The Road: ADHD/ADD and Our Good Intentions

It is a bottomless pit of feeling you're failing, but three days later, you feel you can do anything, only to end the week where you began.

It is not learning from your mistakes….

It is a hyper focus, so intense about what bothers you, that you can’t pay attention to anything else, for very long.

It is a never-ending routine of forgetting things….

It is beauty when it has purpose.
It is agony when it doesn’t.

It is called Attention Deficit Disorder.

~ Shannon L. Alder

In 2015, I’m participating in Jeff Goins’ My 500 Words Challenge: writing at least 500 words a day for a year! (YTD Word Count: 44,891)

In addition, for the next 50 days, I’m participating in the Abbey of the Arts’ Pilgrimage of Resurrection: A Creative Journey through the Easter Season.

  

I

ntentions.   We all know what road they pave, don’t we?

Pithy, but it doesn’t apply to all people at all times and in all circumstances.

Take someone who suffers from ADHD.   For many, something vital is missing from the prefrontal cortex.  Executive functions, or management system of the brain, should have developed over time; functions that would enable them to make decisions, focus on tasks, and exert self-control.

They truly have the best intentions, good intentions, but with a neurobiological disorder like ADHD/ADD, these ideas and intentions and dreams often fall by the wayside.  Their brains aren’t like other brains, and until they receive treatment (therapy + medication + nutrition), they will continue to forget vital information, overbook their calendars, and leave tasks chronically unfinished.

They lack the abilities to handle frustration, start and complete tasks, recall and follow multi-step directions, stay on track, plan, organize, and self-monitor. ADD/ADHD therapists and other professionals who can evaluate and diagnose ADD/ADHD typically point out executive-function problems, but many families dismiss them as less critical than other learning challenges. However, it is clear that effective executive functioning is a key factor in remedying academic difficulties.

Executive functions are the skills that an individual of any age must master to deal with everyday life. Self-monitoring is particularly important for students, because it governs their ability to evaluate their work and behavior in real time.  (Executive-Function Deficits in Children)

When this happens, it causes great distress for the person with ADHD/ADD.  They feel guilty for letting people down.  Depression– whether it is a chemical depression related to the ADHD or situational depression based on societal and familial attitudes and treatment of the person, usually follows.

My cyclothymic depression mimics certain aspects of ADHD/ADD. So I understand all too well how those with ADHD/ADD feel.  My desk at home is layered with projects that were started, but never completed.  I have a notebook full of bits and bobs of poetry and poetry ideas, story lines, dialogue – but no draft manuscript.

However, I did write and complete one today – in honor of #NationalPoetryMonth, for all my friends who suffer from ADHD/ADD and depression, and based on the 50 Days Pilgrimage word for today: Intention. 

I hope you enjoy and it reminds you to take a step back, support your loved ones who are suffering, and join me in fighting to #EndTheStigma.  (Learn more about ADHD/ADD here.)

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

You are not alone.

 

Posts on La Belle are written with the following fonts: Georgia, Times New Roman, Vivaldi, Edwardian, and occasionally Baroque Script.

A Lump in My Throat: National Poetry Month

A poem begins with a lump in the throat.
 ~ Robert Frost

In 2015, I’m participating in Jeff Goins’ My 500 Words Challenge: writing at least 500 words a day for a year!  So dearest blog, although I’ve neglected you of late, I have never ceased writing!  YTD Word Count: 46,144

T

oday marks the beginning of National Poetry Month ~ no foolin’! 

Last year, April found me participating in the A-Z Blog Challenge.  Since I’m already writing (mostly) every day, this year I’m celebrating #NationalPoetryMonth by reading or writing a poem a day.

Mother Goose was the first introduction to poetry for most of us.  But I didn’t really fall in love with the genre until junior high ~ when I had to memorize and recite several poems.  My favorite at that time was Kipling.

That love deepened in high school when I took a course on British Literature.  Because let’s be honest, not many do poetry better than the Brits.  Heck, not many do literature better than the Brits.

So, although I began this post with a quote from an American poet, I’ll end with a Brit:

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Do you have a favorite British poet?

Posts on La Belle are written with the following fonts: Georgia, Times New Roman, Vivaldi, Edwardian, and occasionally Baroque Script.

The Art of Poetry: A Blended Art Show

One ought, every day at least,

to hear a little song,

read a good poem,

see a fine picture,

and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

In 2015, I’m participating in Jeff Goins’ My 500 Words Challenge: writing at least 500 words a day for a year!  So dearest blog, although I’ve neglected you of late, I have never ceased writing!  YTD Word Count: 44,891

A

pril is National Poetry Month and one week from today (April 3), yours truly will be one of the poets featured in a blended art show at Water Street Studio!

Wait….blended art....what? 

A picture is worth a thousand words (see what I did there?):

Image © fffranz

An art show that combines visual art with written art held during National Poetry Month?  What a novel idea!

I would love to see you if you’re in the area and I know you will love the art and the poetry that will be on display from local artists and poets.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

What are you doing for National Poetry Month?

