Cynthia A. Morgan's Blog, page 29

Passage – A #Fantasy #ShortStory – Part Two

Read Part One

Instantly, time seemed to stand still and he stood with it, motionless. A bright flash of purple light surrounded him, but there was no sound of clangorous chimes and no noise of battle into which he was hurled. Instead, there was nothing at all. Nothing, and at the same time, within the nothingness, a swarm of minuscule lights began to ebb and flow.

Slowly. Inward, then outward, and back again. Warping and bending and, with each oscillation, coming closer. Possibly, it was a result of his shifting perception. Perhaps it was nothing more than a fragment of his imagination. Whatever it was, though, it materialized around him into completeness and he stood looking at it with astonishment and wonder.

Where had he come? What was this place?

A dimly lit expanse of mystery filled his questioning gaze, innumerable points of light filling what had been empty only seconds before. They sparkled like stars, yet were as close to him as the air itself, surrounding him with shimmers of dancing light that both beguiled and bewildered. Made unsteady by their movement, he glanced down at the ground beneath his boots and his confusion mounted. The ground beneath his feet appeared much as he expected it to. Rocks, gravel and dust; yet the surface undulated slowly like ripples of water, although he stood perfectly still and the ground felt entirely solid.

Curious, he crouched down and reach out to run his fingers through the gravel and dust at his feet. Grayish-crimson in color, the soil felt like dust and gravel, but it reacted to his stirring motion like thick, slow-moving water. Stretching and rippling outward behind the uneven line he drew in the dusty appearing surface, the ground became more of a viscous goo that clung to his fingers and seemed to reach upward for him when he drew his hand away in surprise. A sensation of dread washed over him and he stood upright, unsettled by the discovery though not entirely certain why.

Looking outward into the bejeweled atmosphere, he noted the softly pulsing, pinkish-purple light that filled the sky. There was no visible source of this light, no sun or moon or any other celestial body that caused the sky to glow, but it glimmered, luminous and ethereal, all the same. As he stood contemplating, he recalled the imagery he’d seen in the vision just before he stepped into the portal; a vision of this place, despite the fact that he’d never seen it before.

Or had he? The glimmering light reflected in his liquescent cerulean gaze as he scanned the landscape, drinking in the scene that was both foreign and familiar when a whisper, just above the point of perception, hinted that he was not alone.

A feminine voice drifted on the soft breeze.

Stepping into the shimmering darkness of the landscape, he cast about him in search of the speaker. Strangely, her voice seemed to echo from the distance more loudly than from the nearby. The sound was soft and subtle; still, it drew him like an intoxication he could not deny. It serrated through him, as chilling as ice drawn across exposed skin, while at the same time it gave him a sense of calm he’d never felt before.

Was the voice familiar? Had he heard it before?

Searching the landscape as he turned in a full circle, the barren surroundings offered no evidence of her existence. Stretching outward toward a rose-hued horizon awash with stars, the odd, gravely-velvety ground transformed into rocky terrain somewhere between a point that was neither near nor far. It undulated like a serpent, moving as if of its own volition and blurring perception. The terrain seemed flat and two-dimensional while also appeared to warp and shift in and out of focus. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to refocus.

Crossing such an expanse would be challenging in ways he couldn’t begin to calculate, but, just as he’d known he had to step within the portal, he knew he had to cross it. Her voice called to him just as the portal had. It urged him forward into the unknown and tempted him to throw caution to the wind. Again. Reaching for his phone, he tried to get his bearings by checking the compass app, but the phone was inert as a stone. Not surprisingly, it wouldn’t even turn on.

“Already crossed the bridge. May as well see where it brought me,” he muttered to himself as he replaced the phone back onto his belt. The sound of his voice was swallowed by the sparkling atmosphere, making it sound oddly unfamiliar and off pitch. He suddenly didn’t sound like himself, but, for some reason, the whispering serenade of the feminine voice sang clear as the sweetest birdsong and filled him with eagerness.

Her voice was more than just familiar. Though he had no rational explanation, he knew he’d heard her voice before. Many times.

“Weston.”

Again, she called out to him, and, like before, as the softly echoing sound of his name reached his ears, a vivid image filled his mind’s eye. A woman dressed in sparkling blue stood gazing at him. She was held in someone’s arms. No, not just someone. The vision contracted, rushing outward and away, but what he saw was undeniable. She was held in his arms.

