Sometimes you have to carry your home on the inside.

I have a recurring dream, one that always brings me comfort, though to some it might be considered a nightmare. There’s a place I visit, and when I’m there, I soar with freedom. Sometimes literally, because hey, dream. I know when I’m in this place again, not because I recognize it, nothing in it is ever truly familiar. It’s not the look of the land, it’s the spirit.

I might be walking down a prosperous neighborhood, admiring the occasional flash of stained glass and enjoying thrills of delight at lawn gnomes tucked discreetly in well-tended flower gardens.

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I’m always on the move, a quiet pressure deep inside urging me away from where I was, and onward to where I am going. Looking for something intangible, looking for something I can hold, something to satisfy the desire that can’t be filled.

Sometimes, I’ll admit it, sometimes I’m looking for something to steal. Stolen treasures are even more exciting. But I never find anything. There is nothing that calls to be mine.

Maybe I enter a home, only to pass through to the other side, winding my way through backyards and over fences. Maybe I turn down an alley, or take a shortcut across an empty lot. Maybe I stick to the streets and simply make another turn, and it all falls away to something else. A new neighborhood, a new adventure.

On this street, colorful laundry flutters in the air. Cautious eyes on strained faces peek through open windows while the sweat drips from their brow. The colors of the homes change from brick to adobe, and strong spices flow from a market on the corner.

A breathless push through the excited market might turn me into a rustic neighborhood of wood and pine, or one that likes to mix up its architectural style with a minimalist modern flare. Every street has something new, everything a gleaming snapshot of the shiniest treasures that area has to offer, be they succulent or depraved, glitters of the exotic or the luxurious, the serene or the mysterious, and always, always out of reach. No matter how simple the treasure I have found might be.

Always. Be it a lawn gnome, or a family sitting down at the table together for a meal.

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I never live there, I am always walking through, and everything I see is out of my reach, therefore exotic and exciting.

I know exactly why I have this dream, and I know exactly why it comforts me. I won’t tell you every detail, but I might hint that when I wanted to live in the woods, there was a reason it might have been preferable to home. Maybe more than one reason.

Those reasons stopped in my teenage years, and so did my attempts to run off and live like a feral child. I was always caught, but those moments of freedom wandering around unfamiliar streets affected me forever. To the point that they molded my dreams.

When I started riding a bike to explore, the dreams started sometimes taking on the feel of flying, racing along in pure joy up and down the roads. Never high enough to reach the sky, or even avoid cars without a lot of effort, but a nice smooth gliding flight that I had the joy of recreating when I woke up and got on my bike again. I don’t have a bike anymore, but I still fly through neighborhoods in my sleep.

When I lived on the street, the longing to be a part of the places I passed through grew to something more intense, darker, but comforting and familiar in its own way. The dreamy landscapes I wandered through grew more colorful, more diverse, more like an entire city contained in a small area, each street a representation of the best of all the towns I’ve wandered through, secret treasures and fascinations intact.

Know what reminds me of that oddly comforting dream, that recurring expression of an emotion I know no name for other than wanderlust? That word only expresses the desire, not the blissful satisfaction of something new and exciting washing over you in waves as you experience temporary release from despair (or, more recently, mild annoyance).

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Walking around Staten Island, that’s what. The smallest, greenest borough of New York City. A variety of cultures stacked on top of each other, some streets new and shiny and some streets cracking and mossy, and all of them beautiful.

If I were forced (well, persuaded by love) to live in pollution and population filled New Fucking York City, this would be the place to stick me. Home of protected marshlands, deer, subcutaneous egg laying sand fleas, and reputedly practically the whole damn island is haunted.

Seeing the state of many of these places, once shining and now peeling with grief, crammed right up next to homes oozing prosperous promises, I can see why rumors of ghosts linger. Also, there was that serial killer with his associated scandalous hospital, then the other abandoned hospital that’s supposed to be like an entire village, the mob hitman who cut up that dude in that mansion… Anyway, you know. Fun history alongside all that birth of our nation stuff.

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I want you to take a moment and put yourself in my skin, with forty some-odd years of that dream driving your spirit. Now add twenty years of living in virtual confinement, restrained by poverty, lack of transportation, and the life of a single mother struggling to get through school (before I met Joe), followed by a new bundle of joy and the chaining to the home that brings.

