April 27, 2022 by Bridgette

Poetry: Stumbling Forth

I’ve fallen in love with poetry and have been reading a lot more of it. I’m inspired by the variety, depth, and beauty of the distinct voices poets bring to their works. While I’m still quite clumsy, I’m enjoying exploring different types of poetry and playing with line breaks, punctuation, and repetition.

Last week, I was blown away by the thoughtful comments of encouragement and support. My anxiety tells me those poems were a fluke and everyone will hate this week’s offerings, but I know that’s resistance taking the lead. Creativity takes a lot of courage, and I’m summoning all I got to keep moving forward. One word at a time.

This week’s classwork was to write poems inspired by our favorite books. I’m sharing three poems:

Erasure poem from the first page of “The Name of the Wind” by Patrick Rothfuss
Erasure poem from a random page “The Slow Regard of Silent Things” by Patrick Rothfuss
Acrostic poem using “The Name of the Wind”

I hope you enjoy these latest attempts. As always, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

Night

Silence;
hollow lacking,
wind creaking,
brushed autumn laughter.

House;
music huddled,
quiet news,
sullen sorts underfoot.

Splintering;
black heat,
white hands,
polishing lamplight flame.

Subtle;
wrapping deep,
wide stone,
patient flower waiting.

Surely

slow down, fingers touch
brushed sweetness
curled edges
realizing proper treasure

surely
surely

the moment eyes want
furious things
shame burning
greedy wanting twisting
world of pushing desire

she closed
around herself
obviously

in
need

Into the Wilds Within

Tired, weary I bring myself forth to press into
hallowed places, for I dare not travel alone into the
ethereal nest of words I can’t say out loud.

Nothingness, thick about me, caped and hooded,
aloof with boots of thick mud, trapped between
me and me and me, the versions of which I can’t
erase, write again and again for all time.

Oh, worldly wordsmiths of grace and mire
forgive me my shortcomings, for I’m not worthy.

‘Tis the smoke in my eye blinding me to the
hero, the pain of which I can’t find no matter how
earnestly I go into the woods and the wilds to

wrestle the places deep within to seek diverse
images. Words fail me, they don’t capture the
nothingness and everything of the beautiful
dreams of what could be, what I could be.

April 25, 2022 by Bridgette

#100DayProject: Photography-Week Ten

“The sea always filled her with longing, though for what she was never sure.”
-Cornelia Funke, Inkheart

I was fortuate enough to spend my birthday weekend at the beach. There’s a part of me that can only be filled by returning to the magic of the ocean. I feel introspective, peaceful and altered each and every time my toes touch the sand. This trip was no exception. The hours I spent walking the beach taking photos were some of my favorites in memory—just me and my camera. I hope you enjoy my selections.

If you’re unfamiliar with the 100 Day Project, the concept is simple. You choose any creative project you like and do it every day for 100 days, sharing your process on social media using the hashtag #The100DayProject. This year the dates are Feb. 13-May 24.

Here are a few bonus monochrome images:

April 20, 2022 by Bridgette

Poetry: New Adventures

While I’ve always admired and enjoyed poetry, the skills it takes to craft such beautiful imagery within the framework of a poem have eluded me. In an attempt to improve my writing all around, I enrolled in a poetry class specifically designed for fiction writers. We meet once a week and have assignments that I find both challenging and enjoyable.

I’ve decided to be transparent about my journey, as a way to chronicle my exploration and perhaps inspire others. Here’s the culmination of my first week’s work. There are three free-verse poems.

A poem borrowing heavily from Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky”
A poem critiquing something we dislike in genre fiction
A combination of the two poems

I hope you enjoy my first, clumsy attempts. As always, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

Part I: My gimble love

we were to meet near the Tumtum grove
sweetest Mimsy and I
in the wabe of the bright callay moon

vorpal drunk on too much gyre and honey-wine
myriad dreams rollicking, frolicking
singing multitudes, manxomes, moments

yet snicker-snack, quicker-quack and outgrabe
you caught me instead
slithy and slimy-the ultimate uffish trickster

tying my hands with rough tulgey strands
behind my burbled back
whispering wicked words under frumious breath

wound and wound, like ugly bandersnatches
to silence whiffling cries
hands and heart knotted, cold as beamish bears

you couldn’t let violet joy breathe between
sweetest Mimsy and me
no, not with such a frabjous, frivolous hallow heart

oh, what will become of me, dearest mome
without my gimble love
stuck within the fettered borgogoves for all eternity

