Tag Archives: imagery

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S is for Self-Awareness

500 Words On….Self-Awareness.

I wonder, sometimes, if there is a bottom – or, maybe, a core –  to me, or anyone. That might be more apt.

I keep reaching more deeply into myself, unraveling the mystery threads that have been woven into the fabric of my life and my psyche.

And, the further and deeper I go, the more I find, and the deeper the depths I sense, stretching into places so deep that they  seem as though they  aren’t within me, but instead are the stuff of the universe….the echoes, maybe, of the star stuff that makes up everything in our world.

I like thinking that I am made of star stuff, that we are all universal and interwoven with each other.

Or, as my friend Tanya said today, there is even a certain harmony in our disharmonies, in the times and ways that we simply cannot get along with one another.

I am always what I live, in one sense or another, and I change according to what I experience in every moment, and how I process those happenings.

And yet, self-awareness tends to be seen as something people have, in the same way that some people think that happiness and peace are commodities.

The more deeply I go, learning myself, the more certain I am that I will never get to the deepest parts of me, because, as I learn myself, I am still living and growing and changing.

I am always changing – even when it seems that everything in my life is static and unchanging…..in those time, when I drift or rush through my life in a kind of trance of unfeeling or to-do lists and obligations and schedules.

I think that, in those times, I am building  a thicker and thicker shell around myself, and reducing the amount of space  my soul  exists in.

When I  live this way for too long, maybe it becomes nearly impossible for anyone – even me – to find a way though it to the flow of life and self that is still there, somewhere, deep inside, choked and nearly rescued to a trickle…..

We are all interwoven, and a choked-off flow in any of us affects us all.

If the choked off places are within me, I can move along the threads until I find the place that is twisted and tangled, and begin, carefully and tenderly, to learn the shape and contours of the knot, to test the strength of the thread, and to figure out whether to weave back through the flawed place, eventually setting it to rights; whether it would be better to cut the offending place out, and repair the rupture with a patch I may weave more tightly over time; or whether there is nothing to be done but to live with a snag in my soul, because, at least for now, there is nothing else I can do, but to be aware of it and wary of causing it further danger.

What do you do about the snags in your own soul? Are you aware of them? Have you effected repairs? If so, how well did it work, or is it an ongoing process?

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R is for Resistance

500 Words On….Resistance.

Resistance is futile. You WILL be assimilated.

So goes the threat, warning, or merely informational greeting (depending on your viewpoint upon hearing it, I suppose) of the Borg.

The Borg have no sense of humor, and they don’t bluff. If they say you will be assimilated – well, it’ll take a lot of fight to prove them wrong.

I’ve been known to be pretty good at resisting. I think that can be said of most of us who are looked upon by others, and maybe even ourselves, as stubborn.

It can be a good thing, to resist, if I am resisting an impulse that leads to harm for someone.

Other times, though, resistance is not only futile, but actually self-destructive.

Some things simply are, and cannot be changed. As much as I wish it might be otherwise, Elijah died. As much as I might wish it to be otherwise, Jim was involved in a serious, life-threatening motorcycle accident a little less than two months ago, and, whether I or he or anyone else resists it, the lingering repercussions will be a part of our lives for quite some time to come.

As much as I might wish it to be otherwise, I cannot have peaceable relationships with certain of my family members, despite having spent the maority of my life resisting that knowledge – knowledge that I suspected long before I allowed myself to fully and consciously accept the fact of it.

Until then, I resisted. I capitulated. I apologized for wrongs I did not feel I had committed, accepted the responsibility of atoning for crimes that were of far lesser magnitude than those they  inflicted upon me. I allowed those who disregarded my well-being, who hurt me intentionally as a way to feel better about themselves or to punish me, do so with impunity.

More than once, I returned to the strongholds (in our family, the homes) of those who had physically, emotionally, and verbally abused me.

Once there, I watched my every step, every word, every action, knowing without doubt that I was being constantly watched and assessed. Those who assessed might appear sweet and friendly, or aloof and disinterested, or anywhere in between.

But I knew that, if their moods shifted, there would be another attack.

And still, I resisted, acquiesced, tried to get along despite knowing that, sooner or later, there would be rage, pain, and suffering. I resisted because I needed to be loved just for myself, as myself, even when I screwed up.

