Lake Ontario Shoreline

Lakeview looking North from the Southern Shoreline

For additional Author's Photography, words and picture images.

http://lakeontarioshoreline.blogspot.com/

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What Inspires the Writer?

I could also ask, "What inspires the writing? for many times it is hard to separate the writer from the writing.

Many days...times when the writing takes a break or I, the writer do...I look up and there is my proof...at least for me...at least some clue...and I smile for what my heart sees to connect with if only to capture the next word or phrase...

Upstate...Lake Ontario Shoreline view...while sitting on her bank hard not to dream about what sits on the other side; or to notice that cloud mass coming in, or the fog; or the stillness of the Lake as the sun chooses to move on down the horizon; watching for the patterns by day and trying to guess the probability or intensity of the storm by sound or instinct alone by night. Ah, but the Captains and Mariners of old could tell better than I. Then again, I've heard stories told down more than not, saying "The Lake, that one Ontario, storms she can brew more dangerous than the Ocean for the waves she could produce, especially deep middle as she crosses..."

And here I am going on and on telling yet another story...you see it's, well,...hard not to with so much in front of my sight and memory eyes, for each image I have imbedded in heart and most days of my life I have seen them replay.

Hard not to learn the stories, carried down like some daily bread and having the landscape and history remains all around to confirm the telling mostly true. Like the stories of the Ore Beds and the Erie Canal...next town over, due West or South. None have I written, songs that is...but many have been written and sung while traveling along the Erie Canal on boat or cargo barge. http://www.eriecanalcruises.com/index.html

Time has changed...and I suspect maybe the mule, still the landscape much the same, at least that space between the Villages and Towns along her path...but the heart and the words that come to a heart tredgin' on down the Erie Canal on a summer's day...no, not that much has changed at all.

Jane Marla VerDow

Pooh Bear

The next chapter...

Times falling between the living it and the "day job", next chapters and next books competed for my time and begged me to follow.

My Earth walking companion, a true loyal friend, my editor for those spur of the moment read it outloud checks whether happening day or late-early hours of dark; "So Levi,...how's this sound?"...

While I was writing Dear Daisy he had grown to be 14 years old. I could count on him mostly to vote positive, though there were times he yawned or the worst, if I was well into the story and he didn't bother to lift his head off his pillow or doggie bed. Just a look, one eye open...that answered all I had asked. My four paw companion would move on after Dear Daisy was written and bound...a loss I could have lived many more years without feeling....and as I lived it...I couldn't help but notice that his passing...well, let's just say, for all the losses...I have never felt anything to feel more like the end of a chapter.

Levi
"Levi Strauss"; "lit'l Lee"; "Eeyore"


So I swore "never again"...and life answered by pulling me forward...distractions and reminders of reasons why you are here have a funny way of doing that...

Then there came the next dog character...

Bear
and the next story...

so I chose to live it...to follow...just to see where this one would take me.

I stumbled upon this yesterday during my daily research the internet time for publishing; seeing what is rare and old and catching up to the just written new in the literary world. Yes...I am a blog reader, and an internet scanner, but not to confuse you...and mostly to assure myself that I haven't become a modern techie of this century...I settle upon just a few...

Here's one you don't stumble upon everyday...and let me assure you, as a writer, after reading this
I am taking special interest in my box of Crayolas...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/6635575.stm

Janie



"THE OLD GREY DONKEY, Eeyore, stood by himself in a thistly corner of the forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, "Why?" and sometimes he thought, "Wherefore?" and sometimes he thought, "Inasmuch as which?" -and sometimes he didn't quite know what he was thinking about. So when Winnie-the-Pooh came stumbling along, Eeyore was very glad to be able to stop thinking for a little, in order to say "How do you do?"..."

From Chapter Four, In Which, Eeyore Loses a Tail and Pooh Finds One, The Complete Tales of Winnie-the-Pooh, A.A. Milne with Decorations by Ernest H. Shepard/Winnie-the-Pooh, copyright 1926 by E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc./Presentation copyright 1994 by Dutton Children's Books.

The Question and The Answer

If you read through previous posts I’m sure you will see that time traveled from then to now. A gap measured in time more than heart space; filled with footsteps, discovery, explorations, distractions, and survival.

How much space do you need? (and) Fill your space. became the question and the answer that led my way day-to-day and guided me to this next place and time. This now I write of…this today.

As on the walk…integrating what I sensed my instinct with what I already knew and was to still learn on steps ahead until there were none left to take, not much different today than that day and I suspect not much different some near or distant tomorrow.

If challenged, I would have to answer that I’ve been more living the footsteps than actually on paper recording them. Heart moments sometimes are too challenging in the now, more space and time required to avoid flooding pages. Those were the footsteps, if given choice, I would have wished to postpone, better yet never have to take, but life is not designed that way, especially when a heart chooses to love. Letting go of the chapter to write the next can be the greatest challenge of a writer.

To write the next book?

Ah, that’s where the living the story comes in.

The Heart Knows

From somewhere deep within, there was a voice calling me home. I had to listen. When a child of any age hears that voice, there’s no denying it, least not to yourself, especially when the call becomes a whisper.

Jane Marla Ver Dow
Dear Daisy, 2004




Let your heart guide you. It whispers, so listen closely.
~ The Land Before Time

Full Circle

My message to me, the author, I wrote then shared with others, the readers of Dear Daisy…

live your life…be who you are…do not be afraid…have faith…move past…do not let others hold you back or to deliver you where you do not wish to follow…see the mirror God reflects through water…take pleasure in life…have fun…receive God’s abundance…it is all designed for you…become the child you were created to be and are…return to who you once were, the child of hope and dreams…be one with God and Nature…record your footsteps…build your dreams…feed your soul…and live your life through your Spirit, simple...be one with God…sharing God’s abundance through your gifts as given from Heaven…and so you will give back on Earth…feed your timeless eternal soul, preserve and replenish the Earth tho’ life measured in seconds and days…stay true to the discovery…on your path remain...it was designed and written for you.


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In Search of Words

Days and Nights In Search of Words

(portions of original draft, written 2002)

I have found in my efforts to write
time passes more quickly when in pursuit of words,
capture even more elusive.

Early rise to catch first movement;
a thought already begun in dreams predawn.
The rush, the passion of the hunt,
some need of the hunter, I’m sure.

Words and time fuse.
Words-abstract and floating,
a moment of hesitation, then stalled,
next to appear on page by limit of hand speed.

How quickly they dodge, get lost, or move on
untrapped, always untamed
to the untrained hunter such as I.

Discipline, more needed I suppose
and time scheduled for just this cause, I am certain.
Still game arrives more spontaneous for me.

Work harder at play?
or Play harder at work?
True Writer, the real one would only know.

Always in thought or pursuit of
the words. Serious, maybe not.

Or, me merely a daydreamer
and words interrupt
trying to find their place in an otherwise perfect fog.

If only my mind could focus
on one story, even one thought.
Then again maybe or maybe not.

For all stories must be told
and nice to know that my mind has full supply.
The gift of a full life; many stories to tell.
The promise-a mind that refuses to unwind
and a heart that beats on in pace as best it can
with my desire.

Guide thy Hand, Mind, and Heart
And may abstract transform to concrete
In this time and the next
‘Tho long ago I lost track of time.

-Janie

Written in some hour between one dawn and starlit dawn of another
but I haven’t a clue the hour and wish not to be exact.