Then suddenly…

I’m living in a landscape that holds some of the nooks and crannies of the neighborhood of my spirit. The landscape around me mirrors adventures that have called to me for decades. I play in unexplored landscapes and unfamiliar cultures just when I’m walking to the store. Awesome.

As pleasant as this place is, it is still New York City. Exotic, challenging, and bold. I walk, and I look around, and I feel my soul taking it in to store for later, material for memories that will become stories and dreams. My inner life grows wealthier, my need for stimulation being fed.

And Joe is talking about possibly sending us back to Tulsa.

Oklahoma. Land of flat, dull, and boring. We don’t even have basements, or homes above shops. I grew up surrounded by people who picked on me for reading for fun. People who had no idea how to eat an artichoke and had never eaten shrimp and ask you what church you belong to when you meet because it’s assumed you are Christian.

I mean, okay I get it. When it comes down to it, our current housing situation is not going to work out for a multitude of reasons. It would be less expensive to ship us off, we could save money to buy land faster, and oh boy, I do want land.

But I haven’t explored Manhattan yet, and it’s December so it’s cold and Joe’s commute is twice as long because of shoppers and tourists. I don’t think I want to face that crowd. Stuck in traffic that long with a hyper toddler, not a good idea either. If I were alone, the crowd and cold would just be part of the adventure, but I just can’t do it to her. I was hoping to visit the city with her in the spring, but now I hear I might not even be in the city over Christmas.

I had my heart set on so many things. I won’t get to tour the best graffiti, or eat a dandelion in Central Park. I might not even get a chance to see Poe’s banister before we leave. I did get to gather seashells with my daughter, and I do admit the beach was lovely (if you admire the tragedy of urban decay and can vaguely enjoy the horror you feel while you watch trash bobbing in the waves).

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I thought I would be here for a year, and that I wouldn’t have to be apart from Joe again. I wanted to walk through Washington Square park while wondering how many bones I was walking across. I wanted to drink with the ghost of Dylan Thomas. Now, instead, I may be going back to the trailer. To paint the walls in a vain attempt to inject optimism and a woodland theme into my life.

Or, as I was informed this morning, perhaps we’ll be moving to Long Island, with an actual view of the ocean. It would be longer until we saved enough for land, but we would stay together and I could continue my plans for the rest of the year.

This should be earth-shatteringly good news, a possibility to cling to, but it’s just making me worried it won’t happen.

Once again, I’m not sure of where I will be and when. The way possibilities keep popping up, then fading away around here, that might be going on for a while. In a way, it’s cool. All the possibilities have positive eventual outcomes, even going back to the land of flat, dead, and boring will lead to land, so I know I can adapt.

It’s just that, well, humans are complicated creatures and the seed for adventure isn’t the only thing in my heart. Lots of stuff lives there.

Fucking anxiety and PTSD to name a couple. Know what stuff like that doesn’t like? Instability. Unpredictable futures. Trying to get settled in, and just when you do, it’s time to move again. I totally signed up for this journey, I just didn’t realize it would jump around so much or move so fast.

I am not reacting well. Thankfully, middle age doesn’t just come with wrinkles. It also comes with a lifetime of experience and skill sets to stave off the waves of panic attacks that would have been hell in this situation when I was younger.

And I have a brand new, shiny skill set that hasn’t even gotten boring yet. Bullet journaling about organization, a routine, pain solutions, family meals, standard life skills that will remain consistent no matter where we live or what we are doing. That helps.

I mean, I just got a new journal for 2019 a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve at least started notes on collections for more than half of the pages, so apparently it’s helping quite frequently. I have to say though, copying recipes from Pinterest into my BUJO is the most white girl thing I’ve ever done. At least I don’t think I’ve been so drunk that I’ve lost a shoe in public.

P.S.- I finally caved and got Scrivener, and had one of those moments where angels sang in chorus while light radiated so hard my hair blew back. I’ve already started a bullet journal page with custom icons.

P.P.S. – Posting Tuesdays now. I tried posting when my views were at their peak, apparently that is not a good strategy to get more views on my blog.

Celebrating My Inner Domestic Goddess

This week, I’ve put my projects aside. Mucking through the aftermath of a sick household made me start to see that it’s far too easy for me to let my home fall into total disrepair. It might be time to re-balance and organize my primary job as Mommy. If that job is more efficient, I will have more time to write.

Naturally, there is only one method that someone like me would use to do such a thing, because I need rulers and colored pencils to be a large part of my life. So, I bought a brand new bullet journal to start setting up for 2019.