Determined, as well as immensely curious, he dragged his boot through the peculiar, velvety gravel, marking the place where he’d crossed with a large X. Not very original perhaps, but without any large stones with which to indicate where the portal was, he needed some way of finding his way back. Although, as he took one final look around, he realized there was no circle of stone on this side. There was nothing at all. Just as he’d feared, the portal had dumped him into obscurity and vanished.

Now, the only option was to find the woman who kept calling to him and get some answers.

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Words and Art by ~Morgan~

If you’d like to keep up with everything I’m doing, sign up for my monthly newsletter by visiting my author website

If you’d like to see more of my artwork, please visit my DeviantArt page

Passage – A #Fantasy #Shortstory

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Rippling waves of translucent violet light erupted around him, causing him to raise his hands over his head and stoop low. At the same time, a strange sound like strident bells clangorously chiming combined with a heavy, monotonous drone seemed to spin around him and disoriented him in an instant. Beneath his feet, the earth lurched sideways without warning and he tumbled to the ground in a heap. Before he could orient himself, the oscillating sound was replaced by the unmistakable clashing of metal upon metal.

Looking around from beneath the protection of his raised arms, he found himself in the middle of a violent battle! Warriors dressed in strange green and silver armor grappled against others wearing robes of deep scarlet red. Thousands of men and hundreds of massive, six-hooved beasts surged around him in a chaos of noise and calamity and he barely had time to avoid being trampled in the melee before the thunderous sound of hooves rushed up behind him. Rolling away instinctively as one of the six-hooved beasts trampled past, he bumped against something solid and, at the contact, the images blurred and began to spin.

A lot like his stomach.

Gritting his teeth against the rush of sickness swelling inside him, he pressed backwards against the opposing force he could not see and the sharp droning sound returned. Once again, he was enveloped within undulating waves of violet light and, as abruptly as the phenomenon began, it ended.

Closing his eyes to catch his breath, he shook his head, desperately trying to assimilate what had just happened. As a man with an engineering degree, he knew everything had a rational explanation, but logic didn’t seem to apply to what he’d just experienced. He looked around, but the battle and strange creatures were no longer there. Flummoxed, he pushed himself up from the grass covered ground to gaze around yet again. The field where he’d been walking was exactly the same as it had been. No warriors or strange glowing lights; no curious sounds or clanging swords, nothing. Just an open meadow filled with wild growing grass and flowers…and the remnants of an old stone well that was practically invisible, concealed by the thick grass.

He’d kicked it by accident, but that was all it had taken to send him tumbling into….whatever it was he’d tumbled into. Taking a step away from it cautiously, he examined it with a critical gaze. To the unsuspecting glance it was little more than an irregularly shaped circle of rocks. The perimeter wasn’t much more than two feet in diameter, but its depths fell away beyond view, shielded by darkness, despite the fact that it was a bright, clear day and he should have been able to see down into it quite a way. Leaning closer to peer more carefully into its darkness didn’t reveal anything and he couldn’t stop himself from finding a rock to drop into its deep chasm.

Not entirely unexpectedly, the stone was immediately swallowed up by ripples of violet light and vanished.

“What in the…” he couldn’t find an expletive to match his bewilderment. Standing dumbstruck into silence, he considered several possibilities, but, regardless of how many times he tried to argue the point with himself, only one explanation seemed to make any sense. He’d literally stumbled across a portal.

Inexplicable? Yes.

Impossible? Apparently not, because although he didn’t remember how it happened, his forearms bore the evidence of his first foray into the unknown. They were bleeding and he knew grass didn’t cause road-rash. Brushing himself off absently, he stared at the well trying to reason out what he’d just experienced. Grabbing his phone, he opened it to the camera and snapped a quick a picture, but upon reviewing the image, he discovered the only image captured was grass. Perplexed, he stepped back from the well, aimed more carefully, and took another picture, but it resulted in yet another image of lush green grass. No rocks, no well.

“Impossible.” Aggravated, he strode closer to circle of rocks that was rapidly becoming more vexing than curious, pointed the viewfinder down the center of the well and shot again. The result was a ring of green grass with a blurred patch of blue and purple in its center, blurred like a fingerprint on an old Polaroid. Staring at it with a potent combination of frustration and confusion, an unexpected sense of deja vu washed over him. Something about the image felt familiar, but, although he stared at it for many long moments, the answer he sought eluded him.

