I love this show.
I love this show.
Hahaha I think this is a great idea! It definitely sparks a prompt! Affirmation post coming up! -OM
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I suffer from the same crippling self-doubt most writers do. I can, also, find myself falling into a complaining vortex. I have toyed with the idea of affirmations, of getting up early and looking at myself in the mirror, and saying, “Erich, you are a writer with a story to share that people will want to read!” And, I’ll rewire my brain and quickly ascend the world of the literati. Anyway…I could never do it consistently. Soooo, I used the calendar app on my iPhone and created events throughout my day–reminders of how good life really is and how I am meant to write. I read the event when it pops up, I whisper it aloud to myself and I smile.
Here’s to a better me! If you like the idea, of course feel free to do the same, but let me know how it goes or what types of…
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Where is inspiration found. We think as we seek it in the night and day. Chasing periods for a hidden thought, finding a hidden thought where there is none. Drawing motivation from the unmotivated as they use their talent in a halfass way.
Do we seek inspiration or does inspiration find us. I ponder this even as I find my answer. She walks beside me and in front of her is a shopping cart with the Target logo on it. We don’t talk for several minutes, but at some point our pace becomes the same. Our walk of life is the same. Two different souls, probably with different stories… I don’t know. But what impresses me the most is that I feel a soul walking by me when in a normal day I pass a hundred shadows attached to bodies I easily forget. It is so rare to find something that touches me anymore in this layered world of artificial pleasures. Our bodies forget what true feeling really feels like.
“Going anywhere special?” I ask her daring to break the silence that may have secured our companionship for the moment. Had I broken it? But I have to know. She has such a look of determination and hope on her face that it almost baffles me. Ok, it does baffle me. Weren’t the homeless supposed to be distraught and depressed? Was there an answer here that she held that I might need to find a different type of happiness in life?
“Forward. Always forward. Never back,” she responds as if she has said those words a million times. It tickles my mind. And with each step a new letter begins to make sense. By the second word I know she has given me a gift. When I turn to thank her she is gone. I look behind me quickly, to the right, and left. Hell I even look up… Nope. Nowhere. She has vanished, but the thought she has given me has not. The inspiration of a moment that was meant to bless a page. And so it has.
Jason C. Cushman
“She says she wants to shine a light into the darkness,” but thinks a blog will not accomplish the deed. Does she not realize that with every eye that looks upon her words, a heart might possibly be softened? A mind might be altered slightly? The power to share, to care, and to allow ourselves to affect others… “affect” because we are indeed changing them. It is a scary thought for some and this is not some super power we speak of. It is the power to care and that is a very human quality. That is a character trait that should never be overlooked and instead should be embraced.
A borderless world is social media. This land that we stand in now, these people of all colors and no color at all, their personalities created on fonts called Calibri and Times New Roman. And yet we know them as we do a character from a story we love to reread in the night. These connections are real, as much as some may scoff at silly chains of necessary friendship. These men adorn themselves with lofty titles of “Opinionated Man.” Ignore the wind, it is only the wind from America.
If you want to paint then paint. But if you want to change the world of others then paint the sun. Alter not only their perception, but their reality as well. Do this with pen, brush, keyboard, or word but do it because you do have the power. You have the power to care.
I never knew my writing hand could feel like this. So heavy, so lifeless… how it has seemed to have died. I don’t see beautiful word strings anymore in my mind. I simply see broken letters that wished to be a part of something larger. It is not inspiration or motivation that has fallen the will for me to write. I think only sadness can cause your mind to shut off and to just stop. How quiet the quiet is when the quiet has never been known. But I know it now. I know it better than the beating of my heart since I no longer feel that rhythm inside me. Instead a placid lake without thought has settled inside of my head and all I can do is reflect on the image of me that I see from it.