Tag Archive | 30 day blog challenge

My proudest moment? I got a good one . . .

img_0796Day five, (or 296), of this blog challenge thing has me asking myself about my proudest moment. Still too lazy and moody to tackle day three.

How does one choose their proudest moment? I’m not typically one to toot my own horn, but I guess if I think about it, I’ve had my share of moments in life I’ve felt quite proud of myself. Some of those moments were big, monumental even, others were itty-bitty, perhaps even inconsequential in the grand scheme of all things pride worthy, but damn if I wasn’t proud of myself for accomplishing them, but choosing one to highlight

Gimme a sec.

I’m too often too hard on myself. I downplay my successes, finding some reason or external force to give credit for them. I don’t know why I do this, I really should celebrate in them, give myself some kudos and well deserved pats on the back, but it feels weird.

Still thinking . . .

There is this one thing, I’ve managed to rock this particular thing a few times and damn if even I don’t mind saying I did it well. I’m not the only one who’s ever done it of course, doesn’t make it any less awesome and magical and fricking awe inspiring, so I’m going to call this thing the thing I’m most proud of. Best thing I’ve ever done, like not just gold star worthy, but world fair blue ribbon, best in show, top of the class (every class) kind of worthy.

I made a human. Not just one, mind you, humans. I made humans. Remember that movie Castaway? When I watched that movie and the fire scene came on, I remember thinking, yeah, that’s kind of how I felt when I looked at my first little human creation.

It wasn’t easy, blood, sweat, and tears went into it. Poured my heart into it. To this day, people compliment me on my work, “Your kids are amazing!” and I pretend to be all humble about it, “Aww, thank you. I made them myself.”

My pride in this accomplishment extends beyond the act of making them, that was just the beginning really. Phase one in the creative process. It takes a long time to complete a human, a lifetime actually. Once that little rough draft breathes the breath of life you have to start molding it, and keep on molding it until it reaches a point in the life you gave it to take over and continue molding itself into what it will eventually become.

Yes. I called my greatest achievements it. I’m tired, you know, from the 27 years of molding and shaping I’ve done so far. Besides, it’s a thing I do, sometimes I call babies it. Sometimes I call them little bugs, smooshies, or squidgies too.

So yeah, my proudest moment has lasted far longer than a moment, I feel it every day. I made humans. Good ones.

Kudos to me.

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30 Days was just a suggestion . . . Ciceros, Sherlock, & Me

img_0792So I’ve finally made it to day four of the thirty-day writing challenge I began on March 16, which was just over 39 weeks ago, and technically, I’m really on day three for which the prompt asks what my favorite quote is. I’ll come back to that one. It’ll take me a moment to narrow it down to a list of even 50. Besides, most of them are inspirational and I’m in small mood and do not wish to be encouraged and uplifted at the moment. Maybe later.

Day 1 – Story behind The Qwiet Muse name. 

Day 2 – 20 facts about you, really – they are about you, not me.

Anyway, since I’m not completely a quitter, even though I failed the challenge I challenged myself with, now, 275 days later, I’m going to write about my dream job, the prompt for day four.

I’m pretty sure, if you know me or have read more than a post or two here at The Qwiet Muse, my dream job will have something to do with books and words and silence.

Basically, I want to be a writer who runs a library.

Not just any library though. Mine is epic, and a little odd, and entirely awesome. My library is a mind palace, think of the Greek poet Simonides of Ceos or Ciceros, if you’re not familiar with the method of loci, it’s quite interesting, something to look up sometime. If Greek myth and history isn’t your thing, think Sherlock Holmes, I think he called his a mind attic, where he stored information and memories. Doyle used this idea a little differently. Again, something interesting to look up.

This library in my mind is where I remember everything, or where I try to. I remember who I am and seek out what I’ve forgotten, which is unfortunately something I too often do these days, but that’s a tale for another time. In my library the thoughts and names and words I cannot access in my reality await me.

Now, I realize this doesn’t sound like a job so much, but if I could create my library with mortar and brick and wood, I might consider opening the doors to the public. It’s a magical place. Beautiful. I think you’d like it there. Of course, it wouldn’t be open to just anyone, there would have to be some sort of application process to gain entry and perhaps a trial membership type of thing. I guess my job would just be to be there and read and write and remember.

I suppose it would have to be housed in something similar to a Tardis, you know, bigger on the inside since things on the outside are often so very wibbly wobbly, I think it’s safe to say our minds are certainly bigger in the inside, just think of all they hold! It would have to be somewhat of a well kept secret, exclusivity and all, so Tardis technology would come in handy. Perhaps an unassuming garden shed or an old school bus, I’ve not yet given it much thought.

