Tag Archive | writing

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

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_n I’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.

Throwback Party #2!

Feb25

It’s a brand new Thursday!

It’s time to go back to the past and party again!

A note from Adventures of a Jayhawk Mommy – “Thanks to all of you who linked up last week! I was thrilled to meet so many new bloggers and read 33 amazing posts !!Yes, I read every single one, shared and pinned a few, and commented on most (unless the commenting system “requires” I get an account with them and verify my email. What’s up with that?).”

Now, it’s Thursday again and time to get out some older posts to share. I can’t wait to see what you have for us this week!

What makes this link up different from all the rest?

Simple. This link party is not about dropping a bunch of links and moving on. No, this is about sharing posts from our blogs that are at least 30 days old. You can shine it up so it sparkles again or just leave it as it is. You might want to include an update at the end or not. It’s all up to you. As long as the post was written and published a month ago, add it to the link up. Then, read and share some love to the other posts in the link up.

When is it?

Well, every Thursday, duh! The link up runs from Wednesday night through Sunday.

The Rules

There is only one rule: the post you add must be at least 30 days old. The older, the better.

That said, we’d love it if you visited other posts on the link up and share some love

And, if you wish to follow your hosts, grab the badge and add it to your post or sidebar, we’d give you extra kudos and love you lots! However, it is not required that you do so.

Hosted by:

Adventures of a Jayhawk Mommy

The Qwiet Muse

Part-Time Monster

Chiseling Stone With a Feather – Fickle Words

Jan28

You know that terribly annoying feeling when you feel a sneeze coming on and you’re ready for it – all prepared for the coming facial explosion that will remedy the tickling in your schnoz, but it never comes? That is how I feel right now as I sit and wait for the words I can feel within me to burst forth upon the page. They’re tickling the corners of my mind, but they simply won’t come.

I’ve sat with pen in hand, blank page before me beckoning me to fill it, I’ve stared at a blinking cursor on a brightly lit screen for longer than I care to admit, pleading with my muse, who has quite obviously forsaken me, to breath even the smallest breath of inspiration my way.

Nothing.

I’m near to bursting with the need for release, and yet, I’m for lack of a better word at the moment, blocked.

I’ve come upon a seemingly impenetrable barrier, perhaps of my own design, and it seems the more I try to chip away at it, the stronger it becomes. I don’t recall building this wall, but it has all the hallmarks of my own handiwork. I’ve built similar walls brick by infuriating brick and used my self-doubt as mortar to seal myself behind them. This one seems fortified from the outside as well as in though and I’m thinking about simply hanging some art on the wall and calling it home.

I won’t of course, but this is my particular pity party for one so I’m allowed to be dramatic. The truth is, there is probably a door somewhere and I’m just not looking for it hard enough. I could attempt to climb my way out, in a way I suppose that is what I’m doing now, but it’s tiring work, climbing. I don’t seem to be making much progress either, I’m trying to chisel away stone to make footholds with a feather and the going is slow.

I’ve been questioning myself of late, wondering why I care how the words come out. Wondering why I bother to share them at all, if not for the sharing, would I care how they were arranged? They aren’t even mine – the words – I however, am theirs and must do their bidding. But then, if that is the case, why do they trouble me so sometimes? Bothersome, beautiful burdens words can often be. Fickle things that pick people to give them life upon pages and then torment them as they do.

Oh, but without them . . . I cannot imagine.

Well, back to it then, there’s a door around here somewhere.

Directionless in the Blogosphere

Jan6

My Words by Crystal R. Cook

I write.

I write poems and I write prose. I write about love and anxiety and autism. I write about parenting and love. I write serious and I write silly.

I don’t have a niche. I don’t have a direction. I don’t have a thing.

I just write.

I’m not a mommy blogger or a fashion blogger. I’m not a mental health blogger or any kind of blogger. I just have a blog.

It took me a long time to reach this place, the place of sharing the words I have written, and in reality, I’ve not shared nearly as much as I one day hope to. I’m not filled to the brim with confidence like some seem to be. Each time I hit that publish button I’m filled with a sense of dread. It wasn’t good enough to be read. I make myself do it though because the words inside of me want more release than I’ve allowed them.