Always, I believed that I was somehow to blame for the rage and ugliness of those moments – until the day that two of my siblings spent 18 hours in a torrent of ugly and sometimes slanderous comments on my Facebook wall, because I had posted a general comment that they took objection too.

I had been away from my computer for the first 12 hours or so, and had contributed nothing, and yet the attacks went on and on….

From that point, I began to release my resistance. The thing is, when something is not right in my world, energy will be required to set things right. If I give some of my energy to resisting the facts, I have thrown that energy away, making the problem larger.

Resistance is futile.

I’ve stopped resisting the family dynamic – nor do I tolerate abuse. I simply accept each family member as they are – and avoid any private interactions with those who may become abusive.

Not perfect, maybe – but far more peaceful than resisting truth.  I have been assimilated, and that is healing.

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“Watersdeep’s Edge” – A Storyteller’s Writing Challenge

The Storyteller Writing Challenge

Are you a Storyteller? What inspires you?
What stirs you to pick up your pen, open your word doc. and write?

I offer TWO prompts for you to CHOOSE from:

 An Image prompt and an Other prompt. 

1. THE Image PROMPT:

Source within the picture.
For this weeks image prompt, tell us what is evoked by this image.
Where is it? What story tumbles from your imagination?
What is she doing? Who is she?

You decide.
—————————————–

“Watersdeep’s Edge” - copyright 2012 by Shan Jeniah Burton

The stench of the pyres – for her son, her sire, and so many beloved others, caused her to retch each time she was minded of them, seared her each moment she left herself unguarded.

They twisted into the burning of her chosen Solemate, lost now to her, somewhere in the vastness of Everdeep.

To him, now, she was only madness…

She was stirring the huge stewpot, in Osiraan’s greatroom, bursting with a jumbled mass of Tribed and untribed, – so many faces blank, such a stench of burning and pain.

Shinjao took the ladle from her hand, and added stew to the handful of herbs in a wooden bowl. .

“Eat, Huntleader.”

She shook her head, trying to hide the dizziness. “Others have greater need.”

“You are three days past birthing, Huntleader. You ARE Huntleader, and Kai, and needed. If you don’t eat, I will sit on you and force you.”

She offered the bowl, but Jeniah didn’t move.

Shinjao drove her down and away from the cookfire – thick furs beneath her; Shinjao’s weight above. The spoon forced past her lips,and she spluttered, then swallowed.

The stew was laced with arytana nectar, and piqued her hunger. She allowed Shinjao to feed her, taking the spoon greedily, and the other woman chuckled. “You are a fine Huntress. There is more than enough. Of stew, time, support, and sleep….”

The words were like new fog. “Sleep?” She recognized the subtler taste of nightbalm, and knew she had been fooled….”No – the fires….”

“Will be there until you find healing. Sleep, dream – and begin to heal.”

~~She was standing on a rocky promontory, waves reaching almost to her shod toes. The seabirds cried raucously, tossed and wheeling in the stiff wind.

 

The reeky,  fertile scent of Watersdeep filled her nostrils, scrubbing away the char of death…

 

She was in garb more useless than any Mother would have demanded she wear, even when she most wanted to impress her Court. One of those new contrivances meant to keep rain off was in her right hand….and, in her left, the cast iron keys to the Kai’s Courtyard- Hallii’s killing grounds.

 

Grief constricted her soul; tighter than the laces that entrapped breath. She was apart from all of life, bereft. Liacivaar dead; Tacivaar – so many others.

 

All pointless… the damage Kaitiiraan and Tacivaar had birthed.

 

What profit had it been? Mother had poisoned her, and lost her throat…. Jeniah could still taste her blood, curdling, and she retched, gasping for what air she could draw into her compressed lungs.

 

Her breasts throbbed, and her milk let down suddenly, soaking the bodice of the dress, meant for the child who would never suckle. Her womb clenched, its emptiness tearing into her soul.

 

Tacivaar  had asked, cajoled, manipulated, and finally forced her to conceive his Truestborn.

 

It had taken longer for the old Huntleader’s machinations to kill him, but they had, as surely as Mother’s.

 

And my child, too – “Liacivaar,” she cried, to Everdeep, to Watersdeep…..

 

She yearned for her child, for her Chosen.

 

The wind whipped the long, spray-damped skirts; hobbled her legs.

