C.R. Richards's Blog, page 20

Are You Ready to Get Started?

It’s almost the time of year when we sit back on the couch and reflect on the past year’s doings. Did you tick mark all the goals you wanted to accomplish in 2016? No. Don’t worry about it. You’re in good company.

The past is best left in the past. Let’s take another look at your unfinished goals list. Are they all boring home projects or do you have something special among the list? A childhood dream perhaps? Or a chance at a new career?

Pick the one you’re most passionate about. Can’t decide on just one? Here’s a check list to help:

Does your heart beat a little faster when you think about it?
Are you anxious to wake up and get started on the goal?
Is this something you can see yourself doing for at least a year?

If you answered “Yes” to one or more of these questions, then Bingo! You have a winner. Hold on now. Don’t just dive in. Take a breath. If you want this endeavor to be successful, then you should do a little planning first.

Planning 101 – Step 1: Determine What Success Looks Like

You’ve got a goal in mind. Now put on your visualization hat and let your mind wander. Imagine what the goal looks like when you’re done. What must your goal (object, process or career) look, feel, sound like? Are you happy with what you’ve decided?

Write down the criteria you’ve imagined and pin it up on the wall or get high-tech and put it on your mobile device. Keep the criteria in mind as you make decisions along the path to achieving your goal.

Happy Thanksgiving

Bountiful Wishes and
Warm Thoughts!

What Can You Learn from Your Last Creative Project?

Learning from our past successes and/or mistakes is critical for growth. Doing more of “what we did right” and less of “what we did wrong” makes a difference in our road to success.

In the project management world, the team holds a “Lessons Learned” session. We talk through the positives and the negatives. Each item is documented for future projects. The negative items are further explored to find ways to mitigate these flaming wrecks before they happen.

Here are a few ways you can do your own “Lessons Learned” for your creative projects:

Be as objective as you can: Pour a glass of wine or grab a handful of chocolate. Your intent in doing the lessons learned is to be better next time

Gather the folks you worked with on the project. Be respectful of their time (especially if you worked with an independent editor. It might not be the best idea to contact a publisher’s editor. You don’t want to ruin your chances for next time.) and don’t push. If they can’t meet with you, then ask them if they’d be willing to express their views via email

Write every thought down (whether you agree with it or not). You can sort them later

Step away from the list and take time to mull things over. Try not to be down on yourself for the negatives. This is a learning tool.

Take action. Hold on tight to the positives and make a plan to correct the negatives.

Remember though – you may not be able to “fix” everything the next go around. It’s a journey.

Honoring Our Veterans

To those who have served and those who are still serving – Thank You

Are You Drowning in All the Noise?

The world is full of loud obnoxious noise makers. World news. Work clamor. Family Dramas. The noise washes over you in a hurricane of chaos. You’re drowning in the stagnant waters, unable to think or create your art. Time to unplug! That’s right. Stay off of Facebook, Twitter or whatever else gives you virtual ulcers for a weekend. I think you’ll find you didn’t miss anything earth shattering.

Mr. Frog has the right idea!

Here are my top favorite ways to unplug:

Day Spa – Go get a massage. Your entire being will thank you!
Go on a long walk – Turn off the dang phone. It’s a big noise maker
Read a book for fun – Make sure it’s someone else’s book. Don’t try to be sneaky and do your editing while you’re supposed to be relaxing.
Movie Marathon – The Star Trek Trilogy? Aliens? Any Marvel franchise? All good.
Yoga and meditation – You can do the jumpy yoga in ungodly heat, but I prefer slow and solitary. People are the biggest noise makers for me.
Cooking – I don’t know why, but this is one of my favorite stress relievers. It’s a great creative outlet and very tasty.

What about you? Any other ideas on fun “unplugging” activities? I’d love to hear from you in the comments section.

A Halloween Story – The Dirt Room

[Halloween-art.com]

Folks have asked me where my inspiration for fantasy comes from and I tell them about my grandma. Visiting her house was like visiting the gates of Otherworld. She’d tell us stories about the gnomes and other magical creatures. Often we’d wake up in the morning to find candy in our shoes. Grandma would assure us the pixies had filled them with sweet treats during the night.

