Inspiration

/ still a dreamer

Where do we get our inspiration? How is it affected by our moods?  Though not the case today, once was a time when the sadder and more tragic my life was, the more I wrote. To this day, I’d say some of my best poetry came from a sad place.

But why not joy? Why not both? Why not the endless mysteries of life? I find my inspiration to write and draw comes from such a myriad of places … searching for a fall image in my clip art or on iStock, I find myself momentarily lost in the soft, misty photos of autumn trees and roads, and I know down that road lies a story. And I can tell you it’s a wistful one.

Looking at a wmv file of dolphins creating their own rings underwater and then playing with and bursting them with their noses, I see a tale of wonder. I know there’s a story of swimming with them, to really be among them, and share moments of our intertwined lives and ancient histories. It might first be a tale of wonder, then of empathy and joy and lightness. In shimmering, watery blues.

While I work at the computer, I listen to the radio through iTunes. I’ve rediscovered one of my very favorite music genres on FolkAlley.com.  I’m once again entranced by the simplicity of folk music, and struck by the endless stories complemented by six and twelve string guitar. The music takes me back to another time when feelings were alternately bright and shiny, rich and deep, overwhelming and frightening – living away from home for the first time and in New York City. I’m at home with folk music. While connecting me to the past, it remains contemporary. The stories it tells bring me images for illustrations and I’m dreaming in rhythm.

Some days I feel myself a portal for infinite possibilities … inspiration everywhere. How about you?

Quote from Emerson

/ still a dreamer

“The misery of man appears like childish petulance, when we explore the steady and prodigal provision that has been made for his support and delight on this green ball which floats him through the heavens.”

– Ralph Waldo Emerson, from Nature

One Little Piggy …

/ still a dreamer

It struck me, as I looked through the many shots I’ve taken with my digital camera, how many I’ve taken of late for “a reason” and how few just for the joy. Even this shot of a wonderful bronze-like piggy that I purchased from a local craftsperson for an amazing price was taken to show someone else. Yet I enjoy that I’ve captured the pig in this photo.

I’m pondering this as I look at the most likely end to an incident that happened to me about 2 weeks ago. I was struck by a Toyota Sequoia shortly after I, a pedestrian, had entered the crosswalk. It took a lot of energy out of me, and of course, tending to believe, as we often do, that I’m invincible, I am also upset and frustrated that I can’t quite move on with my life as planned. Two weeks later, I’m healing rather well, and realizing how much worse it could have been. So despite bills that will be coming my way, and aways to go before several of the injuries will be resolved, I’m still much happier being less scathed.

Then I noticed that I just exhaled. The worst is over. And for whatever that means, it does mean this – I can get on with the part of my life that was suspended in mid-air, the most creative part. I have not felt like journaling; I have not drawn so much as a stick; and have not been working on my children’s books. Who felt like it? Who knew how this would all go? Now I know, and I’ll be picking up and moving on. I hadn’t expected that the most, and perhaps least obvious, area of my life to be affected would be my creativity. Somewhere in the physical pain, discomfort, disbelief at my fate, sadness, anxiety and all that went along with it, creativity just got snuffed out.

So I’m re-igniting the pilot light. I’m looking at this little bronze-like pig that appears to be smiling when I look at her. Yeah – I believe I’m back.

Reading Feeds Writing- Joseph Pullman

/ still a dreamer

As a constant reader, I am aware of how reading enriches me in so many ways. But by reading books in the field for which I’m writing, I am doubly enriched as the story, style, and imagery of another writer fuels my imagination and even helps in problem solving. This may sound like the obvious, but I’ll give a concrete example of how reading feeds writing.

I just finished Joseph Pullman’s “His Dark Materials”. What a fabulous trilogy and a great read for anyone who has a bent for fantasy. Written for young adults, the series is incredibly complex with multiple sub-plots, not to mention layers of meaning. But my point is this.

I’m working on a children’s picture book manuscript which features both children and small forest-dwellers, (fairies, elves, gnomes). It was important that I make a clear differentiation between the children and the fairy folk and make the latter’s names consistent with each other so young readers wouldn’t be confused. While I was pondering this, I reflected on how well Joseph Pullman had done it.

The Gallivespians’ names were always preceded by Lord or Lady; the bears always had two names, such as Iorek Byrnison and had a Nordic feel to them; the witches, all women, also had first and last names, as in Serafina Pekkala; the Gyptians often had names that seemed to go together like Lord Faa or Farder Coram; the mulefas, (and why that was always italicized, I don’t know), had names that just fit with their species, such as Atala.

There was never any question which type of character you were reading about, and it was in thinking about how well Pullman had accomplished this that I resolved my dilemma. Now my children are clearly children, and my little forest-dwellers are clearly little forest-dwellers. Voila – how much better it reads!

Chimney Swifts Grace A Dusky Sky

/ still a dreamer

Chimney Swifts Flying Overhead

Chimney Swifts Flying Overhead

Each evening in the summer, before the crickets and frogs begin their serenades, there is a loud chittering outside, a beckoning to come see the sky. The light fades and in increasing numbers, small birds dart about in the approaching dusk. Their rapid wing movement nearly mimics that of a bat, but as I watch, I note their too-slender bodies and elegant lines. They circle overhead, first in sight everywhere, then seeming to disappear. They return to recklessly swoop in random patterns, now close, now hundreds of feet overhead, criss-crossing the sky in repetitions.

They are Chimney Swifts, small birds that live inside uncapped chimneys and open vertical structures. Practically swarming the sky, they bring Alfred Hitchcock to mind. I’ve learned a family of five Chimney Swifts eats 12,000 small insects per evening, mosquitos, gnats, no-see-ums, all the ones that quietly bite and torment. The suspense is clearly for small flying creatures, not me. The birds also migrate 6,000 miles every year, in pursuit of their meals.

I’d never seen Chimney Swifts until I lived in this part of the state, and never so many `til I moved to this location, just a few houses from the Delaware River. The dining by the river must be nothing short of gourmet for the Chimney Swifts.

Swifts Eating on the Fly

Swifts Eating on the Fly

I stand on my back porch, lean on the railing. The sky deepens and I watch in amazement, perhaps for 20 minutes. I am mesmerized by these flickering shadows on a blue-grey canvas. I am happy to be a part of their evening repast, if only as a bystander.

Photographing them with a digital flash cannot do them justice, but do click on the photos to get an idea of what I see. For more information on Chimney Swifts, check out their own web site, chimneyswifts.org or the HSUS Chimney Swift info page.