Without the hard we stay too soft, and heaven is reduced to myths like life. Theology aside, it’s plain to see that God forbids we get too comfortable.
Chila WoychikTags: writing theology myths comfort comfortable
I am Frustration. I am Memory-Lost. Sometimes I read a line a dozen times before it sticks. My creative force has slipped. I type slower, speak slower, think at a snail’s pace. I’m Life shapeshifted by Post Traumatic Stress, bastardized by Fate.
Chila WoychikTags: writing fate post-traumatic-stress-disorder post-traumatic-stress creative-losses
I see an actress smoking a cigarette in an old Fred McMurray movie. She’s clever and beautiful and manipulative. I feel envy. I suddenly wish I smoked cigarettes and was as clever and beautiful and manipulative as she. I want to be that way at the restaurants I visit, as I’m walking to my car, with certain friends who might understand.
The actress has played her part well; she’s made me want to emulate her base desires if only for a while. Does that make me impressionable, a fool, or someone who will recognize the deepest secrets of her heart?
I fight hard to stay young—to keep the lines from further etching my face and hands and breasts, presumably to trick the world into believing I am young.
I’m an actress playing a part. I’m afraid to tell the truth. I fear losing those younger or becoming those older. In the presence of youth, a sort of unseen age-osmosis occurs within me. The years drop away and I don’t want to leave. It’s utterly selfish but I don’t care. After all, I’m no older than they—I’ve just been so longer. I was nineteen only yesterday and they don’t retire nineteen-year-old actresses.
Tags: writing beauty acting aging rats cognitive-dissonance
The tides wash up the Pearl of Great Price; I see it clearly. There it is: the secret so secret that even Indiana Jones has yet to discover it. But it’s mine.
It’s a style pointer, a favorite agent, a best avenue for publication. It’s a sure-fire fire-starter, a league of extraordinary information.
Shall we gather at the river and share? No. I found it. It’s mine!
Tags: writing rats writing-secrets literary-agent pearl-of-great-price
I suck the words word-dry
to me, assimilated
orderly at breakeye speed
still hard and harder
softer then
line-lined book-dry
‘til not a drop
of water-blood
from oak and elm
and authored men
is left to whisper
“Read…
Tags: reading writing creativity writing-life writing-process on-being-a-rat poetry-about-writing
When reading a book, one hopes it doesn’t turn into a painful process. Predictable is bad enough. Laborious is acceptable if the labor produces fruit. But with painfully bad writing, all one can do is grab a hatchet, slice off its head, and bury it.
Chila WoychikTags: writing creativity writing-life bad-writing on-being-a-rat
If a book can save—redeem us from the mediocrity of the mundane—surely, there must be a God.
Chila WoychikTags: reading books writing writing-life reading-for-life on-being-a-rat wonder-of-books
The setting sun threatened to consume me—it could have, you know. It would have been a beautiful death with an honorable eulogy: slain by a magnificent slice of piercing orange energy. I simply turned and walked away; I would live another day.
Chila WoychikTags: writing nature sun writing-process on-being-a-rat death-by-sun rural-living
I’ve never had a rat, never chased one. I chase my own tail and that’s enough. I must now make plans for the day I catch it.
Chila WoychikTags: writing metaphor rats metaphorical
At least I could relate to Rose’s sense of adventure and Harriet Jones’ wacky determination and ingrained sense of responsibility. I can stomach the Tardis when my heroines are in place.
Chila WoychikTags: writing rats doctor-who rose-tyler tardis harriet-jones
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