The next question I’m usually asked?

“You seem like such a nice lady. Where did the horror stuff come from?”

I usually shrug and tell them how I’ve always loved ghost stories. Writing dark fantasy is a great way for me to share wonderful spine tingling tales. It also allows me to explore the darker side of human nature. Then I started gathering ideas for this blog post and a repressed memory bubbled to the surface.

My grandmother’s house (built in the late 1920’s and made out of copper) rests at the mouth of Bingham Canyon in the little town of Copperton, UT. Once consisting of several little mining towns – including Galena Gulch and Highland Boy Mines – Bingham Canyon was eventually gobbled up by the Kennecott Copper Mine. The land was once home to several miners. If you ask me, they never left.

I still remember the narrow stairs descending from her kitchen to the backyard. Go left instead of right and you’d find yourself headed down into every kid’s nightmare. Some of you may be old enough to remember your own grandmother’s house. Do you recall the grumbling roar of those furnaces or the hiss of steam heat coming from the radiator pipes in each room?

Her basement was best avoided, but sometimes we’d have no choice. Grandma would send us down to her wash room for one errand or another. Braving the hollow sounds of my shoes striking the stairs, I’d descend toward the roar of the furnace. I remember the washroom and my uncle’s empty bedroom were painted a sickly mint green. Following the high gloss (and I’m sure lead-based) paint around the wash room, I’d head to my grandpa’s work bench.

Standing between me and my objective was a 3’ x 3’ door suspended in the very center of the wall. Reaching it required a ladder. Open the door and an unsettling darkness greeted you. Grandma called it the ‘dirt room’. I thought of it as the gates of hell. Every lost soul who’d ever passed through the mouth of the canyon could have stepped upon the dark earth in that room. I could feel them every time I went near that door.

Grandma passed away several years ago. Her children and grandchildren had the sad job of gathering her things. Somehow I got stuck with the basement and its Dirt Room. My flash light was a comfort as I climbed inside. The confident belief in “childhood fantasies have gone now that I’m grown up” vanished as soon as my feet hit the dirt. Utter darkness surrounded me, suffocating my courage. I clung to the only source of hope – the flash light.

Running the beam along the floor, I found old metal toys from the 40s and glass bottles from gawd only knows. Gathering as many as I could, I continued the search. Then my light hit them. Discarded doll heads. Not just any doll heads, but porcelain ones with the open and close eyes. You know. The ones that are usually possessed by a malevolent spirit.

Then the furnace roared. Something moved in the faint fringe of the flash light. I don’t know what it was. I don’t care what it was. Backing toward the door, I kept the beam in a protective circle about my legs. I crawled back out and shut the door. The house has new owners now. If they had any sense, they’d sheet rock over that door and forget it’s there.

Meanwhile upstairs in the light, the rest of the clan had been busy. Imagine my giddy excitement when my mother showed us the two intact porcelain dolls she’d found in the hidey hole above my grandma’s closet! A Shirley Temple doll and a Roxie doll (named for my grandma’s other daughter who’d passed away as a child). Both of them had those blinky demon possessed eyes. Shiver. My mother had them refurbished and still displays them by her bedside. I believe her plan is to leave them to one of her granddaughters. Maybe they can terrify a new generation?

So what childhood terror do you still carry around? Besides clowns I mean. Everybody hates clowns. Snakes maybe? Bugs? A deceased relative’s painted face in a casket? Leave your answer in the comments. I look forward to hearing from you!

Happy Halloween!

Witchy Week: The Season of the Witch

Witchy Week continues with my special guest, Guenivere. Thank you for joining us and sharing your creative process. And check out the pendants! Gorgeous.

I love everything about Halloween! The fall leaves, the wind that chills your bones. The earth opens its dwellings to the warmth of little creatures and preparation for the turning of the season. The trees let go of their leaves and hold strong to the wind and cold. I feel the cold ground, at my feet as I look up into the sky, I watch for the winds of change to guide me. I wait for Luna to illuminate my view. The season of the witch is once again upon me. Different from the season before for my focus this year is a creative endeavor.

