Write Anywhere 083: Montana Mountains

by Kristin Nador/@KristinNador

Do you ever wish you could get away from it all?

One of this year’s many challenges has been to keep on task with my Write Anywhere goals of finding interesting and inspiring places to stir up my writing creativity. Finances, Keeper Hubby’s health, as well as my own aches and pains, have kept me home at times when I would have liked to go out exploring new spots and practicing my writing and photography skills.

I love the challenge of going other places for two reasons: it helps me be present and focused by making specific times for creativity, and it helps me push down the symptoms of panic disorder that would prefer me to lock myself away. Sometimes that’s hard to deal with, but my creative voice is more valuable to me than the discomfort I deal with when I make myself vulnerable by getting out in public venues.

I didn’t expect the situation to change much through this year and had resigned myself to that fact with more than a hint of frustration. But at the end of fall sweet Hubby made it possible for me to take a much-needed caregiver’s break to explore a fascinating place with some of my favorite people. Continue reading

Write Anywhere 082

by Kristin Nador/@KristinNador

Fall is my favorite time of year. The oppressive bake of summer gives way to the cool morning crispness of autumn that favors hot tea, cinnamon oatmeal, and leisurely walks. It also brings harvest time. In the midwest where I grew up  Continue reading

5 Ways To Get Rid Of Inertia In Your Life

 

by Kristin Nador/@KristinNador

*Knocking on microphone* Hello? Anyone there?

I’ve been MIA from this blog for a while. Quite a while. I haven’t touched my WIP for almost 4 months. I’ve lost my way. I could blame it on a lot of legitimate reasons. Continue reading

Write Anywhere #68

This post continues my August travel adventure and personal inner journey. If you’d like to find out how I got here, check out Write Anywhere #66 and Write Anywhere #67.

After Musician Daughter recovered physically, she and Musician-In-Law took a weekend to spend alone together. It’s hard dealing with complicated emotions in the midst of an active two year old. That’s where ‘Nani’ could be the most help. I got an entire weekend with Destined-To-Be-A-Musician.

Write Anywhere #68: Cornfield

Cornfield, Southern Illinois, USA photo by kristin nador

Cornfield from the balcony

BAM, I’ll call him for short, lives up to this nickname. When he enters a room, BAM, he’s there, and everyone knows it. Cutest little dickens you ever saw, but every grandma says that about their grandchild. I live up to the stereotype. I spent each waking minute making sure we stuck to BAM’s schedule as much as possible. He is a creature of habit, and if his habits are askew, the world is askew. BAM is a happy child about 92% of the time. But his 8% unhappy will rock your world. Fortunately our weekend together fell into the happy zone.

child coloring, photo by kristin nador

He’s discovered circles

We had a great time playing at the park, building with blocks, coloring with giant crayons, and watching SpongeBob SquarePants until I thought my head would explode. We ate ‘noonoos’ (noodles) and ‘nanas’ (bananas) and a ‘brrgr’ from McDonalds. We drove to a nearby town and raced through WalMart in our ‘vroom vroom’ cart. Late in the afternoons we’d chase each other in the grass behind the apartment complex. The complex backs to a cornfield. Seems all of southern Illinois is cornfields. The ripening corn stood about seven feet tall. BAM ran, laughing and squealing, until he’d make a dead stop at the cornfield wall, with a look of confusion on his face. I tried to get him to venture with me into a row, but he’s smart. No corn jungle for him.

After a wonderful day full of fun, games, and grandma’s slobbery kisses, BAM dutifully took a bath and settled down in his bed each night. That’s when I caught my breath.

I sat in the dark on the apartment balcony, facing the cornfield. The night sounds were at once relaxing but with an edge of mystery: the hum of cicadas, the corn stalks snapping in the breeze, an owl’s hoot somewhere in the night, and the occasional rumble of an eighteen-wheeler along the interstate.

I’d scribble a few lines in my journal, mostly about gratitude and simple joys. After a while that pesky imagination whirred into motion as I stared the twenty feet lit by security lights to the cornfield, then past the cornfield wall and into the dark. I remembered this and scared myself.

Then I got the beginnings of a spooky story about cornfields and Indian ghosts (Remember the Indian burial ground?) with BAM and I.

Too many cornfields can make you silly I suppose.

Where did you write this week?