Part II: Too sweet for me

Super sweet taffy names
sticky, pointless, giant cones of
toothaches
you feed them to me relentless
as if more is more is more
confused I throw you down
and you smile and tell yourself
it’s me
who doesn’t
get
you

wheels of definitions, connections
turn in place while
story gets lost under
sideways leanings
cleverness loses characters
messes mess with me
wondering
where
did the
story
go

where is the truth behind
the many, many words
names, places, movement
half-light and half-truth
half right
don’t tell me a lot of nothing
tell me all of one thing
I can
believe
is
real

where is the soul of the sweet
the ingredients of the truth
the messy darkness
cloudy with connections and conversations
the door within the door
the dream within the dream
truth
I can
truly
feel

don’t just tell of deeds done
action, reaction, repeat
but the why and the why and the way
curiouser and curiouser
deeper and deeper
secret journals
in watery caves
monsters within who
fight
with
gospelly
fingers

give me contradictions wrapped in truth
make me feel something I know
make me know it again
with the kind of
unexpected gasp
I won’t, can’t forget
so when I close the book
your words live
inside
me
forever

Part III: Lover, tell me more

in the wabe of the bright callay moon
you feed them to me relentless
as if more is more is more
confused I throw down
singing multitudes, manxome, moments
you smile and tell yourself
it’s me
who doesn’t
get
you

slithy and slimy—the ultimate uffish trickster
turning wheels of definitions, connections
sideways leanings behind burbled backs
messes mess with me
whispering wicked words under frumious breath
to silence whiffling cries while I’m left
wondering
where did
you
go

untruths hidden behind many, many words
wound and wound, like an ugly bandersnatch
messy darkness stuck in action, reaction, repeat
half-light and half-truth—half right
vorpal drunk on too much gyre and honey-wine
don’t tell me a lot of messy nothing
tell me
the thing
I
seek

unwonted discovery, hidden verity
knotted, cold as beamish bears
door within a door—dream within a dream
secret journals in watery caves
frabjous, frivolous hallow hearts
monsters who fight with gospelly fingers
everyone, anyone
stripped
naked
real

let violet joy breathe between
contradictions wrapped in truth
lost and found within the pulsing borogoves
make me feel something I know
but make me know it again
with unexpected gasps I won’t, can’t forget
your words
alive inside
me

my love

April 18, 2022 by Bridgette

#100DayProject: Photography-Week Nine

“There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.” -Edgar Allan Poe

While out on a walk this week I stumbled across a field full of holes. This little guy poked out and I was able to snap a quick picture before he disappeared back into the ground. He’s got a torn ear, but I think it makes him even more interesting. Isn’t it true our flaws are what make us uniquely beautiful?

My birthday lies at the end of this week, as does a trip to the ocean, so I’m feeling a lot more chipper. We had some rain and the sky has been fantastically beautiful with lots of fat, fluffy clouds. I hope you enjoy my offering of photos and you have a wonderful week.

Here are two bonus photos from my iPhone 13.

My adorable nephew:

Full moon surrounded by clouds:

April 11, 2022 by Bridgette

#100DayProject: Photography-Week Eight

The old grey donkey, Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, “Why?” and sometimes he thought, “Wherefore?” and sometimes he thought, “Inasmuch as which?” and sometimes he didn’t quite know what he was thinking about. -A. A. Milne

I’ve been feeling like Eeyore this week—lost in contemplation and not quite sure what any of it means. The further I dive into my creative endeavors, the clearer it becomes I have no idea what I’m doing. I need to learn so much. In the meantime, my kids, my house, and my yard need my attention. I feel rebellious, antsy, and unfocused.

Part of this uneasiness might be my 45th birthday approaching. I wish I’d kept writing when I had children or started photography years ago. The horrible sense I’m running out of time has been hanging onto me this week and it made writing my short story and editing my photos this week far more challenging. My confidence feels fractured, but not fully broken. The only thing to do is keep moving forward.

One word and one image at a time.

Thank you for following my journey and rooting me on. I appreciate it so much.

