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    Mondays ~
    Tuesdays ~ Snarky
    Wednesdays ~ Dreamer
    Thursdays ~ Naughty
    Fridays ~ Dreary
    Saturdays ~
    Sundays ~

    Whenever ~ Smokey, Mighty, Eerie and Wicked

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Standing in my own way…..

Writing. Something I’ve done very little of, over the past year or so. I could blame the circumstances. I could blame the weather. Hell, I could even find a way to blame you. What did you do? Nothing. Except, somehow you found a way to write, to express your creativity in ways I could not. So whether it be jealousy or envy, I sometimes wish I was sitting in a different chair, in a different house—writing feverishly, writing with reckless abandon. Writing because I can’t stop. Writing because the passion inside refuses to be quieted or stopped. Writing because….”not writing” would mean certain death.

I miss this type of writing. I haven’t experienced it for some time now. And I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever find it again.

My writing needs a shot of steroids, to pump it up. Ya know? My words would be bigger, my sentences longer, my plots thicker. It’s a win-win. What I don’t want is the shrinkage that inevitably follows using such a harsh chemical stimulant. There’s nothing worse than small, insignificant words and sagging sentences.

Okay, so maybe a natural, muse-wooing supplement would work better. Perhaps she’d go for a chewable, dinosaur-shaped multi-vitamin. Or a healthy shot of B-12. Does she like fresh fruit? Maybe some tea? Or is she more of a martini-straight-up, no-olive kind of girl? I just don’t know.

Blah, blah…blah. This is when I realize the real problem. This is the moment I can’t stand to look at.

Me. I’m standing in my own way, often in a pile of poo the size of a kiddie pool, surrounded by the smell of my own failures. There I am, focusing on everything that’s going wrong, unable to see what’s going right. “There’s so much shit!” I say. Well, of course there is. How can anyone see anything else if they’re standing knee-high in a bunch of crap? It requires stepping outside of the poo pool, taking a hot, soapy shower and reassessing the situation.

So, I do. Then I march back out to the pool, wet hair wrapped in a towel, and look at my creation. Guess what? The kiddie pool is full of clean water, the breeze creating small ripples on the surface. I look around, my eyes searching for poo. It’s then I realize…if I keep looking for it, I will always find it. Poo is not hard to come by. Poo is ready to make a mess of me anytime I allow it. Poo is not my friend.

I stop. I stare into the crystal water of the pool and imagine what it all means. And it hits me…an idea, born in the middle of the pool and rippling from side to side, testing its boundaries, but allowing the wind to move and change its direction. I am the rippling water. I’m clear, if I choose to be. I’m changeable and movable, if I allow it. I am full of possibilities. I can water an idea or pile it with poo—it’s really up to me.

The moment I choose water, my muse shows up like a genie appearing from an invisible lamp and says, “It’s about time.”

And I can’t help the poo-tear running down my cheek as I say, “Yes it is.”

Sunny G

Leave a comment


  1. Sunny, my love, fear not the poo, sometimes it’s necessary to trudge through the disgusting mess just to enjoy the fragrant free air at the end of the tunnel. I’m heading your way with a rescue team, we’ll help drag you out, wipe off the stink and get your feet back under you. How could we not? You’ve done it for us numerous times! We’ll even keep Eerie’s Zombie pets back for some breathing room! So, go…let your red cape flap defiantly in the wind, lock the patio door so those pesky fiends don’t bother you and let your pen fly.
    We love you!

  2. My muse has offered to come over with his precious truck and drag you from the pile of poo. I’m not sure he’d do that for me, but that’s me projecting on him. What I really wanted to say is what you did here IS WRITING! When everything else seems to have left and my muse is out getting drunk with Wicked’s muse; I have held on to our blog. Sometimes it is all the new writing I do. But it sustains me until my muse dries out or Snarky threatens me with real bodily injury. You hang on to what you can and we’ll hang on to you. We won’t let go, and collectively we can do things impossible for one of us to do alone.

  3. Gabrielle Taylor

     /  May 17, 2011

    You guys are awesome. Thanks for all the love. 🙂


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