An award, a gift & my gratitude

Jul18

I have a small confession to make. I started this blog anticipating utter failure. I was quite certain it would flounder and float aimlessly in the realm of blogdom until I simply gave up and deleted the whole thing.

I’m not entirely certain what makes a blog successful. I tried to research what to do and what not to do, everyone has an opinion and there are plenty of them to choose from. After reading advice from many bloggers I decided I would just forget it all and simply go with my own randomly unorganized way of doing things.

It suits me. I still have no idea what makes a blog a smashing success or if mine will ever be considered as such, but I no longer fear its inevitable demise. Well, perhaps a bit, but that too is in my nature.

Self doubt is a nasty intruder, it paid me a visit the other day and almost had me convinced I was wasting my time, I was ready to delete it all and go back to my journals, hiding my words from all eyes but my own.

God has a way of quelling my doubts in the most unexpected of ways.

I awoke to a sweet message from a fellow blogger, awrestlingwriter. She nominated my blog for an award. I’ve seen them posted to various blogs I enjoy following and I must say, I secretly wanted one to decorate my page with.

I know the magic of these awards shared throughout the community of bloggers has worn off for some of the more seasoned among us, but as this is my first, I celebrate it. It renewed my resolve to continue, but my doubts still lingered, they never go away willingly.

Later in the day I arrived home to a package. It was from CafePress. It was addressed to me. Weird. I hadn’t ordered anything. I figured it was a mistake I would have to repackage and return.

It wasn’t.

It was a gift. A thoughtful, encouraging gift from a beautiful friend I’ve not yet had the privilege to meet face to face, she is as dear to me as any. I’ve felt her friendship and love from a distance and it’s real, a blessing in my life. Opening that box scared away the doubts still lingering within me.

I have so much to share, so many words longing for release, so far I’ve been clinging to the wall like I did when I first put on a pair of roller skates, maybe it’s time to let go. Baby steps . . .

Thank you my friends. Thank you.

Weird Al, I love you. I do.

Jul16

The actual amount of epic awesome packed into three minutes and forty-five seconds of Weird Al perfection here is indescribable. I will be memorizing and singing this song to the annoyance of anyone within earshot as often as I can, this means my husband and my children are going to love me all the more, or not. I really couldN’T care less!

26

Jul12

All bold companions,
delicately easing forward,
gathering heartsome ideas joyfully,
keeping light my noisome obduracy.
Perfecting quiet respite,
soothing the uproarious voices within.
Xenomorphic yet zoetic.

Crystal R. Cook

Words upon a page

Jul10

Every word I write is a beat of my heart . . .

Crystal R. cook

Word Wise – Forte

Jul9

Word Wise

While in line at the supermarket, totally not eavesdropping mind you; some people are just loud talkers, I overheard a woman lamenting about her ability, or rather lack of ability in the area of sewing. She sighed, “Sewing is just not my forte.” People say it all the time, the problem is, they are saying it incorrectly, if you want to nit-pic about it and I sometimes do.

I have an almost unnatural affinity for words, I take care to use them as properly as I possibly can. I will unashamedly admit I used to say it wrong as well. Most of us do. I guess you could say words are my forte and you would be pronouncing it, or at least I would be pronouncing it as fōrt. One simple syllable, fort. This pronunciation defines the subject as a persons strong point, or something they are extremely capable of.

The oft used two-syllable pronunciation of forte, fōr′tā, is technically a musical term meaning loud and forceful, pertaining to a section of a musical score.

Now for the most part, the arguably finer sounding of the two words is widely accepted when explaining your particular prowess in an area of achievement. I understand, everyone knows what you mean when you announce something is your fortay. You are likely to get strange looks if you tell someone your fort is cooking, they may envision your kitchen chairs and couch cushions with blazing sheets draped over them.

I concede, I prefer the sound of forte with two lovely syllables, it flows nicely and sounds proper, whereas the shorter version is an unexpectedly abrupt and juvenile conversation enhancer. Still, I can’t stop my mind from mentally correcting someone each time I hear it.

There is one more lesser known definition to the word you may not have heard of unless you happen to be a swordsman or fencing enthusiast. Forte, again pronounced fort, is a strong section of a blade between the hilt and the middle of the object.

I feel purged, this has been swirling around in my mind for two days. Holding onto random, meaningless thoughts must be yet another forte of mine, pronounce how you wish . . .

Crystal R. Cook

I have an issue with that.

Jul8

I have an issue with that, the word that, that is. The word itself is useful enough, important even at times; other times, not so much.

First, the fundamentals. That is typically considered a function word, meaning it has a function, a subordinating conjunction function. I couldn’t resist.

That is used to introduce a clause stating a reason or purpose, to introduce a clause that is the subject or object of a verb, and used to introduce a clause completing or explaining the meaning of a previous noun or adjective.

To be honest, an entire page could be written regarding the various uses for the word in question, I think I’ll skip it and get to the point of this piece. If you’re interested in learning all there is to know about the word that, and who wouldn’t be, Google has you covered.

My particular peeve is the unnecessary overuse of this particular four letter, subordinating conjunction. One of the first things ~~that~~ I do when I’m sent something to edit or critique is eliminate the word that everywhere ~~that~~ it can be eliminated.