Without warning, his phone rang.

Jerking back at the sound, he dropped the device and watched as it bounced off the edge of one of the rocks encircling the well and landed face up with the name Peadrick glaring at him. Rolling his eyes at himself with a supplementary curse, he stooped to retrieve the now silent phone and swiped across the surface to read the message from his co-worker.

Weston, todays mtg r/s to 9/14

Bring reports II, XI, & XV

“Perfect.” Now he had all the time in the world to figure out what was going on instead of having to rush off to work. Taking a moment to change his calendar before replacing the phone on his belt, he looked down at the well again. Despite having walked that field nearly every day for the last five years, he’d never once stumbled across it before; yet today he’d literally walked right into it. Was it possible he simply hadn’t seen it for five years?

How? He’d walked that field a hundred times before and never once ran into a wall of purple light or ended up nearly trampled by a figment from the myths and legends he’d studied in primary school. Yet there it stood, a passage into the unknown silent and waiting.

No, not silent. It didn’t make a sound, not now, but he couldn’t deny it beckoned him. Somehow, it drew him to it like a magnet and, though he tried repeatedly to dissuade himself, he couldn’t stop wondering where this lost vestige of time had transported him? It had taken mere seconds; yet it seemed he’d traversed centuries of time, or, perhaps, countless light years. If he stepped into it again, would it send him back to the same place, right in the middle of a bloody battle, or would he end up somewhere else? Did it go to only one place or many?

As he stood considering, a bright image flashed in his mind’s eye that made him raise his hand to his head and close his eyes. It was gone almost instantly, but the memory of the vision remained. Blurred and bizarre, it held him transfixed and he stood with his eyes closed as he struggled to retain the imagery. An alien landscape, dark and mysterious. A luminous, violet-pink sky, the light flickering like a candle and in that sky, a myriad sparkling stars. Shaking his head, he tried to comprehend the vision. It was neither a scene from a movie nor a place from any book he’d ever read. Still, it felt strangely familiar.

There was something else as well, fleeting and barely perceptible. Hazy blue figures that seemed to glow from within danced in his mind, wavering like a mirage; yet not as alien as they should have seemed.

Looking down at the circle of rocks, he took a moment to feel his head for any bumps or bruises. It was possible he’d hit his head when he’d fallen and was now suffering the consequences, but his head was fine. At least, outwardly it was. Stepping away from the well…the portal….whatever the hell it was, he wondered. Had it been a hallucination of some sort? Had he just imagined the battle?

Of course not. Imaginations didn’t cause you to bleed and, whether he could explain it rationally or not, something had happened. Standing perplexed, he let his thoughts run wild. Where had he gone? What race of people had he encountered and what dangers, other than beasts with six hooves and warriors bearing weapons, might he confront if he crossed again? Would he return to the same place or would he be transported somewhere else? On the other side, would the portal stand ready to return him or would he be lost in a vortex of time and be unable to find his way back?

There were too many questions, too many variables and he was a fool to even be considering them. If the impossible was actually possible and the circle of rocks was more than just an old well, but a portal instead, could it be a doorway into the past or the future, or it could be a trap waiting to swallow him alive? Was it an entrance into realms unknown where he could explore cultures, races and creatures beyond his wildest imagining or was it a danger beyond his most horrible nightmares? Would it close over his head and trap him forever in oblivion?

The morning light’s splendor stretched across the field and the ancient rocks encircling the portal, sparkling in the chasm of its center as if it was still filled with water. It urged and whispered with silent tones, but they were impossible to ignore. He couldn’t explain how or why, but he couldn’t deny that it asked him to step forward. It prompted and compelled him, coaxing and luring, and each moment its urging became more urgent.

Glancing around the open meadow, he drew a deep breath. At any other time in his life, he would never have considered doing something so inherently dangerous, at least not without performing a few hundred tests and analyzing the results until no questions remained. Yet now, the silent well persuaded him with unspoken persistence and with each passing moment his resistance faded. Should he step within or remain amid the languid familiarity of his present reality?