I like to create, love to dress up and feel the familiarity of a costume. Not only the interactions of trick or treaters, forming in the streets. People gather, they dance, sing, eat food and entertain children. You will always see a witch costume. She is always represented. The old woman, the crone. In history and urban myth from long ago. So many representations, but my focus for now is to learn the groundwork that calls to me personally.

For myself, the idea of the witch can today still tap into the ideas of each one of us, especially of course, as a solitary practitioner. The ways in which we learn how to help, to heal, to work together and most fortunate to learn the mysteries of connection in life and survive earthly ways. Just think if our conscious understood wholeheartedly that we are just like trees interconnected to each other constantly. Like an ocean wave, just Imagine.

Our herstory as womyn, our community involvement “She” has and can be the holder of community secrets. “She” has been seen as many things, the ebb and flow can be expressed in universal connection with some of the oldest of our origins written and existing knowledge.
 Root work, Shaman work, Medicine womyn of the community all the way to Ayurvedic practitioners to Homeopathic or Acupuncturists today.

The witch, can also express aspects of who we are as women in earthly realms.
 How we create, in the kitchen, in the garden, in our health, in our world and
relationships. Who was known “to stand tall” in community? To speak, for natural
 law? To farm and work with the environment and her seasonal changes to live, to 
survive with loved ones. These ideas about cycles of life is represented here with the turning of the wheel and eight celebrations of the year.

The woman that circles in the background of every herstorical aspect in our earthly time, the moon. She is always with us and constantly influencing. This pendant shows the crescent moon with a fire opal’s star created and dancing alongside her.

More amulets that “came up” in the beginnings of this study were created for the purpose of design and use as a tool. A wand, a first tool in drawing, mixing and calling forth purpose. For myself wands bring such young energy of growing up, imagining the possibilities of the dream. Witches write symbols to protect and charge the representations of beliefs and ideas. What tools were created? What would
 the altar look like, how does it function? It is a big borderless beautiful
 subject in front of me. So I ask and listen, beginning with some items close
 to me. A chalice unearthed from long ago, representation of womyn, water
 the west and ever flowing survivalist. This chalice is broken and scarred but 
still holds water. Made as an amulet for traveling altars, my favorite symbol to recreate so far.

Another strong representation of our divine purpose and power was documenting that wisdom. Giving the wisdom life as knowledge through spoken word and birthed itself in cuneiform work. We will need a writing instrument! I loved the challenge of chisel and hammer to create a quill feather, I intentionally set this pendant to the left before I learned the feather actually came from the left wing. Specifically made for the right handed.

For myself, I have found in my spiritual studies they especially like the left. For example, two left hands on deities to show “source”, let’s say. Me as a growing being, writing left handed I had finally felt welcomed. In the spirit of, automatically connecting to “source” as soon as the pen is put to paper, this pendants setting was chosen to constantly dance to write, moving in the air. So inspiring for me!

Constant learning to express myself through silversmithing. When I work, I feel and understand the energy, easier sometimes than the trickyness of alchemy in metal. The use and metaphysical properties of the stone. Finding the energy and study of the idea I want to express, is pure creation for me. Sometimes I simply create homes for stones. Other times the energy comes forth and teaches me, shows me definition of symbolism strengthening my intuition to listen, design. I learn my craft, spirit and matter work together and sometimes I can create a dream into reality. I want to express symbols that stand the test of time and I hope you may recognize today. I hope I have inspired you with my journey.

You can view more of my work online at https://squareup.com/store/queniveresjewelry

Many blessings to you and your witchy path.
 Like rising tide to the moon, merry meet and merry meet again!

 

Witchy Week: Najah Lightfoot

Welcome to Witchy Week!

The Spooky Season is filled with images of gnarled old witches with big hats and even bigger noses. They’re plastered across bags of Halloween candy. The stores are filled with sparkly witch costumes and green face makeup. I shake my head as I pass by the aisle. How did we come to caricature an entire group? I blame Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

We have witches among us today. The ones I’ve met look nothing like the cartoon candy bag characters. They are ordinary people walking a different path. So what is it like to be a real life witch? I’ll let the experts tell you in their own words. My first guest is Najah Lightfoot.