I can try to tell you a small bit about what would be inside though, the way I see it when I lose myself in there.

Close your eyes and imagine . . . Yeah, don’t do that. Duh.

As you read, imagine yourself within a circular room, the ceiling so tall it seems to reach straight into the heavens. Rich mahogany shelves line the entirety of the protective circle of wall surrounding you, each delicately carved with images and scenes from literature and history, stories etched upon every surface.

Staircases spiral between level after level, each one leading to row atop row of books, manuscripts, journals, and notes. Histories written and bound, musical scores dancing along pages, all protected and preserved and waiting to be held in someone’s hands, to be remembered and cherished.

Wrought iron railings swirl upward, suspending works of art above velveteen settees perfectly placed and lit. Below sit writing desks, reference materials fill cabinets, and showcases featuring artifacts and treasured items from literary history glimmer in the glow of the grand fireplace ringing perfect warmth to the entire structure.

It’s not entirely possible for me to accurately describe the atmosphere within this library of mine, you’ll have to imagine that for yourself. Sometimes, I enter into a brightly lit and invigorating space, other times, I find myself in a darkened den of solace and silence. Sometimes there are giant windows overlooking a glorious garden, other times, the walls keep hidden what lay beyond them.

Since it’s mainly my mind palace, I suppose I will tell you . . . sometimes there are fainting goats outside in the garden, and sometimes I ring a bell and giggle as I watch their little legs stiffen. I know. Don’t judge me. Have you seen fainting goats? Oh, and sloths. There will be sloths somewhere as well.

I wish I really could put to page how my mind sees my library, I suppose if you were to join me there, it might look different to you, when you came to visit it would transform to a space that suited you, your personality, your needs. Your memories.

Yeah. It would definitely have to be like a Tardis. I think I’ll hire Tennant to look after the place.

Basically, my dream job is just that, a dream. Real enough to me, but for everything else, words upon a page. Real enough I suppose, I’ve always thought once words were written they were given life in some way.

I really have always wanted to be a librarian though, so . . .

Full disclosure, my mind palace library does not include memories of math I may have learned, I googled my way to mathisfun.com to determine how many days have passed since I copied that darn 30 Day Blog Challenge graphic and decided it was something I could follow through with. Ha! I do not happen to think math is fun. It hurts my brain, but I must say I totally love a site that does number-y stuffs for me!

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So this is what happened . . .

ProcrastinationI intended to write and post my Day Four – Blogging Challenge rambling on the fourth day from the first day I challenged myself with said blogging challenge, which means it should have been written and (hopefully) read by whomever may read my words on the 19th of March. I skipped a day (as it explains below) and began the post on March 20th. That was a while ago, today is April 27th. My 30 days have passed and I am just getting back on track with day four. Of course, no specific guidelines were set to specify the 30 days had to be consecutive, so failure to complete the challenge I challenged myself with, (and it has been a challenge to keep up with the challenge), Where was I? Ah, – So, failure to complete the challenge is not something I can be charged with. Not yet, I can’t predict the future of course, obviously or the events which impeded my progress may have been avoided, or at the very least worked in or around my schedule. Not that I have a schedule, it just sounds good when one says they do, which I don’t.

So here’s what happened. My sister had a baby. Ahead of schedule. Way ahead of schedule. (apparently no one in my family is great with schedules). As of today, she is still supposed to be curled up in my sister’s womb and getting ready to greet the world, she just couldn’t wait so all 4 pounds of her insisted her way into the world. She is beautiful and incredibly strong and I cannot wait to hold her in my arms. Little booger. One day, I’m making her pay me back for the ridiculously expensive last minute flights we had to book.

So I flew off to Oklahoma to watch my mother’s dogs and her home so she could fly off to Alaska to be with my sister and her earlier than expected teeny-tiny bundle of joy. Two days later I fell on a bit of uneven and jagged pavement, there was minor blood, quite a bit of pain to left sides of both feet, my right knee and right elbow (how I managed to hit to so many parts of me I’ve no Idea, I imagine anyone who might have witnessed my terrible tumble would have been impressed and likely overcome with laughter – I can assure you that would have been my reaction, filled with concern as well, of course. A trip to the ER, x-rays, (nothing broken, though I was sure I would be), three days of pain pills and two weeks of limping later and I was basically back to normal and watching my steps with slightly more care.

During that time, I dropped and shattered my phone on another bit of that uneven, jagged pavement. It spent the rest of my trip, right up to the day before we left in the repair shop.