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I have sketched out a habit tracker for every month and planned or already started collections for meal planning, holiday menus, chore maps and scheduling, etc. The dates and calendars I am making might be for 2019, but the collections and task organizations I can start using now.

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I’d show you more pages, but my eyes are horrid. I can’t make text clear to me even when I’m reading, photography of text does not work out well.

I’m excited though. A new pair of glasses has finally climbed up to the top of our priority list, I’ve already had the exam, and I’m stoked. I was told I would never see clearly again, but apparently I didn’t understand that was with single vision glasses. It looks like bifocals might end up being life altering.

I have to wait a few days, but hopefully both my art and my photography will improve. It will certainly be easier to see if my camera is in focus. It will make drawing easier to do, but I’m also hoping it will make it easier to control my fingers, I know fibromyalgia will keep my fingers stiff but maybe better vision will help hand/eye coordination.

Once I get my shiny new glasses I’ll post a few more of my favorite pages.

The Eggs Are Starting To Mumble

I may not have done a lot of writing for this week, but my enjoyment of this poem just keeps going up. I figured that by this time I’d be wanting to move on to my own words, but instead I decided I want to memorize it, write it down, make it pretty, and carry it with me everywhere.

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I know the colors are a little saturated for a lord from the Night’s Plutonian shore, but I’m wanting to do a wax resist. It’s been so long since I’ve tried that, I might as well say I’ve never done it before because I don’t remember a lick about it. If I ruin my raven in the process, I’m gonna cry.

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And then do another one because I might ultimately be wasting my time, but let’s face it, I’m a housewife with a very active baby girl who seems every bit as adventurous as her momma. I just want need something to do that keeps me sane in the middle of chaos, even if it’s not churning out a lot of writing at this point.

I will though, I have shadows of meaning lurking in the corners of my imagination, tantalizing me, whispering my name from the branches of barren, twisted trees shrieking in the wind.

A few brief pieces have fallen from my head this week. I was browsing around and ran across a prompt for a beautiful sentence, and right then and there I surprised myself with this:

In silence, I caress the silk, months of my strained eyes and pricked fingers as I stitched the delicate symbols, stained with the blood of my labor, and now my fresh tears as I know that as I finished the shroud I must finish his life as well.

So my ability to come up with flash seems to be improving. That’s nice. Not sure if it was because of this project or the skill books I’ve been reading lately. I’ll be writing up a page on those soon, a recommended reading type page.

P.S. – I have decided that rather than posting with a loose deadline of “sometime on Thursday”, I’m going to make it a scheduled posting at noon on Friday and see if that doesn’t help me reach more people.

Boing, boing, boing.

This week, I dove headfirst into a semi-distraction. One that will help my writing in the end in more ways than one, even if it doesn’t seem connected at first.

Also, it may look like I’m about to lapse into irrelevant whining. Stick with me. This is for writers, I have no intention of boring you with details.

I mentioned that hunting dinosaurs helps me with my goal of whipping my chronic pain into submission, so I can go camping. I can afford equipment and the occasional road trip now, after all. Can’t let pain hold me back from that one, I have bigfeet to meet.

Exercise can relieve the pain of fibromyalgia. Not at first though. At first, it gets worse and it’s kind of hard to tell if I’ve sprained something, or it’s just my nerve endings being idiots and panicking like wussy little bitches again.

So, I take it slow and gentle. My dumb ass has certainly pushed myself too hard in the past, and then gone and made recovery a slow thing because it’s hard to tell if I’m walking around on a real injury or not.

Luckily, milestones still happen even when taking it easy. I’ve finally reached the flexibility that I had before I got pregnant with my daughter. This milestone is simple, but opens a lot of possibilities.

I am now flexible enough to start learning to belly dance again. I was struggling with simple moves when I got pregnant, those isolations are magnificent physical therapy.

Plus, I realized that I have some resources now. I can afford some simple equipment to make my routines more effective. And I realized something else, too. I would be seeing Joe in a month, and that might not be time to lose a lot of weight, but I can get as toned as possible.

So, I splurged, bought some simple equipment from Walmart, and have been using it to work out my nervous energy and excitement. I’ll be seeing him at the end of this month. Bouncing on a ball and kicking in delight is certainly my mood.

All week long, instead of writing I’ve been working on learning to use my new stuff, motivated by my girly crush but incredibly happy that a side effect will be more mobility and (drumroll) better brain health, increasing the circulation my brain needs for writing.