I’m far more productive away from home. I can’t run into the kitchen for another snack when I feel a lull in inspiration or start doing something like laundry or dishes. I love the coffee shop I’ve been writing at, but it’s near my daughter’s school about a half-hour from home. Next year, she won’t be there anymore and I’ve been seeking someplace close to home.

After a few misses, I’ve found it at The Fig Tree. If I close my eyes tight and imagine the perfect place to create, this place would come close. Artwork on the walls, beautiful bricks, comfy spots to sit, bookshelves, and a drink called Persphone. I’m here right now and I feel at home and inspired. Here’s my view, taken with my iPhone 13 a few minutes ago.

April 4, 2022 by Bridgette

#100DayProject: Photography-Week Seven

“There’s nothing left except to try.” -Madeleine L’Engle, “A Wrinkle in Time”

It rained last Monday and I missed the opportunity for some incredible photographs. I’ve been kicking myself about it all week. Hopefully, we get some rain and beautiful clouds again soon so I can take advantage of the moody skies and the reflective nature of puddles.

I’m trying out a new editing software recommended by my dad called ON1 Photo Raw. As a result, I may have got a little overzealous in editing my photos this week. I can’t quite tell if they are an improvement or they are overdone. I’d appreciate advice on what you think worked and didn’t work.

Here are two bonus photos I heavily/overly edited to get the feel for the software. While I realize they are a bit much, I had fun with them and wanted to share them with you.

March 28, 2022 by Bridgette

#100DayProject: Photography-Week Six

“The scariest moment is always just before you start.” -Stephen King

This week I had the privilege of taking my nephew’s senior portraits. The night before I sat up late researching poses, looking at photos, and reading about photographing in sunlight. It felt like a huge responsibility and I wanted to do well. I choose a tourist area downtown with lots of varied backdrops; railroad tracks, colorful doorways, brick walls, and old pillars with lots of character.

He’s a musician, so he brought an acoustic guitar, electric guitar, bass, and drumsticks. He’s also shy and not comfortable in front of the camera, so I felt the responsibility of capturing his natural smile and personality while making him feel safe. I brought my teenage daughter for support, and she also took photos. It was an awkward start but after several minutes we found our rhythm. The entire thing took just over an hour, and I came away with hundreds of shots.

When I opened them to start editing and choosing the best ones, I was surprised and elated at how good they are! I’m really proud of how they came out and I was able to send over 50 edited images for his mother to choose for his announcements. I don’t have permission to share them here, yet, but it’s part of my journey so I wanted to share the experience with you.

I’ve gotten some feedback and I’m ready to play around more with F-Stop and movement in my photographs next week. I might try some low-light images or landscapes. Thank you to those following my journey and rooting me on. It means so much to me.

Here’s a bonus photo of my adorable nephew taken with my iPhone 13 in my backyard:

March 21, 2022 by Bridgette

#100DayProject: Photography-Week Five

“That’s the real trouble with the world. Too many people grow up.” -Walt Disney

I was fortunate to spend the last week celebrating my nephew’s third birthday in Disneyland. There’s something remarkably beautiful about playing with a small child and seeing the park through their eyes. I found photography, however, a bit challenging.

The sunlight was harsh, people were everywhere, and I kept finding myself unfocused (figuratively and literally). As I sat down to edit my photos, I noticed my eye tended to be drawn upward. Please let me know what you think of these images, and if you have a gallery of your own Disneyland photos I’d love to see them. Feel free to drop a link below.

Here’s a bonus photo of the hotel at sunset:

March 14, 2022 by Bridgette

#100DayProject: Photography-Week Four

“Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove. Dance me to the end of love.” – Leonard Cohen

For as long as we’ve lived in our home, the doves appear each spring and build a nest above our front door. Right now they are in the building phase, but soon the mother dove will take her spot on the nest and stay for several weeks. Her mate will remain close by, bringing her food and keeping watch from our young peach tree. One morning I will come outside to find the delicate white eggshells laying on the doorstep and I’ll hear the little squeaks of new hatchlings. Some things in life change, but these returning doves are a beautiful constant I look forward to each year.