 

Hail and Welcome DTJ readers!

I’m excited to share my thoughts during DTJ’s Witchy Week. I’d like to thank C.R. Richards for this wonderful opportunity.

A bit about me: I am Contributing Author for Llewellyn Worldwide Publishing. I write for the Spell-A-Day, Witches’ Companion, Magical Almanac and Witches’ Datebook series. In short I am a practicing Witch, living my Craft one day at time, as the Wheel turns.

As with all lovers of this Season, I enjoy the cooler temperatures, falling leaves, the gorgeous Harvest full moon, and the chance to wear my Witchy clothes. I enjoy decorating my home in the spirit and fun of Halloween. I look forward to attending Witches’ Balls and Day of the Dead celebrations.  And with reverence I await the night of October 31st, to honor my ancestors and loved ones, who have gone before me, in the tradition of what we call Samhain, which is pronounced Sow (like “cow”) -in.

As I write this post, I’m sipping coffee from my pentagram mug. The window is open and cool breezes are flowing across me.  I’ve just come in from my back yard, where I’ve honored the four directions, including Mother Earth and the Divine Spirit within. For me, this is how I practice being a true Witch. Being true is a practice of honoring Nature, ourselves as magickal people, and our ability to manifest change and good intentions.

A lot of people during this time of year like to dress up as Witches. For some it’s a sneaky way to embrace the calling of “Witch” they’ve felt for a long time. For others it’s an opportunity to come “out of the broom closet.”

It can be a long and difficult journey to announce your Witchyness to the World. I was recently reminded of the real fear people have about Witches, through an old black and white movie, called “Horror Hotel.” In the film local townspeople who are labeled “Witches,” wear black cloaks, kidnap and murder innocent people in the name of their religion. Oh my heart! Nothing could be farther from the truth in my experiences and in the Circle of my friends. These types of movies give practicing Witches a “bad rap.”

For many Pagans and Witches, this is a sacred time. During this time of Samhain, we honor our loved ones who have gone before us. As the veil thins, we create ancestor altars and perform divination for ourselves.

During this season, lots of seekers ask, “how do I become a Witch?”

From my experience, being a Witch is a calling that arises from deep within you. If you’ve asked that question, you already know you’re leaning in that direction. Many people choose to self-dedicate themselves after long periods of seeking. Some connect with teachers, while others may join covens. A high percentage of people simply practice being solitary Witches – where they can practice as they see fit, while joining in with group activities from time to time.

What you’ll find is that Witches are as unique and different as Moonrise and Sunset. None of us do it exactly the same way. There is no right way or wrong way to practice. One goes by heart, feel and intuition. The Craft is a mystery. It seeks to wander and explore.  It’s always best to trust your inner guides, listen to your Higher Power, and practice discernment. If you decide to choose this path, relax and enjoy the ride.

If you’re seeking resources, here are few places to get started:

Llewellyn Worldwide Publishing

http://www.llewellyn.com/

The Witches Voice

http://www.witchvox.com/

Feel free to look me up or follow me:

http://www.facebook.com/NajahLightfoot

http://www.twitter.com/NajahLightfoot

http://sistermoon13.blogspot.com

May you have a blessed and happy Halloween/Samhain season

 

Guest Post: Author Liv Hadden

I’m a really happy person, which doesn’t mean much unless you’ve read my novel, In the Mind of Revenge. You can tell from the title it’s not a tale of unicorns, rainbows, and happy-endings. It is dark, twisted, sad, murderous, and most certainly violent. So, I often get asked where I got the idea for this book, especially since it seems so opposite of me and my life experience.

Well, besides my love of all things Halloween (Creepy? Scary? Paranormal? Yes, please!), the inspiration for this particular story started as all my ideas do—with an unexpected visit from the main character. Shame came to me in a dream during a time of depression, which I am sure is why I latched on. In honor of Halloween and the release of the audiobook version of In the Mind of Revenge on October 31, I thought I would share the haunting that started it all—my eerie dream of shame.