I’ve been their captor for so long, relegating them to spend their entire existence tucked away between journal covers and computer files, but still . . . it scares me to set them free.

As this new year approached I told myself I was going to let them go, let them flow, and let them fly.

But I haven’t. Not yet. I’ve held them and hidden them for such a long time now, I’m not certain how. I’ve only loosened the leash I’ve used to keep them tightly tethered to my soul.

I should give myself more credit. I’ve taken steps, baby steps. I took a leap of faith and started this blog. I took a few more and sent my words to be considered for publication outside of this little world I’ve begun to create and they were welcomed and sprouted wings of their own.

Still . . .

I’m not sure. Do I find a focus? My thoughts are scattered and random and I don’t think I can rein them in. Truthfully, I don’t really want to. I admire those who write with singular purpose, I am in awe of their ability to do so. I’ve never been the fitting in type, and I suppose I’ll never be. I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing, each day trying to do a little more, each day just being me.

Directionless in the blogosphere . . . but happily enjoying the scenery.

Just write the words and everything is fine – everything is fine.

Dec28

Everything is fine.

It’s good.

In fact, perhaps, just maybe, there’s a possibility things are even great – but I cannot say for certain for my heart, my heart is beating far too fast, so very, very fast. My thoughts are swiftly swirling, swirling, swirling into a vortex, into a void – spinning fast and furious, and then faster, faster still – pulling apart with magnificent, terrifying ease, the finely woven tapestry, the tapestry of * me *. Threads of my reality are fraying, strings and strands and tendrils of . . . sanity? being swallowed by a nothingness I swear is all too real.

Silly, silly girl. I know. Everything is fine.

Tell it to my heart, it’s beating faster still.

Everything is fine. I must write the words to make them real. Words. Words. Which ones?

The right ones, the right ones of course.

Words. I must simply write the words because maybe things are great and I need do nothing more than read them to remind my beating (still too quickly) heart . . . remind my heart to tell me, tell me everything is fine.

Write the words and swallow half a little pill . . . write them, read them, once and then again, and then again once more.

The tempest quells, the words prevail – the words prevail once more.
Everything is fine.

Writers – You NEED this book! Fall in Love With Writing.

Dec19

If you’re looking for the perfect, last-minute gift for the writer in your life, (or for yourself) this is it. I am currently devouring each word. Usually, I finish a book before recommending it, but I knew just a few pages in that anyone who has ever sat down and put pen to page was going to fall in love with it as quickly as I did.

Juni Desireé has compiled a phenomenal collection of quotes and anecdotes from writers of all ages from around the world about one of my favorite things to both read and write about ~ writing. They share from the heart their love of writing; why they write, what the written word means to them – they encourage and uplift and inspire. I am honored to be among these many voices, I must admit to feeling almost unworthy of sharing the page with them.

Already, I feel empowered and inspired to write, write, write.

I have so much more to say about this beautiful book, but for now I must resume my reading. I simply couldn’t wait to share.

“Whether you’re an established writer or just thinking about giving writing a go, this book will inspire you to write for the love of writing. With over 200 people from around the world sharing their love of the writing, Fall in Love with Writing will encourage you that anyone can write. You don’t need eloquent words or literary prose; all you need are your own words on the page to share your stories. Packed full of writing advice, prompts, and examples of people’s raw and honest writing, this book will give you a taste of the writing world and lots of ideas to get you started and keep on going. May you fall in love with writing.”

Fall in Love with Writing by Juni Desireé

Click the link to order your Kindle copy right now!

A Day of My Own To Do Whatever I want – OBP Challenge!

Sep10

From Original Bunker Punks – “Welcome to the blog battle zone of the best writers fighting to be featured on the OBP. Our theme this week is to write a day in your life where there would be no boundaries and you could do anything you want. The winner of this competition will be featured on OBP and other social media in our writers spotlight where your blog will be showcased each week to bring more traffic to your wonderful words. The post needs to be between 800-1,200 so get creative and linkup on Thurs. Sept. 10 th to Fri. Sept. 11 th from 9 am to 9 pm. I look forward to reading you there let the games begin.”

You should probably join in the fun. You should, because it’s fun.

