Back in 2008 I created a blog at the the Australian Orble Community called THE DANCING BUG.
It was dedicated to writing about dancing and the Dancing scene in Sydney.
The Orble community disappeared suddenly a few years after I started writing, taking all the posts without notice.
One day it simply went offline.
I decided to move everything across to WordPress.
I was able to transfer the text, finding the images (or as close as I could) inside my old files, noting how many votes I had in Orble, the date and time they were published. I wanted to keep as close as I could from the original for historical data.
I’m keeping the new archive inside the category “The Dancing Bug” in my Taniacreations.com website.
This is the new blog, ready to receive my new writing thoughts on dancing as well…
Twice the blog was among the most voted in the whole community, once in 9th place for the day, once in 3rd place for the day:
04 Apr 2013 – 3rd Place – Directly from the Bachata Me Dance Floor
06 Apr 2013 – 9th Place – Directly from the Bachata Me Dance Floor
Here is a print-screen of the final statistics of the blog before it went awol:
The reason I write today is because I need to write the narratives I want to read. I need to make my own story and read my own power in my storyline and not let others determine what is available for me to read. I need to create in the world the possibilities I see in my mind’s eye. I’m tired of the same old story where everyone conforms to what is dictated by the same old tales and tired run-through formulas. I want fresh, unused, strange, and unique; my voice deserves to be out there. Today I am all powerful.
Walking in heavy rain is like being part of a tribe.
There’s an instant connection to anyone else braving the elements, holding the umbrella for fear of going Poppins with the wind, a daring to the hurricane to Dorothy you. I get so many ‘good mornings’ and some belly laughs at the absurdity of the cats and dogs down-pouring. Sometimes I forego the umbrella altogether and let the drops fall to the face, looking up, tongue out, like a frangipani leaf.
Before, most people had to go to the office. Not now. Walking is a deliberate choice, a good one, turns out.
I feel alive. I feel like a knight on a quest. I feel connected to the other brave knights on the road.
I’ve noticed that we carry ghosts with us, all the time, hundreds of them. More, if we have narrative minds. There’s the boy from fifth grade that was going to notice you, and hold your hand; the audition that you were going to master and be chosen as the soloist and that would change your path forever, and so many others. They happen at the moment people make a decision, different from the one you want, and your fantasies created another path for them — in your spirit — and a ghost is born, tethered to your soul. You are surrounded. Let them go…
For someone who dislikes the taste of alcohol and has a sort of spirituality that is a mesh of all that is good from several faiths and discards much of all that is structured from these same faiths including most of prayers, finding that, first I have a favourite prayer, and then, that my favourite prayer in the world, The Serenity Prayer, is iconically used by the Alcoholic Anonymous is somewhat ironic. The original brings me peace and wisdom and joy, but then I adapted it to my own writing mission. The way it came to me, is to help me on the way, and every day it guides me further in my storyteller role.
Storyteller’s Serenity Prayer
[Adapted by Tania Crivellenti]
May Source, give you grace to accept with serenity, the things that cannot be changed; Courage, to change the things which should be changed; And the wisdom, to distinguish one from the other.
Living one day at a time. Enjoying one moment at a time. Accepting hardship as a pathway to enlightenment and manuscript.
Taking this sinful world as it is, and being authentic to it, even when transforming it, making it into written words; Not as you would have it, but truthful, even in fiction.
Trusting that Source will make all things right; If you surrender to their will, so that you may be writingly happy in this life; Find yourself in creative flow often; And supremely happy, with the legacy you leave, forever in the next.
I am not sure that I live 100% here; on my writing days I fall through a crack in the fabric of the Universe into another dimension, where the world as we know has ended. Even more than what we are seeing now…
I can pinpoint a big change in my life to the day when I was walking through Mosman’s #HeadlandPark and realised that many companies had been stablished in the business spaces I had once seen and wished to work at.
This was many years ago, when I took pictures of all the companies names and sent them my resume, asking for a job. I’m an Office Manager/EA, when I’m not being a writer, and that is a position that exists in many companies.
The Alive Mobile Group had just lost their person in that role and hired me. Alive would later transform and become part of The Mirus Group and move to Pyrmont, and it is where I still work (still a beautiful water-views office!)
At that time, the company was in Mosman, and I lived in the area. The office was phenomenal, with harbour views and my walk to work was incredibly inspiring, meandering through the cozy village and the paths of the Headland Park. I loved the company, the place and the culture (still do). The one thought that distracted me sometimes was that every day I would walk to work and wish I could write on the way, stop at the amazing locations and just sit down on a bench, or at a cafe, and write my heart out.
Alive Co. in Mosman
Alas, I had to get to work on time, and even though I did write before and after work some days, and took to write during some lunch hours, I had this consistent desire for more time.
Last week I was a bit disappointed because my writing day hadn’t been the most productive and suddenly I had this idea, that now, with my Writing Wednesdays, I could do exactly what I had wanted to do all those days while I was working in Mosman, I could walk the path, and stop for writing along the way… All day long!
It was an incredible experience, I left early with my writing gear, down to Balmoral Beach and all the way alongside it, crossing the Balmoral Park Oval and up the steps (many, many, very steep steps). I stopped at Frenchy’s Cafe for a couple of hours of writing.