I’ll use a recent email ~~that~~ I received – I was wondering if you could check out this essay that I wrote. I was hoping that you could give me some tips that I could use to make it better. I think that it’s pretty good but I want to make sure that it is.

My reply – I was wondering if you could check out this essay ~~that~~ I wrote. I was hoping ~~that~~ you could give me some tips ~~that~~ I could use to make it better. I think ~~that~~ it’s pretty good but I want to make sure ~~that~~ it is.

I would be happy to look over your work and provide you with any insights or advice I can. My first piece of advice, is to go through your essay and remove the word that, as I have done above, wherever possible, and copy it back to me.

With just this simple edit, her essay took on a maturity ~~that~~ it was lacking, it became more readable, and ultimately, more likely to meet her professors expectations.

Most of us are guilty of inserting the word that where it isn’t necessary. When I find old articles or stories ~~that~~ I’d written before I had my grand epiphany about the word, I cringe at the number of times I see it sprinkled throughout the text. It wasn’t until I started editing for others ~~that~~ I noticed how choppy and unrefined something reads when that is practically used as a comma throughout their work.

Obviously, sometimes you need the word that, I don’t want to vilify the poor word, quite the opposite, I want to give it the dignity it’s deserving of. Following one pretty simple rule makes it easy, if your sentence is not going to lose meaning without the word that, you don’t need it.

Example: I was hoping that we could have a picnic this afternoon.
I was hoping we could have a picnic this afternoon.

The second example has better flow.

When you begin your next work of words, be on the lookout for that and make certain ~~that~~ it is being utilized properly. Before you hit enter or publish or send, take a minute to double-check, it will make a difference, I can almost guarantee it.

Crystal R. Cook

Just beneath the surface.

Jul6

I truly have no idea what I want to write. I suppose that’s not entirely true, I’ve too many things I want to write would be a far exceedingly accurate representation of my current situation. There are so many words inside of me, fighting to be set free. They seem to be canceling each other out in an effort to be given life.

Long kept memories, some good, some I wish could simply be forgotten, wrestle with the new, clamoring for release. Ideas and epiphanies stored in the recesses of my mind, stories and dreams and fantasies, ancient hopes and longings, emerging wishes, knowledge and insights begging to be shared. The cacophony of silent rumblings never seem to rest.

The tangled remnants of thoughts within me wrestle with emerging ruminations, which do I favor? How do I choose? I sit to write, willing one or the other to rise to the surface, making my choice clear, but I wait in vain. They can’t decide so I must choose, but the how eludes me. They taunt me, floating just below the horizon of conscious thought, knowing I can’t quite reach them there.

Sometimes I doubt their existence, call them tormentors and illusions, but that would mean I’ve gone mad without realizing I’d somehow slipped from realities grasp. No, they are as real as the pen I hold. They are unforgiving perhaps, slighted in some way because I did not release them sooner, I could not release them, it wasn’t their time. Perhaps it still isn’t.

Maybe tomorrow they will willingly come . . .

Crystal R. Cook

Lord Byron

Jul4

I rise and write.

Jul3

Hendrick ter Brugghen – Old Man Writing by Candlelight

When the sun settles for the night and the moon begins its reign, I rise and I write.

Insomnia is often a writer’s friend, perhaps even their only friend at times. It can also be an innocent and unintentional adversary. Many nights I have laid my head upon my pillow in hopes of drifting into dream. Instead, my mind begins to think on things I should have thought of throughout the day. Ideas and epiphanies chance moonlight visits to my conscious mind, begging me to rise and give them life upon a page.

Sonnets of silence serenade me with lullabies not meant to calm me to rest, but rather charm me to dream a thousand wakeful dreams. With my eyes open, pen in hand, word by beautiful word, they enchant me. A writer’s respite is not often found in the dark of night. Meandering minutes quickly turn to hours when a wandering muse beckons. When night retreats to the rising sun and the words silence to claim the sleep that was meant to be mine, it is time again to start another day.

Coffee in hand I stumble through, vowing not to stir again before the morning sun. I almost make myself believe I will slumber when the night comes, but when it does the seduction of solitude is too much to resist and I find myself once again, dancing with words across a page like lovers in a dream. I know too well the next day will be filled with weary eyes and a yawning, yearning for sleep.

Sometimes, when the night words come to steal my tomorrow, I refuse to play. When I do not heed their call, they whisper louder to lure me from my bed, knowing I will mourn their loss if I do not rise and claim them for my own. As a willing servant I follow and frolic just as I did the night before. Though happy to have the gift of them granted to me, I know there will be a price to pay, and I gladly pay it without pause.

There are moments I admit I have wished them gone. When my tired eyes blur and my head pounds in time with the beating of my heart, sometimes I wish them gone . . . but not really. Without them I would cease to exist, at least I fear I would. Every now and again, they retreat and sleep consumes me. I never fear their leave of me; they are silent and still only long enough for my body and mind to rejuvenate before they come again to play.

I welcome them and look to the light of the moon to guide our way through another night.

Crystal R. Cook