Breaking Through Writer’s Block

Tags

Adaptation, adoption, Contemplation, Discipline, Nature, Novel-in-progress, Snow, Wildlife, Winter's Day

For months, I couldn’t write. Started a decade ago and worked on intermittently, my “novel-in-progress,” wasn’t progressing. Was it ever going to grow into an actual first draft? It had a title — The Hand of Ganesha ~ Clara and Dottie go to India— but after 200 pages, I’d stopped. The two protagonists, like me, were adopted daughters. Unlike me, they had not dealt with the issues of adoption.That’s what brought about their trip to India. I loved the idea behind the book, but it was not going to write itself.
Oh, there were plenty of excuses. Last Fall, I had the house updated: a new exterior stuccoing, fresh paint inside, and new flooring. I was engaged in a year-long decluttering campaign, selling or donating at least a fourth of my possessions. How could I write with so many demands on my time?
Then, just as I was about to knuckle down and get to work, along came the best ski season in years. I’ve loved skiing ever since moving to Northern New Mexico in the 1960s, and, like many of my friends who are still skiing, I want to enjoy the sport while still able.
How could I write with fresh powder snow in the mountains?
And so it went until one snowy morning when a blizzard made it risky to drive anywhere, much less up the windy ski basin road. OK, I told myself, time is running out. I don’t have forever.The clock is ticking. Our days are numbered. Driven by such thoughts, I gathered the photo albums of a research trip I’d made to southern India. I’d start by looking through pictures of the Shore Temple complex at Mahabalipuram. This would be the setting of my novel’s last section. Memories of the trip and of the novel I’d first envisioned came flooding back and I picked up at page 201, where I’d left off.
Just then outside my office window, four deer wandered into the snow-filled yard. Noses to the ground, they began grazing. Apparently there was new grass growing under the snow. They would find food no matter what. After watching them until they ambled on to feed in the yards of my neighbors, I opened my laptop and resumed. I wrote for an hour and continued each day throughout the week. The momentum will continue. In a mysterious way, the deer inspired me to get busy. and just write. Thank you, neighborhood deer.

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Have encounters with nature ever helped you in mysterious ways? Please send me your stories through this website. Especially if they relate to adoption or to writing, I’d be interested in publishing them. And join me on alternate Mondays for an adopted daughter’s reflections on adoption and life.

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Poetry Monday, Once Again

Tags

adoption, birds, Flowers, haiku, mountains, Seasons, serenity, Snow, Sun

Note from Elaine: I’m adopting poetry for this first post of 2017, contributed by a writer friend whose work I’ve admired for many years. Her beautifully crafted images capture much of what there is to love in northern New Mexico. Join Roberta as she takes you through Northern New Mexico’s palette with intimate details, sweeping panoramas, and all kinds of weather!

Grace Notes of 2016 in Jaconita

A form that’s perfect for today.

by Roberta Fine

JANUARY
Snow enhancing trash.
Crystal-crusted broken hoe
Crowned by red-topped finch.

FEBRUARY
Wrinkled, folded hills
Holding ancient secrets.
Spinning fireside tales.

MARCH
Finely crafted nest.
Feathered weaver’s masterwork.
Lying on the ground.

APRIL
Silver silhouette
Truchas Peaks shining in new
White Communion dress.

MAY
Hummingbird stealing
Insects from spider’s rich cache
In window cobweb.

JUNE
Slim moon slice smiling
In arching black velvet sky
Empty of storm clouds.

JULY
Coral fruit crowning
Lushly-leaved apricot tree.
Feathered thieves dive in.

AUGUST
Monarch’s stained glass wings
Fanning magenta blossoms.
Sipping as it clings.

SEPTEMBER
Apple scented breeze
Stirring hollow wooden chimes
Into two note song.

OCTOBER
Caught in burnt-red sprays,
October sun igniting
Locust’s vibrant leaves.

NOVEMBER
Yellow butterfly
No bigger than a nickel
Finding last flower.

DECEMBER
White veil laid smoothly
Overnight over Sangres.
Valley brown, leafless.

