Crawling Under the Porch

My most memorable Artist’s Date? I’m writing about it today at Ink-Stained wretches. It’s probably not what you think.

Ink-Stained Wretches

M. K. Waller

  • by M. K. Waller

Last week, Fran Paino described how family obligations can keep a writer from writing. My post describes an experience that happened several years ago. It’s similar to Fran’s–and at the same time, very different. 

*

In her book The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameronintroduces the  Artist’s Date–a weekly solo “adventure to feed the soul and allow for continued creativity.” In other words, artists–including writers–need to play. At a writers’ retreat in Alpine, Texas, author Karleen Koen led students through a whole week of play. Returning home, I vowed to incorporate the Artist’s Date into my writing life.

It wouldn’t be difficult. Central Texas affords plenty of places to play: Longhorn Cavern State Park at Burnet, lavender fieldsin the Hill Country,  the Elizabet Ney Museum, the Umlauf Sculpture Garden, and the Japanese Garden at Zilker Park, in Austin are…

View original post 1,095 more words

Moseying Around Huntsville, Texas

 

In Huntsville, Texas last weekend for the screening of David’s short film “Blood Bank” at the Prison City Film Festival. More on that later.

For now, a highlight of our Saturday afternoon mosey around town: the Museum of Texas Furniture.

The museum was closed, but we got some shots of the metal sculptures behind the building.

 

Museum owner and curator George Russell also walked us through his Museum of Texas Arts.

There is much to be said for moseying.

 

Related links

https://www.itemonline.com/news/local_news/new-american-indians-native-peoples-museum-has-soft-opening-on/article_b4139f07-8064-5b81-a9bd-38b5f0015071.html

https://www.huntsvilletexas.com/219/Museum-of-Texas-Arts

https://www.itemonline.com/news/local_news/historic-homes-may-become-landmarks/article_7f2352d6-ee66-5065-bc02-ca9015a2f2f9.html

Emily Dickinson: Dear March – Come In

 

Dear March — Come in —
How glad I am —
I hoped for you before —

Put down your Hat —
You must have walked —
How out of Breath you are —
Dear March, Come right up the stairs with me —
I have so much to tell —

I got your Letter, and the Birds —
The Maples never knew that you were coming — till I called
I declare — how Red their Faces grew —
But March, forgive me — and
All those Hills you left for me to Hue —
There was no Purple suitable —
You took it all with you —

Who knocks? That April.
Lock the Door —
I will not be pursued —
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied —
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come

That Blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame —

~ Emily Dickinson

 

***

I post this poem every March.

***

Image by Alexandra_Koch licensed under CC0 via pixabay.com