The good – there was a lot of good.

I had time with my mom, just a couple of days before she left and nine more when she returned, not nearly enough, but I cherish every second with her.

Spending time with my precious daughter and her adorably wonderful husband. She keeps a piece of my heart there with her.

I got to hug my grandmother and my aunt and my beautiful little second-cousins, I didn’t hug my cousin though, I wanted to, but she was a few days away from a c-section and looked like she might bite, so we just sat and had a little visit.

The Half Price Bookstore. Aside from the family that reside there, this little shop is one of the best things about Oklahoma. Let’s just say I had to invest in extra luggage to bring home my acquisitions.

The non-California weather. The cool breezes, sitting on the porch in the darkest part of the night as rain poured and thunder boomed, watching the sky turn to day for a moment at a time with each strike of lightning.

There is more of course – good, great, blah, and blech, (more of the good than the rest), and it would take up more time than I have open on my schedule, at least on your schedule (you probably have one), plus, there is the car accident that happened shortly after we arrived home to tell you all about, so I will save whatever else I have to say for another day.

In the meantime, I’ll finish up Day Four of the blogging challenge and post it soon, you know, as soon as my schedule allows . . . For now, I’ll leave you with what I started before I closed the cover on this laptop over a month ago for an adventure in the real world –

img_1437Day Four – Your Dream Job

Day four of this 30 day blogging challenge, technically day 5 since I skipped yesterday, but I’ve already forgiven myself and moved passed the guilt, there wasn’t much guilt to absolve myself of, practically none as a point of fact. I did other worthy things instead. Hubby took me to my favorite place and I spent an hour (closer to two) roaming the aisles of the bookstore and perusing the back covers and inside flaps of books that caught my eye. I gathered up an armload of treasures, ordered a venti iced coffee (with half & half and classic sweetener) as well as a gluten-free rice krispie marshmallow bar in a crinkly cellophane wrapper and took up residence at a tiny, round table in the corner that was just big enough to stack my books, and place my coffee far enough from the edge to avoid a disastrous, and likely heartbreaking, spill.

My half of the table is always too full, my husband’s half typically has a neat stack of magazines upon which the current issue of whatever he is skimming lay open. Hot Bike, Hot Rod, Guns & Ammo – Yesterday there was even one with a photo of Martha Stewart on the cover. He complains we go to the bookstore too often, but he always goes. He gets frappuccinos sometimes and I always give him the last quarter of my rice krispie bar.

I did other things of note as well, I didn’t complain when we went to the hardware store and patiently waited while he stood before the selection of nuts and bolts and screws with almost as much intensity and scrutiny as I must have exhibited when faced with the new releases or the *now in paperback * display. As a side note, I prefer to have a collection of hardcovers, but my wallet appreciates the paperback prices. There were other things too, I ate, I breathed, I read, I watched Grimm. Just things. It was a chill kind of day.

I was supposed to be doing other things though. Laundry, making a grocery list, etc.. I tend to procrastinate my procrastination, as I am doing right now. I haven’t even broached the topic for day four, which is * your dream job *. Now that it has been broached, I’ll cease rambling and if you’re still following, tell you about my dream job.

When I was young I wanted to be many things, not the typical things my classmates aspired to be anyway. I dreamed of being an archaeologist, a big-rig truck driver, and a vampire, (a good one though). After I got my driver’s license I scratched truck driver off my list. I found out I did not like sharing the road with other drivers. I suppose in a rig I could’ve exacted my revenge upon the mindless masses that filled the highway, but those kind of fantasies are best left to wither. Sounds too much like the plot of a cheesy 80s film.

I nixed vampirism off my list as well, I never could find anyone to turn me and people thought I was weird when I asked. It’s not like I was a psycho or anything, I wasn’t going to feed on people, I’d be a vegan vamp or something. Whatever, it’s a dead dream.

So there was archaeology. I sort of, kind of, (not really even remotely) fulfilled that desire after I had children. My first digs (if you can call them that, and I just did) took place under couches and cushions and overfilled toy boxes in search of lost pacifiers and toys that couldn’t be lived without for even ten stinking seconds so I could pee. Eventually, my excavating prowess led me to the laundry bins where I sought out tiny treasures, bits of crayons, coins, wrappers, crackers, half eaten french fries, and the occasional hot dog. That happened. The list is extensive. Thank God I found that hot dog before it found it’s way to the spin cycle.