 

All gone – freedom, Huntleader, child, sire, lover – all gone with nothing left but duty she hadn’t chosen, and did not want.

 

She felt something welling up from her depths, and she did nothing to stop its coming. “Sima garo provides…”

 

The screaming arched her back, drew her tight against the bones and lacings. She set her legs wide despite the layers of sodden cloth and ill-suited shoes. The seabirds cried answer.

 

Huntlust broke loose, and her arms swung out. The keys vanished beneath the breaking waves; the umbrella bobbed wildly, attracting the birds.

 

She clawed and tore away the clothing, until she stood naked on the wet rock, at last only herself, and nothing other.

 

And then she dove, sobbing, into the sea, letting the salty waters close over her.~~

“You will be fine, now, sisterkin,” Shinjao whispered, as she crawled into the furs to stroke Niah’s quaking back. “You have found your tears, and can cleanse now for healing.”

OR

2.THE Other PROMPT

TIMED WORD ASSOCIATION: Heat, Car, Longing.
Write whatever springs to mind from these three words, in 3 minutes:
No cheating or editing! Lets see what happens.
—————————————–

We are parked at the drive-in, a movie neither of us wanted to see, at least not really, blurred through the heat-fogged car windows.

Heedless of nothing but longing, not even the treacherous gear-shift, we do not realize we’ve dislodged the  shifter –  until we hit the police car parked behind us…..and we’re still tangled in our clothes as he approaches, his light a neon sign of our shame –  and then my elbow hits the car alarm button on my keys, as though to seal the legendary nature of our dalliance.

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P is for Playfulness

500 Words On….Playfulness.

Flying play on a giant jumping pillow, fall 2011.

 

This morning Annalise came to us, playing a game of “Filly Needs to Cross the Raging Rivers to Get to Her Mommy!” All of Annalise’s games involve exclamation points – she is a passionate soul.

The game began at about 1pm on a Monday – most children Annalise’s age are in school at that hour, following a schedule built around  curriculum and lesson plans, and with little room for individual passions.

 

 

 

Learning play with stuffed intestines, Journey Through the Body, spring 2011.

 

She was the filly who had made it across the Raging Rivers to me,  with two very wet legs that troubled her until I, her mommy, licked them dry (no, not really!), We had a nickering and nuzzling session together as we celebrated her victorious conquest of the powerful waters.

 

 

 

 

 

Just then,  a mountain lion appeared!

Pattern and magnet play, artfully explored. 2010ish, I think, by Annalise, then about 5.

I assured her we were okay, as I happened to be a were- mountain lion.  I roared fiercely to warn the stalking predator, and Lise discovered that she was  a were-lynx kitten who began with a tough little meow and then found her roar, too, until we frightened the marauder away with our sheer power!

Tthe play morphed into a snuggle,  and I read her the remaining four stories in her Mad About Madeline book (“Madeline’s Rescue”; “Madeline and the Gypsies”; “Madeline in London”, and “Madeline’s Christmas”).

Butterfly play - antennae self-created from giant pipe cleaners, spring 2011, age 6.5.

She wanted the written for adults notes, Introduction, and the Origins of Madeline read in their entirety, too…

…Which evolved into a tickling and giggling session that lasted for about 10 minutes before we both went on to do other things, filled up with happy companionship and unbounded energy…..

I believe today’s fun stemmed from her play with Crayola Paint’n'Play Ponies , where she loves to color, name, and decorate a whole herd of mares and their little fillies, narrating their stories as she creates.

Sudsy "salon" play, summer 2011, age 7.

 

When I think of how  school as it  currently exists  might fairly easily be changed to accommodate the types and methods of learning that suit children best, my mind turns  to play.

Children learn best through play – and so do adults.

But not the “play” we’ve come to accept as normal – sports, classes, activities,clubs, or any form of play orchestrated and directed by an adult.

Mini-marshmallow/toothpick construction play; Jeremiah, age 8, winter 2010.

Children were meant, as all mammal young were, to make sense of their world by interacting with it through free play they initiate and direct.

To the extent that schools seat children in groups of the teacher’s choosing, to the extent that their day is planned with no alternatives possible, to the degree that the items in the classroom  have arbitrary conditions upon their use, children are not free to play as they choose.

