Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

writing- the research behind Finding inspiration and voice July 4, 2018

Filed under: Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:48 am
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I am presenting a few workshops this summer, as part of the Murdering Mr. Edwards book tour, and as such I have been researching.  In the Finding Inspiration and Voice: a workshop for novelists and poets workshop, participants explore character and plot development through a variety of prompts.

I am using the prompts to shake loose new ideas and bring out things ‘your brain knows, but isn’t tell you.’  This is a very unscientific way to explain creativity and its link to the subconscious, but there is science behind the concept, and here are some articles that may be of interest:

Andreasen, Nancy C. (MD PhD) A Journey into Chaos: Creativity and the Unconscious.   https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3115302/

“How to Stimulate Creative Breakthroughs: The Unconscious and Creativity.” The Academy of Ideas. https://academyofideas.com/2016/06/stimulating-creativity-unconscious

Seager, Charlotte. “How the subconscious mind shapes creative writing.” The Guardian. 2015 https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2015/apr/07/subconscious-mind-creative-writing-mark-haddon-michelle-paver

https://med.stanford.edu/news/all-news/2015/05/researchers-tie-unexpected-brain-structures-to-creativity.html

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/317814542_A_Deeper_Understanding_of_Consciousness_Through_the_Study_of_Creativity

 

 

 

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poem-sparkles May 23, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:36 am
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The light of you

twinkles on your skin

sends shooting stars crackling from the top of your head.

The light of you

glows blue green like  phosphorescence

attracting, inviting.

You are bio-luminescence

shimmering on an ocean,

trails flowing after you  like an evening gown.

I reach to dip my hand into the water and watch the light

die in my palm.

I long to live in your light,

bathe in the beauty,

float in the flotilla of the mesmerized, microscopic worshipers

flowing after you.

But you go your way

and I go home.

I gaze after you, and wonder if you’ve shared enough of you,

for me to generate light

of my own.

.

.

.

(for Sheri-D)

It’s always a let down at the end of a conference to leave the like minds of other writers, and return home to quotidian life.  This was a particularly good conference for me, with lots of messages from the universe (or rather one that just kept coming up over and over).  I am hopeful the words will be off on interesting journeys as a result of the learning.

 

poem-wings November 23, 2016

Creeping along, devouring everything in sight,

unsatisfied,

wrapped up in strings of your own making

wound up in yourself

chrysalis

waiting for wings.

Patience is a virtue.

You break free, stretch,

the new you quivers with discovery.

You fly,  fill life with sweetness,

bring joy to those who watch you

waltz with the wind

until

you fall life-less.

The core of you crumbles,

but the breeze captures the wings left behind

and carries them,

curling and flipping

to the sky.

 

 

poem-reflect May 28, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:31 pm
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We need room.

We need space to stretch.

We need time to consider.

Flashes of inspiration are well and good,

but reflection needs room for rumination.

 

poem-kindle November 10, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:46 pm
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Under your skin

you’re kindling dreams.

Letting just enough

hope gleam through the ash.

Your head says,

“You can’t.

It won’t be,”

But the kindling dreams

wonder,

“Why

not

me?”

 

poem- greeting May 31, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:31 pm
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So welcome are you

the eagle soars to your window

and grebes dance across the water,

all eager to hear your

words on the lake.

 

poem- Misty’s shoes April 17, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:21 pm
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I’m wearing Misty’s shoes;

her ghost clings to them

billowing behind the clicking heels

in the hallway.

Misty set these shoes

on the foot rest of her

wheelchair, but I’m dancing

to her memory down corridors,

blowing kisses to the sky

through windows

wide with wishes.

.

.

.

A few years ago on eBay I bought a pair of black and white Fluevog Harlows:  T-straps on towering spool heels .  Misty’s sister told me about how they were selling her shoes after her untimely death from cystic-fibrosis.  I was so impressed with what she told me about her feisty sister over a brief correspondance, that I created a shoe-oholic character called Misty in the Grace books 3 & 4.  The manuscript is sitting on a shelf, waiting for polishing.  Someday you’ll get to meet her fictional namesake.  In the meantime, you can admire her excellent taste in shoes:

John Fluevog Harlow (Black/White Crackle) - Spectators Dress Shoes :  heels blackandwhite spectator

 

poem- lit up February 10, 2014

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:20 pm
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You read

lit up,

laughing.

You read

looking

into the depths.

You read

seeing beyond

what is

to what can be.

You read

lit up

and light me,

too.

.

.

.

(In praise of my wonderful editor, Vikki, who looks at the messes I get myself into, and asks all the right questions to help me find my way again).

 

poem- kill the critic October 29, 2013

Kill the critic:

let him drown in the

flow of your words.

Kill the critic:

let him sear in the

molten eruption

from the core of you.

Kill the critic:

let him smother

gasping against the tide

of your creativity,

.grasping at the emptiness

that was your insecurities.

Kill the critic:

be free.

.

.

NB: I do not advocate murder of anything but the inner voice that tells you that you’re inadequate.  Your inner critic has no business in your writing head-space.   You can’t edit a blank page.

 

on being thoroughly mused June 30, 2013

For Outlander author Diana Gabaldon:

.

You

were not

just kissed

by the muse,

Diana, huntress,

goddess of the moon.

You were ravaged.

You were embraced;

your buttocks clutched

and hoisted high,

as the muse impaled you,

roughly pierced your soul,

raised hairs the whole length of you.

Seized by such  divine  inspiration,

you stretched, back arching,

and received the pulsing

thrusts of

.

w

o

r

d

s

,

w

o

r

d

s

,

w

o

r

d

s.

.

Excruciating

ecstasy

that  called forth

rippling quivers,

left you heaving,

complete,

replete,

and pregnant

with story.

.

Diana muse

.

This post began with a random comment made on Diana Gabaldon’s Facebook page yesterday, and here we are!  My first erotica!  ((blush))  lol

.

For those who wondered, yes, Diana has seen this, and I even have a recording of her laughing lustily about it, as we were wrapping up our blue pencil at SIWC 2013. 🙂  Her comment, should you not be able to read the image is, “Wow! That’s a GREAT poem Shawn! I’m truly honoured #mindIusuallyhavetodomoreofthework”

 eroticpoetrypostOnBeingMused

In August 2013 she dedicated her Daily lines to me:

ThisonesforShawnLBirdpoetess

The daily lines in question can be read here:

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1rlp46l

And if you’re a fan of Outlander and are now watching the TV series, you may enjoy the poem Dear Sam Heughan from August 2013 when Sam was first cast to play Jamie:  Diana has seen this one as well, and coached me through some necessary vocabulary alterations (see notes at the end). 😉

 

 
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