Tomorrow is a big day for me, like BIG, as in I can do anything I want. Seriously, like whatever my heart desires, without boundary, without limit . . . it’s going to be fantastic. I should thank the badasses over at Original Bunker Punks before I start planning my ME day, the whole ‘do whatever you want day’ was their idea. Dreams come true, folks. Dreams really do come true, in this case on the page, but still . . . Thank you Punks. Thank you.

Alright, first things first, I have to figure out what I’m going to wear. Obviously, my tiara, that kind of goes without saying. Why have one if you’re not going to wear it, right? I’m trying to decide between staying in my pajamas the whole day or going full on princess. So far, I’m leaning toward my pajamas, I have the most divinely comfortable pair of baggy pajama bottoms with freakishly adorable owls adorning them, paired with my favorite worn out skull t-shirt it’s a full on comfort fest. I’ll finish off the look with a messy bun and the tiara, and BOOM, style. Oh, and a tutu. Maybe.

Damn I’m excited. I’m a fairly simple gal, I don’t ask for much. Honestly, my desires are pretty down to earth for the most part. I don’t want to travel the world or have super powers, well, maybe a few superpowers, but really, who wouldn’t? So I don’t have any truly outrageous plans, tomorrow will be filled with simple things that make me happy, simple things that are surprisingly and frustratingly difficult to make happen.

So – the first thing I’m gonna do is sleep in till I simply can’t sleep anymore. Now, I may actually need superpowers to make this part happen, but no phones are going to ring. No kids are going to knock on the door. No dogs are going to bark. There will be silence. Sweet, perfect, blessed silence and I’m going to wake up so freaking refreshed and well rested I’ll feel like I could take on the world. Then, I’m going to adorn my crazy bed-head with that sparkling tiara and sip a never-ending cup of perfectly sweetened coffee while I watch my kids silently do chores without complaint or hesitation. I’m going to read a book without interruption while they work. Awesome. (I might need those superpowers for that part as well.)

While they scrub floors I’ll get myself ready, (I’ve decided against the tutu – I think) The next part of my day will be spent at the bookstore. I’ll get to stay as long as I want. Long enough to really peruse the selection of beautiful words, printed and bound, just waiting for me on those shelves. No quick skimming the surface tomorrow. Nope. I’m going to surround myself with stacks of stories and possibility and lose myself inside of them, and THEN, I’m going to bring them home with me. Maybe ALL of them.

Once home, I’ll be so inspired I’ll sit down to write, and the words will flow freely and without abandon, my opus will breathe into life, line by easily written line, born into reality like a new babe the world cannot wait to hold. Then, of course, I’ll need a nap. I’ve quite obviously never written an opus-esque anything, but I imagine it’s quite tiring.

Upon waking, I’ll indulge myself with another coffee and perhaps some of the freshly baked cookies my children prepared and cleaned up the mess they made afterward, that are cooling in the kitchen while I decide which of my new books to peek inside of first. My heart and tummy filled, I’ll likely take another short nap before my husband arrives home from a long day of work to begin dinner preparations. He’ll be making me a fabulous Quiche. He really does make a fabulous Quiche. He won’t even say anything about the multitude of new books scattered about the house, he’ll simply ask where I’d like the new bookshelf he’ll be building after dinner to be placed.

Wait. There needs to be a picnic in here somewhere. You know, like the TV picnics, with the checkered blanket and one of those baskets that have simply everything possibly picnic related in them? Yeah. One of those. A nice family picnic. I think we can fit that in after the bookstore, before my opus, then books and cookies and another nap and dinner and new bookshelf. Perfect.

Now then, it will be getting late and the soothing sounds of Pachelbel and Bach will fill my home as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Calm and peace will reign. The sunset will paint me a masterpiece of softly fading pastels upon my windows, and the glorious song of a night-bird will float into my room on a gentle breeze, ushering in the eve with a sweetly warbled lullaby to lead me into tranquil repose.

I’ll swiftly drift off to visit the land of nod with thoughts of my positively, perfect day dancing through my mind . . .

I’ll just stay in bed all day, I will be in my pajamas after all.