Then I took the track behind the cafe through the Artist Precinct and found the bench with the most beautiful view in the world! Quite predictably, I sat there for another writing sprint… I watched while a guy — who must have a pretty great job — removed weeds from the bush.
When the sky started showing signs that it would fall on me, I continued my walk, and took this picture, bombed by a brisk walker.
By the time I got home, just before the rain really started falling, I had accumulated thousand of steps and, even better, thousands of words!
The concept of flexible discipline, (no idea where I took that from, I’m sure it is out there somewhere) inspires me.
I have a full day of writing per week to apply such concept and have fun in listing what I feel I should allow me to do or not and still consider myself to have been productive…
Writing (obviously)
Writing items on my main list of goals is better than just writing anything
Writing useless emails are not valid, but writing complaints or anything that will free my mind of some annoying persistant thought is okay
Writing about writing
Research and preparation
Character building
Location research
Contacting people to be interviewed
Preparing Interviews
Reading short, specific material (broad reading is for other days)
Admin tasks that will organise the writing
Writing travel booking
Contacting story-related people
Keeping up blogs and sites and social media
Renewing domain names
Clearing email inboxes and organising calendar
Ideas building
Taking a nap thinking of something (preferable with conscious dreaming)
Walking meditation – focusing on something that needs solutions or ideas
Swimming, dancing in the living room, or bathing meditations
Cooking meditation
Catching the ferry or the train for writing while travelling (not travel writing)
Day writing adventures
Libraries visit writing
Toilet breaks – even many of them (they are great for sparking ideas)
Freeing your mind
Taking notes of ideas for writing
Cataloguing ideas for writing (blog posts? books? short stories?)
Doing small tasks that take little time and un-clot the mind
Organising the space before starting to feel ready to start
Writing any messages and booking any appointments early in the day and letting people know its the end of the conversation for the day
Regular breaks to refresh and get the blood pumping
Bobbing on yoga ball (for the same reason above)
Editing and publishing
Editing and proofreading
Layout creating and cover creation
Hiring freelancers
Sending material to publishers
Coffee…
“Coffee glides into one’s stomach and sets all of one’s mental processes in motion” Honoré de Balzac
I have achieved something that has been in my radar for many years. On 1st September 2018, I reduced my day-job journey to four days a week, to give myself one day a week of full time writing.
Right at the beginning I was organising my “Ideas for Writing” folder and found a list of writing goals I had set for 2017 and realised I had accomplished all of them by September 2018, one of them being the weekly author’s day. It was inspiring, even if there was a delay in the completion of the goals and it was a lesson that told me to keep establishing goals and not giving up on them even when they don’t follow my original timeline.
I can’t express how grateful and fulfilled I am feeling. Having one full day of quality time, fresh-brain, undivided attention to dedicate to my passion is unbelievably powerful. I am finding that not only I produce much more efficiently, the inspiration comes more powerfully, and the anxiety I used to feel over not having time to write has lost its grip on me.
I used to feel anxious every time I had an idea, and no energy or time to write it.
Another interesting aspect is that with the writing day in the middle of the week, (I chose Wednesdays for my Writing day) I get more done on weekends too. There is a momentum effect, by the weekend I haven’t forgotten what I have been working on, it just simmers under the surface, boiling new ideas and aspects to focus on…
I will never take this opportunity for granted, I feel grateful to each of the moments and aspects of my life that allowed me to get here.
The advantage of having been sleepless lately is that waking up before 5am to get to the Dawn Service for Anzac Day was much easier.
I had this strong desire to be there, and I walked through darkness to get to Georges Heights, in Mosman.
If I was in an unsafe place I would have been afraid when I heard running behind me of multiple pairs of legs; but looking back this mother and small boy informed me ‘the alarm didn’t go off’ and ran ahead.
We got there in time, the service was just starting, permeated by the smell of sausage sizzle and the gentle frying sound that my mind kept sending me as images of waterfalls.
The morning singing birds reminded me of the time when I arrived in beautiful Sydney, fourteen years ago, they bring an unnamed tightness to my chest of love, longing, adventure.
The service was beautiful, and the part that I loved the most was a very simple letter from a soldier who wrote it to the father of his fallen friend. I cried, those words that crossed oceans and time made their way to us, to remind us of the sense of loss and love.
The Dogs and the General
I have strong feelings against war, but warm feelings towards people, families, and soldiers who make the ultimate sacrifice for a greater cause.
When the speaker told us of this land that receives so many peoples from over the seas, I felt welcomed and warm in the Australian embrace.
Dawn on ANZAC Day
The sunrise wasn’t as spectacular today, but the moment was of beauty and sadness and happiness to be here. I felt my bond to this land deepening, even more.
On my way home I saw a lot of flashing lights, police cars, one of them making a bus reverse out of the main road, as if it was a cowboy herding a stubborn bull.
I was privileged to wave to the diggers coming through in a long motorcade of mini-buses and taxis, all white haired, dressed to impress and the word that came to my mind was that they were beautiful.
I got home under a light shower, filled with the sense of belonging, adventure and safety.
taniacreations.com 