A lot of skill books I’ve been perusing lately (both meanings) have mentioned the connection between writing and exercise. Julia Cameron frequently praises walking and its merits for the creative person. Jordan Rosenfeld praises the merits of moving around so much she makes it part of the learning process for her chapters in A Writer’s Guide to Persistence. In Fire Up Your Writing BrainSusan Reynolds gives the neurological benefits of increased circulation from sustained exercise on brain health, making the general task of writing more efficient.

That’s just the stuff I’ve run across in the last couple of months. I know I have things from school that talked about the neurological benefits of exercise. It also has the indirect side effect of increasing discipline and energy, both traits put to good use in a writing practice.

Anyway, it’s nice how it all comes together. Like when you shop at thrift stores because you’re broke, but you realize that you are also conserving resources, and you know your money goes to a charity rather than “the man”. Never do anything for just one reason, it’s a waste of time.

Now I can dance and play for beauty, for relaxation, for health, for mind, and eventual awesome nature adventures (likely to provide content for my writing). Naturally, I will also dance to awaken my muse.

As long as no one is looking, I get a chance to dance through imaginary and exotic locations while dreaming up adventures far away. Seductive little plot bunnies will lazily drip from my fluttering fingers. The kind of daydreaming that can happen when relaxing and gently moving while listening to music can do magic.

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P.S. – I want to just straight up talk to people in chronic pain now. Those with no need to hear can wander off, this is where I hid the boring details.

Please move around as much as you can. You don’t have to work to the point of pain and buckets of sweat, especially if, like me, you are an idiot with a history of pushing yourself to the point of injury. Just start with something gentle, and do a steady pace so you don’t burn out or overextend.

If there are things that you can’t do, find something you can do. Find things that feel good and provide immediate pain relief, like yoga or water aerobics (YMCA sometimes provides classes if you need more than internet instructions).

I have friends with chronic pain that only faced it with medication and rest, and as the years went on, they collapsed under the weight of it, to the point that they can’t live a life without assistance. I’ve seen people rely on medication, and end up adding opiate addiction to their list of problems, and it looks a lot worse than pain alone.

I’ve had friends with conditions that will always prevent certain exercise (especially spinal conditions) that still do what they can as much as they can, and they live independently. My own experience shows me that if I don’t move around when I start getting sore, I am asking for a very limited life full of pain.

My experience has also shown me how limited money can be, and how priorities often put frivolous things, like simple equipment for physical therapy, aside.

This is what my most recent shopping spree has taught me, and what I want to share with you.

If you suffer from chronic pain, but you’re flat broke and you can’t justify spending $15 on a stupid foam roller or a bouncy ball, do so anyway (if your doctor agrees). Don’t starve, but maybe eat beans rather than hamburger helper a couple of times. Or, see if you can make your home more resource efficient to lower your bills. Turn off more lights, block drafts, that kind of stuff. Find a way to work simple equipment in, it’s worth the investment.

I’d start with a stability ball. Don’t worry about an instructional DVD. Apparently you have internet access, and YouTube is full of instructional videos. Sitting upright and doing slow clockwise and counter clockwise circles with my hips feels sooo good when my lower back locks up. When my upper back is stiff, resting across the top of the ball can really help me open it up for some relief.

The foam roller “hurts so good”. It confuses your nerves into submission. Be careful of your lower spine, and don’t worry about fumbling around like an idiot at first, you’ll get the hang of it.

Other stuff, like walking weights and yoga blocks are optional but inexpensive. They can help you reach your goals more quickly and give you a wider range of options. The more options you have, the more varied and effective your routine becomes. I am reaching areas that need work more easily now.

My best weapon against pain, yoga, doesn’t require any equipment and the internet is full of instruction. I started doing it when I was 14 and my back started hurting. Because I mostly use it for pain control, I can’t do anything super impressive. Just knowing a handful of moves that alleviate my most common pains has been a great way to get more comfortable.

It feels great, and it doesn’t require getting sweaty. Plus, yoga teaches you to listen to your body, and that is a great way to prevent pain from bad posture. You become more aware of areas under strain, adjust your balance to soften the pressure, and your muscles are stronger to help hold you in the new posture.

When pregnant with my son, I was forced into inactivity by bedrest (preeclampsia). Before I was pregnant, my pain was just some annoying bad back stuff and old injuries that refused to heal right. Sometimes they would spasm, but I hadn’t reached the point of thinking anything was seriously wrong.