Another flash of bright, violet light filled his mind and he squeezed his eyes closed, desperate to see the images more clearly, but again they were fleeting and strange. Silhouettes of hazy blue danced around the periphery of his mind. Sparkling lights melded with the sound of voices speaking in a beguiling language he didn’t understand, but which sounded….somehow… familiar. As he listened, a single word formed out of the incomprehensible sounds. It floated on the shifting breeze, echoing out of and into the silence and when it reached him, the face of a woman flickered in his memory.

“Weston.”

Opening his eyes to stare down at the well with startled bewilderment, a determined expression overtook his features. Logic and caution be damned. Moving to the edge of the well, he made a motion as if to step across, but paused. He might be inescapably tempted, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. Not yet, anyway. Grabbing his phone, he returned to the message from his coworker and typed a hasty response.

Pdrick, If I don’t show at 9/14 mtg, come to Astonbury Corners. Find old well roughly ½ mile from road. Possible portal. I stepped within.

Nodding once with satisfaction, he replaced the phone on his belt, drew a deep breath and stepped forward to kick the stones of the well.

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Words and Art by ~Morgan~

If you’d like to keep up with everything I’m doing, sign up for my monthly newsletter by visiting my author website

If you’d like to see more of my artwork, please visit my DeviantArt page

 

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The Silence- #LovePoetry

Silence fills the corners of my mind
Sound without echo
Reason without Rhyme
Longing for Whispers that Mingle
Caresses that Sing
Tenderness that Sighs
Delivering my Senses from this desert
Lost in perpetual noise
Drowned in ceaseless chatter
Yearning for the Devotion of One
Love that Astonishes
Attraction that Defies
The Silence

~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by: Yaga K at Deviantart.com

Willing Lamentation – #Poetry

Caught in a web of Infinite Splendor,
Trapped in silence that refuses to speak,
Lost in a Reality we cannot Engender,
Afraid of the Light,
I am too weak.

Ensnared by my own discontent,
Bound to this place by Inclination,
Bearing a Message that was never sent,
Lingering Eternally,
Willing Lamentation.

Can you hear me when I cry?
Do my words Ignite Your flame?
Ever and Always asking Why,
Captured by Wailing And All the Memory it Claims.

~Morgan~

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Original artwork by: ghyselenbert at DeviantArt.

Tomorrow- #LovePoetry

Turn this Dream over,
Point to a Star,
Kiss my hand Gently,
Then Fly away far.
I’m Missing You already,
Before You’ve even gone,
Begrudgingly, I lay me down,
Dreading the quiet, lonely Dawn.

When You leave me,
Though it’s never long,
My Heart finds poor Comfort,
Living without our Song.
Passion closes its eyes, Waiting,
Mute with broken sorrow,
Counting the days, one by one,
Until We meet,
Tomorrow.

~Morgan~
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Beautiful original artwork by Anne Stokes/ Ironshod at Deviantart.com

BnV???- A #Blog About #Words, #Shakespeare, #Poetry, #Positivity and so much More!

To celebrate my birthday I thought I’d share some posts about me

BnV???

So, here we are, post number two already and you’ve come back for more.  More, in spite of the askance glances you may have received or the incredulous responses to your description of your initial experience here to your friends or colleagues or strangers on undergrounds and, yes, perhaps, even against your better judgment.  Yet regardless of your reason(s)… Welcome back intrepid voyager!  And while I cannot offer you a tiny cup of refreshment or a minuscule packet of peanuts to fortify you on your journey, I might just be able to offer a few potential explanations as to why you may be here.

Morbid Curiosity?  A Predilection for the Bizarre?  Sheer Insanity?  Or maybe….just maybe….although you can’t positively say why, you actually enjoyed that preliminary assay into The Book and Volume of this Distracted Globe.  If any of these are the case (and even if they aren’t), let’s get down to it, shall we?  The Book and Volume of this Distracted Globe, Book and Volume, BnV…what does it all mean?  I’m sure you’d love to gain some insight, apparently, since you’re here again (a state of affairs about which I am over the moon, by the way), with that perplexed look on your face.  Lucky for you, I’d love to elucidate on that very topic.  (for clarity’s sake, the BnV topic, not the puzzlement on your face.  We’ll leave that for another post).