 

 

Independence Day at Saratoga National Historical Park (the "turning point" of the Revolution). Our British officer was 4 days from turning 6, July 4, 2010.

 

To the extent that certain colors, activities, learning, or play are forbidden; to the extent that children’s activities are known as work, rampant imagination is discouraged, and teachers decide readiness for this set of materials or that lesson; – to that extent, free play and the learning that comes with it – the random, chaotic, unpredictable growth that can never be taught, only grasped on one’s own – cannot exist.

 The most vital parts of learning – relevance and personal capability – suffer, and the result is likely to be a decrease in self-motivation, creativity, ingenuity, and adaptability – all things that children gain, with great joy and a natural ease, through  being allowed as much time as they need, when they need it, to play as they choose.

Cryptic word play by 5 year old Annalise, using kindling wood Jim had just chopped. AXAXA, baby!

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K is for Knowledge

500 Words On….Knowledge.

“Is it not the point to gain knowledge, Huntleader?”

“It is one point, child -”

She knew he was still speaking, and that a sound cuff could easily be her reward for impatience, but the words pushed up through her throat and out before she could pounce upon them. “Then why must we so often stop, and wait, and why is there so little talk or doing, and so very much stillness and silence, between us?”

She was Kaitiiraan’s daughter, and the Heiress-Princess, and she would not cower or brace for a deserved admonishment. But he didn’t touch her, only smiled, his yellow eyes dancing with pleasure despite the severity in his face, which never touched his scent.

He waited, only watching her silently, and not moving beyond breath.

When Jeniah thought she could bear it no more, when the silvered arytana petals were ticking her nostrils and her fancies, when the way the moons danced upon them, and the ground below their perch, and she was certain that she MUST change and go leaping from branch to branch, and then down to the clearing above the Pridekeep, where she knew the other kittens would be playing tag in the moonlight and shadows and vines, and then would tumble together in clumsy imitation of Matehunt, which always ended in gigglings and ticklings, else snarls and scuffles.

Tacivaar said, softly, “Stay.”

Huntlust was surging up, spiced by arytana, sweetened by the moonlight, beckoning her…….

And, somehow, she let it flow through her, but remained afloat in it….

“You have a sister among the Untribed who studies sensates, do you not, child?”

His questions about that part of her life were always tinted with scorn – a new and jarring aroma in the scent palate, and it soured her stomach a little. “Yes, Huntleader.”

“And how does she make her study?”

“She plants or forages for samples. She feeds and observes. She writes things down a lot – I have not been with her much while she does these things. She wishes to be alone, she says – and I have other things that interest me more.”

“Is her study hurried, child?”

Jeniah caught a sense that she was being led, and wondered why the Huntleader didn’t trust her to find her own knowing. “No. Mostly, she says, she waits and watches.”

“That bloom by your nose, child. Change, and attack it.”

She knew not to argue. The Huntleader did not ask for obedience. One simply obeyed. Even one who was Trueborn.

She released her Huntress energy and leapt, twisting for the sheer joy of finally moving, the flower in her jaws, it’s nectar in her teeth…..oh, yes, soon she would be at play in the clearing, for no words of his could touch her long, now.

Caught by impulse, she shook her head and tore the blossom apart, then rolled in it, careful not to lose her balance on the wide branch, her short sturdy tail a rudder.

When she finally stopped to regard the Huntleader, upside down, he wore the scent of resigned amusement. “Have you not begun your own study, child? As you go off to your play and your dreamings, ponder this: both ways have knowledge to give – but your sister will not know the force and frenzy you will have from arytana tonight, and you will not know the peace and stillness of truly seeing the blossom as it is, and not as it is through you.

“Wisdom, child, is in learning which way is best suited to each soul, and every purpose.”

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H is for Happiness

500 Words on…Happiness.

Nockatee had sat perched on the widow bench so long, that Henry had thought she must either have fallen asleep, or be lost in the odd trance that seemed to come over her lately, at random times, as she remembered more and more of who and what she was.

Just when he thought to go to bed himself – there would be no show at the Globe on the morrow, and he had stayed up late, his lantern shaded so as not to disturb her view, and spent a happy time sketching her, and using the new inks they had made together using blooms and leaves and berries she had brought him after her forays into her “Huntlands.

She turned a bit to look over her shoulder at him, her bobbed hair allowing the point of one ear to play at peekaboo, and the moonlight sparking quicksilvered lightnings in the deep, dark blue of her eyes.

