the writer's life

These photographs were taken two weeks ago. Fourteen days. Two whole weeks. Why must the sun and moon trade places this many times before I begin writing to you? I want to tell you it is because I've been wild-eyed, building bonfires and living beside rabbit trails, but the truth is I've been striking banjo strings in my nightgown, playing video games until the early hours and singing songs in between the notes and sword fights. There is plenty of time to write but I've regretfully chose to do other things. Even my journal is empty and wordless like a friend I've loved but left behind me.

I always feel terrible when I think about writing when I am not writing. Even worse than when I burn my tongue on an appetizer before reaching the entree. When I am not writing, it is as if I have abandoned a child in a trove of green pines, when in reality, I have only abandoned the child within me, the child who uses written word as a fruit and freedom bearer. Sometimes writing feels less like collecting emotions and stringing them into pearls and more like pulling teeth. There is no recipe when you're gathered at the desk with pen and paper. There is only you, your thoughts, and a desire to express yourself in words.

 As a writer, you dream of sentences flowing free as the honeybees and wildflowers but you know you need compost, rain and sunlight. Sometimes, if you're anything like me, you may even need a hammer. Sentences are like self portraits, if you are unhappy with how one appears, you discard it and hope to put together a more flattering image. This can take hours of a writer's life. On days where writing is the pond and not the river, I'll wish I was born a baker. This is not to say a baker's life is without its share of trials, but a writer lives in the brain more than the feet or the hands. Success for the writer ends with a period and never with a warm loaf of bread.
I dream of having my own little room for writing. It could be tinier than a toadstool as long as it was mine. I dream of trees, moss, yellow birds, open windows beside a wooden desk, a glass of apple juice for every finished sentence, and a record player quietly humming old country songs. If only there was a little room with this kind of stillness and hours ahead of me, words like cherry blossoms could fall and scatter until the pages were no longer empty.

 The snow has left the hills and goose beds. I drink my coffee in the morning while the sun drifts through my window. I think about the future view of blossomy flowers and fruit on the vine, a bite of garden carrots and a cucumber patch will come to me in time. It will be garden growing season again. I'll collect my freckles and every grassy hill will be a poet's desk.
 "Enjoy now, Amy. The snow will fall again." I repeat to myself.

The Outfit
PonchoThrifted from Value Village
  Dress Eshakti
HeelsBlowfish Shoes


  1. I absolutely love this. You captured the wordsmith's inner-workings poetically and truly organically (in reference to your emphasis on nature/seasonality/change). lovely.
    xx Sarah
    Russian Dressing

  2. What gorgeous photographs, and i'm absolutely in love with your cape!

    Louise x

  3. I think all of those things sound equally as worthy of your time as typing out a blog post, or editing the photos. You shouldn't feel guilty for happiness. I know we all do it, I do it all the time but if you just make yourself happy for a day it's worth having done it.

  4. Beautiful photographs! And your dog! SO cute! x

  5. Beautiful, beautiful post Amy. And you look so cute! ♥
    Amy xx

    Perfect Imperfections

  6. Your cape is so pretty

  7. Amy I don't look at blog posts too often but whenever I manage to gather my thoughts enough to a point I find myself reading your poetic language. I know very little about you as you do me but I can say for sure that from the pictures it looks like you surround yourself with idyllic beauty that I could only dream of growing up in one of the largest cities in the world. You say you let your mind wander too far and end up playing video games sometimes but that's what everyone does sometimes, we get distracted from where we are. Distractions are good once in a while as they prevent over thinking to an extent and while you wish to have things like your own little room, I wish to find a place as peaceful as calgary. I know it's little comfort but it's always good to remember that we're all wishing for what the other one haves and not appreciating enough whats around us. The same goes for me I guess, you're lucky to be so poetic and assured in your writing, you may not always believe in yourself but those who have read your language sure will, I just have to figure out what my calling is before I can find peace.

    Many blessings from the other side of the sea

  8. ha. how true is this. your words cut me to the core with they're honesty.
    i've often thought of words like a water faucet, only one which i have no control over. when it's on it's on. when it's off, its off. they words are coming and i am writing, or they are not. one does not get water from a tap that is off, one cannot NOT get water when it is on. learning to go with the flow and listen when it's on and not get frustrated when it's off is something i have and probably will struggle with for long days ahead.

  9. Aw don't feel too guilty about blogging-I've done the same thing. I've had three posts in my drafts for two weeks without posting anything. Honestly, the most time consuming part is after you've posted it. But I love this outfit! I wouldn't think that pairing the cape with the long skirt would look flattering but it actually looks great. And your braids look super cute but without looking too childish.
    Olivia | Her Name Was Celebration