First and foremost there’s the obvious (and almost certainly not all that innovative) Hamlet reference (my absolute favourite Shakespeare play ever, of all time, always). For those of you unfamiliar with this marvelous tragedy: the following is Hamlet speaking about his Father, now a ghost, who only just told his horrified son about his foul and most unnatural murder…  (Go ahead, read it…I’ll explain, I promise!)

Ay, thou poor ghost, whilst memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee ?
Yea, from the table of my memory I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records…
…And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix’d with baser matter!

OK, so there you go…(although you had no idea you were going to read Shakespeare tonight and hopefully it wasn’t especially horrific or scarring for you.)  This Distracted Globe is, to put it bluntly, Hamlet’s skull and The Book and Volume is his mind and all that it contains.   So Yes, BnV- otherwise known as Book and Volume- is my brain, in all its splendid absurdity and eccentricity poured out for you…yes YOU…on the pages of this otherwise non-descript little blog.

I know…its positively intoxicating (or potentially terrifying), isn’t it?

Secondly, ( you forgot already, didn’t you, that I was talking about the blog and not the whirlings of my  mind) , BnV is a blog about nothing and everything, about the commonplace and the atypical; it’s a place where you may find poetry I’ve woven or tales I’ve spun;  it’s a place for me to share insights (or revelations, as I like to call them ) that I might have on any given day (which, with any luck, will hold some significance for you as well and not leave you sitting there wondering, yet again, what exactly it is that I’m blathering on about.)  Visiting BnV could also lead you to discover a new recipe I’ve created or could find you reading all about some character I’ve come across or created, or why I loved, hated or generally became nauseated by the latest flick I’ve seen or book I’ve read (although I am more often found writing my own rather than reading one by another). Potentially, you could also find yourself looking at a pictorial review of my day, should I have the most inconceivable impediment imaginable and find myself without anything to say (which, if you know me at all or even if you are just getting to know me is something you must be quite certain never happens).

So, BnV?  Yes.  And now you know why….or why not.

A Capital Offense-An Explanation of Absurdity

To celebrate my birthday I thought I’d share some posts about me

I was recently asked why I use so much Random Capitalization, so I thought I might re-share this post in the Hope that it may explain, to some extent, but also that it may, perhaps, shed some Light into the Creative (insert adjective here, madness maybe?) of my mind.

I understand completely, I really do…well, as much as I am able to empathize over a situation, or rather a conundrum, I have unwittingly created, but I do understand…completely.

My high school English teacher used to nearly pull his hair out (what he had, anyway), over my persistent use of what he termed Random Capitalizations in my writing, and, try though I might, I could never quite make him understand that the capitals were anything but random. I’ve always used them when writing poetry; it’s a mechanism I employ without being entirely aware of it, really, since I’ve utilized it for so long now (er, I mean, for a few years now…, yeah, that sounds much better!)

A-hem,… yet many of you have raised the same questions, more or less, as my English teacher had so many..er, those few years ago, so I thought it might be vastly appreciated (or at least helpful) for me to give a brief explanation. (yes, believe it or not, I am entirely capable of being brief…since brevity is the soul of wit.) (Oh, threw some Shakespeare at you there without forewarning.) (no apology offered though since its Shakespeare, after all. )

Consider the following verse:
When ‘last the light escapes night drear,
‘Tis then morn’ stands upon the mountain
And jocund day waits, tiptoe, for intent;
While promise ‘pends upon the balance.

That is the first verse of the very first poem I posted on BnV. (honestly, go ahead, check it out, I’ll wait. ..We’ll all wait.) Nothing too out of the ordinary about that verse, really; no Random Capitalizations there. (since I took them all out for the purposes of this explanation) Ok..now…look at it again. (do bear with me, you will understand in a moment, I promise!)

When ‘last the Light Escapes night drear,
Tis then Morn’ Stands upon the Mountain,
And Jocund Day Waits, tiptoe, for Intent;
While Promise ‘pends upon the Balance.

See anything different there? Of course you do! (a lot of Random Capitalizations, you might say) yet if you look more closely at the individual words, you might, perchance, stumble across the method to my (seeming) madness. (or at least, yet another of my idiosyncrasies) (which we all know very well how much you love, so do wipe that perplexed look from your face). Though it may seem haphazard, in fact, there is nothing random about the capitalizations at all. And here’s why.

