Prose: Pressing In

Thoughts while traveling in southern Asia . . .

keeping yourself quiet // 21

Wrote this the other night in the midst of feeling creatively “stuck.” Part of me wants to wait for a specific time to share this, not just in the middle of the ordinary or so soon after I wrote…but another, more dominant, part of me knows a different truth. I need to release it. And through the release, more will come for me. And maybe something will break through for you. Why are we fixated on waiting when we already have what’s in the palm of our hands? What’s holding us back? Letting it go.

existence.

Something that hurt

Poetry in Process: Storming

I was driving one morning after thunderstorm watches and warnings, and when I looked up, a tornado-shaped billow rested just to my left. And I drove on, awed and inspired both by the magnitude and power of it, and by the protection, grace, and fearlessness I felt. The following was directly inspired by that morning, nearly a year ago. I want to publish this with the birth of a second poetry book, but it might undergo some tweaks before then. So, darling reader, read on. And let me know in the comments below what you think †

Prose: Dreaming You Were Here

Fellow adventurers:

I posted this on my Instagram page over a year ago and realized I never shared it on my blog! In case you missed it, I’ve pasted it below. Dream on †

Short Story: The Questions

“Will you marry me?”

The question sucked the breath out of me momentarily, followed by feelings of surprise, excitement, panic. My chest tightened and my mouth went dry. I tried to look him in the eyes, but it was hard. Tried to swallow.

This wasn’t my Cinderella story—I realized that. The words every little girl waits for all her life had just been asked of me…and this little girl is going on thirty and still can neither perceive or accept it.

Project Teaser, Part 4

It’s amazing what happens when you let go.

Especially when the God of the universe has been asking you to let go for a long time, and you just recently obliged.

If you haven’t yet read parts 1-3 (or if you would like to refresh your memory), you can find them here.

The story continues.

Behind the Scenes: What Goes into Writing a Novel, Part 1

It’s June 30th, 2019, and I’m writing. It’s been a while since I’ve sat down with this project, but I’m here again and loving it.

Currently, there’s a metaphor being tossed around, and that’s this idea that the characters are chess pieces–used not by the narrator but by the characters themselves. With metaphors, I hesitate to use them only once; on the contrary, I like to implement a certain one as many times as possible without being redundant, for many reasons: to carry on themes, to remind the reader of what was formerly said, and to introduce powerful statements presented in short, simple phrases that pertain to the metaphor at play.

Project Teaser, Part 3

Remember when I wanted a solution to the empty feeling? What I had meant was fix it so I don’t feel empty anymore, not tell me to delete the whole thing.

So, as the highly-spiritual, God-fearing Christian I was…I refused.

Worth It: Reflections and Poetry

Beautiful adventurers,

I had a dream last night that I was on stage with two other ladies–some friends from high school–and one guy on a keyboard. There was no sound system aside from the three microphones we had and the broken melodies the young man was trying to produce. And we started singing. It was nearly a cappella, as the keyboardist struggled to play in the right key, and when he succeeded, it was soft and improvised. We didn’t know what songs we were going to sing next, had nothing prepared, and yet we transitioned from song to song with no respect to key change or if the others knew the next song at all. I realized shortly after we began that this was no masterpiece. There was a room full of people watching three amateurs trying to sing the same song in the right key and have the background music match it. Not a very successful attempt, at that. When the song called for a build, there was no drum to accompany the build, and it rendered almost everything we tried devoid of style and emotion. It was pitiful. But I was on the microphone.

So I started jumping and, closing my eyes, just said to the audience, “I don’t care anymore what you do. I’m going to get a little wild, and it’s going to look a little crazy, and that’s okay. I don’t care how you see me. Feel free to get out of your seats and come to the front of the stage or the back of the room, if you want. Dance or jump or sing or whatever. Do what you want. We’re going to sing.”

I let go of what they thought of me and decided that if it’s going to be bad either way, I might as well get the most out of it. I had realized the moment could literally not get any worse; it was the most terrible performance one could imagine. So if we were failing to impress the audience anyway, there would be little harm in letting go, having fun, getting wild for its own sake, without the stress of trying to make it look appealing. In the dream, I looked up after a few minutes of singing loudly and crazy-dancing, and hardly any of the audience members were still in their seats. They were up front, filling the aisles, in the rows, all with their hands raised or finding their own movement. I’d started something.

Project Teaser, Part 2

So I left you all with a dream, quite literally. That’s all it was for some time before I had this sudden revelation that I could put it on a page and get credit for what I never came up with to begin with. (Honestly, it felt like plagiarism, but it was from in my own mind that I was taking it.)

So I did.

Project Teaser, Part 1

Friends and fellow adventurers,

Sometimes we end the life of one thing to bring life to something else. It’s a good kind of pain, like ripping off an old, persistent bandage. As authors, writers, poets, and creatives, we come to this decision point often. It’s a familiar sight now to some of us. And it was the birth place of the project I would like to reveal to you in the coming months.

I’ll start off with a story of my own, and this story isn’t fiction.

One month, and then it begins.

Stay brave, lovely.

† Lana

Coming soon….

I have some blog posts scheduled to come your way in the coming months, revealing a sneak peak into a major project I have been working on. I shall say no more, and let you revel in suspense.

Much love, and stay brave,

† Lana

Footprints

Leave your mark, my darling. The ocean cannot be your home forever. One day, you’ll depart. One day, you’ll set sail.

But do not be chagrined, my love. The time you have here, though but sand in an hour glass, is here for you to claim. You have the choice to leave the island the same as you found it, or to create a tidal wave. …you are capable of that, you know. They call you dainty, they call you fragile, but you have moved mountains into seas with the help of I AM and mustard seeds.

Don’t be frightened by the storms. The sand was never your foundation to begin with. When you venture, you will do so with the grace of the Captains of Armies. The strength of sailors. The cadence of wind. The sound of seas.

When you venture, you won’t be afraid, mostly because you won’t be alone. So set sail, and make waves. Leave your footprints in the sand to be found by other wanderers, and make your mark intentionally, to point them all home.

You are loved. You are brave.

†