary, there's no doubt that we're friends.

Until next time,

Find your love, and share it with me! 

Thanks for stopping by,

Cin