Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things that speak directly to your soul.

-- Austin Kleon

Monday Required Reading. I have a collection of books that I circle back to when life punches me in the gut. Sylvia Plath's journals and poetry are part of this group. So, since life give me a pretty good kick in the head yesterday, I thought I would share one of my favourite Plath poems with you all today.

Black Rook in Rainy Weather

On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent

Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant

Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.

(56-57 Sylvia Plath: The Collected Poems)

Everything around you is an inspiration. Pay attention. Be open to the world around you. Some of the best ideas come from the most unlikely places.

-- Jenn Lake, Vice President of Zapwater Communications, in an interview with The Everygirl

"He takes pictures without a camera...of things we cannot see."

It's impossible to not be inspired by the photography of Michael Flomen. It's beautiful stuff. He takes negatives and exposes them using the light put off by fireflies, producing images like the one above. He  floats paper in pools and lakes at night, exposing it to moonlight. It's stunning. It's something I wish I could do. It's a process I would love to participate in. It's just plain inspiring.

Monday Morning Required Reading. There are periods of time when it feel like my life gets in the way of my creativity. I get wrapped up in day-to-day things. My to-do list grows, constantly expanding with mundane things: laundry, vacuuming, dishes, grocery shopping, insurance calls, bank trips. And with all of this on my plate I wind up feeling sapped and empty, unable to even imagine writing anything. It's a strange mental space of exhaustion and blankness. When I hit these slumps, the best thing I can do is return to the comfort-food equivalent of reading for me: The Vinyl Cafe. Although, I must admit that these stories are perhaps best enjoyed by listening to Stuart read them himself. And so that is exactly what I am going to recommend you do. GO HERE and download the podcast in whatever form works best for you. Hopefully it works some of its magic on you as well.

Don't be afraid; don't be daunted. Just do your job. Continue to show up for your piece of it, whatever that might be. If your job is to dance, do your dance. If the divine, cockeyed genius assigned to your case decides to let some sort of wonderment be glimpsed for just one moment through your efforts, then 'Ole.' And if not, do your dance anyhow, and 'Ole' to you nonetheless - I believe this and I feel like we must teach it - 'Ole' to you nonetheless, just for having the sheer human love and stubbornness to keep showing up.

-- Elizabeth Gilbert, from this TED talk

Speaking of inspiration...


Inspiration Needs to Work on Its Timing

The Romantics would have you believe
that a writer should sit under a tree
and wait for inspiration to fall on his head
like Newton's fabled apple.

I say,
with all due respect,
that's bullshit.
(Although, as a writer,
I suppose I should be more eloquent
and call it hogwash
or codswallop.)

When I sit under a tree
with pen and paper in hand
there are no apples,
or acorns,
or pinecones,
or whirligig seeds,
or leaves,
or even caterpillars,
that fall on my head and inspire me.
(Once a bird crapped on me.
I tried to write a poem about it,
but it was no good.)

Inspiration only strikes at the most inopportune moments.
In the shower,
with shampoo in my hair,
and one leg up on the side of the tub
while I'm shaving.
At three in the morning,
with the lights out,
and the blankets wrapped around me
while I'm trying to sleep.
In the grocery store,
with a full cart,
and my arm stretching as far as it can
while I'm reaching for a box of cereal.
At the dentist,
with my mouth wrenched open,
and drool streaming down my cheek
while I'm staring at the ceiling.

Poems do not drift in on a gentle breeze
carrying the scent of honeysuckle.
They come with razor cuts on my legs,
bags under my eyes,
an empty fridge,
and teeth that are only ever half-cleaned.

--Bree Keeler, 2012

Inspiration is necessarily a lateral process; it happens only when you are focussed on something else. It is the movement caught out of the corner of your eye, the sound on the edge of your hearing, the flicker of shadow on a sunny day. Genius is the ability to catch those glimmers as they drift by. But gently, or they will flee our grasp like dust in a sunbeam.

-- Glenn Keeler (aka Dad)

[I am very lucky to be the daughter of a wise and well-spoken man.]