I had a busy week but still managed to take photographs each day for my #100DayProject. I’m getting used to the weight of the camera and I’m constantly on the lookout for interesting things to capture. When I sat down to edit this week, I paid more attention to the rule of thirds and the horizon line, thanks to some much-appreciated feedback. I’m open to more, so please feel free to either leave a comment below or email me directly at bridgettetales@gmail.com.

I find myself drawn to black-and-white photography and it unearthed a memory of working on the school paper in college. I was the editor and sometimes, on deadline, I’d help in the development of the photos in the darkroom. I never learned all the nuances of getting the right balance, but I found the entire thing magical. Perhaps one day I’ll try my hand at film photography and developing, but for now, I’ll focus on learning how to use the tools I have. One step at a time.

Here’s a bonus photo I captured with my iPhone 13 of the mosh pit at a death metal concert I attended on Thursday night.

I’ve seen mosh pits before, but perhaps because of Covid and social distancing for the last few years, it felt like I was witnessing it for the first time. Here’s my attempt at capturing what I saw through poetry.

stalking he makes the circle
bigger
like him
round in center, spread out
drawing them like to water
pulsing
with beat
spiraling blood, bones take flight
primal animal, panther stalking prey
bumping
soft bodies
feeling hot screams inside, outside
hoard moves like one, many
growling
in throats
fast sweaty motion, fires erupt
sounds end, light erases shadows
panting
with vigor
stumble toward night, shape transformed

March 9, 2022 by Bridgette

The Car Wash

“Auntie,” he calls from the back seat.

I adjust the rearview mirror so I can see him smiling from his car seat in his striped footie pajamas. He turns the tiny gold key to my jewelry box over and over in his small hand. We spent all morning unlocking tiny doors around the house, letting out imaginary rabbits to rush around and find carrots in the carpet.

“The van is dirty,” he says.

We make eye contact in the mirror and he giggles. His bright blue eyes are hidden behind my pink sunglasses and he’s wearing a knit blue cap. I play along.

“Are you sure?” I say. “It looks clean to me.”

“Yes! It’s dirty!”

“Well…what do you think we should do?”

“Car wash!”

He says the words with a squeak at the end. His entire body jerks and the sunglasses fall off his face.

“You think so, huh?” I say.

“Yes! Car wash!”

“I don’t know…”

“Car wash! Car wash! Car wash!”

He knows I’m going to give in and I do. When he sees the yellow duck on the sign he claps his hands and kicks his legs. I put on our song, “Working at the Car Wash” by Rosvelt, and pull the shade back from the sunroof so we can see the bubbles all around us.

“Ready?”

“Yes!”

I watch the joy and excitement on his squishy face as he stares at the green, blue and purple bubbles. We sing, dance, and giggle over the harsh sounds of the water and the fat colorful rollers slapping against the van.

It’s pure joy.

A ritual we’ve discovered together.

An auntie thing.

He turns three on Saturday and I live for these pockets of magic we uncover.

Our shared treasure.

They feel big and important.

And fleeting.

My own children are teenagers, beautiful and complex. We are close and continue to create new memories, but I miss when they were small enough I didn’t have to share them with school or friends.

When they were mine.

I’ve discovered playing with my nephew allows me to slip back into memories of my own kids in a new and different way; to uncover the feelings and sensations of burying them in the sand, snuggling them at bedtime, and holding them when they’ve fallen.

These little snapshots of my kids at his age come into focus with surprising intensity. It’s like remembering an old language I used to speak, slipping on an old sweater, or opening a tiny door.

It’s a wonderful and unexpected gift.

All the love.

All the silliness.

All the tears.

All the firsts.

This week my son got his first bank account and started his first job. As I drive him to work it occurs to me it’s the exact route I took to his preschool. The feelings swelling up are familiar too; another moment of letting go and another shifting of our relationship.

The sadness I expect to come, however, doesn’t.

It feels different.

When I pick up him at 10 p.m. he requests a Happy Meal and hopes he gets a Stitch toy. He talks animately about his job and the people he met. He laughs and we listen to “Pump up the Jam” at high volume and sing along.

My boy.

There you are.

The pandemic and his accidents robbed him of growth and some of the firsts he should have had. It put us in a strange place of adversaries, and we’ve both lost the comfortable way we’d always been together. The silly way we could look back and move forward; our own dance.

I’m remembering it.

I hope he is too.

We have a lifetime of firsts left.