Inching Toward the Sea

I swam in the ocean this weekend after the writers’ conference in Myrtal Beach, South Carolina.  I dipped my toes in the warm Atlantic Ocean, gazing across the giant blue horizon.  Wondering who was over there, across the sea.  Wondering what was in there, the depth of her muse left me awestruck, amazed, energized.  Then calm, like a giant balloon, dancing in the sky.  Calm, clear, clean.  The ocean is so powerful.  I have not been to the ocean this summer at all.  I love to swim in the sea. 

Swim in the sea

So I inched closer and closer, dipping my toes at first, then my ankles.  Then retreating to the shore to write notes in the sand. 

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Knowing full well, I just would not leave that great big Atlantic,without edging closer and then finally, drenching myself with her wise wet waves.  You just can’t resist her pull.  I don’t have the mountains of Wyoming, but I sure do have the ocean.

 I’m working on accepting where I am.  I am home.  Not forever home, but home in my heart. Time to cultivate this space, this land.  I have earthworms the size of giant gummy worms in my soil in Eastern North Carolina where carrots grow thick and basil so green and smooth. These earthworms are all pink and thick, like number 2 pencils.  That is something more than I had in Wyoming.  I long for Wyoming, I call to her.  But she has ridden out in the distance, leaving me alone in North Carolina, time to think.  Time to embrace this is home now. 

When I finally inched closer in the sea, my short ruler became an infinite, unmeasurable string.  The ocean welcomed me, without my swimsuit,  just a long sleeve black shirt, a black skirt and a black scarf.  I inched deeper, now my legs and torso wet.  “Why not!” I exclaimed.  In I went, head under surf, fresh sea water on my skin.  Warm, wise waves welcomed me. Fully emersed, I swam.  Riding the waves like a cowgirl, bareback on horse.  The ocean, the mountains, the forest, a garden.  Nature calls to me, calls to you.  She welcomes all spirits.  She cleanses, cleans, cultivates better selves, better beings.  That’s all I needed.  A dip in the ocean.  Inch by inch.  Then foot by foot.  Then no numbers, no measuring spoon.  I was the girl in the sea. 

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The Original Journal Video

Untitled Project.

I created a video with images from The Original Journal.  Click on the link above that says, “Untitled Project” or the hyper link “video.”

How tall are your dreams? Dare to dream, dare to wish, dare to hope, dare to be…





be you…

Photo Credit: (beautiful B & W photos on this website)

I am meeting with two literary agents this weekend at the South Carolina Writers Conference.  Both of the agents, Bernadette Baker-Baughman and Sorche Fairbanks) I am meeting with are looking for gift books.  So I am really excited.  I feel that the time is right for The Original Journal.

I really believe everyone has a story to tell – a journey to journal…

If you like the video, please take an extra minute to like it on facebook (see the side panel on my website). 

Journal Your Journey ~ memomuse

PS – Hope. Wish. Dream. Be.

hope wish dream be copyright Megan Oteri 2011

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Writing Spider

It’s been a month since I have posted anything.  I think of all kinds of things to write about, but just can’t seem to get the space in my head or the space in silence to write.  I have a seventeen month old. 

I guess I should adjust.  Shift.  Shake it out.  Dance in the rhythm of the noise.  But I just need that quiet space.  That extended highway of silence.  The circus keeps blaring and the noise never negotiates. 

Really, most of the time I am just too damn tired to write.  The discipline is not there.  At the end of the day, I just want to close my eyes and snuggle with my husband or son.

But I hold tight to these thoughts of perfection, like a closed toddler grip.  My essay has to be perfect. It has to be edited. Has to be meaningful.  Has to be thorough.  Has to reach someone. Has to make someone smile or shed a tear.

F that.  Excuse my french.  But no other word will do.  I need to abandon that and just write for f’s sake. 

So here is a rainstorm with some soft dewy raindrops and some thick hail about my life.  I promise to post an essay soon. 

The writing spider is gone.  I went on vacation to New England for a week and when I came home and she was gone.  Only her scattered remains of her web were in the garden. 

 And the slideshow is all I am able to get out this morning as my toddler pokes the computer, grabs the computer, grabs me, demands I listen, demands I be present with him.  Ben thinks we are co-authors.  Feel frazzled and fragmented as I write this.  There is so much I want to share and update.  Like about my trip to New Hampshire and how I was in my sister-in-law’s wedding.  And the trip to the  Kangamangus Highway in New Hampshire. 

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And how my mom is doing.  She is still alive and in the nursing home.  She is with it mentally and when I hear her voice that is all I need to smile.  I can’t imagine not hearing her voice.  being a mom to a toddler and after a long year of being a new mom with an infant, I realize how hard it is to be a parent and the sacrifices you have to make.  I love my mom so much.  I am so grateful to her for teaching me the core values I have – to be kind to strangers, to be curious, to laugh, to tell stories, to not give up on the ones you love, to explore this great big life, to be. Thank you Mom. I love you so much.  I wish you could read this.

My Mom who I adore

Got to go – toddler take over. Biting. Crying. Head bonking. Got a little more time – I am nursing him now. Talk about multi tasking! Now back to toddler take over.  I give up.  Head bonk to the chin.  Now toddler hug.  Oh the many emotions of motherhood.  He is pretty darn cute.  And as I get ready to hit the publish button (without proofing it to be perfect), toddler is giving me bubble kisses.  Then the head bonk to the chin. He is standing between my legs as I sit in his little people chair and type at his little people table, school bus yeloow and royal blue.


PS – I am getting ready to go to the South Carolina’s Writer’s Conference in Myrtle Beach this weekend to pitch The Original Journal (click on link on the sidebar to “like” it on facebook) to literary agents.  Two of the agents I am pitching to are looking for gift books.  So the timing could be right.  One thing I have to steer clear of is wanting a publisher or an agent to validate this project.  I have to keep believing in it.  After all, I have been working on this book project since 1996.  Here is a picture of the sticky note collection, “Just Stick Its.”  They are designed to ignite the muse and amuse the mind. Go to the facebook page to see the sticky note collection.  Image is not uploading.