She was smiling just a little, and Henry’s heart leapt and danced within him in a way it never had before, and that thread that led always to her mind quivered and vibrated with something new, something that felt like the spring just past, and the lightnings in her eyes, and the darkened forest, and a wilder way of being.

~Come to the Huntlands with me, Henry. Let us cast of our clothing and be as we are – under the moon and with each other.~

The voice in his mind had a huskiness that reminded him of the way she spoke, when she felt her sire’s Burning. But that was a frustrated need she could meet no more than he could, for reasons neither she nor he could understand.

This – this was joy playing in her and through her, and through him – and something else, something far deeper than the words or even the desire to be out and away, with the night’s fog kissing their skin, and the warmth of each other……

No, it was something wondrously more, something that made him think of the way the lines of the plays struck something deep and nameless in them, something they shared and cherished. And the way he had always felt in wild places.

She smiled, and unfolded to meet him as he came to her, taking up the simple tunic she had discarded the moment they were in the room and alone, because clothing troubled her, now.

She stood a-tiptoe to kiss him in that way that he hadn’t kissed anyone save her, and allowed him to slip the tunic over her head, although she made a face with her nose wrinkled, so he felt he had best kiss it, too….

She led him out the dormer, onto the roof, and to an overhanging tree easy enough for him to manage, and then they were slipping silently over roofs and trees until they were safely away, running for the bit of wildland at the riverbank, not far from the hulking and welcome shape of the theatre….

They peeled off clothing, and danced beneath the moon, to the music of the bond weaving always in their minds…and the silvered light, and the fog, and the moon, and the warmth of their dancing were more happiness than Henry had ever known.

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500 Words On….”The Unpredictability of the Fallow Land…”

500 Words On…..“The Unpredictability of the Fallow Land“

~The unpredictability of the fallow land, left to wonder on its own, never failed to send her into fits of grins every year as July ducked her shoulder to the fortunes.~

How silly the whole business of planting seemed to her, the waiting, the backbending effort that so seldom seemed to carry any joy or delight for those who toiled at it.

How very different from life in the Huntlands.

And how very impoverished, to make one’s living from changing the nature of Aletris, stabbing at her, digging those damnable furrows into her skin; scarring her.

So the empty fields delighted her as they lay, and as the grass and weeds grew up in them, and the small wild things that were good to eat and challenging to Hunt returned to the little hollows and pockets the farmers never noticed….

And yet, out there, in the Huntlands, was food aplenty, without any need to alter Aletris – it was the food that was freely offered, but only to those who knew how to procure it. Food to Hunt, food to forage, food that filled all the needs of her body and her soul in ways this food, grown in the wounds of Aletris, could never do.

She wondered, once again, if there was some way to tell the Untribed, to encourage them to change their way of life, to live fully in peace with Aletris, and honor sima garo utterly, knowing that enough food was provided, without these efforts to be certain of it by damaging the planet herself.

Efforts which were, still, despite all their fanciful imaginings, dependent upon Aletris, and her nature.

No one could direct a planet; no one could force food from Aletris if she did not choose to offer it, and there would be an end to how much she would provide, if forced too often ….

She thought to mention it to Konii, and once she did, but Konii only looked at her with her purple and dreaming eyes, as though the words were in some other tongue – Tacivaarii, perhaps, and she could not understand – and then she had turned back to her Books….

She had wanted to tell Rachyl, because she thought that Rachyl would understand, and be able to help her know what was the best thing to say to the others. Rachyl was a healer, and worked with the natural plants, the sensates, the healing herbs, and the minerals. She valued the balance of nature in ways that most Untribed did not, and she also understood the world she lived in…

But, just when she thought she would, Rachyl had gotten herself with child – of a Tribed man, no less, which would infuriate Mother if she learned of it – and was all aglow and absorbed in the child to come, and the life she hoped to create, one that would span both worlds.

So Jeniah contented herself in honoring the furrows in her own way, in the long hours spent lying upon them, sunning herself, waiting, and taking, through her skills and as Aletris intended, her meals from the wounded place, and hoping it would offer some small healing.

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ROW80 Round Two: “Eyes Scanning The Horizon”

I’m still in the process of absorbing what the my first ROW80 round meant to me,  and how it has affected the way I approach my writing goals.  I expect that the process will continue for quite some time.