***

The silence is heavy and jarring in a way no amount of noise could ever be. It commands stillness, taunting me to dare cross it. My lungs burn as they expand as far as they possibly can. I do not exhale despite my chest’s urging. Every inch of me is working hard to suppress the panic bubbling in my gut. The vast emptiness around me does nothing to aid my cause. Hot breath sends an icy chill across my neck and shoulders. I stiffen, hoping it is possible to be more still, more silent than I already am. I am becoming part of the emptiness, releasing into it everything I am made of. I know I will die in this place, slowly consumed by the darkness of silence.

It is then a whisper tickles my neck, curling its way around, tightening its grip. It crushes my throat, denying me any option for one last breath. I do my best not to look, not to hear. Just let me go, I shout inside the prison of my mind. But, it is stronger than me and its message rings through the air, cutting through the stark silence.

“I see you.”

Everything in me wants to recoil, but it won’t let me. The pressure in my chest and stomach are unbearable. I open my mouth, relenting to the burning in my lungs, but no air enters them. It’s strangling me, this invisible demon. I can feel it bucking and bursting in its relentless pursuit to break free of my body. Despite the blackness of my surroundings, I can see the demon oozing from my abdomen, one tendril at a time. It is blacker than the darkest night, more sinister than its most evil villain.

The contents of my bowels spill onto the ground with the amorphous form of the demon that was once living inside me. The smell is wretched, like nothing my senses have ever encountered before. I can see the stink of rot floating around the demon as it begins to grow larger. Fear grips me, urging me to run, but I cannot move my feet. I must watch in horror as the monster that has been suffocating me for years begins to take form. Black demonic fingers extend and retract from arms that are defining themselves quicker than I’d like.

I am scared to look, to face my demon. I close my eyes as hard as I can, my attention immediately drawn to my exposed insides. The hole my monster crawled from is still there, a wound I know will never heal. Blood is steadily dripping from the tear, which I now fear is feeding the demon. Suddenly, it is near me, its lips grazing my ear lobe. We are both still, waiting for the other to make a move. I wonder if it knows I am paralyzed. Is this part of its game? I can think of nothing crueler than continuing to plague me with the ultimate villain in dark silence like this—time.

Hands shoot up to my face. Fingers pry open my eyes, forcing me to see what I have been dreading. “I see you,” it hisses, licking my left cheek as if taste testing its last meal. My eyes lock with its, stopping my heart with the realization of its true nature. Staring back into my eyes is me—a shadow Peter Pan would surely be glad to lose. Though, I know it is more than just a shadow. It is the embodiment of everything I have ever hated about myself. Every piece of me I have ever abhorred, detested, looked down upon. I am right—my demon is drinking of my blood…of my shame.

My shame begins to laugh hysterically, its low booming voice somehow sounding of many. It wields its right hand to deliver my final death blow, plunging its fist into my chest. I can feel razor sharp claws penetrating my heart, slowly sealing my fate. It whispers in my ear again, one more time before it releases me into the nothingness for good.

“You fool.”

I begin to fall. The descent lasts so long I am certain there is no end. To my surprise, my shame is falling with me, now fused to my heart. It is a part of me now in a way I cannot escape. I knew I would die in this this place.

In the space where acceptance meets desperation, I feel a tugging that wrenches my head backward, threatening to remove it from my neck. My shame cries out in agony, and I realize the tugging is not hurting me. In fact, it is refreshing, like melting ice against too hot skin. No, the tugging is not breaking me—it is interrupting the black shadow’s snack of my feeble heart and soured soul. My demon’s ghoulish screams are music to my ears. I wonder what has come to fight it and hope it will win. The heat of it I now recognize as an old friend I was certain had abandoned me long ago. Love bends around me, cradling me in its arms, its whispers sweet and tender.

“I see you.”

I am at a crossroads called choice, and I must make a decision. It seems simple to my heart, who is suffocating under the weight of shame. Yet, my mind is ill-content to let it rest as such—these things are not so clear. This demon is mine—this demon I have earned. It came from me. It is of me. I must carry its weight. My shame knows I do not deserve love. The warmth rescinds as quickly as it came, leaving one last message before it departs.