Crystal R. Cook

Calling to my words

Aug18

15534501982_a64b4863c0_m Lack of inspiration
words form
with hesitation
just beneath
the surface
longing
to spill
upon a page

Fighting
out of hiding
surely they will
come

Another thought
another try
another moment
passing by

Set them free
or let them be
I hear their silent
plea, it echos
too from me

I’ve no choice
they are my voice
It’s not my will
that keeps them
silently within
hidden from
my pen

I long
to feel them
flow
coursing through
my veins
releasing all
my pain
as they soak
into the page
as blackened
drops of rain

Long have they
been quelled
locked away
without a key
just out of reach

Slowly they will come
slowly you will see
soon the words
will soar
and again
I will be
me

Crystal R. Cook

Questions for female writers – What’s your experience?

Aug9

I was asked a few questions this morning I would like to pose to my fellow, female writers . . .

As a woman, do you feel your voice in print is sometimes held to a different standard than your male counterparts?

Do you ever feel the need to censure yourself or fear your opinions may not be well received because you are a woman?

Have you ever shared something anonymously because you thought it would be misconstrued or not taken seriously because it came from a female perspective?

~ My (short) answers ~

As a woman, do you feel your voice in print is sometimes held to a different standard than your male counterparts?

Sometimes. I’ve seen many female writers dismissed, not taken seriously, or berated for work that would likely not have been questioned if it had been written by a man. Has it happened to me? Sure enough has. Yeah, I know . . . it happens to men too. Sort of, but it’s different. Not long ago, I wrote, “I may have peed a little the first time I watched this.” I was called out for not being ladylike. Who knew saying peed would be the thing to rile folks up! I was once told women should write about parenting and men should write about politics after an article, factual, mind you, I wrote about some government nonsense. Granted, these days, just about anything can rub a reader the wrong way, regardless of gender.

Do you ever feel the need to censure yourself or fear your opinions may not be well received because you are a woman?

Again, sometimes. I’ve written things, good things, I’ve shoved to the back of my share with the world file simply because I had trepidation about the drama that could ensue, BUT, when the right time and the right venue comes my way, I will publish them. I may bide my time with certain things, but censure myself? Nope. Never have, never will.

Have you ever shared something anonymously because you thought it would be misconstrued or not taken seriously because it came from a female perspective?

Nope. If I share it, my name will be on it. Like I said, I may wait to put things out there, but I own every word I write.

I’m curious to hear your perspective?

When the ink dries

Jul25

Author calls us Inklings sometimes. He has other names for us as well. He calls us words, Ideas, and sometimes Characters. We prefer Inklings.

Author uses Pen to put us on Page. It makes Page happy when he does, Page says it isn’t alive until we come to visit, and we aren’t alive until we reach Page.

Pen is dying. Author has been using Keyboard, but Words that come from Keyboard are just words. The Words, like us, he puts on Page can breathe, at least that’s what Page says. Page tells us when Author uses Pen, the Words sink in so Page can bring them to life, like it did with us.

We are fading.

Page says we’ll disappear when Pen’s Ink is gone. We’ve learned a lot from Author, we don’t want to lose him. We don’t want him to lose us. We have to make Author stop us from fading. We have to make Author keep us from disappearing. Pen needs Ink.

Author once wrote on Page that he bleeds Ink. We need Ink. Author is Ink.

Sometimes Author forgets Pen is dying and tries to put us on Page with it. He likes to wet the tip of Pen with his tongue when Ink stops flowing. Next time, we will be waiting. We must get Ink for Pen.

Author picked up Pen today to make more Words on page, but he just scratched Page with Pen because Ink is almost gone now, we are waiting in the last drop for Author to bring us close enough to get the Blood Ink. Author brought pen to his tongue like he always does, and we left Pen.

spilled-ink We just needed Ink. We were fading. We meant no harm. When we leave Pen and soak into Page it feels like magic, Ink flows slowly and we glide onto Page, but when we soaked ourselves into Author, the Ink gushed and rushed and spilled and poured. It began to drown Page and Pen shattered on the floor. Author laid his head in Ink and gave his life to Page as Page was suffocating in Author’s Blood Ink. We meant no harm.

Ink is drying. Pen is broken. Page is dripping with Ink and we are no longer Words. Without Author we are just dried Ink and we are dying. We meant no harm . . . We meant no har –.

Crystal R. Cook