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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Inspiration/Block (for the writer) (05/20/10)

TITLE: Parallel Differences
By Robyn Burke
05/24/10


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Once upon a time, I was married to a very bad man. Writing was my escapism: Romance novels, with innocent heroines, where the husband dies in the first chapter, paving the way for the weeping widow to start over and this time, find “Mr. Right.” Poems filled with deep anguish, ode’s to innocence lost, predictably melancholy and full of clichés. Journal entries, ink smudged by falling tears, pages wrinkled from being hastily thrust under a mattress or the back of a kitchen cabinet.

Abuse being my muse, I took my fate and set it to a rhythm, a meter, a cadence. Stories and anecdotes filled lined pages of notebooks giving me a measure of comfort, satisfaction, fulfillment.

And then, the writing stopped. The journal was discovered and this, under duress, led to admitting there were others, hidden around the house. And I watched in silent anguish as years of outpourings, heart cries and dreams, spiraled up and dissolved into ash as the flames of the matchstick devoured the ink in a hungry anger.

I did not cry for I was well past tears at this point in my life. The emotions were carefully controlled like an outdoor faucet that has been winterized; drained of all its moisture. But something definitely died in me that day. I put the pen in the chipped coffee mug with it’s re-glued handle and walked away.

The same raw heartache that had been the inspiration was now the source of obstruction on my creative flow.

Years later, the innocent heroine, now jaded and broken and without the title of widow, nonetheless, summoned the strength to escape and start over, no longer caring if a “Mr. Right” existed. Freedom to write and leave a journal on my desk, in plain sight, did not stir the muse inside me however. The block, I feared, seemed permanently set in place.

Until one day, cliché as it may sound, the White Knight rode into this heroine’s life. He brought healing and restoration to my soul. His Grace re-kindled hope and His Redeeming Love invited the childlike innocence to reappear.

I found myself trusting again, daring to dream, long buried passions stirring. Healing brought inspiration and inspiration gripped the pen. Spurred by deep-rooted thoughts, re-born in a desire to reach out and help others, the words flowed…

Once upon a time, I was married to a very bad man…


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This article has been read 384 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Anita van der Elst05/27/10
A wonderfully well-written essay. Two words: Introspective. Poignant. And a third: Beautiful.

My favorite lines:

"Abuse being my muse, I took my fate and set it to a rhythm, a meter, a cadence."

"I watched in silent anguish as years of outpourings, heart cries and dreams, spiraled up and dissolved into ash as the flames of the matchstick devoured the ink in a hungry anger."

"Healing brought inspiration and inspiration gripped the pen."

How horrible is in when one person takes control over another and how empowering when breakout comes, in more ways than one.

(Odes=plural. Ode's=possessive)
Charla Diehl 05/27/10
When I finished this inspiring entry, a scripture verse came to mind: With God all things are possible.
Thanks for sharing.
Loren T. Lowery05/27/10
Poignant, understated and simply beautiful - reminds me of the theme behind Maya Angelou's "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings"
Margaret Kearley 05/28/10
Heart-rending and absolutely beautiful. Wonderfully written - Glorifies the God of Miracles! Thankyou
Ashley Isaacson05/31/10
I was just perusing articles to figure out whether a tab can be translated into html and I clicked onto your article. I had to say "Wow!" and "Beautiful!" and "Really touched me" even though I haven't experienced such abuse. Thanks for giving Jesus such glory -- I think that's what stunned me the most.
Rachel Phelps06/02/10
Moving. Painfully introspective. Lovely.