Throw Me Thursday: When it’s raining frogs

"Absorb what is useful. Discard what is not. Add what is uniquely your own." Bruce Lee

We need to learn to be kinder to ourselves. We need to listen to what our bodies tell us, if we’re tired, over taxing ourselves, we know, but in this here world we often don’t listen. We need to do what is right. For ourselves. Better things happen when we do.

I’ve begun getting up at 5 am to write because my brain works better in the morning than at night and the house is quiet save for the mewling cat that runs to my side begging for a scratch. I make coffee and notice the daylight in increments. If the writing is going well, I don’t notice the light until the red of a cardinal splashes past my eye breaking fast on the black oil sunflower seeds we’ve put out near the arborvitaes.

My husband is working a lot, so much so that autumn will cruise past him and smash into winter like a car spinning doughnuts into a thick Wisconsin snowbank. We miss him desperately in times like this, then he will go and forget his lunch and we will drive food to him and sit in the open, oddly relaxing break room where he works and talk and laugh and ask for bites even though we’ve only just finished our own lunches at home. Azy will scale him like a mountain. Ivy will insist he teach her a new game.

In the last week I’ve seen more friends than I have in some time. I wonder if the changing of seasons bring us together. I wonder where they are when we’re not sitting around a campfire talking too loudly in the middle of the night hoping my neighbors don’t overhear our inappropriate commentary. When most of your friends are artists and writers and brilliant partakers-of-life you don’t tend to talk about the weather. Unless it starts raining frogs. There are things to be said about raining frogs.

On Wednesday we burned journals, watched them curl under the flames in stacks, the paper holding tight its ink until it’s singed and disappears. We had to keep poking the pages that didn’t want to go–sheet after sheet uncovered, two words swiped back from the flames, three words, gone. There are more books upstairs waiting for the pyre. They embarrass me, good work I’m ready to let go.

What is worth keeping is kept.

Sending away a journal doesn’t erase time or lessen the impact of the past, it offers space and newness. It’s a haircut, a pruning of words, a snip of the unnecessary. The point of all those journals was to write and to have written. It was finding the trust to let the words land and in having landed to be cast off. I think of writing as a constant shucking–ideas one after another taken away in search of the center self, the fragile core where the true voice whispers asking for a bit of kindness.

***

I hope Kellie M. Walsh (.com) got the ” Hair/haircuts. (As I’m getting one later.)” she was hoping for. Mine always looks great until I wash it. I’ve never figured out hair. Thank you, Kellie!

I didn’t want to say this, but I’m going to have to take a break from the Throw Me Thursdays for a bit. I really, really have other writing projects that need to be done and, well, it’s been a challenge. I hope to be back before the end of October, but if not, let’s do Nano together. It’ll be fun, yeah?

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About E. Victoria Flynn

E. Victoria Flynn is a mother and a writer living in Southern Wisconsin. Published in a variety of venues, Victoria is currently writing the first in a series of three fantasy novels based on Cornish folklore. When not taking part in a shrieking dance party or engrossed in her own little fictions, Victoria is keen on art, the natural world and people unafraid to explore their own brilliance.
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20 Responses to Throw Me Thursday: When it’s raining frogs

  1. eglentyne says:

    We’ll miss you and will be here to toss you ideas when you’re ready. xo –Dani

  2. Beth Hoffman says:

    I totally understand needing to take a break. I can no longer keep up with my blog and write full-time. I’ll miss your magical words and will look forward to the day when you post again. XO

  3. Beth Lowe says:

    This is brilliant. I find it somehow comforting, too, even though the idea of burning my journals scares me. I can’t do it, even though some of them are filled with the most awful schlock. They’re safely hidden away in the attic, and there they’ll stay for another time. But peeking in on my brave friend while she shucks away, and then has a campfire? I like that.

  4. I can completely understand the need to focus on other writing projects at the moment–especially when Mike is working so much. It’s hard to balance everything. I always look forward to what you write–in whatever form you choose.
    I just burned almost 20 years of love letters. It was easier for me to burn those than journals or diaries would be.
    My best time is the morning, too, although I can’t bring myself to wake up at 5 am anymore. I hope the new coffee maker is everything you want it to be w/o that plastic after-taste.
    Happy writing!

  5. siggiofmaine says:

    Inspiring…thank you.

    See you when I see you
    Peace and love,
    Siggi in Maine

  6. TheLanguageOfTrees says:

    I love this: “The point of all those journals was to write and to have written.”

    Just beautiful. Onward!

    Ilie

  7. “Sending away a journal doesn’t erase time or lessen the impact of the past, it offers space and newness. It’s a haircut, a pruning of words, a snip of the unnecessary.”

    Well, you’ve taken us into the quiet with a very powerful piece. I, too, will miss these entries, but I get it. Put your energies into your other writings for a while, and know they’ll unfold with just as much grace.

  8. kario says:

    I will miss your blogging, but I completely understand. I love your use of words, the way they play and dance and make serious impact all at the same time. I often read your posts and then come back and read them again and then again once more to find all of the layers and meaning there for me. Thank you for that.

    • pennyjars says:

      Kari, that means a lot to me. I’m often convinced I’m playing a joke on myself when I sit down to write. It’s such a relief to know real and incredible people are finding something of value in the work. Thank you for reading and commenting.

  9. Kellie says:

    My haircut, like all my haircuts, also only looks good before it’s washed/when someone else is tending it. Otherwise, it’s just hair.

    But the nice stylist did remind me that, to keep it looking healthier while it grows longer, hair should be trimmed regularly. Just like writing, it may grow and grow and grow in volume, but it only improves when you trim and cull regularly. As goes of old excess, so too goes too many foci dividing one’s time.

    Wonderful piece, lady, and I’m honored to have helped shape it a little. Many thanks for the reminder and inspiration to trim down to the most important — and to wake up earlier to get some of that work done!

    xoxo

    • pennyjars says:

      Exactly perfect–I’d rather read a stunning novella than a ho-hum novel. I can’t find the quote so I’m probably wrong and making this up, but I remember a professor saying that to Hemingway a good day of writing had to do with the number of words he’d cut. I think the sacrifice is in not writing rather than writing and discarding.

      Thanks so much, Kellie!

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