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jacqui@jacquimalpass.com

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Write through the next half of the year

Write through the next half of the year

It seems like only yesterday, when it was 01/01/2012 and people were looking forward to a bright new year, full of great intention.

So what happened, did your good intentions ever manifest themselves?

Many of us have come so far on our journeys, despite delays and self sabotage. And even if think or feel that you haven’t, I challenge you. I bet if you were to write a timeline on a huge sheet of paper with all of the key areas of your life and brainstorm your stuff, I bet you would see movement.

No matter which way that movement is, that is exactly how it was meant to be.

Now look for areas where you think you are stuck, what stories are you telling yourself? Are these areas important to you? What can you do to move them on?

What if you were to rate each of your life areas? How happy are you – on a scale – you make the scale up?

Whatever those stories are, you have the power to change them. The seeds you plant today and Sunday is a wonderful day for planting, will bear fruit soon.

Remember that soon, may be 1 day, 1 week, 1 month or 10 years, however, long soon is, it is just right for you.

One of the ways in which I like to change the way I think about things is to write what I call creative life stories. I take something from my journal or something that is on my mind and write a story in which most of the facts as I see them are there and I change the plot to be what I would like it to be.

So where ever you are right now, take up pen and write.

And if all else fails…..

A writer died and was given the option of going to heaven or hell.

She decided to check out each place first. As the writer descended into the fiery pits, she saw row upon row of writers chained to their desks in a steaming sweatshop. As they worked, they were repeatedly whipped with thorny lashes.

“Oh my,” said the writer. “Let me see heaven now.”

A few moments later, as she ascended into heaven, she saw rows of writers, chained to their desks in a steaming sweatshop. As they worked, they, too, were whipped with thorny lashes.

“Wait a minute,” said the writer. “This is just as bad as hell!”

“Oh no, it’s not,” replied an unseen voice. “Here, your work gets published.”

 

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