One of the aspects of the current secret/chapter in our book club book is how you are inspired. Paying attention to how this usually -- not always -- works for you can be important to your level of creativity. If you are aware of how inspiration hits you, what inspires you, you can just be more awake to your natural rhythms.
Thinking back over my own creativity, I realized that, though I am working in the medium of words, it all starts for me with intense images. Usually these images are painterly, meaning very vivid and unmoving. Brief moments captured in my minds eye.
All of my poetry begins like this, which makes sense. But the novel I have finished started with one image -- a woman in a bathtub surrounded by candles. Other novels for which I have plans are also image based -- one is an old woman, at the edge of a violent ocean, and her glove is floating out ahead of her.
From these images, I start constructing story. I wonder why the woman is in the tub or why the old woman is out in such a violent storm.
What is the moment of birth for your creativity?
Yellow
Our bedroom was
always yellow.
A happy sunshine
color just right
for the room of two
young sisters.
Whenever we moved
into a new house,
our room was painted
first thing
to match the faux
bamboo furniture
and the fields of flowers
bed spreads.
So all of our
bedrooms bleed
together into a stream
of yellow.
Though what I
remember most
is the black
of middle night.
I lay encased
in fear,
swallowed by
black.
If you awoke,
we did not speak.
I might hear
you cry.
I would put
my head under
my pillow,
wishing I could
stuff the down
filling deep into
my ears, deep
into my brain.
The yellow
was the story
we told
ourselves in
the light
of day.
--Christine C. Reed
Our bedroom was
always yellow.
A happy sunshine
color just right
for the room of two
young sisters.
Whenever we moved
into a new house,
our room was painted
first thing
to match the faux
bamboo furniture
and the fields of flowers
bed spreads.
So all of our
bedrooms bleed
together into a stream
of yellow.
Though what I
remember most
is the black
of middle night.
I lay encased
in fear,
swallowed by
black.
If you awoke,
we did not speak.
I might hear
you cry.
I would put
my head under
my pillow,
wishing I could
stuff the down
filling deep into
my ears, deep
into my brain.
The yellow
was the story
we told
ourselves in
the light
of day.
--Christine C. Reed

9 comments:
Very powerful poem.
Wow, your poem is deep and honest. When I get an idea or phrase, I feel a vibe go through my body. Like I stepped into a flow of creativity.
I love the kitty picture. If only we could all learn to live like cats. :)
I tend to begin writing projects with a sense of character, but my most recent short story began with an image.
Great blog. I found my way here on a Google search for Ana Brett.
Your poem stirs feelings of sadness and concern. It is not a poem that I read and walk away unmoved from.
It is interesting what begins a writing for you. Nature and the spirit in all life is what inspires my art, writings and photography. Thanks for asking.
lovely to find you and your blog~
Your words are as beautiful and moving as always... there is a story there that sings.
The photo made me squeal a little. The certain posture of a kitty, paw outstretched, in pure relaxation... don't you just envy that kitty? The way they can just relax and be so fully at ease? They are tiny little fuzzy muses are they not?
Thank you for sharing your poem!
;)
Wow! Sounds like the brightness of the yellow shed some light on the darkness.
Awesome poem.
hi blissful christine! thank you so much for your comments on my blog! so reassuring and stimulating. i think your blog was actually the first one i checked out in the whole club when i was skimming through, and i could sense an instant connection with your spirit. i feel what you are saying about animals. my solace goes out to you on the memorial passing of your beloved cat. your blog is so so so incredible. it gives me tingles of joy! your poem speaks to my childhood. can you believe i had nights of terror at times growing up and when i moved into my own place the first colour i chose for my bedroom was bright yellow! you are moving and powerful. thank you thank you.
i came and i read this christine...and words escape me...
...but i love this...
Lil
Beautiful poem, Christine, really.... I love your kitty, too! Something about those tuxedo cats, huh.... :)
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