After he was born, I was crawling on the ground in pain. I had lead an active enough life, walking and biking everywhere because I’m not fond of cars, and the muscles had prevented a lot of my pain. My reaction to sudden weakness and the pain that came with it was to sit on a heating pad and rest.

That wasn’t a good idea, and I spent a couple of years where a week out of every month I had to use a cane. When I started walking instead of taking the bus, struggling through the pain that wanted to hold me back, after a few months I was able to put my cane aside and I haven’t needed it regularly since.

When life forces me into inactivity and I start exercising to recover, there is a certain point were even though I’m moving gently, post-exercise stiffness kicks in and adds another layer to my pain. I’ve learned to love when this happens.

For one thing, the best way to deal with it is to stretch. Get up and move around, work it out. This means it just reinforces my goals, and I start working a little harder, but stretching feels great so I don’t mind.

The next phase is just around the corner, and it’s a great one. The pain starts moving from my joints to the surrounding muscle, and then shortly after that my overall pain starts decreasing.

Stiff muscle pain means they are healing, growing stronger tissue, that stronger tissue starts cushioning my joints and my nerve endings, and makes it easier to hold correct posture for longer periods of time, preventing some of the pain from occurring in the first place. Reward.

This is why I’m drawing out this long, personal, and probably somewhat boring story. If you have pain, and you’ve tried to work it out, but it just got worse and you gave up, as long as your doctor is okay with it, consider trying again. Keep your Epsom salts and heating pads on hand, and work out stiffness with stretching.

Not every condition is like mine, but if your doctor has been a jerk harassing you about exercise, please give into it. You’ll recover some of the bits of life lost to pain.

So, I’m Going Adventuring With Ghosts Soon

I fully intend to make moving to New York City a giant adventure. The thrill of culture shock will just provide so much creative ammunition, there’s no way I can pass certain things up.

It looks like I will most likely end up there around the end of September, making my wild rumpus due to begin in the month of October. My absolutely, hands down, most favoriteist month of the year.

Also, it happens to be the perfect month to start the adventures I’m currently planning. I have a mad desire to go soak in the atmosphere of some historical locations that also happen to be haunted. I want to go indulge my inner goth child who never grew up, hang out where Dylan Thomas drank himself to death, and go see Poe’s haunted banister.

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I’ve loved listening to true ghost story podcasts and Stephen King’s Bag of Bones while working on this, little dark plot bunny shadows keep skittering off to the murky corners of my journal. The thought of walking this map in October is just dark chocolate icing on a pumpkin spice cupcake with bat sprinkles.

Another great thing about all these upcoming outings, I get to brush off my photography skills. My eyes suck, so I set photography aside as a serious pursuit long ago. I like my little free Craig’s list camera for family pictures and some nature treasure hunting, but now I’m throwing tourism into the mix with a decent budget, it’s time to brush off my skills and start researching cameras for the awesome upgrade.

So, I’m designing a couple of photo safaris for myself, some of them adventure related. Around the house, the thought of a straight up domestic set of photos bores me, so I’m going to think of ways to inspire stories with what I do. Like, I don’t know about staging a still life with fruit, but maybe a subtle implication of murder.

I’m not exactly sure how such a project will help me take better photos of haunted banisters and the Statue of Liberty’s toe, but I’m sure it will help me somehow in an important way and therefore it must be done.

I’m just so excited about all the possibilities coming up for getting out of the house, you don’t even understand. My old friends from high school would. They knew all about how I grew up a chronic runaway, and how even when I was happy I would still want to wander so badly that I frequently left parties for long walks until I drove the itchy impulses out of my legs. Sometimes they came with, but usually they didn’t because those slackers could never keep up.

I’ve lived in Tulsa for over a decade. I moved here in a state of crisis and poverty, and my main forms of transportation have been my feet and the public bus system. Going to the grocery store has been “getting out of the house” for years. Years of years, even. I feel like a minister’s daughter about to head off to a co-ed university in another state.

 

Getting back into the swing of things.

This week, with my usual inclination to play while doing adult things, I chased plot bunnies and dinosaurs. Jurassic World has a Pokémon Go type game out now y’all, only it’s better than Pokémon Go, because it isn’t boring. Here, I’ll show you how excited I became.

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It turns out, dinosaur hunting is better than nature treasure hunting for a reason to get out of the house and move around. You can really stretch your legs between spawn points instead of meandering across a field. And, you can still play around in the spawn points and find little nature treasures. When I move, spawn points are probably going to be where I seed-bomb first.