I feel more ready to explore it in writing, though – and this seems a very good time and place to begin….

Since Round 1 ended, I have been busy, but in a somewhat more flowing and less driven way than was prevalent the last few weeks of the challenge.

I’ve been finishing up and getting around to bits and pieces and projects that I laid aside as I worked on attaining the last few goals:

 

  • I have posted my topics schedule for the Blogging From A to Z April Challenge, and I am working on this post, although there are likely several more sessions to go before it’s completed.
  • I have the A and B posts in rough draft form.
  • I am in the process of claiming the  three blog awards bestowed on me during the course of the last round.
  • I have been setting up and gathering materials and ideas for the next round.

    Annalise and Gabriella, post plaster puppy making.....

  • I have finished two books, and begun a third.
  • We have, as a family, visited friends in an adjoining state, a trip meant to take place the weekend immediately following Jim’s accident. There was, of course, packing and unpacking at both ends, and much joyful chaos between….
  • I’ve written three 500 word blogposts – for a giveaway to celebrate my 50th fan of my Facebook writer page.
  • I have gathered and edited pictures, and made some collages.
  • I have written  my blogpost for this month’s Unschooling Blog Carnival.  I intend to go back and add more, as I work through these projects.
  • I have posted a book review, and have a rough draft of another.
  • I have downloaded Scrivener (thank you, Eden Mabee!), installed, read a little, and peeked timorously at it from a for-now safe distance (I tend to need to ease into these new technological tools).
  • I have cleared space on my hard drive, and Jim’s (prior to the arrival of my Sweet L’il Lenovo at the end of last November, I worked most often on Jim’s Panasonic Toughbook, and I have left too many files and programs he doesn’t use on it.  It’s a bit of a mission for me to clean it up for him as I am doing hometending on my own machine…..
  • I’ve printed up a couple of forms Jim has needed for accident-related stuff.
  • And, of course, there has been homtending and parenting and learning facilitation and just being together and shopping and and and….

Studying the effects of plaster....

The time since the last round ended has seemed to just flow as an easy, floating time of very mellow productivity…..with a few torrents of activity and emotion thrown in for seasoning.
I’ve taken a lot of time for enjoying myself.  I have relaxed.  I have sat in Sylvia’s sunny kitchen, and watched girls make and later paint plaster puppies, and watched boys make slime worms and sour ice cream…..There was time for conversation, and snuggles, and fun, and treasure hunting.  There was time to play outside while the weather was nice.  Time for hot showers and quite a bit of TV.  And yet, all of that up there got done, too…….And that may be the second coolest thing I have gotten from A Round of Words in 80 Days…
The certainty that it is indeed possible to write – a lot and well-  while still honoring my energy level, my needs and those of my family, having as much of a social life as I desire, and living a rich, joyous, and passionate life.  It is possible to set goals I truly wish to attain, and to move toward them, and attain them, even when life becomes incredibly complex.
And so, with that fact firmly in mind….

Here are my goals, arranged in categories for this round:

Reading:

  • Read at least as many books as the number of the month (4 in April ; 5 in May; 6 in June) from my bedroom To Be Read piles.
  • Read at least 3 articles a week from my To Be Read files on computer, and categorize those I choose to keep or share.
  • Read at least 5 blogposts a week (not including my own), and like, comment, and/or share as I am moved to.
Writing:
  • Create flash fiction, short stories, dialogues, character sketches, alternate scenes, and poetry for  Chameleon’s Dish.  Wander cow trails, and learn these people and their lives more fully.
  • Pull material from 750 words posts not part of the Chameleon’s Dish first draft.  
  • Create essays, stories, and other pieces based upon these writings.
  • Find all chapters of Blood and Breath.  Input into Scrivener; possibly begin rewrite.
  • Finish father-in-law letter and send.

A new type of toe touch......

BWAHAHAHA!!!


Networking:
  •  Explore She Writes; Twitter: StoryDam; Pinterest; and LinkedIn .  Use, develop, evaluate, adjust.
  • Continue joining hops, fests, challenges, and other community blogging efforts.
  • Comment on and share blogs regularly; share my blogs as widely as seems feasible, and in diverse ways.
  • Do 3 guest posts and  host 3 guest bloggers this round.
Submitting:
  •  Submit at least 10 pieces of flash fiction or poetry this round.
  • Submit at least 5 essays or lists this round.
  • Continue submitting to hops, challenges, fests, etc.; at least 3 each month.