Poet Roberta Fine lives and writes in Jaconita, New Mexico. She finds inspiration from the diverse seasons and scenery of the Southwest.

What are your favorite scenes from home and environs in your corner of the world? Please send comments, and tune in to Elaine’s website every other Monday for a fresh blog post about adoption, hiking and life.

Roberta Fine has adopted Haiku as her medium of expression

Haiku Monday

Tags

adoption, birds, Flowers, haiku, healing, Moon, Poetry, Seasons, Snow, Sun

Note from Elaine: I’m in the final stages of editing a novel (All the Wrong Places) to be published in late 2016 or early 2017. The process has so consumed me, today’s post, one of my favorites, is a repeat.  My goal for this new year is to focus on gratitude for everything. I’ve flipped the script, from anger to appreciation. Understanding at the heart level has come about after years of searching and reinvention. As an adopted person who’s “adopted” many routes to healing, I’ve found that reading poetry is a balm. It is with great delight that I re-publish these haikus by my poet friend Roberta Fine.
Twelve Graces of 2014

Above the Clouds

January
Baldy’s white cap thins
Brown skull showing through the white
Waiting for a storm.
February
Fresh snow on Sangres
Opal tinted at sunset
Glow fading slowly.
March
Lady hawk surveys
White fields from catalpa tree
Great head swiveling.
April
Buried bulbs revive
In frozen lifeless garen
Reaching for the sun.
May
Clinging to twin trees
Raven pair tear at pine cones
Then leave together.
June
White threads vein mountain
All that’s left of winter snow
Garden pants for rain.
July
Fledglings line up
To take a turn at feeders
Lone bird pecks at ground.
August
Ravens’ raucous call
Splitting summer morning peace
Dewdrops shine on leaves.
September
Head held high, lone rose
Surviving frosty warning.
Someone’s chopping wood.
October
Tawny gold valley
Flaunting bold farewell to sun’s
Declining power.
November
Red chrysanthemums
Capturing sun’s chilly fire
In sundown’s last glance.
December
Fuzzy moon peering
Down through tree’s bare black branches
Suggests snow tonight.
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HAIKU-short poems that use words to capture a feeling or image of nature, beauty, or a particular sensory moment.. They are usually written as three lines: the first contains 5 syllables, the second line 7 syllables, the third line 5 syllables.
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Poet Roberta Fine lives and writes in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Finding inspiration from

Haiku Monday

Tags

adoption, Adoption recovery, awareness, birds, haiku, Nature, reflectiveness, Snow, Winter

In dealing with adoption questions such as, Are my “real” parents my adoptive mom and dad or the parents who are biologically related to me?, I’ve learned that a lot depends on perspective. Some people, especially those living in the harsher climes, look at winter as tedious, dreary, uncomfortable. Others, ignoring the cold, choose to notice the beauty. Today’s guest blogger and poet Roberta Fine has adopted the season in all its loveliness. She’s chosen details that feed the spirit and imagination. As we begin the shortest days of the year, enjoy her Haiku Scenes of Winter…

Baldy disappears

Above the Clouds

Behind descending veil–

Birds crowd feeder.

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Brown, wrinkled, puffy–

Frozen apples still on tree

Feed the winter birds.

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Ravens trail coyote,

Hoping he’s a good hunter,

Will leave leftovers.

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Cooking up a stew—

Birds aren’t the only ones who like apples even if they’re frozen.

Sunlight streaming through window

In my warm kitchen.

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Mountain emerges

From cloud in late afternoon—

Sparkling, massive jewel.

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Winter moon shining

Softly on violet snow—

Dogs barking to come in.

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Shopping for some bread

In the store a stranger’s smile

Brightens the cold, grey day.

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Cutting wind shakes trees.

Scatters seeds from bird feeder.

Birds peck through ice film.

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NOTE FROM ELAINE: Adoption issues occupied up my psychological “real estate” for too many years. It was more than time to transcend them, to wake up and live more positively. Christmas and the holiday season, I propose, offer the perfect time to shed any self-images that tarnish and corrode. The luminosity of Roberta Fine’s winter haikus reminded me of the world’s beauty.  What are YOUR favorite winter images? I’d love to hear about them! Please comment below or reach me on Twitter @TheGoodbyeBaby.

