Just start somewhere . . .

The Creative Process

The Creative Process

This time–late in July when I’m almost through with my iris dig–my mind returns to writing. It’s only been about a month I’ve been away, but it seems like much longer.

It’s interesting that it, my mind, often takes a detour through my art studio on its way to words. The creative processes seem to be all connected. I know where I’m going, but to get there I have to get started.

For me, I often start with my paints and brushes. I think painting settles my mind and prepares me for the interior life of words on paper.

This is a very small, 4″x6″ acrylic. Complexity doesn’t have to be large. That’s true of the visual arts, but also true of literature. The trick is to have some large areas where your eyes stop (or your mind stops, if you’re writing); then the visual complexities (or the literary complexities) add dimension and interest but don’t overwhelm the whole.

Mona L Spaulding Baisch

Do you know the answer?

Our yard, looking west.

Our yard, looking west.

If you think of your life as a story, and you realize that every story asks an important question, do you know the answer the your personal question?

Does your life have one story? Is more than one story being played out in your life? If you had to pick just one, which story is the main story?

Thinking about your life this way gives you a new sort of focus, doesn’t it?

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Generally when someone wants to hear your life story they mean everything significant that happened to you from the beginning up to the current point. Thinking about just one story that is playing out in your life from beginning to end is a twist on the usual.

I’m not going to share what I believe my story is, the main story, but I do believe I have one. Will it change? Probably not, because I’m quite old, in years. It’s undoubtedly much harder to identify a single story when you’re young.

On the other hand, if you identify a story early-on, and live it . . . Thinking that way seems to have a lot of potential.

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This picture is of our front yard looking west. I take care of a two acre ‘estate’ that I have created. Do I like it? Yes I do. The question to ask myself now that I’ve starting thinking this way is, how does that activity fit into my story?

Mona L S Baisch

FreddyCat is gone . . .

FreddyCat

FreddyCat

My muse cat, Freddy has disappeared. It’s been 10 days now. I keep looking, thinking he’ll come back, tattered and in need of a veterinarian, but come back to us.

He’s disappeared before for a day or two and I’ve learned to expect trouble when that happens: once he came back ‘scalped’ with about 4-5 circular inches of fur pulled from his back down to the skin; another time he came back with a punctured paw.

FreddyCat was wild when he came here, but not so wild that he couldn’t be tamed. Just the same, the wild never completely left Freddy. He was a hunter and a scrapper. Other times when he’s been hurt he allowed ministrations to his afflictions. This time, there was one opportunity before he was gone for good, and I didn’t take it; I didn’t recognize how serious it was.

The last time Freddy came to the house for food, he was able to get to the top of the cabinet to reach it–it’s kept there to keep it away from the chickens. He’d been missing for a bit over a day, so I went over the pet him and see what sort of owees he might have–I’ve come to expect them. But FreddyCat wouldn’t let me touch him. I tried several times but he’d leave before he’d let me touch him. I finally let him eat.

Freddy left then and hasn’t returned. It’s very sad. We loved FreddyCat. I no longer expect him to come  home.

My muse, I call him. Did he stay long enough? I don’ t know. FreddyCat added a dimension to Ross Road and was the inspiration for a set of books that has only been outlined. His daily behavior found his way into my notes. I don’t know if my imagination can replace the real, live Freddy. But I will continue with the books. Now it is not just a cute set of stories about two cats; it is also a memorial to a very special kitty who won our hearts when we really didn’t want an outside cat at all. He is missed.

Mona L S Baisch

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