Somerled Writes

Creative Laryngitis

Somerled — Sat, 14 Aug 2010 10:27:50 +0000

Over the past three months I had lost my voice. Unable to create anything which I thought had an inkling of worth. I would stumble about with words, and lines… toying with them as a child does food they dislike.
I wondered why I disliked it in the first place. Then I realized, in order for creation to manifest I must allow myself to speak and to say whatever I so choose. Regardless of if it is offensive to anyone, it is my voice. No one else can claim it, or speak it.
I also have come to realize that inspiration comes from many sources. Reading, and exercising that creative tissue is a form of building a muscle, if you will… Without these components thrown into a regimen, it is likely that atrophy will occur and thus overtake the writer, leaving them in a state of sadness and anxiety. In any case I am glad to say that I am on the road to recovery with my personal regimen and am looking forward to speaking my voice, and letting it be heard, regardless of outcome.

Getting Lost Again

Somerled — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 07:44:51 +0000

I remember this feeling. The one I left behind in Seattle. This was my cure for the wanderlust I encountered during the rift and breaking heart-flesh that comes from divorce. I was able to step into the crowd, or the woods… and lose myself within the trees or city life. I have been trying to figure out why I get so damned frustrated at times… why I seem to be so apt to become short, and disenchanted with my life… the truth is I cannot get lost anymore. There is something to be said about being someone to people… something dreadful and wonderful. Wonderful because you are something to them. Even one person. Dreadful because it confines you to being… you cannot lose yourself in the world anymore. The days of being tatterdemalion are gone. Still, at night I lay awake, and remember it. That feeling of stepping out, into the crisp, damp air. Inhaling one time, and then exhaling; losing identity, if even for a few moments. Perhaps I should enjoy this new life of being found, and safe in the hearts of those who love me, and whom I love; still there is something about being lost that appeals, in the quiet… in the dark…

Home is where the migraine is!

Somerled — Sun, 16 May 2010 23:31:54 +0000

So, with the housing market at a dead stop… or at least in the throes of some slow curing aliment; we have decided to take a look at our options. Renting is not fun when you consider that we could own for less than our rent. Tomorrow I speak with a man concerning a property, and I am nervous! I try to delve into my feelings and figure out why I am so shaken up. This company works with all types of situations… they are experts at placing people in a home. Something gets me though about the man I spoke to about the property of which we are inquiring. He seemed to gruff up at the answers I gave to his questions regarding our intent and such. That being said, I am a wreck of stress right now. And I do believe it is because I am psyching myself out, and not trusting. So many variables…. Will the terms be reasonable? What of the down payment? Is the monthly payment reasonable… can we do it. We like this house very much. Lovely home. Perfect for a young family. Maybe I doubt myself? Perhaps I think I am not worth it? Or unable to believe I deserve this after being told for so long that I should do X and not Y… I just want tomorrow to go well, to let the fear give way to confidence and hear good news… news that would rest my heart, and calm my fears. Well. More later my friends. Goodnight.

Do You Have The Time?

Somerled — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 13:09:49 +0000

So, life will throw something your way when you least expect it. Things will snag, tear, and bind you to a situation to which you have had no previous inclination to hold to. What am I trying to convey? Time. In the most simplistic form, a day is broken into groups of minutes, hours… time is a constantly flowing stream of loss, and yet, a strange gain comes from it. For the trade of a day, we are supposed to become wiser, at least that’s what I have been taught. I sit at a car repair shop awaiting news concerning my car. Instead of watching the television, I am writing. I say this because I am a reformed procrastinator. It will take those binding circumstances to lead me to a place where I am forced into doing that which I love. Quite a paradox, I love creating; I also put off that which I love. So is my muse being fickle, or am I the one being coy. The truth is, there is no secret formula, no magical book, not a concoction powerful enough to make you complete that which you are compelled to do. It is a shame to look back on the time wasted and think how much of it was used to things which took you further from your goal when you thought they were stepping stones. Now that you have uncovered the true meaning of those stumbling blocks, what to do? Move on. Go forward. Be that which you are, deny that which you are not, and journey into the land promised to you.

Reading time!

Somerled — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 18:02:17 +0000

So, quite a lot has happened to throw a wrech in my plan to blog daily… however, I have now pulled the monkey from my back, and am happy to say that I am here.
I guess I feel as though I had nothing important to say, or perhaps that I was too new with writing, yet every career and passion has a beginning and though I have written for a while, I was given a chance to shine recently.

My work is featured in the colligate journal “Imprints” distributed by Central Florida Community College.

I am including the work here and in the “My Work” section as well.

I was given the esteemed honor of reading it before an audience on the 18th of April, 2010.

The staff of he journal were very kind, and Dr. Cassandra Robison was so very proud and had much to say about it. I suppose I didn’t think I was truly good enough. Is that true of all my fellow writers? Do you feel that way? The burden of becoming good enough to yourself, proving to your inner critic that you ARE a talented writer, pressing in upon you?

I have decided to place work to be considered for journals around the nation. If I am rejected, so what? I will never know unless I try. The battles we fight cannot be won unless we take up arms. We must remember that we cater to ourselves and the world. Writing is a gift and used correctly will help a reader to see an angle, hear a tone, or perceive a different thought entirely different than when they first picked the work from the shelf.
We are the ones who control words. As a vine is guided around the fence, so should we guide our words around the page so that they affect the reader in a way which leaves them in a state to which they thought entirely impossible. Wether that is breathless, or full of words; our gift guides them, and therefore, we should take note to be careful with this craft. An ill word written is as bitter as poison and twice as deadly at times.

And with all these words, I leave you with my poem. Read and praised; and accepted by my heart.

“The Old Spirit”

18 years aged. should I take
my time. with your radiant recumbent nature?
I am hasty tonight. so, dearest
I. devour you. only to have your
amber glow, overtake me.
Damn you. Damn you.
Damn me for taking you
from your lofty home.
I would give the liver I sacrifice to
see you back there. There, there.
I didn’t mean that. Tomorrow brings
the singing of birds. Tonight ringing is all
I will hear, until your wiles overtake me
completely, and I drop. Beside her.
the one who dared to loved a Scotsman.

An Honored Experience

The First One

Somerled — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 22:23:18 +0000

I have been told that cold weather has affected most of the NE part fo our dear land. And I hope that everyone is staying as warm as possible. Here we are fine. In fact I am doing rather well. This is a new thing, blogging. At least for me. I am looking forward to sharing a bit of my work, and life with you during my time here in cyberspace! Take care, and until next time, Be good to one another.

Somerled