See the world through adoption-colored glasses-Every other Monday.

 

How to Adopt Winter

Tags

adoptee, adoption, Hiking, national adoption month, outdoors, Robert Frost, Snow, Solitude, trails, Winter

NOTE FROM ELAINE: I’m preparing for a book promotion tour, leaving for Amelia Island and a debut for SANTA FE ON FOOT. So, dear readers, this is a replay for a post I published originally two years ago. Enjoy!

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Today we awakened to fresh snow. It continued, for hours, snowing off and on. In the high mountain country of the Southwest, snowfall brings a welcome transformation. Instead of autumnal brown, sere, scruffy terrain of the recent months, we now view snow-covered pinons, the nearby Rocky Mountain foothills hooded in white, everything fresh and pristine.  I am drawn to Robert Frost’s musing on the silence of the woods, the solitude of his horse-drawn sleigh journey, the temptation to linger in the stillness contrasted with the needs of the day. So here on this snowbound day, I offer you, dear readers, one of my favorite poems…
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Path to Raven’s Ridge, Santa Fe, NM

By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Winter often arrives early here in Santa Fe. This Autumn, it came just in time for “Take a Hike” Day, officially November 17th. Whatever your favorite seasonal way to be outdoors, put on your skis, snowshoes, or your best hiking boots, and tromp away those Monday Blues.

Follow Elaine’s Monday musings on adoption and life.

Alone

Tags

Adoption. Adoptee, Alone, Gift, Graupel, Snow, Solitude, Winter

Of all the “A” words in the adoptee’s lexicon, one of the hardest is “Alone.” 

A venerable old tree on Canyon Road- photo by Beth Stephens

How often we may have heard the saying, “We’re born alone and we die alone,” and deep down we know that being sometimes alone is simply part of life.

To the adopted self, however, “alone” can conjure up feelings of abandonment and rejection. Our original parents could or would not keep us, and even though we may never have been actually alone, we did not feel that we belonged to anyone. I can speak only for myself, but as I meet others looking at the world through adoption-colored glasses, this  perception of “alone” seems to be common. However, one morning’s experience can change everything, which is what happened in the following episode…

Place: Santa Fe National Forest.
Time: A few days ago.
Action: Snowshoeing up Aspen Vista Road with my son.

The weather prediction was for clouds, sun, and “occasional showers.” We started at 9:30 a.m. up the winding uphill forest road that ended in five miles at cluster of radio towers. Our goal was not to reach the top but to be out for half a day. I urged my son to snowshoe on ahead…he’d easily catch up with me on his way down. Fresh snow festooned shrubs, grasses, big rocks. The air was frigid, the sky a combination of gray, blue and white.
My son disappeared around a bend and I was suddenly solo. Every five minutes or so, I stopped to listen to the solitude.  No apparent wind, but nonetheless the trees made a barely audible “shushing” sound. Whenever the sun came out, crystal-like sparkles appeared on snow billows that bordered both sides of the road. Minutes after an interlude of sunshine, it started to graupel.
Note: according to Wikipedia, Graupel refers to precipitation that forms when

The hushed stillness of a morning in late winter

supercooled droplets of water are collected and freeze on a falling snowflake, forming a 2–5 mm ball of rime. Strictly speaking, graupel is not the same as hail or ice pellets.
Neither snow nor rain, graupel is a phenomenon worth recognizing when it happens. That morning, it served as the perfect metaphor. Just as graupel is like snow but not the same thing, being alone is not being lonely. The thought filled me with inexplicable joy, as I realized that this was time to just breathe, snowshoe and soak up the beauty around me. The sky eventually cleared and turned from eggshell blue to deep indigo.
I reached the end of the hike having covered less territory than my son,  However, I felt that I’d been out for many, many miles. My take on being alone had flipped from morose to euphoric. In today’s noisy, overcrowded, frenetic world, solitude is increasingly a luxury. In the hours of one morning I came to realize that one can be alone without being lonesome, and that was a gift.

Join Elaine  for observations about adoption and life!