Doing the work. small stone Day 27

The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work. ~Emile Zola

Kaspa writes: Inspiration is all around us. One of the questions writers and artists often get asked is, “Where do you get your ideas from?” But my experience of talking to artists and writers, and of my own writing, is that there is often an abundance of ideas. A better question might be, “How do you take this idea and make it into a piece of art?”

I’m also reminded of those writers who talk about getting letters which say, “I’ve had a great idea for a novel, why don’t you write it for me?”

The gift of inspiration is nothing without the work.

I’m really interested in how this process happens. It’s why we set up the Creative Interview series, and why I investigate my own creative process, and enjoy learning from others. What works? What doesn’t work?

If you’d like to join me in exploring your own processes, and get some support in the work of bringing your gift into the world, join me for The Way of Getting Things Done. There’s a 25% discount until the end of today.

We’re into the final week of the mindful writing challenge. If you haven’t written a small stone yet, now is as good a time as any, if you have written lots – keep writing!

Do post them in the comments below 🙂

Comments & replies

30 thoughts on “Doing the work. small stone Day 27

  1. bythewobblydumdumtree

    Rapid thaw.
    Snow melt flowing down the hill,
    chuckling like a mountain stream
    along the gutter and down the drain.

    * * *

    Early flowering primrose
    shakes off her snowy duvet,
    plumps up her pretty petals;
    Spring is on the way.

  2. Patsy Goodsir

    Biting wind,
    shakes the trees,
    buccaneers well hidden,
    no doubt watching what I’ve
    just laid out to help
    keep them warm.
    Down to ice now,
    lethal weapon.

  3. Jill

    Somewhere outside the park, a series of loud cracks, the echos of a shotgun. A flock of geese who just a moment ago were happily resting in one of the baseball fields rises in collective flight, that of both kinds–floating in the air with wings spread wide but also fleeing.

    The sound of their honking, loud and panicked and fast, excites the dogs, both of them pull and strain against their harness and leads, wanting to go faster, to chase, to catch up. When the geese are directly overhead, the force of their wings against the cold morning air makes them sound like a swarm of gigantic bumble bees.

    (see accompanying pictures)

  4. John Oliver

    Knotholes

    wooden fence
    surrounds the backyard
    vertical planks
    tiny gaps between
    orderly rows of nails
    similar color thanks to the stain

    All is uniform but those knotholes.
    Their unique shapes stand out.
    They are evidence that the boards came from trees.

    Humans fashioned the barrier.
    Nature made the raw materials.

  5. Robbie Burton

    Released from ice
    narrow boats weep
    and I remember
    waking to tiller-creak
    your head beside mine
    on the pillow.

  6. Deborah Harvey

    I did my best dancing alone
    my arms lifted above my head
    in the dead of the night
    to the orchestrations of the fridge.

  7. sleepwriter

    A bear of a dog, large as a man, sits in the passenger seat of a passing car, arm casually dangling from the window, smiling.

  8. johncroxon

    I feel as if my body is failing me.
    My mind is strong, but burdened by the aching joints, scared flesh, broken bones.
    I’m tired, weak and long for sleep.
    Only then can I get a brief escape.

  9. Wilma

    Rich burnt orange rim in soft focus,
    the moon peeks over the dark grey ocean.
    With every moment, it grows larger, brighter
    until at last it slips free of the dark water.
    Gold slowly yields to silver and grey to black.
    The moon remains oblivious to its transformation.

    http://writingwhileunder.blogspot.com

  10. Mlissabeth

    the forecast says flurries,
    but all I see is rain
    I got a closer look
    when I fell face flat
    on the slippery sidewalk
    not hurting much more than
    my pride

  11. Cindy Bene

    The full Wolf Moon sets at 6:31 a.m. It illuminates the snow that has fallen with a bluish light.
    I can see everywhere my guardian dog has patrolled last night by his tracks in the snow.
    I notice several large oval areas where the snow has melted down to the grass. Not crop circles; these would be “dog circles” where he slept for a short while.

  12. Mary

    by hand:
    blend brown and white sugars,
    whisk 2 adobe shelled eggs,
    turn in creamy peanut butter creating a honey liquid.
    fold in dry ingredients;
    teaspoon dropped/cross-hatched.
    14 minutes of waiting and wafting;
    1 minute to eat with ice cold milk.

  13. Larry Piper

    Freshly peeled potatoes get rather slimy
    when rinsed under the tap.
    They take on a life of their own,
    sometimes escaping and seeking refuge
    in the depths of the garbage disposal,
    thinking that one is hardly likely
    to stick one’s hand down there
    to seek them out and return them
    to the cutting board, and eventually, the pot.

  14. Prittiwi

    A small girl sits in the aisle,
    Like a ladybird in her black and red dress,
    Red spots on black skirt,
    Oblivious to the people in pews.
    Now she is lying face down on the red carpet,
    Playing or praying?

  15. Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt

    I know this much is true:
    I sit in my old, high-backed
    office chair, the one with
    worn, stained arms,
    lean to the left a little,
    sounds of waves coming
    from my husband’s computer game,
    laughter from an amused child,
    licking of gravy from pet bowls
    by two tabbies and a shepherd mix.
    I can think of no better
    after-dinner mint.

  16. Renee

    Barber Pole

    the barber shop pole
    in fashion once on
    every street corner
    has become an icon of
    another time and place

    © 2013 Renee Espriu

  17. estrella05azul

    Smallstones

    #27
    Infallibly, whenever I touch their pages, the books I took with me on different trips emanate the collected memories of the sights I’ve seen, the scents I smelled, the food I ate.

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