 |
| IWSG WEBSITE |
October (Part of the poem)
By Robert Frost
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leave at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow!
I wish time would slow a little, give us more time in a day,
more time in a life. But time is relative and it’s up to me to make of it what
I will, right? Do you wish time would slow a bit? I’m working on my story to
submit to the IWSG anthology, hence my desire for time to ease off a little.
Will I have it done by the deadline? That is my goal. Will it be good enough?
That is also my goal, and so I am nervous. First because though I have read a
lot of YA, I’ve never tried to write it. A challenge before NaNoWriMo and one
that just might take the place of it this year.
Please go and visit the blogs of our lovely co-hosts
for the October 3 posting of the IWSG:
This month’s question (s) set me to thinking. How do major
life events affect my writing, and, has writing ever helped me through
something?
For me, writing goes away during major life events,
depending on the event. Like the move we’ve just endured, writing was the poor
step-child and got very little attention from me. Now the move is mostly over, my
computer is in love with me again, accepting me the way my little dog does,
unconditionally, each time I come back to it. Thank goodness.
When my maternal grandmother was in hospital with cancer and
we all realized her time was coming, my sister and I both went to visit her. It
was hard because though I’d been very, very close with her when I was young, I
hadn’t really seen or spoken to her in over ten years. Family drama I won’t go
into here, but I didn’t want her to leave with that between us. On the way to
see her I cried like I hadn’t allowed myself to do in all that time. I ended up
writing two stories inspired by her, by our relationship and her relationship
with my mother. Writing those stories put what is important in one’s life into
perspective for me and helped me heal, as a nine-year-old, and as an adult. Yes,
cathartic.
May time slow just enough for us to
enjoy and relax into this change in seasons.