Two happily plastered girls!

Photography:
  •  Organize all photos on hard drive/move to organized Picasa web albums or delete.
  • Learn how to watermark pictures.
  • Watermark all photos that appear on my blogs, and all those I post going forward; begin watermarking favorites not on blogs.
Marketing:
  •  Explore marketing articles on my Facebook Writer Page.
  • Add useful articles to my shanjeniah 
  • Marketing Articles page.
  • Use this information to help define my direction; adjust as needed.

Happy Plaster Zombies!

Learning:
  •  Get Scrivener  downloaded; begin learning by inputting first an essay, and then Blood and Breath.
  • Use Twitter and Tweetdeck at least one day a week.  Learn more.
  • For WordPress, create a running list of questions; work on finding answers!
  • Begin learning about how to publish ebooks.
  • Learn what I can do with my domain name.
  • Begin research list/research for  Chameleon’s Dish second draft.

Just plastered.

Organizing:
  •  Edit all 2009 posts on  The Unfettered Life.  Consider layout and design changes.
  • Take clips from first Penzu notebook.
  • Input Blood and Breath and Chameleon’s Dish to Scivener.
  • Clean up computer downloads, documents, photos, and other clutter – move it or lose it!
Self-care:
  • Add JOY to every day!
  • Add movement to every day, too!
  • Add self-deorating to every week!
  • Add more of my passions to each day, in as many ways as I can manage.
  • Add all these for my beloved others, too!
 

Plastery joy! =D

Administrative Stuff:
  • Write and submit third quarter reports for both children.  These are due on June 1, 2012.
  • Cleanup email folders/organize, move, read, delete, act upon as needed.
  • Input two writing practice notebooks to Penzu.
  • Take critters to the vet; renew Corki’s dog licence.
  • Pay remaining balances for summer trips to Unschoolers Rock the Campground and Northeast Unschooling Conference.

Cleaning up......I love those two heads. =)

So, now I have a new set of goals.  As with the last round, they’re based on what I want to learn and do, so working on them will be not a chore but a joyful avocation.There’s a lot of variety here, so, whatever I’m in the mood for, I should be able to find something on this list to tickle that particular fancy….
I feel good about these goals, and how they will form the skeleton of my body of work over the next 80 days….I’m eager to delve in, and happy I have other projects and activities to keep me busy over the intervening few days, as the Round 2 countdown ticks down.
Before I go, I want to take a moment to acknowledge some of last rounds ROWers who have inspired, amused, informed, intrigued, and even become friends.  There’s no particular order here –  I love you all!

Washin' and a-grinnin'!

Rebecca J. Fleming (and Judgmental Dog,  of course!)
And, of course, my first friend, my syster, the one who tempted me into Simon and Garfunkel, Star Trek, a-ha, Middle Earth, and this challenge….who knows exactly scary and dysfunctional and un-nice I can be, and who loves me anyway. =)
I am sure there are a few of you who have slipped my mind….and more I will meet in the course of this round.Now, I gather myself, shake myself off, tidy up the matters-in-progress, and take a moment to look behind, at where I have come from. Then, I breathe deeply, until I am relaxed and flowing with the energy of my own soul, and look to the terrain ahead, the new, hazily beautiful horizon….

Early Springtime Tree.....

As Annalise, almost 8,  so aptly said, last night, “I’m made of bravery…….and water.”

I lower my hand, and step forward, into that new vista.

What vistas await the other ROWers? Find out here!

 

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ROW80 Goals Update – “Entering the Final Rapids”

 

Things are speeding up…..

Jim is mostly up and about.  He’s got another three weeks before he is OK to go back to work, and he can’t drive until he can make a fist with his broken right hand.  He can’t close it fully yet, but he’s exercising it, now, which he couldn’t do with the splint on.

We’re getting out and about more, and making plans for our travel season.

I’m beginning to rediscover my energy, and the house is slowly getting tidier….

And I am in a concentrated quest for the rapids, in this last week of ROWing……

Round of Words 80 Goals – Round 1, 2012:

I will complete the rough draft of my unfinished NaNoWriMo novel, Chameleon’s Dish.

