Write Lightning is a blog from writer Deb Thompson.
Everyone is welcome here.
(Some links or topics may not be completely kid-appropriate.)
Everyone is welcome here.
(Some links or topics may not be completely kid-appropriate.)
Wed, Sep 24 2014
Fluttering leaves and falling words
Autumn is the season I would skip if given half a chance. Once winter arrives, there is the forward looking to spring. Once spring arrives, there is still the warmth and cheering sun for months to come. But fall arrives with limited days that seem to become even shorter once we go off Daylight Saving Time. In colder climates, leaves deliver a brief burst of color, but then wither and dry into brown bits of last rites. We drag on layers of clothing and we char marshmallows to warm our joints a bit, but we know that winter is not far behind with its frozen-fingered grip reaching for our wobbly, human ankles.
Writing also seems to come in seasons, flowing like a clear mountain stream or choking up with uneven ooze that barely feels like language at all. I suppose that the trick is to mix seasons and metaphors so that bright words help lift us up to the task at hand. And those dead-leaf landings should make us reach deeply into the pockets of our despair and pull out words full of autumn's bronzes, coppers and golds. We keep our head down while working. When we finally do look up, it's already Christmas morning and we're racing toward a New Year.
I'm really trying to make friends with fall, but I have much more fun reaching for a red Santa hat and a big candy cane than a brown pilgrim hat with a big buckle. And I won't even get into the sad fate awaiting turkeys at on Thanksgiving Day.
posted at: 15:21 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry
Autumn is the season I would skip if given half a chance. Once winter arrives, there is the forward looking to spring. Once spring arrives, there is still the warmth and cheering sun for months to come. But fall arrives with limited days that seem to become even shorter once we go off Daylight Saving Time. In colder climates, leaves deliver a brief burst of color, but then wither and dry into brown bits of last rites. We drag on layers of clothing and we char marshmallows to warm our joints a bit, but we know that winter is not far behind with its frozen-fingered grip reaching for our wobbly, human ankles.
Writing also seems to come in seasons, flowing like a clear mountain stream or choking up with uneven ooze that barely feels like language at all. I suppose that the trick is to mix seasons and metaphors so that bright words help lift us up to the task at hand. And those dead-leaf landings should make us reach deeply into the pockets of our despair and pull out words full of autumn's bronzes, coppers and golds. We keep our head down while working. When we finally do look up, it's already Christmas morning and we're racing toward a New Year.
I'm really trying to make friends with fall, but I have much more fun reaching for a red Santa hat and a big candy cane than a brown pilgrim hat with a big buckle. And I won't even get into the sad fate awaiting turkeys at on Thanksgiving Day.
posted at: 15:21 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry
