You’d Think I’d Know to Listen By Now…

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

I’m a big believer that everything happens for a reason and, by the time you reach the end, you’ll realize that everything was really always connected all along.

The universe knows better than me, so why do I keep trying to outsmart her?
The universe knows better than me, so why do I keep trying to outsmart her?

Every person you meet and every experience you have is like a paving stone, if you will, something that gives you a footing while the next stone is in transit. In my mind, it’s why we end up with these pauses in life. Those in-between times. Nothing is seemingly happening, but so much is happening beyond our scope, aligning for when we are ready to step off of where we stand.

I tend to get awfully frustrated in these moments. Usually I’m coming off of some kind of emotional rollercoaster and I’m goddamned good and ready to blow this popsicle stand and get on with things. I have discovered, however, (or am discovering) that the pause is absolutely necessary. Fundamental, really. Without it, we might leap before the next stone is laid and miss whatever experience or person is meant to bring it to us.

On a good day, I have next to no patience. I want the universe to adhere to my timeline. And in those moments of hostile frustration, I swear, if I strain my ear, I can hear her (the universe) chuckling. In an air of, “yeah, okay, sweetheart. Let me get right on that for you.” I usually have to run through the cycle, stomping around, cursing, gesticulating wildly, until I weary of the trudge. At which point clarity usually descends and I can let it go. Restoring my trust in the universe and that she truly knows better than me.

You’d think in 31 years I would’ve learned to sit back and accept the in-between times, regardless of how I feel about my own readiness. Enjoy it. Absorb it. Feel it.

But no.

I still flail about for awhile, exhausting myself. And for what? The universe always does what she wants anyway. And I mean that in the purest sense. If you believe in her, she won’t lead you astray.

Things just may seem foggy for awhile until the answers do show up. But they do show up. In my experience, the answers do show up. Even if in unexpected or silent ways.

They say patience is a virtue and, lord help me, I do not have it in spades. But I try. I forget my way almost every time, but I do try. And that has to count for something, right?

k.

Always Love a Little Harder.

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

Preface: I wrote this back during the fallout of the Las Vegas shooting. At the time, I wasn’t sure I’d said everything I wanted to or that I got it out right. I have a tendency to write things and then let them sit, percolate, evolve. But today, while the timing might be a bit delayed, the concepts are still true and the sentiments are still how I feel.

Last year, I changed things up and didn’t go with the traditional resolutions because, let’s face it, what I’d resolve to do or not do would last maybe four days. Instead, I decided to pick a theme for the year, something that fits how and what I want to accomplish in the upcoming 365 days. So, while I’m a day late on releasing this, here is 2018’s theme: be brave and love harder.

Enjoy, and happy 2018.

-kw

life-863186_1280

I’ve stared at this blinking cursor for the last hour and a half.

I don’t know what I want to say, what I should say, what I shouldn’t. Are my words even worth putting down on paper? Who knows. I’m struggling with articulating what it is the world is going through right now, and I’m not sure I even understand it all that well myself.

It’s almost as if we’re entering into a moral dark age, where love and kindness are no longer the appropriate currency to make it through. When did that even happen? When did we get so off course?

I realize that this isn’t the first mass shooting in US history or the first major incident in the world. Sadly, things like the shooting in Vegas are becoming common occurrences in our collective experience and something none of us should be used to. My heart hurts for the people who have and will experience some kind of loss or terror or horror from this one single event. My heart hurts for the world. My heart just hurts. Something as pure as attending a concert has been sullied, the communal high and sense of inclusion music brings truncated by a guy sitting on the 32nd floor shooting into a crowd. We don’t know why yet, but does it really matter? Will that knowledge somehow help us? I don’t think so. How could you possibly reason that this was necessary or good or deemed?

So, I ask: are we becoming comfortable with the dark? Do we expect it? Should we expect it? Moments of intense fear tend to make us wary about the future and continuing to do things we enjoy, like attending concerts or festivals or simply walking down the street.

I was in London when the bombing at the Ariana Grande concert happened in Manchester. I was nowhere near the epicentre, but the ripples still reached me. I could feel London tense, tighten, hold its collective breath. Will it happen here? Are we next? Are there others? The police presence was unbelievable and every time sirens blared, I felt myself tense, too. Are they responding to another attack, or is this an ordinary call? Despite my best efforts to enjoy the rest of my trip because, well, fear be damned!, I still got caught up in the anticipatory feeling of what’s to come. I walked around with my actual passport; I mapped my various routes to the Canadian embassy; I didn’t take the tube; I stayed away from major tourist attractions.

And despite those efforts, I still managed to find myself in the middle of a crowd outside Buckingham Palace with a police helicopter slowly hovering above us. I was uneasy; the crowd was overwhelming. And in that moment I realized they still got me. I was fearful. I mistrusted the people around me. I gauged my exits and who I would have to work around to get out of this situation, if something were to happen.

And maybe that’s the true power of inciting terror. The tendrils of fear creeping through the people, changing their perceptions of their peers into faces of “the other.” Diminishing the trust in love and light, demanding we wrap ourselves in the dark. We divide ourselves based on our instincts to survive, but I think our best chance of survival is to fight that. To love, to trust, to believe in the good in people. To maybe not believe everything you see or hear in mainstream media, or to at least read it critically. To actively evaluate your moral compass and make adjustments as needed.

I’m a firm believer in the idea that love will always win, but we’re venturing down a path that scares me. Will we be able to overcome our distrust of the other and what we don’t know or understand? Will we realize that the “other” may not be who we’re taught to expect? I don’t pretend to think that every human is essentially good and can be saved. That’s just not the case, and I understand that. But when will we get down past the colour of someone’s skin or religious ideologies to realize that, at the end of the day, we all bleed the same? And maybe that’s easy for me to say as single, white, 30-year-old female sitting in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, but I believe it. And while you may not believe me, I don’t see colour or religion or gender or sexual orientation. I see human. And humans are capable of an array of things, ranging from the indescribably horrific to the unbelievably beautiful. Let one’s actions determine the judgement and, if you must, label him or her as “human,” not “lone wolf” or “terrorist” or “white” or “Muslim.”

I have to believe that we’re more sophisticated beings and that love is our greatest power, but sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I wonder if we can do it, fight the divisive nature of fearfulness. I hope to hell we can and do, but sometimes, I wonder.

So, today, on this day and going forward, love a little harder. Always love a little harder.

Because it’s truly the only thing that will save us.

How Loss Shapes Who We Are

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

Loss is a funny thing.

For starters, it’s an immensely individual experience. Six people can live through the same tragic event and come out with six mind-blowingly different experiences. Hell, there will be six different memories of said event. We might be able to relate to each other, using the event as common ground, reaching out and around each other, but sometimes, loss leaves us alone. Isolated. Even in a room full of people, you are simply tied to your experience, wondering if you will actually ever break away.

Loss, Sadness, Goodbye

While the good helps shape who we are, sometimes I think it’s the losses that give us the most.

Losses can be big, small, in between. You may not even recognize what you’re experiencing as loss. Sometimes you only realize it’s a loss after the fact and after you’ve put some serious time and space between where you are and what happened.

I think we have this tendency to consider death as the only real loss in this life, but that’s just simply not the case. We experience varying degrees of loss on a daily basis, some leaving a bigger impact than others. Sometimes you don’t even realize the string of events that have led to this feeling of calamitous loss until you’re looking back down the road wondering how in the hell you got here in the first place.

These last five months have been a fucking roller coaster for me. Well, 2017 as a whole, let’s just say. Some great things, some really exciting things, some less great things, some terribly awful things. You know, a good mix. But it wasn’t until I really started looking at the last 10 weeks, really, that I’ve started to realize the amount of loss I’ve experienced in a relatively short amount of time.

Some things you just don’t see until you’re looking back.

And it’s not a fucking wonder that I’ve made a Kaley-shaped dent in my couch and have only ventured outside when I needed to. While some people turn to the world when they’re going through bouts of stress or emotional strain, I turn inward. I turn away from people, from the world, from just about everything. I eat my feelings, and that usually means beer and cheeseburgers sans vegetables, so all in all, a real great kick to my system. My brain gets so fucking loud that I lose myself in Netflix to disconnect and shut things off for awhile. But that lifestyle is habit forming. It becomes my go-to reaction, and it’s not necessarily a good thing. Well, not even necessarily. It’s not a good thing.

But the good news about smashing along rock bottom and exploding into several large pieces of myself is that I get the chance to put things back together. Maybe better this time. Maybe not. That’s the joy and curse of these opportunities, the unknowing. On more than one occasion in recent days, I’ve cried enough to leave myself with swollen eyelids and a constant burn around my irises. But I’m purging. I’m getting that toxic, negative load out of me. I’m fighting through the internal mayhem, setting fire to what needs to go down in flames.

But with that purge comes loss. Experiences, relationships, friendships, connections will all morph, change, alter. Sometimes they can make it through and grow with you, and sometimes they can’t. Sometimes they come back, and sometimes they don’t. I’ll tell you, though, it’s brutal when people come back, but they’re just not sure. (So, be sure, eh?)

There’s this quote I have that says, “we live life forward but understand it backward.” And I’m not sure that there’s anything more true. Moments or experiences act as triggers which tumble down entire shelves of memories, bringing things you’d tried your damnedest to forget into stark clarity, forcing you to confront some things that you thought you’d simply take to the grave.

Are we better for it, for having to face those things? I don’t know. I really don’t. From where I’m standing at this particular moment in time, I honestly wish my shelves were still intact, everything neatly packed away in their appropriate boxes. Leaving me to live my life in peace.

But is that truly peace, or is it just a false sense of security? I find myself trying to make that distinction, make that decision. Do I step outside of the rubble and step into the version of myself that has absorbed these losses, morphed into something better, maybe something stronger? Or do I patch things up? Duct tape a piece of soul here, super glue a crack of heart there. Neither seems particularly appealing.

Loss comes in all shapes and sizes, but usually the holes it leaves feel dark and heavy.

And all to familiar.

I’m scared I’ll never be the same if I step forward, out past this demolition scene. I’m scared of what kind of person I will be, that maybe I’ll lose or leave something behind that I’ll never be able to retrieve.

And maybe that’s the biggest act of bravery, those timid steps we take into the light, not knowing whether we will truly be better or worse for it. Not knowing what waits for us on the other side. Running the risk to achieve the great, right?

Only time will tell.

 

I Don’t Write Every Day. Ever.

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

It’s true. I don’t write every day. Hell, I barely can write a couple of times a week. Over the years, I’ve tried my damnedest to, at minimum, journal every day because, well, at least that’s something, right? A quick synopsis of my day, or a commentary on some trivial event, or a kernel of some thought I need to unpack. I string the days together for awhile, do a really great job of writing in there every single day.

Then, BAM! Six, or 16, days roll on by, and I lead off with, “Well, so much for that run,” or some variation of “Man, I’m really bad at this writing thing.”

writing, creative writing, creative process

When not writing is still writing.

I spend a lot of time berating myself for not being a “better writer,” wondering why in goodness’s name I can’t do this “right.” My voice of self-criticism is an awfully loud one, and I think she has the power to scare away my inspiration, my will to write, my desire to create something different.

And then I read this article this morning from Electric Literature, answering a reader’s question on whether he or she is still a writer even if he or she doesn’t write every day.

And the resounding answer was, “Yes! Of course!”

The article is broken down into things you can do while you’re not writing, that ultimately help your writing, and it really spoke to me. When I’m not writing, I have more time for reading, for experiencing, and for thinking. Any and all of those three things can serve for fodder for future scribbles. If I’m not reading, then I’m not challenging and expanding my writer’s tool kit. If I’m not experiencing, then I’m not living life and giving myself something to write about. If I’m not thinking, then I’m not percolating new ideas or patterns or coming to absorb those readings or understand those experiences. And if I’m not doing any of that, well, then, what’s there to write about?

Creativity is, and always be, an incredibly individual pursuit. What works for one writer completely stalls and holds up the next. And let’s not even talk about the process of the third! It takes all kinds of crafts and artists to bring beauty into this sometimes (okay, often) ugly world, and the comparisons between two artists is something that hampers that beautiful, creative offering.

At the most basic level, each of us, every single human on this piece of rock, has a story and we’re all trying to figure out a way to explain it and/or share it. The creatives feel their stories, experiencing the words or the music or the drawings individually and completely. So, if my story and creative process is unique, then how come I’m so worried I’m “doing it wrong?” In theory, there should be no wrong way. Because, in the end, it will have culminated in something worthy of being in the world, even if I took a different route to get there, right?

So, I’m told.

But still I struggle with this feeling of being a fraud, even with a double major in Creative Writing and English Literature. I literally majored in writing and reading and still, still, I find myself fighting against my creativity. To the point that I’ve wondered if I am even a creative person at all or if it was a lie I told myself.

This article this morning, though, released a weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying. I do things differently than other writers, but that’s okay. That doesn’t make me any less of a writer. Because when I do write, it feels so good, a tantalizing piece of my soul that I can play with, hear what she has to say. It’s a cathartic process that somehow clears the debris of my muddled brain and gives me some semblance of clarity, especially if I’m mulling over a specific trouble or quandary.

So, while I might not write every day, I do still write. I do turn away from my craft when the rest of my world gets overwhelmingly chaotic, but I always, always come back to it. And maybe that’s the point: it’s my returning that makes me the writer, not so much the fact that I don’t write every day.

What’s your favourite way to get back into your writing process? I’d love to hear it.

Until next time.

-kw.

 

Take Time to Be Grateful.

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

Today is Thanksgiving Monday, and as I sit here putting the final touches on my table setting and my dessert, I find myself pondering all of the wonderful things in my life that I’m grateful for. Stereotypical, sure, but valid nonetheless.

thanksgiving, thankful, canadian thanksgiving, thanksgiving 2017, fall, autumn, victoria writers

In a world gone haywire, it’s even more important that we take time to acknowledge the things we have.

In a world that seems topsy-turvy right now, focusing on hate and anger rather than kindness and love, it seems even more important to acknowledge the power of these good things. I’ve been up and down the last couple of months, spending most of the last six weeks piecing things back together, so in a positive moment, here are 12 quick things that I’m eternally grateful for.

  1. My mama. You want to see what a powerhouse looks like? There she is. She’s had enough struggle in her life for two lifetimes, but she keeps going. Never once has she sat down and said, “okay, I’m done.” I am so proud to call her my mom.
  2. My brosky. This dude is not only one of my best friends but also one of the best humans I know. His integrity and honesty are the cornerstones of his personality, and his slicing wit and black humour round things out. He’s one of the funniest people I know and also one of the smartest. I’ll always be grateful to be his big sister.
  3. Steve, the kitten. What more do I need to say?
  4. My friends. Each and every one of these beauties is such a blessing in my life and I’ll always be grateful that our paths crossed and I get to call them mine.
  5. Coffee. Anybody that knows me will tell you that this might be one of the most important things in my life. Bring me coffee, and I’m yours.
  6. My health. It took a kidney stone earlier this year to remind me that I need to pay attention to what my body is telling me and to take better care of it. Chips and a glass of water a supper do not make. Maybe eat a vegetable, you putz.
  7. My bed. Best damn money I’ve ever spent. I only bought my first adult bed (and not taking hand-me-downs because they were free) last year, and not only did I feel so adult but also, well, I have a queen-size bed with all the blankets and pillows I could want.
  8. Sour keys. Keep me well-stocked in these and I’ll be happy until I die.
  9. My books. All lovingly curated and adored. No bent pages or broken spines. Beautiful gems of human intelligence that have somehow impacted my own intellect, making it bigger, better.
  10. Living in Victoria. Flip flops in December, little to no snow, the ocean. I’m even grateful for the sideways rain days.
  11. Tacos. Because what life is complete without baja shrimp tacos with guac and sour cream? I mean, c’mon.
  12. London. I am in love with that city and I forever will be. Every chance I get, I’ll be on a plane to eat Crosstown Donuts and walk through Sloane Square and listen to Big Ben’s bells.

The list actually goes on and on, but you also probably don’t want to read about my love of everybody else’s dogs, Harry Potter, and Italian food.

Take a moment today to simply be aware of all the good things in your life and everything you have to be grateful for. Hug your loved ones a little bit tighter and give your pets some extra love. It’s only these good things and the things that warm our hearts that will bring us back together and close this divide between us.

Until next time.

-kw.

Travel: Go While You Can

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

Does “wanderlust” have an expiration date? Does that itch to get up and just go fade away as time goes by? Or is it something that we seek within ourselves and actively hone and hear out?

I don’t actually know, to be honest. But I like to think it’s the latter. However, this pesky thing called life can and tends to get in the way of plans to set sail for Hawaii on a whim or to go live abroad for six months in the south of France. The grand plans of seeing the world may not apply to everybody, but I have my list at the ready, set to cross off far-away lands as I can.

But as I near my 30th birthday, I feel like the window on the freedom to travel at my own pleasure is coming to a close. Society tells me that I should be looking for a husband and wanting to settle down, buy a house, have some kids, get the token designer dog, build the constructed image that nets us the positive end of the neighbourhood gossip. While I am, yes, looking for a partner in crime to ride my days out with and raise some babies with, I’m not sure about the rest of it, and I can feel myself starting rail against it harder and harder. In a city like Victoria where the price of a single-family home is essentially unattainable for the average middle-class family, I have asked myself on more than one occasion: why? Is it a requirement that I own a piece of property and shoulder the responsibility of mortgage payments and taxes and utility bills? Is that the only way that I’ll be considered successful in the eyes my peers? Does that social acceptance even really matter to me?

I’m starting to think maybe there is another way. I know I’m not buying a house any time soon, and I’m not so sure I want to buy a condo, so where does that leave me?

With a whole lot of potential savings that is begging to be used.

Last September, I went to London, England and Amsterdam, Netherlands with my mom. I spent every dime of savings I had for our two weeks abroad, exploring with one of my favourite people in my favourite city and a new-found city. And I’m not sure I’ll ever get a chance to experience that again. My mom is struggling with some pretty serious health issues right now, and the trip itself held some trials for her. l can see her worsening, and I know in my heart that I may not get the chance again to show her Westminster Abbey or watch her swoon over the exceptionally good looking actor playing Macbeth at the Globe Theatre. (Seriously, though, what a hunk!) I may not get to see her sip her cappuccinos overlooking the Herengracht canal, wondering if her dad can see what she’s doing now, whether he’s proud of her. Those memories with my mom are priceless, and I can’t imagine still having the savings in the bank and never going on the trip. Doing the “financially responsible” thing and continuing to save for that down payment or whatever it might be wasn’t an option, so is it financially irresponsible if I just spent the money differently than what is expected?

Life is fragile and time is not guaranteed. We aren’t promised our tomorrows and every morning that we do in fact rise with sun is a gift, however cliche that might sound. I know with incredible clarity the way life takes a hard right turn and suddenly that bill payment you were worried about no longer matters. Life is a master of reminding you of the important things in ways that make sure you won’t forget. Life changes you, and for the better, I think. You learn to live again and appreciate the things in life that you simply took for granted.

In this moment, I am a healthy, hard-working, smart, 29-year-old writer. I certainly won’t stay 29 for ever, and I may not always be healthy, so I better take the chances that I do have to see what I want to see, in case tomorrow doesn’t happen. I can always make more money, but I may not be able to board a plane to sit on a houseboat in Amsterdam, I may not be able to see the Northern Lights in Iceland, I may never feel the beaches of Vietnam. I may not be able to hop in the car and simply drive away on the next roadtrip.

Go while you can, guys. Time waits for no one, no matter how hard we try to make sure it does. So, go. The rest will wait; the adventure may not.

– kw.

Is Writing a Need or a Want?

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

I was on a date last night–second date, to be exact–and the conversation started to take a more philosophical, deep direction. (One of my favourite things.)

“Why do you write?” he asked.

I sipped my Caesar, somewhat caught off-guard by the question. In all my years wearing the “writer” crown, I have never been asked this simple, direct question. I’ve been asked variations of it, like “what’s your favourite thing to write,” or “have you had anything published,” but never has anybody gone right to the core of it all.

“I have to,” I replied. Perhaps a simplistic reply, but it’s the truth.

I have to write. Somewhere in me, there is a compulsion to sit down with a blank page and a need to try to make sense of this world I live in. Is it how I relate to the world? Probably. Is it how I process events? Absolutely.

I think of the days after my dad had walked out and my maternal grandfather suddenly passed away. I was lost. I had no grip on reality and my entire foundation was in shambles. My boyfriend at the time didn’t know how to help me, so he walked out of the situation to sit on the sidelines. Those three months set me to sea on a jagged piece of waterlogged plywood with no makings of a sail or paddle. I was adrift. I know I’ve blocked out entire days through that time. My mom and brother talk about some family meal or visit, and I have zero recollection of it. None. It’s all black.

The only thing that kept me remotely connected to the world was writing. I’d write on anything I could find: napkins, envelopes, my computer if I had it, looseleaf, anything. In the end, the pain stumbled out of me and I had a poem to read at my grandfather’s funeral, that harnessed the ache, the loss, the darkness. I vaguely remember delievering it at the podium in front of an overflowing church, but I don’t remember much else from that day.

I was so angry and writing was the only thing that kept me sane, kept me human. I think art, whatever the medium, is the thing that humanizes us. We create these beautiful, one-of-a-kind works that are extensions of who we are and offer them to the world. They help guide us through our own messed-up existences and the act of creating brings us together, finds us in this little community where other people understand the sleepless nights of the placement of a quote, or the angst of a misplaced brushstroke, or the nervousness of a misintonated line on stage. We come together and step away in our art, and it’s something that is simply a part of who we are as artists.

The Golden Globes aired last night, and, topically, during her acceptance speech for the Cecil B. DeMille Award for lifetime achievement, Meryl Streep quoted her good friend Carrie Fisher, saying, “Take your broken heart, and turn it into art.”

And maybe that’s where the compulsion comes from, the need to sort through the shattered pieces of your heart, your soul, your being, and turn into something that makes sense.

For me, it’s the only way out.

-kw.

All Right, 2017: You’re Mine!

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

I think we can all agree that 2016 was not the best of years. It was tumultuous to say the least, and I fully admit to putting off this project for most of the year. The inspiration simply wasn’t there. It didn’t exist in me, it didn’t exist in my world.

But we’re into a brand new year, and I’m not about to let 2016 have an encore performance. Nothing changes if nothing changes, right?

So here we are. Welcome to pinksemicolons.com, or I suppose welcome back to some of you. About six months ago, I decided to pursue this with a more dedicated and convicted focus, and I’ve spent the last few months doing back-end changes as I had the time. But I got stuck on what the first blog post should be. I got stuck in general, let’s be honest.

And the biggest hangup? Fear. I’ve been terrified of making the leap back onto the page and especially a page that is an extension of myself. This is me. This is my work, and this is where I plan on spending time in 2017. But I had a hard time getting started. Every time I opened up a new page on my computer or flipped to a new page in my Moleskin, I stopped. The idea was there, but I couldn’t get it out. (I know this isn’t new for me, but I’ve wondered if all creatives don’t struggle with this.)

“What if nobody reads your work? What if you say the wrong thing? Oh, my god, what if you just never write again?” shouted the voice in my head. She’s got power, that voice, and the fear grew steadily for weeks until I was utterly terrorized of following through with my plan. I seriously considered packing things in before I even set up shop.

But then my heart piped up: “So what?”

The words came at about 2:37 a.m. on an arbitrary night of not sleeping, and with that smallest of whispers, I started to calm down. So what, I thought. I might as well take a risk and see what happens instead of wondering what if. I only have one life to live and I want to write. I need to write. And it’s about time I stop denying that part of myself because, let’s face it, this world needs more full humans.

So, here it is. The result of putting the fear aside for a few minutes, just long enough to see what might be on the other side of it.

I look forward to adding more to this page and expanding it as I go, and I look forward to sharing it with all of you.

Thanks for being here.
-kw.

The Beauty is There; You Just Have to See It

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

My condo is pretty small. 475 sq. ft. to be exact. My one-room oasis decorated in hot pinks, oranges, and purples. Some reds are in there, too. It faces almost perfectly west, but my wall of windows look out at a a dirty white stucco building with powder blue metal awnings and the bottom quarter of the dirty white painted sapphire blue. It’s home to a seafood wholesaler who believes in receiving full 18-wheelers with air brakes at 3:30 a.m. and starting diesel refrigerated trucks at 6:30 a.m. It’s loud, it’s disruptive, and, in the summer when the heat is just right, it smells like the insides of a fish. My beers on my patio don’t taste so good on those days.

But, just over top of this building’s roof line sits the top of a tree. And in it lives dozens of those blacks birds you see flying in crazy, orchestrated clusters as if they got caught in wind gusts. (Or at least I think that’s what these guys are. I’m no ornithology buff.) But more than the simple beauty of the top of this one grey tree, perched over something drab and arguably quite gross, the sound of these birds talking to each other, singing, calling, speaking makes me stop for a moment and open the patio door a little wider.

I think every day there is something beautiful to behold or experience. Something that permeates our senses and reminds us that, even in the most ugly of days, there is something worthy of our love or admiration, something that makes us pause in our busy, chaotic, sometimes-negative lives to appreciate and acknowledge that subtle, warm feeling spreading through the left side of our chests.

Maybe that’s a idealistic notion, but I do firmly believe that this world is a beautiful place. We just have to look for it sometimes. We’re so conditioned to move at a mile a minute and accomplish and fit in as much as we can in a single day that taking a moment to appreciate the cluster of wildflowers poking up through a crack in the sidewalk could be easily skipped over.

living in victoria bc, writing online, writing jobs online, online writing, online creative writing, creative writing online, creative writing canada, writing career, writing as a career, career in writing, creative writing careers, freelance writing career, essay editor, freelance editor, online essay editor, freelance editors, professional editor, professional editors, editors victoria, editor servies, finding an editor, bc writers, victoria writers, writer and editor,

Every day there is something beautiful to see and appreciate.

In a world that demands our attention to the most negative of events first, it’s sometimes really easy to adopt a hardened exterior to absorb all of that negativity rather than choose to set it aside and admire this beautiful, incredible, miraculous world in spite of that negativity blitz. I’m by no means a religious person (a pretty staunch agnostic, actually), but I do believe that this world is a miracle and it deserves to receive our admiration, for something as simple a bird’s song to as complex as love and happiness. A moment each day to just stop and marvel at the exquisiteness all around us.

This world is an absolutely stunning place. And we all deserve those precious moments to stop and see it.

What’s one of your recent moments that you stopped to see the beauty?

k.

My Writing Process: The Things I Do to Find the Creativity

/ kaley walls / Leave a comment

So, you’re the creative type. You write, edit, sing, draw, act, all of the above. Do you have a process?

I think we all do, but sometimes we don’t always realize it. I’m a perfect example. For the longest time, I didn’t realize that I actually had a “process.” A writing process. A series of habits strung together to help me find the creativity dwelling in my soul, that sometimes gets stuck in the cracks instead of percolating with a ferocity that leaves me proud.

Life is busy, and the busier I am, the harder it is for me to tap into the good things I want to put on paper. And sometimes what I write isn’t good. In fact, it’s drivel. Awful. Simply terrible. But instead of honouring the fact that I wrote at all, I berate myself for not creating pure genius every time I set pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. Some days, it’s a big win to just get some words out, even if they’re on a scrap napkin or the corner of a file at work, and I need to remember that. At best, I wrote something that will turn into something amazing down the line. At worst, I wrote.

And my writing process helps me sink into that warm place. First, for me, it’s all about the tunes and the perfect cup of coffee in the same Starbucks mug. Have you ever checked out 8tracks.com? If you haven’t, you need to. You can search different tags, depending on the mood you’re in, and find the perfect playlist to have in the background. Lately, I’ve been digging the soundtracks and orchestral pieces, like the Harry Potter suite (yes, I know I’m a dork.) They’re the perfect moody selections to add the background music to my writings. As for the coffee, I’ve got this amazing Starbucks mug I got when I was in Hawaii (Maui, specifically), and it’s just sort of become my writing mug. It’s the one I use for every French press of coffee I make while writing. Maybe it’s superstition, but it works. Coffee just tastes better and the ideas flow better.

living in victoria bc, writing online, writing jobs online, online writing, online creative writing, creative writing online, creative writing canada, writing career, writing as a career, career in writing, creative writing careers, freelance writing career, essay editor, freelance editor, online essay editor, freelance editors, professional editor, professional editors, editors vitoria, editor servies, finding an editor, bc writers, victoria writers, writer and editor

What is your writing, or creative, process?

I usually start a project at home, work for a few hours, and then head out to my favourite Starbucks location in Victoria: Cadboro Bay. Since I was in university, this has been my favourite place to work. It’s busy, but not loud, and the energy is just right. I can’t explain it other than it feels like home to me. Even when I lived in Calgary, I longed to be able to come to this location and work for a few hours. Whether it’s morning, afternoon, or evening, this is my go-to.

The biggest change to my writing process I’ve made in the last year or so is going back to writing with paper and pen. Some writers I’ve talked to say that this method gets them stuck further in their brains, but I find that it lets me loose. It releases me from the internal dialogue of, “Is this good enough? What a terrible thing for a character to say. Oh, god, what kind of idea is that?” I simply write. I let everything go and let the words come. I’ve found recently that some of my biggest eurekas have come when I’ve zoned out and don’t realize how much I’ve written until I’m at the bottom of another page. When I go back and read what I’ve put down, I smile with the hope that maybe everything will be okay, the words are still there.

So, what does your writing process look like? What’re your habits that help to tap into the creative genius?

Let me know! I want to hear all about them.

Much love,
– k.