Freedom’s Place

A few weeks ago, in light of the Paris terrorist attacks, I wanted to get off the world. Make it stop, I was thinking inside myself and out loud. I was crying. I know some of you think of me as a little ray of sunshine most of the time, ever optimistic. And I am. Most of the time. Because I work at it. And, deep down, I am a positive person, with a side order of depressive empathy.

So, a few weeks ago, when I wanted to get off the world I almost shut down this blog. I tried to export all my work to a new site but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. I contacted support who got back to me in jig time. But, while I was waiting for them, I opened up a new blog site. There I was going to transfer everything. Start again. Just like I wanted the world to do. Support got back to me, I imported all my writing to save on file to my computer for later export. Who knew it was so easy? But I decided to sleep on it.

And I changed my mind. Woman’s prerogative aside, I had had a rest, a new day had dawned and, with it, fresh hope. It took me a few weeks to get my mojo back. I needed a holiday. But I would have missed writing.

I left the site as it was, name still there, nothing else on it. A fresh place, a free place, a place needing built anew. Just like the world in many ways.

Which brings me to the point of this post.

One of my guests here has enjoyed guesting because her own blog has a definite personna but one that doesn’t reflect the many facets of her. She’s restricted by her online blogging face. And I know she’s not alone. Why else did I want to create a place where I could weep and wail and gnash my teeth without folk thinking I was having a meltdown, going under? I wasn’t. But I did want to go somewhere where no one knew my name or anything about me. A sort of haven, a refuge if you like.

I’m going to let the place go live and anyone who wants to have a place to explore other aspects of their blogging that might not fit on their current creation is more than welcome. There will be no necessity to follow others – everyone has enough to do – there will be no responsibility on the part of facilitators to monitor or schedule, there will be no concern as to who sees, how many followers, what the stats are, any of the bloggy concerns. You can link to your own page. Or not. Up to you.

It will simply be a place where people can be free to be whatever they want to be – in prose, in poetry, in music, in photos, whatever. An experiment in collective creative process.

It will be Freedom’s Place, which is what I called it a few weeks ago when I wanted to get off the world. Please feel free to be an author of any type, creativity, building a new place from scratch.

No racists, homophobes, haters need apply. I’ll delete you. Just like that. But then, I don’t get them here. Just lovely people who may want another place to holiday from time to time.

Think of it as somwhere to have a break. Doing things you may not always do. Writing styles you may never explore otherwise. Maybe you’re a photographer who wants to try poetry. A humorist who wants to get serious. Or a poet who wants to try vlogging (oh that’s me, done that!) You be the judge of what you do on holiday. No one else is judging. Just having a break and letting the tide take where it will. No names, no pack drill.

It’ll be like a kibbutz. Freedom’s Place – A Collective.

Take your old gear with you, hang out, hang about, hang it all.

If you’d like a timeshare, your holiday place for the future, email me at scottishmomus@outlook.com  I’ll fire off an invite to author. And Bob’s your auntie. Booked for when the need arises. Happy holidays.

Be anonymous, go commando, whatever. It’s your holiday home.

 

 

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Blueberry Day

Funny sort of day today,

children gone swimming,

working,

so quiet.

Filter’d light day today,

silent ticking,

deep breathing,

relaxing.

Sort of snooze day today,

kinda drowzy,

turn over,

indulge.

Caffeine waft day today,

sip slowly,

no pressure,

no hurry.

Snuggle up day today,

book reading,

delicious…

…with muffins,

blueberry fruit sort of day,

bonus

scribblings

and sigh.

Hard Hands, Soft Voice

Abraded cares from workday hands,

Calloused by our needs,

Hardened strokes from fingertips

Toiled and soiled to feed.

Voice still soft, it wears it well,

Years of tender tone,

Gentle words, firmer touch,

Juxtapos’d to make me moan.