I absolutely have got to walk more. Reclaiming my previous physical strength, which softens the soreness of fibromyalgia, is a pretty big goal right now. I’m about to have a lot more freedom to possibly travel and maybe even (hopefully) take up camping as a hobby.

Besides, I need to be able to hike without coming to tears, even if it’s just to walk around New York seed-bombing to feed pollinators. Before meeting Joe and becoming his softened spoiled brat, I would walk or bike for a few miles carrying groceries, so I know it’s possible to get into hiking condition. A big rare dinosaur showing up just around the corner, followed by another desirable creature just over that hill, has ended up being exactly the motivation I need to get me there.

I have way too much fun with it, pretending the ghetto bird helicopters are my team members in on the action as I save the hood from rampaging horrors to a (and this is the best part) theme track of adventurous dinosaur hunting music. (I need a safari hat. My wicker gardening hat is all full of holes anyway. It’s starting to get comments.)

In fact, I had so much fun that I overdid it, and ended up having to force myself to turn off my GPS unless it was time to walk. I would spend so much time dinosaur hunting that I didn’t spend time doing chores or writing. It was great though, I did the whole going through pain while raising my physical limits thing, I look forward to working in a day to overdo it every week. Balance it with light chores and yoga the next day. I can plan it all out in my new bullet journal.

This bullet journal has been a lifesaver. I stopped keeping a physical journal when I got a laptop, thinking I would be more productive if I planned out my creative projects the same way I did my papers in school, digitally.

At the time it felt productive, as I type faster than I write by far. I’m thinking now that was a mistake, and I regret thinking bullet journaling looked “too complicated” when I ran across it before. I didn’t realize the whole concept can be explained in a three-minute video. Pie is more complex.

So now I’m well on my way to using it to adapt my routine into something that will help me meet my physical goals, keep on top of household tasks, and be creative while I am doing it. All I do is start the day with a creative writing prompt and begin a collection page for it, then as I clean (while dancing for cardio) I can daydream and jot stuff down.

That’s three goals at once. It only works well if I also make sure to stop doing everything and journal while I rest, allowing me to refresh my focus. It’s a great time to doodle and daydream. I also don’t count it as exercise time, that’s deserving of undivided attention as well. But it helps ideas flow while I clean, and I stop and rest while I clean a lot anyway.

Much more fun than keeping the laptop open to stop and write when I had time. I had methods I thought were organized, but they ended up with me feeling like everything was chaos and unmanageable. Now I have a book I scribble in, and I feel like it’s all slipping into place just fine. It looks like a wreck but it’s the smoothest sailing ship in my fleet so far.

The biggest way I’ve been using it is to set it up with a writing prompt in the morning, daydream up plot bunnies, which I then can write about during Her Fussiness’s afternoon nap. Then, when she wakes up, I take notes on how to develop the idea further, or come up with more plot bunnies while I continue with my normal routine. Then I revise my notes in the evening at the kitchen table while dinner cooks.

I finalize the day with tasks that help me feel closure, like a little yoga and checking off the completed tasks for the day. Pleasure reading then stops the flow of ideas or I never sleep. I know writers are supposed to be open to the ability to take notes at 3am, but if I let my brain stay active it will never let me get any rest. Letting it have the freedom of my entire day instead seems to be working out well.

My prompts have been coming from Naming the World: And Other Exercises for the Creative Writer, edited by Bret Anthony Johnston. I browse it until something strikes me as I sip my coffee, then I put the book down and set up a prompt page.

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This page about Thisbe Nissen’s Fiction Through Artifacts prompt turned into a board on Pinterest. It’s devoted to collecting visual prompts for plot bunnies. I’m doing her postcard exercise from my gallery today. I also have a bullet journal section in my journal gallery. If you have anything similar, leave me a comment so I can check it out.

Which all sums up my current plan. Shake up my muse a bit for a few weeks, until I have some plot bunnies that are shining, prized gems. The next step will be working on them one at a time, then after a bit I’ll pick up alternating quick projects with the larger projects I have resting. For now, I’ll have tons of fun, and a schedule that allows me to create while organizing for the move.

P.S.- I highly recommend Abney Park (a steampunk band) as background music to dinosaur fights, I can stream it on Spotify and still hear the dinosaur sound effects. 60s music also gives it a nice surrealistic feel.