“You fool.”

The blackness consumes me, and I disappear into my demon’s rotten form. We are one now, indistinguishable from one another. Where I start, my demon begins. I am my shame. My shame is me. We are the Shamed.

Check out the trailer! Intense!

Grab Your Copy on Amazon

About The Author

Debut novelist Liv Hadden has been writing ever since she was a little girl. But, it wasn’t until 5th grade when her teacher said she’d one day write a book that she started taking it seriously.

Her Shamed series began in college, when Hadden employed her writing as an outlet for her feelings during a serious bout of depression. After a brief, yet impactful first night of writing, she dreamt of a shadowy figure, tormented and demonized by their own mind and realized this was the shadow of pain that hurting people everywhere felt.

She woke from her dream feeling more energized that she had in months, picked up her computer and began to write. “I felt if ever there was a story inside me and a character worth taking the leap, it was Shame and this story,” says Hadden. “This one in particular is personal in nature, and perhaps the very reason it’s so close to my heart.”

Hadden has her roots in Burlington, Vermont  and has lived in upstate New York and Oklahoma, where she went to college at the University of Oklahoma,, and earned her degree in Environmental Sustainability Planning & Management.  She now resides in Austin, TX with her husband and two dogs, Madison and Samuel and is an active member of the Writer’s League of Texas.

Incredibly inspired by artistic expression, Hadden immerses herself in creative endeavors on a daily basis. She finds great joy in getting lost in writing and seeing others fully express themselves through their greatest artistic passions, like music, body art, dance and photography. “I get chills when I have the great privilege of seeing someone express their authentic selves,” says Hadden. “I believe it gives us a true glimpse into the souls of others.

Author Website: LivHadden.com

Change Happens: A Perspective from The Trenches

“Change is the only constant in life.” Heraclitus of Ephesus.

In my role as Project Manager, I’ve participated in or led many change efforts. Some were smaller changes such as software upgrades. Others were large organizational changes in business processes. They all had one thing in common. Resistance.

Organizational and social change is a chaotic business. It’s stressful and can bring out the ugly in the best of us. Why? Most people are hardwired to HATE CHANGE. I’ve seen folks cling to an aging system that cost way too much money to maintain. They’d rather remain in their comfortable negativity than move on to a new way of doing things. It never ceases to stun me. Now that I’m older and wiser, I’ve learned to stop pounding my new ideas into folks who don’t want to listen. I move around them and get it done.

There are three camps in any change effort:

Camp Innovation – You’ll find me waving the 3D holographic flag powered by solar energy. My team and I are the “Change Agents” with the innovated ideas to make life better. We see a problem and find amazing ways to solve it (and hopefully make the world a better place). Sometimes we forget not everyone is onboard with our awesome ideas.

Camp We’ll See – These folks are the ones grounded in reality (maybe a little cynical). Their motto is “Yeah right. It’s a nice idea, but how are you going to pull it off?” This is the largest camp. These are the folks any change agent has to convince. A good change agent should also take the time to listen to their valid concerns.

Camp Grumpy (So many names I could call these folks! None of them are very PC.) – Their motto is “We’ve always done things this way. We don’t need to change.” Then they dig their heels in and refuse to help make the change happen. It wouldn’t be so bad if they stuck with being old curmudgeons, but they don’t. I’ve seen this camp purposely sabotage efforts. They would rather waste money, ruin their careers and make enemies than change.  Reasoning with these folks is a waste of time.

You may be thinking, “Gawd, this sounds like a horrible time!”

You’d be right. Change, however, happens whether we’re onboard or not. The hard part is making certain change heads in a positive, world enhancing direction. We have to hang on during the ugly times. Turmoil stems from resistance. Resistance stems from fear.

Know there are people in this world who would do anything to keep the status quo, no matter how outdated and horrible. There are, however, just as many dedicated people working toward a better tomorrow. Right now, you are living through a time of social change. Evidence of turmoil and angst are in the news every day. It’s hard to watch. We have to remember turmoil comes before great social change. Things will get better. I see it in the conviction of the people working to overcome hate.

Keep the faith and hang on.