Each word that bears a capital letter signifies, in some manner or another, the following: It is either a positive (rather than a negative) word in relation to the poem; it denotes a positive, optimistic or constructive action; or it is in some other manner a word that bears (for all intents and purposes) a brightness, lightness, or hopefulness towards the rest of the poem. The capital is meant to put emphasis upon the word it is highlighting, or it is, in some other manner a significant word. Conversely, if the word does not have a capital letter, generally it is merely a word holding the rest of the structure together or it is, in some manner, a negative connotation.

Now, I will confess, sometimes I do get carried away, (imagine that!) and I do randomly capitalize, which, understandably, will throw many of you into the depths of spiraling perplexity; however, I do try to clean those up before I post (hopefully!) and for those that I miss, I do most emphatically apologize!

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. (someone brilliant said that, though just whom …or is it who…I am drawing a blank upon at the moment.) Nevertheless, as with all things, there is also an opposite that is true for my Capitalizing. (sorry) Yet this underlying principle follows the same logic, only in reverse (If that makes any sense at all.)

For Example, in the following verse (from my poem Losing Game), the poem is a “dark” poem, whose subject and body are sadness, despair, and grief, so the capitals are used to accentuate the “dark or negative” words.

Shackle me in a Prison of my making,
Torn and Tempted, at the point of Breaking.
Lying in the Dark pools of the Lost,
Drinking in Delirium, no matter the Cost.

Hopefully, it still makes sense to you, as I likewise hope this admittedly longer than intended, not entirely brief, (though potentially still witty) explanation shall shed some light (or perhaps I should say Light) upon what might otherwise be viewed as a Capital Offense.

~Morgan~
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Wonderful Image found at: sd.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

Down from Heaven – One #Writer’s #Love of #Words

To celebrate my birthday I thought I’d share some posts about me

So often I write with my eyes closed, waiting. Hands poised over the keys (of my laptop), ready. Heart quiet in restful calm or pounding in passionate inspiration, and Spirit open, willing, questing, seeking, listening, as the words and images come tumbling down. Down from Heaven,down from the sweet, sparkling heavens, down from the clouds of thundering rain, down from the mountaintop, down from the breathless moon and silken skies.

There I am, an open vessel; a cracked vase that cannot hold this rushing flood, yet I can channel it, directed it into the pages of my memory, (and my blog!) As I sit quietly, waiting; or desperately trying to keep up with the rushing torrent, my spirit sings the sweetest tune I have ever heard. And, though I cannot physically hear it, though I cannot listen to the manifestation of music like I do when I connect to my playlists, I hear the serenade as clearly as that faltering music. The melody comes down, Down from Heaven, down from the sweet, sparkling heavens, down from the clouds of glittering glow, down from the bastion towering o’re the rushing ocean’s flow.

Eyes closed, waiting. Heart Quiet, listening. Spirit Willing, Questing. All for the lyrical beauty that spills like an endlessly cascading fall of sparkling water from that inestimably breathtaking Source. Typing, typing as fast as I am able, unconcerned about spelling, punctuation, context, verbiage. I sit in humble wonder as the blessed words pour Down. Down from Heaven. Down from the Sweet, Sparkling heavens. Down from the rainbow of jubilant Promise arching over all of us. Down from the crystal cerulean skies as they weep blessed words, and I am left to cry.

Cry at the beauty expressed through my hands. Weep for the Love, I hope ONE may understand. Cry in joy for the unspeakable gift that raises my life from the darkest rift into which I had fallen for many long years. A rift flooded with unshed tears. Yet now those tears flow down like rain. Down without the crushing pain and they speak in a voice so many can hear, they speak quietly, yet they speak clear. They rush and they flow like the ocean’s roar, like rain falling down in a heavy pour. Down, down, Down From Heaven, Down from the Sweet Sparkling heavens, Down from the Stars that shimmer and glow, Down in a jocund, rejoicing, inexpressible flow into which I am cast, like a fisher of words. And Casting my net, I haul them in to be heard.

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~Morgan~
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Beautiful photograph found at : reinventinglovee.tumblr

The Book and Volume of this Distracted Globe -#A #Blog’s Humble Beginning

To celebrate my birthday I thought I’d share some posts about me    (This is a reposting of my very first post!)

