Writing - grace grits and gardening

My One Little Word for 2015

January 1, 2015 By Talya Tate Boerner

After considering three possibilities for my 2015 One Little Word, I focused in on one. Focus.

2015 will be my year of focus.

The new year brings a clean slate, and oh how I love clean. An ending. A fresh beginning. A chance to continue the progress already made. A new year where amazing things can and often happen.

2014 was a year of change. A year of believing things could change and making purposeful, positive change happen.

Now I plan to focus.

Primarily on my writing.

I’m ready. I can taste it. I want to sit at my desk and write for weeks and weeks uninterrupted. Guzzling coffee. Forgetting to eat. Totally absorbed. That’s the focus I can feel building beneath my skin.

Soon I’ll be making final-final edits on my manuscript (fingers crossed and knock-on-wood). I’m dreaming of that last mile, a completed project. Visualizing a book in my hands.

And I have other unfinished manuscripts hidden in the cloud. Short stories that need attention.

In 2015, I will focus on the craft of writing. Words I’ve yet to write. Stories untold.

I want to be present. Attentive. Mindful.

I want to absorb my surroundings, the sights and sounds that translate into words.

Sense the organic.

Listen to the voice.

My voice.

And there are other things I plan to focus on in 2015. Like our yard. We have a new fence, and that’s a huge start.

Of course, I’ll still blog. But posts may be less frequent. After my daily writing.

I’m excited about 2015. Happy New Year!

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

[tweetthis]Focus. My #onelittleword for #2015. What’s yours?[/tweetthis]

Musical Pairing:

Kings of Leon- Last Mile Home

Playing the Air Trumpet instead of Writing

November 29, 2014 By Talya Tate Boerner

morgueFile

Last night I dreamed I was back in high school with my best friends—Becky and Anita and Norma and Judy—and we sat crammed together on a bus traveling somewhere to march with the band in a Christmas parade. The bus was cold. We wore matching red and gray uniforms, our school colors, and tall white plumes extended from the tops of our headpieces. The bus noise level made talking difficult so mostly we just laughed. Laughing was easy and normal and what we did best. But the whole time I thought you don’t play an instrument. Why are you pretending to be in the band?

Thankfully I awoke before faking my way down a parade route playing the air trumpet.

Whew.

Tired from that dream.

But now I’m analyzing each piece of the dream because it’s a game I play and something I find interesting.

The first part is easy.

At the Razorback basketball game last night, I kept one eye on the band. They jazzed up Bud Walton Arena and looked to be having a blast.

Inserting myself into the high school “dream” band is more complicated since my only musical training has faded to Chopsticks on the piano. I believe this dream was a pathetic reflection on how I feel right now about myself. As a writer. Attempting to be part of a group that I’m not confident I belong in.

I know this sounds woe-is-me. And I realize this feeling is only temporary and probably attributed to a particular chapter in my manuscript that I’ve been struggling to edit combined with too much Thanksgiving food.

Doesn’t everyone feels this way from time to time?

Say yes.

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

[tweetthis]Yes. Everyone has “woe is me” days. [/tweetthis]

Musical Pairing:

Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock playing Chopsticks

Ernest Hemingway Wrote Here

November 6, 2014 By Talya Tate Boerner

Hemingway’s Barn, Piggott, Arkansas

I am fortunate to be attending my fifth writer’s retreat at Hemingway-Pfeiffer Educational Center, a truly magical place not only because Ernest Hemingway wrote here(!) but because of the synergy created by the writers who gather.

This spot in Northeast Arkansas is hallowed—the trees, the grounds, the barn where he wrote a portion of A Farewell to Arms and other short stories. If you know me, you are rolling your eyes and saying, “Here she goes ago again.” Yes, I’ve written about this place before. And I likely will again.

I am reminded of the reasons to attend a writer’s retreat. The benefits extend well beyond the words on the page. Each session is different, a result of the mentor-teacher and the student writers who bring different backgrounds, ideas, experiences, and voices to the table. We feel safe to share the truth and write our stories.

I imagine a swirl of creative color flowing over the room. Colors as bright as the fall leaves outside our window.

Although this group spans the nation from coast to coast with careers ranging from education, anthropology, military, and others, I am reminded of how alike we are in our upbringings, our dreams and desires, the things that touch us.

I am also reminded of our differences.

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

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