  • I am 15,956 words into Chapter 22, “The Play’s the Thing”  Yes, I know that’s a lot of words for one chapter……I’m thinking it’s two chapters, or maybe even three.
  • I now have a fairly good idea about where things go from here to the conclusion.
  • It still looks like about 25 chapters with an epilogue.
  • These characters continue to astonish me with the things they do, and the story still seems to be flowing smoothly from wherever it is inside me….

I will submit at least four pieces, queries, or proposals to for-pay markets.

  • I have reread and resumed writing the piece originally begun for Morgan Dragonwillow‘s  Teen Fantasy  Fiction Contest.
  • I currently have 916 words in the rough draft.
  • I will be researching the flash fiction markets list I found last week, and submitting either “Twice-Coupled” or my erotic flash poem, hopefully before Sunday.
  • That will complete this goal.
  • In other news, my Tiny Buddha submission  was ACCEPTED!!!!   It will be about two months before it appears on the site, but that is perfectly all right with me! =)

I will update, keep current on a weekly basis, and add writing samples to my Facebook Writer Page, and I will update, edit, and post to both of my regular blogs on at least a weekly basis.

  • I have continued to post to my page, in the form of links, updates, and comments.
  • I have 49 fans for the page, and I am planning a surprise for when I reach 50.
  • I have not posted to The Unfettered Life…a little behind with it, at the moment.
  • I have not posted here since Sunday’s update.
  • I have edited and improved several posts on this blog; there will be more details later in this post.

I will write at least one book review,  and a rough draft of a letter to my father-in-law.

  • I am in the process of fleshing out the bulleted points I wrote out last week.
  • Once that is done, I will be using the fleshed out list as the framework for the letter.
  • I’m feeling the urge to be done with this, so I believe I’ll be wanting  to spend more  time on this as I wrap up other goals.

I will edit, revise where necessary,  and properly categorize all posts in this blog.

I will input one of my writing notebooks into Penzu, and clip all materials I would like to pursue further.
  • I am on page 106 of 141.
  • I’m still learning a great deal about myself and my history from this reading.
  • I’m still finding things of value.
  • A novel idea (not anything I’m ready to articulate, but the seeds of a story) has sprung from these.
  • I still hope to clip these passages, but may not get to that until Round 2.
So that’s what I’ve done, and a bit of what I’m planning for the next few days.  I feel I am close to meeting most of my goals, and all of them are within reach.I’m in a forward-momentum plunge, now –  plying the rapids, rather than gliding across deep and reflecting pools.

There will be time for reflecting once I have completed these goals……till then, I might not be around much….

Please give some encouragement to the other ROWers who are also entering their final rapids……..

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Platform Building Campaign – “Belated First Challenge”

Due to Jim’s accident and hospitalization, I’m coming a week late to this challenge.    Still, I thought that I would like to try it, as though the challenge were being held this week and not last.

So, as per this challenge ……here goes. My entry is in the fantasy genre.

“Shadow-Dancing”

Written by Shan Jeniah Burton Copyright 2012

 Shadows crept across the wall; the dancers‘ forms  misshapen by the fitful  orange glow of the arytana-infused flames.  They slunk and stalked, re-enacting the Hunt just past.

Their flowing movements were like the hunting, and yet unlike, false  -

“You are displeased with tonight’s dancing, child?”

The Huntleader crouched too closely beside her, and she knew  that he would gift her again tonight, in hopes that she would at last offer him the pleasure of her furs, after the feasting turned to Matehunt.

“The dancers do not move as hunters do.  They have other instincts…..this is not the hunt I remember.”

He pressed in more closely, and she knew he was sure of her. “Do you not find it rousing, child?”

“I find it beautiful  - and count it utterly unlike the beauty of the Hunting.  Let the dancers dance their own stories, and leave these to those who lived and know them.”

He made a gesture, and the dancers retreated.   “Show us, child, how YOU dance the Hunt!”

She sprang up, circling the fire….then darted out and away, springing to the ledge and through the arched opening…..the Huntlands welcome before her, and behind….everything faded.

There it is.  200 words, exactly, according to Word Count Tool

I think this took me about 45 minutes to complete.

I wonder if I would have written the same story, if I had seen this, a week ago?

Click on the images to go to the source page.