LEE ANN MARCEL

I recently read an amazing book by a dear friend, “Untitled” By Blaine Hogan, which is a splendid book for creatives.

In the book, Hogan talks about a creative inspiration method called SCRATCHING.

SCRATCHING :: “An act best done as a routine, designed to gather and collect small ideas to be used at a later date.”

He goes on to describe that he often times he compiles “mood playlists” or “scratching piles” in his iTunes library. He grabs a pen and begins to jot down and write what comes to his mind as he plays the music.

(You can read his book here.)

Oddly enough, I’ve been doing this for years now. I just never knew what to call it.

I remember when it came time to write a really great, inspirational feature story or review in college that I would grab a few songs and crank the music full blast (much to the dismay of my sister, she never did understand Sigur Ros.)

So whether you are stuck, need some inspirational tunes … or simply just love music …

Here is a mix for you to go.

Create.

Go and do epic things.

1. Life in Technicolor II  :: Coldplay

2. Ready to Start :: Arcade Fire

3. Mirador :: Efterklang

4. I Believe In Your Victory  :: This Will Destroy You

5. In The Dirt :: S. Carey

6. Snow And Lights :: Explosions in the Sky

7. Woods :: Bon Iver

8. Staralfur :: Sigur Ros

9. Fix You :: Coldplay

10. Your Hand in Mine (w/ strings)  :: Explosions in the Sky

11. Stars in Still Water - Live :: Jonsi

(p.s. Let me know if the link/files work)

Got the pleasure of attending Echo Conference this year.

There are no words to describe what I experienced. Only images.

I’ve started reading devotions from Charles Spurgeon’s writings. This one seemed to speak to me.

We often think of heaven as a place that is stagnant, boring. But this paints a view that we will be actively serving Our King. We will get to commune with some of the heroes of our faith.  This makes me long for the coming of My King.

“His heavenly kingdom.” -2 Timothy 4:18

Yonder city of the great King is a place of active service. Ransomed spirits serve Him day and night in His temple. They never cease to fulfill the good pleasure of their King. They always “rest,” as far as ease and never “rest,” in the sense of indolence or inactivity.

Jerusalem the golden is the place of communionwith all the people of God. We shall sit with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, in eternal fellowship. We shall hold high communication with the noble host of the elect, all reigning with Him who by His love and His potent arm has brought them safely home. We shall not sing solos, but in chorus shall we praise our King.

Heaven is a place of victory realized. Whenever, Christians, you have achieved victory over your lusts- whenever after hard struggling, you have laid a temptation dead at your feet- you have in that hour experience in a limited way the joy that awaits you when the Lord shall shortly tread Satan under you feet, and you shall find yourself more than conquerors through Him who has loved you.

Paradise is a place of security. When you enjoy the full assurance of faith, you have the pledge of that glorious security which shall be yours when you are perfect citizens of the heavenly Jerusalem. O my sweet home, Jerusalem, you happy harbor of my soul! Thanks, even now, to Him whose love has taught me to long for You; but louder thanks in eternity, when I shall posses You.

“My soul has tasted the grapes,

And now it longs to go

Where my dear Lord His vineyard keeps

And all the clusters grow.

Upon the true and living vine,

My famish’d soul would feast,

And banquet on the fruit diving,

An everlasting guest.”

 I used to be a writer.

That’s right. I even have a degree in journalism. I wasn’t always a graphic designer. In fact, some say I was a better writer than an artist. But somewhere along the way I got caught up in the here and the now and I left behind something precious.

I began to simply write the occasional bit, but it was something that was forced. Something I would write in hopes of entertaining people. I remember I would sit in front of the screen for hours thinking of what to write.  Trying to be witty and come up with some deep profound thought on the spot.

Like a person who is out of shape tries to run a marathon, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t write. Hands over my head, breathing heavily. A side stitch burning at my ribs. I had only written one paragraph. There were days before pages would flow from my finger tips.

That is where I am today. Stuck. Frozen in a place where I shouldn’t be.

I was talking with my mother the other day about life. Mostly of my near future (job, the possibility of moving, the lack of community in my life), then clear out of the blue she asked me,

“Why don’t you write anymore? You where always so good at it.”

I was a bit taken aback by the randomness of the question.

I thought of the many reasons that first jumped to my mind (busyness, I’m not good anymore, nothing to write about etc. etc.)

I simply looked at her and shrugged.

But something inside told me that there was another reason. One I still can’t quite put my finger on.

I’ve picked up a friend’s book recently which has sort of jump started my brain into thinking again.

In it he talks about “scratching” even if you don’t have an itch. Scratching is best described as gathering small ideas to be used later.  He also mentions about not keeping the discipline of writing.

There. Right there.

That’s where I am at.

I have been so caught up in trying to out do my previous writings, or so caught up with trying to impress everyone with how profound my thoughts were, I ceased actually writing.

I also would only write when emotions where high, or I would blog about the romance of meeting a boy or when inspiration hit me. Which as of lately, none of them hardly ever happen.

So I buried myself in my calendar, my to do list.  I was too busy to have time to think, to write, to work that muscle and over time it atrophied. Now I am left with skin and bones. I feel as if my journalistic side has completely vanished. I can’t even spell things right anymore.

I want to find that writer again. I want to develop the discipline of writing.

So this is me, doing just that, picking up the pen and simply writing.