I did have one other dream in which I dreamed I would be a librarian, and I suppose that brings me to the point of this prompt. My dream job would be to be a librarian, but since we’re talking dream job here, I wouldn’t be an ordinary librarian in an ordinary library. No, no, no – I would be an extraordinary librarian in and extra-extra-extraordinary library. It would be called Bibliothece Ammirandus, or something cool and latin people would have to look up if they didn’t understand latin, which I don’t. I’m not even certain which would come first, bibliothece or ammirandus. I have a list of words to choose from, all cool and mostly unknown to the general public – 
To Be Continued . . .

30 day Blog Challenge – Day 1 (because a blog needs to be blogged)

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I stopped writing.

OK – I haven’t stopped writing, that would be like consciously making the decision to discontinue breathing, but I haven’t been writing much, or at least nothing I’ve deemed worthy of sharing. I’ve been reading and doing yard work and laundry and reading and helping my boys look for work and wrestling with health issues and reading and drinking way too much coffee. The words I wish to wrangle to a page are being stubborn and scattering themselves in little pockets of jumbled knots in the deepest recesses of my overwrought mind.

In an effort to jump-start my creativity, if indeed it still exists, I began searching for writing prompts, something I’ve never really done, and I came across this 30 day blogging challenge. I wasn’t sure if I was up for a challenge, but the topic for day one is something I’ve already written, so a little copy and paste is getting me started. Cheating? Perhaps, but I prefer to think of it as a baby step, one tiny, teetering step toward something more . . . besides, writing this little intro has got to count for something, yes?

Alright then. Day One – Your Blog’s Name – Easy peasy. That’s not my blog name, but then I’m sure you know that. Below you will find my cheeky explanation to the question at hand . . .

11027125_10205645105700489_1881032156081535269_nI’ve been asked several times why my blog is called The Qwiet Muse, and have also recently been informed by a few folks that I spelled quiet wrong, (just in case spell check didn’t catch it). So sweet. To put those helpful minds at ease, I spelled it that way on purpose. Spell check has been my saving grace on many occasions, however, this one I fought it on.

Words, as you know – must know, or should know, often have more than one meaning; you may think of the word muse and envision some mystical, magical creature of beauty floating overhead, gently guiding along inspiration. But believe me, if some ghostly apparition ever stops by for a brainstorming session, I’m outta there. I’m running and writing about it later (and elsewhere).

Muse can also be defined as an instance or period of reflection, a source of inspiration . . . My particular muse comes from everything around me; my faith, my family, my friends. My muse exists in all the wonders of God’s creation and in my unique human experience.

The Qwiet Muse is a reflection of me. It’s derived from my original screen-name, qwietpleez, and muse for my inspiration; the reasons I write.

Onto to origin and etymology of, ‘qwiet‘ –

qwi-et [kwahy-it] adjective. Basic definition – the same as quiet. It’s the same word, with the obvious distinction of containing a W in place of the U.

  • making no noise or sound, especially no disturbing sound: qwiet children.
  • free, or comparatively free, from noise: a qwiet house.
  • silent: Be qwiet!
  • restrained in speech, manner, etc.; saying little: a qwiet person.
  • free from disturbance or tumult; tranquil; peaceful: a qwiet life.

verb form 
* to make qwiet: Qwiet down in there, or else!
* to make tranquil or peaceful; pacify: to qwiet a crying baby.
* to calm mentally, as a person: There, there, be qwiet now.
* to silence: Qwiet!

Origin: 1997; English(ish). Derived from (adj.) Middle English quiet < Latin quiētus, past participle of quiēscere ; (v.) Middle English quieten, partly derivative of the adj., partly < Late Latin quiētāre, derivative of quiētus.

*credit and apologies to dictionary.com

Historical Account:

In the summer of 1997 a young mother (me) was creating her first AOL.com email account. Her beginning attempts all failed, the names she chose were unavailable. She wanted something witty, something fun, and memorable. After several hours and many unsuccessful attempts, her frustrations began to rise, as did the playful rambunctiousness of her children.

Her attempts at quieting them were equally unsuccessful. Finding it increasingly hard to think, she found herself repeatedly requesting silence. Calm down, lower your voices, hush, go to the other room, knock it off, zip it, chill out, and other such requests went ignored.

Her final, shouted request, not only stilled the room of sound (for a moment), but became her victory at the keyboard as well.

“JUST BE QUIET PLEASE!”

She was filled with trepidation, dreading another ‘unavailable’ message but she pressed on, one key after the other. Q w i e t p l e e z. This was it. It was perfect. Her finger hovered over the enter key, she closed her eyes and pushed it. When she opened them, the message said ‘success’!

So there you have it . . . oh, by the way. I realize please is spelled wrong, I like it that way.