In China, people could smell the time of day. There were coils of incense made with spices and herbs, and as the incense
burned, the fragrance changed. Sandalwood, frankincense, lavender, patchouli. A procession of scents marked the hours. —John Case, in Ghost Dancer
(If you have ever judged crime and/or espionage novels as junk reading, that quote is from an espionage writer.) Our sense of smell is too often forgotten – as we write and as we move through our lives. You’ll discover the importance of scent when you do the following Breakthrough: gather at least five objects that each have a different scent. Maybe an orange. Maybe a bottle of cinnamon or vinegar or a glass of wine. Maybe burning sage or juniper. Set your writing timer for five minutes. Begin with these words. I’d been feeling lost for a while. Breathe in the first scent and write without stopping – whatever emerges from your mind and hands. Stop when the timer goes off. Repeat the process for five minutes with the same prompt for the second scent. Move through all five scents. Then, breathe in your own scent – your skin, your hair, the way how you feel can manifest in how you smell.
I am especially curious to read what you’ve written. Please send to me in a Word doc to bstarr67@gmail.com
Writer and photographer Heather von Bargen wrote this to me today: “Finally—I quieted down so I could hear what needs to be written. :)” I can’t add anything to that wisdom. Check out her gorgeous website. http://hvb.curatedimages.com/#!/index
A second delightful offering by Helen Daley-Newhouse:
I Couldn’t Stop Myself
It was early the morning of Easter Sunday, April 4, 1999. The previous Friday I had officially left the corporate world to become a home-based travel agent. Completely exhausted of carting boxes and converting my den into a workspace, I turned on the TV to watch a movie and drink copious amounts of coffee. I also began to play on my computer in lieu of researching destinations for clients.
Quite by accident I fell upon a dating site. Seriously…I had no interest in dating. I had ended a relationship, which should never have begun in the first place, in October of 1998 and had promised myself I would not date for one year. I couldn’t stop myself. Out of curiosity, I began to read the profile of a man in his forties who did not write well. In fact, he was somewhat childlike. There was an innocence about him that kept me reading. The final paragraph put me into spasms as I read; “I hope I get lots of responses from lots of nice ladies. I will be out on parole in 4 months.” I was in hysterics.
Over the next few months, every Sunday, I would get up early and go online to read profiles. Having become addicted, I couldn’t stop myself. I realized there were hundreds of dating websites and I began to recognize many of the people on them. One profile in particular kept coming up time after time and I would read it each time. This person sounded just like me. And that face…well…let me tell you, it was nice to view.
One morning I happened upon a questionnaire in one of the websites. I thought it would be fun to complete, just to see the result. I was really stringent as to what I wanted in a man. Now, remember I had no interest in dating. So, I had no intentions of reaching out to any one. Once completed, with reluctance, I hit submit. Out of hundreds of thousands of profiles only six popped up. Not one of the profiles was from Canada. There was a Brit, a fellow from Boston, one from Denver, another from Florida and 2 from California. Lo and behold, there was that face. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
By now, I had accepted the fact…I could not stop myself. I sent him an e-mail saying I related to his profile and that we seemed to have a lot in common and stated the commonalities. I didn’t think another thing of it until 2 days later when I received a response. He very politely thanked me for writing to him, but something I said in my e-mail indicated I was from Florida and he was not interested in a long distance relationship. I responded urging him to relax that I wasn’t interested in a relationship at all at this point in my life. I asked him if he would he be comfortable being pen pals and wrote, “Oh, and by the way, I don’t live in Florida, I live in Nova Scotia.” I loved his response, “I have the Atlas out and am looking at Nova Scotia.”
The rest of the evening we e-mailed back and forth. Eventually he asked me for a photo. I knew what he looked like so it was only fair that he see me. I had only one photo of myself on my computer. I was seated at the captain’s table on Crystal Harmony wearing a strapless evening gown. I looked fabulous! That photo wasn’t on his desktop more than 30 seconds when I opened his response. “Damn, you’re pretty,” he wrote, “I’d like to find out if you are as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside.”
I couldn’t stop myself. A year to the day of swearing off men I met him in San Francisco. Six months later on April 16, 2000 we eloped to Napa Valley. After having a twelve-year bi-coastal marriage we are living happily ever after in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
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