Sunday, April 3, 2016

April Love - Blogging Challenge - A Month of Love Letters

Writing with Blogging PromptsJournaling - Writing and Art Journaling

I've decided that it's time for me to do some writing and traditional blogging, using some journaling prompts. 

Writing is one of those things I've been told I do really well, but unlike painting or drawing it just bores the snot out of me to actually do it. If I'm writing, I usually need to be paid. Money is a decent motivator, after all, and I have been paid periodically, for what I write.

I came across an April's worth of blogging/journaling prompts and I decided to dive in. It's been forever since I've participated in any kind of creative writing prompts.  I'm feeling a little vulnerable about this process, but I'm going to "feel the fear and do it anyway" as the kids say. My writing can be pretty culturally-referential and indirect when it's personal like this, so it may not even make tons of sense to people outside the same miniscule social niches that I've traveled in. Normally that's a liability, but for this duration, I don't have to care.

I could use a bit of a better blogging habit, I realized. I can actually pull material out of for artwork, something that gets me in touch with the process of words into images into both -  in a personal way once more, something I might even enjoy a bit.

I'll be doing these April Love Letter prompts, catching up from day 3. I'll go back for the other ones, eventually.




http://www.susannahconway.com/april/
Discovered via  http://effybird.com/2016/04/april-love-trigger-alert/ 


Dear Feet,

Your peripatetic ways are going to get me in trouble. You realize, no matter how much pavement you pound, the feeling of West Broadway, when you could go from gallery to gallery, is over. It's not just over because you're 1500 miles gone. It's not just over because Bob Morris decided to go all ash and bone instead of Ignatz mouse throwing bricks at the establishment. It's over because every city block takes you Bed Bath and Beyond a time in the timeline that you would recognize.  

Feet, you'd better get used to mulch pathways, flowers, sunshine. All those things that you're immediately suspicious about. It's tolerable here because everyone is miserable all winter, and the joy and horniness explodes every summer in a truly Scandinavian show of fireworks and drama. If there wasn't any miserable, you know how it is. Every good day would send you running in suspicion, every smile would become its own West Coast mildly perpetually medicated situation normal. You'd have to assume a cover up. Right?

Feet, you are really sons of bitches sometimes.  A great pair of rubes for my autoimmune buffoon to inflame and terrorize. It goes after all the choice bits that make life worth living, but you still perform for me, command performances. I don't talk about our problems with anyone else, till we've got to sit down and chill for a minute.  You've got my back, I've got yours. Still do.

Love, 
Me.