Heart of a Blogger

We’re flipping the script, y’all. This week, our blogger’s swiveling the lens onto herself and snapping a selfie.

Folks’ve been asking where all those crazy-ass blog images are coming from.

Are they escapees from an alternate reality, seeking asylum on your yellow pad?

Do they come when you call ‘em?

Not quite. But, sometimes they do bugle call a heads-up to let me know they’re on the way.

Free-falling out of some space-flyer. Land-thumping here onto our Earth plane. Without a leg broken or a hair out of place.

A flawless image, fully formed and page-ready.

Not one word to dress up or kick out.

Recent example happened on a road trip. A lush and colorful story-stream started narrating in my head. Since Voice Memos wasn’t handy, I had to remember all the doggone details for miles – before pulling over to capture them on the back of a grocery receipt.

Tough, too, because you can’t afford to lose even one word when it drops in like that. Each syllable counts – has energetic weight.

So you’ve gotta loop that net around ‘em right quick before they scamper off.

Mind you, you can’t just spinout on a slick-sounding riff, either. Dressed up in scintillating sonants, but lacking internal consistency. Metaphors need to match. Since each word drives the image and propels the narrative. 

Until it’s fully baked … into one bite-sized blog slice.

You may have noticed that I’m an admirer of alliteration. Dr. Suess was a Sage. (“David Donald Doo dreamed a dozen doughnuts and a duck-dog, too”.)

Why? Because it’s fun and silly :) Spiritual content, in particular, is a beneficiary. Bitta nonsense tossed in to coax a lightness of Being.

But, lest you imagine that working this blog-beat is all “baby bubbles and a bumblebee” (Suess), let me to assure you that more often than not you’re stompin’ the Blog Slog Boogie.

AKA, the “shitty first draft” (Anne Lamott)

You want it to sing – when it can’t even carry a tune.

Consider those occasions when you’ve flicked on the ignition. But get stuck in the driveway because your wordsmithing engine refuses to turn over. Crap.

Or, your tale-telling tires get mired in the mud.

You’re convinced Triple-A has deserted you. But no matter. Pretty darn sure that one was destined for a tow truck to the junk yard anyhow.

Good news is that time is likely on your side. In two ticks, you’ll be nipping and tucking that tale into a masterful topiary.

It always seems impossible until it’s done.

Nelson Mandela

‘Round about the third writing day, you start ‘tearing into your beloveds’. Those phrases and images you’re smitten with, but which aren’t fit for relationship. Tough love.

You’re finally ready to separate the fish from the bone.

That I’m in crazy-love with words will come as no surprise. Humbled and exhilarated to play midwife, birthing old forms with the language of new energies.

In the end, writing is motiveless. You create for pure joy. For the thrill of that one drop-dead turn of phrase.

I refuse to post a piece until it sings to me. I hope ya’ll are enjoying the melodies!

We plant purple prose in our gardens and snip the adverbs only to thread them in our hair. We write with no guarantees, no certainties, no promises of what might come. And we do it anyway. This is who we are.  

Tahereh Mafi