The Book and Volume of This Distracted Globe

Or Book and Volume

Or BnV

Admittedly, I am an amateur.  Sure, I’ve heard about blogs for years, heard people talking about posts round the proverbial water cooler, but I’ve never actually read one.  Nope, not a single one, but I know how to spin a tale; I understand and appreciate the basics of English grammar (although I don’t always obey proper form and I do love a split infinitive) so I thought, why not?  Give it a go.  Have a bash, what’s to lose, really?  Bit of time.  After all, how hard could it be, sitting at my laptop listening to the sounds of the ocean, or a nice thundery rainstorm, or the ethereal music of Delirium all thanks to the wellspring we know as You Tube.  And even If the only person who finds said blog interesting, amusing or, if I’m lucky, entertaining, should be me than that’s just splendid; because if you can’t take a little time out of your day to amuse yourself, then perhaps you’re taking things a bit too seriously. (but I digress)

So here it is, entry one.  Or post number one.  Or what have you.  Now, for those of you who do not know me (yet) perhaps this would be an opportune moment to insert some sort of disclaimer, alert you to some of my comparatively annoying idiosyncrasies, and enlighten you to some of my peculiarities. (Most of these are one in the same by the way)  So here goes: first and foremost I’m a word enthusiast, aficionado, and devotee.  I love, admire, aspire to emulate and find myself positively piqued (by) Shakespeare, Dickens, Austin, Blake, Poe, or the like.  Odd, perchance, but I’m quite certain you’ve probably already ascertained this for yourself.  Yes, words….words….words.. (to quote the Master).  They fill me with inspiration, they bring me to tears or sometimes they make me LOL, ….they can often, also, bore me to bits (insert government or math related blather here).   So you may find yourself reading ten pages of paragraph long sentences brimming over with 6 syllable words just to find out that all I’ve really said is I don’t actually have anything to say.  Yeah, I’m good at that.

I should also probably warn you that, although I find a great many things interesting and will, most likely, remark on any number of them in a given post, I don’t have a particular objective in mind ( at this point anyway) for this blog.  Variety is the spice of life after all, so one never knows what I may sit down and prattle on about, at length, mayhap insipidly, but at the very least ( and dare I say, hopefully!) you won’t find yourself feeling preached at when you’ve reached the end.  That, you may be sure, is not my intention.

So there you are and here I am, two partners in time; one sharing, one gaining (little or nothing, but perhaps at least a smile…if I am successful) giving and receiving, for better or for worse….(yes, I see the direction this metaphorical segment is taking and I would break off, but where this is going illustrates so well another of my quirks, which is, though I hate to admit it, that I do tend to find meaning in even the simplest things)…so to get back to my metaphor… if you think about it, being a writer and a reader is rather like being in a relationship ( I was going to use the M word, but we barely know each other yet).  There’s good, there’s bad, there’s mutual intrigue, there are laughs and tears, arguments and betrayals of one form or another, but in the end, it’s generally worthwhile.  (there, that wasn’t too bad, was it?)

Ok, so you’ve read four paragraphs now and, although I’m only going on instinct, I’m thinking I should probably begin to wrap this up.  Not very educational, to be sure; not very interesting, conceivably, but maybe, just maybe, when you are at work tomorrow talking to your friends ( or if you haven’t any of those at your job ) your colleagues, or when you’re stuck in traffic on your way in or way home talking to one of the aforementioned on your cell, or when you’re chatting with some stranger you just met on the tube, you might just tell them about what you did last night.

How you were sitting at your computer/laptop/iPad/electronic devise of some sort, bored with the mundane, hum-drumness of Facebook and Twitter and you decided, (possibly against better judgment), to strike out on your own.  It was then that you happened upon the most… (insert adjective of your choice here) (yes, interactive blog….nifty, eh?)… blog you’ve ever read in your life and, although you’re not sure if it was about anything in particular, you did have a laugh once or twice, but it didn’t last long and, while it seemed inane at the time and, although you thought you’d never be interested in reading it again, you can’t stop thinking about it.  In fact, you can’t even say why.  What you can say is that the author might just possibly be off her hinges, one pie short of a picnic, not quite reaching warp speed; still, she had a way of writing that made you want to read more….maybe,…although you can’t be certain because there was only one entry.   And now you’re left with the most annoying set of circumstances imaginable because all you really want to know is, what the heck is she going to be nattering on about next?

