Another new discovery. Another way to find parts of myself that I know exist, but have yet to explore.
Inspiration is sweet when it comes; an absolute wonder to behold. But it does not always come easy, at least not to me. So when I find something like Cafe Writing, I am overjoyed and feel blessed that something so wonderful has found its way into my [writing] life.
From the site itself --
Imagine: you’re sitting in cafe, and a brilliant idea for a story, an essay, a poem - whatever - pops into your mind. You reach for your notebook, but realize you left it in the car, or at home. A napkin is handy, and you do have a pen, so you write on that, or the back of your pastry bag, or a scrap of newspaper - anything so you can keep the idea, the spark, alive.
CafeWriting.com is about capturing that spark, only instead of being inspired by the clinking of silverware, the clacking of heels on tiles floors, the scent of coffee or tea, or the sound of others’ conversations, the prompts are here, and the digital napkin is your own blog.
Monthly projects are provided to help "capture that spark". To see this months prompts, please click here. February will be my first time visiting the cafe. I hope to become a regular customer. I am beginning with Option One.
Option One: Timed Writing
When love is not madness, it is not love.~Pedro Calderon de la Barca
Take nine minutes (you have to use all nine, you can’t go over), and write about Love and/or Madness. Any format (fiction, essay, verse) is acceptable; and it’s expected that your writing will be raw, so don’t stress about editing.
To me "raw" means freewriting, so that is what I have done. Parts of this are actually something I had been working on, stuck in my mind and on paper for quite some time. But today, I set it "free" - I let it be whatever it will be. I guess there is madness in love, or, is it the other way around? You decide.
Lucidity in Love by J.C. Montgomery
My thoughts, in silence, gather up items and forget that everything is in order. Love is the chaos structuring the intangible. So then, I ask myself, is life really so much better when left unfilled? It has so little content, yet so many words. This must be the reason we all ask why our soul is the source of so much little chitter chatter, when all the while we complain of it being empty. Unhappiness awaits the dreamer each night he sleeps. For if the indulgence needed to power thought is no longer free, then love is no longer possible. The dreamer is left with visions of the perception beneath the truth. Near the end of morning; listen. Listen for the sound of love growing. Only dreamers can hear for they listen with their hearts. They know that minds are logic and logic is oblivious. Listen. Find the fool; find yourself. The moral to the story is that there is no moral. Morality is the belief that we are in control when we are not. It is a dangerous illusion. Study, learn, live, and love. Grasp onto the knowledge that there is a splendid misery in being prepared for a mystery. Yes, being adaptable is required but not a necessity. Love will make all things possible. Hope is the inspiration; a catalyst in which one finds that beneath the chaos, its words are not hollow, that it is worth everything, that it is worth losing nothing which is what we never had in the first place.