~Morgan~

Why I Write – A #Writer’s #Imagination Unraveled

To celebrate my birthday I thought I’d share some posts about me

What Inspires me? What lights the candle of my imagination and sets the flame burning high? What is it that opens the floodgates of words, like a rapid, rushing torrent into my thoughts to overtake me, sweep me up and away, bearing me upon the tide into the depths of any ocean?

It is difficult to define that precise place where a fanciful notion or musing thought becomes greater than itself, steps beyond the precipice of promise and unfolds into a blooming illusion filled with imagery, lyricism and emotion; yet I shall endeavor to relate some portion of the mystery, if I am able, for there are times when, I too, barely comprehend it.

Words stand ready at any given moment, whether newly awakened or late blooming in the deep recesses of the night, to burst from their sheltered waiting place and spiral into lyrics and phrases that tempt the mind’s eye, pluck at the tender heartstrings, or turn a mirthful corner of a smile. Like a madman’s mind, held captive to his whimsy by irrationality, so too am I held in the ever abiding embrace of words, in so powerful a manner and so inescapable a fashion that, when my gaze alights upon an image that strikes interest, it takes little more than a momentary pause to release the deluge.

Music plays an integral role in this process, spinning a web that surrounds me, encases me, sustains my Imagination and nurtures the soul. Whether it is Classical, New Age, themes from soundtracks, or even Depeche Mode, music lends its gracious light to everything I write, shimmering in the background or blazing like a ruddy fire in the midst of each word. Music is magic as precious and essential to me as vocabulary and grammar, serenading nearly every waking moment.

Spirit Speaks unfalteringly and blends its gracious beauty into my thoughts and words through Blessing alone. I believe each living, breathing being and creature embodies a living Spirit that extends from and ultimately returns to The Source of all Life. The Spirit Speaks unceasingly; whispering mystery; shouting quietly, proclaiming every truth we need to understand; singing in harmony with the longing for Love, Hope, Peace and Joy that sits upon the throne of each heart. I Listen, as best as I am able, by opening my heart without questioning, trusting the Love I know so well; smiling in its poetic embrace each time it reveals itself and I am ever…EVER…amazed and humbled by the Beauty that stems from this Source.

Inspiration rides the currents of these tides, like a galleon rocking in the tempestuous ocean of my thoughts; sailing upon the languid currents; whirling in the magnificent splendor of the maelstrom and, often, it is all I am able to do to hang on. Yet it is also a perpetual Blessing to me, particularly if what I write and share touches someone else’s life in any similar manner as it touches mine.

I am also inspired by others, one of whom is Dorinda from Night Owl Poetry at: http://dorindaduclos.com . Here lyrical style and flowing verses ever ignite my imagination and set my musings to soaring. Here’s a little more about her in her own words: Born in New Jersey and raised in Brooklyn, NY & New Jersey, I’m a Jersey girl at heart. I spent my later years in life seated behind the canvas, painting, creating and in between, writing. I discovered that putting feelings and thoughts to paper helped me solve life’s little conundrums. It became the norm. I had paper and pencil everywhere I went.

I’m thrilled that I get the opportunity to share my thoughts about life, love and the world surrounding us. Join me on my journey.” ~ Dorinda

Do be sure to stop by her blog to enjoy her writing. I promise, you shall not be disappointed.

Another who Inspires me is Michelle Marie from http://michellemarieantellg.wordpress.com . Michelle is such a loving and joyful soul, whose artwork and inspirations ever brighten my days. She also helped me to create the cover for “Dark Fey The Reviled”, a favour for which I shall forever be grateful! Here’s a bit more about Michelle in her own words: I used to be invisible or at least I felt like I was. Now that I have blogged on WP for over a year I have come to think that it’s ok to be less visible or a lighter shade of pale. I didn’t start blogging for accolades or comments but to simply share! I thank you for the opportunity to read your thoughts and see into the window of your life!

If ever a Soul Inspires, it is Michelle! Stop by her blog to see for yourself.
Dorinda and Michelle have also decided to join in this Blog Hop and will be posting their own “Why I Write” posts, so keep an eye out for their upcoming posts.

Inspiration and Artistry dwells within each of us, sparking the fire that burns inwardly as well as outwardly, glowing and illuminating all.

 

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Original Artwork by: artsgr1e at Deviantart.com