Posts on La Belle are written with the following fonts: Georgia, Times New Roman, Vivaldi, Edwardian, and occasionally Baroque Script.

Image: © ffranz

The Birth of Autumn

Fall has always been my favorite season.
The time when everything bursts with its last beauty,
as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.

~ Lauren DeStefano, Wither

The Harvester Island Wilderness Workshop was incredible.  I went to write with 11 strangers, and I left with 15 new friends.  In the coming weeks, I’ll be posting my photos and thoughts on the workshop and on the beauties of Kodiak, Alaska.

H

appy New Year!  L’Shana Tovah!

Autumn is often seen as a time of death and decay ~ leaves falling, ground hardening, summer’s harvest withering.  And, yes ~ all that is happening.

But if we stop there, we’ve only read Autumn’s flap copy.*

Our societal myopia of focusing almost exclusively on the surface, the first impression image, extends to our perception of the seasons.  Signs of negative change ~ the brown grass, the fading sun, the gradually colder weather ~ become all we see while we forget that all that decay on top seeps underground and feeds the seeds and beneficial bugs for next Spring’s buds and blooms.

Autumn Leaves and Apples
© Igor Yaruta

Maybe I am in a privileged minority, but I have always thought that the new year should begin in Autumn, and the images the word conjures are as far from death and decay as fresh apple cider is from hard cider.

Explosion of colour

Pumpkins

Reading by the fire

Wool blankets

Flannel shirts

Apple cider

Gingerbread

Constant Comment tea

Reciting poetry in an ancient graveyard

Autumn is a time of ripening, harvesting, cider pressing, storing up for the coming winter.  It is a season of celebration of life, not a time of sadness and mourning the end of summer.

So grab an apple, dip it in caramel, and join me amoung the worn gravestones.

To Autumn

William Blake

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d

With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit

Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,

And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,

And all the daughters of the year shall dance!

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

The narrow bud opens her beauties to

The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;

Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and

Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,

Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,

And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.

The spirits of the air live in the smells

Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round

The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.”

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,

Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak

Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

*Flap copy is the term used for the book synopsis on the inside of a dust jacket.

From the Ashes I Rise: The Wisdom of Maya Angelou

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

~ Maya Angelou

May is National Mental Health Awareness Month.  Join me in blogging to erase the stigma of mental illness so our loved ones can seek the help they need.

I

f it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing badly” is some of the silliest advice I’ve ever heard.

I understand what’s being conveyed by that statement: if it’s worth doing, get out there and give it your best shot.  Don’t just sit there worrying whether it’s perfect.

But sometimes, when it’s worth writing, or talking about, it’s worth marinating, editing, tweaking.  Leaving and returning to it later.

My post today was going to touch on one of my hot button issues.  But then I read an epic post on the blog of my virtual writing mentor, Mary Jaksch. Basically, the author, James Chartrand, posits that if it’s worth publishing, it’s worth spending more than an hour or two to write it.

The Epicness of Maya Angelou

Instead, I want to talk about someone who was epic all by herself.  Someone with grace, poise, talent, and a heart the size of North America.  Someone who rose from the ashes of childhood abuse and trauma.  Someone who turned her tears and her sorrow and her pain into words that comforted, inspired, motivated, and called to action.

Dr. Maya Angelou.

I am not a weepy person, but having slept poorly and for only a few hours last night morphed into the world’s most nauseous migraine and exhaustion and when I saw the news about this beautiful national treasure, I almost broke down and cried.  Almost, because you know crying in public is embarrassing and shameful.

Phoenix
Image credit: Redeyesa, Deviant Art

And still I have much to learn, and much to heal from. 

Still I Rise

Every one of her poems has touched me deeply in some way.  Despite our differing backgrounds and experiences and ages, each one touched on some human experience that I could nonetheless relate to and feel and absorb. 

It’s difficult to believe she’s gone.  And as you know, death is not an easy subject for me.  But I believe that in the end, she will rise.

And because she embraced her destiny, because she embraced both past, present, and future, she has left behind an incredible legacy.  Of words and poetry and literature; of love and life and wisdom.

Her life was not easy one and yet she used it as grain for the mill; turning tragedy into something else.  Learning the hard way that you can’t change what happens to you but you can change how you react to it.

“My great hope is to laugh as much as I cry;

to get my work done and try to love somebody

and have the courage to accept the love in return.”

If only we all strived to do the same ~ what a wonderful world this would be.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Have you read any of Maya Angelou’s books?  What touched you the most about her life or her work?

V is for Villanelle: Breaking Writer's Block with Poetry

Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.

~ Cassandra Clare

Back in January, I began the One Page a Day Challenge and immediately threw away my quill.  Now in April, I’m participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge and prepping for a Wilderness Writers’ Retreat.  I need ink, a stiff drink and therapy.

A

s it is still April, it is still National Poetry Month.  I highlighted one poet, Margaret Atwood, at the beginning of the month.

As we near the end of the challenge, let’s take a look at a form of poetry.

V is for Villanelle

The Villanelle is an interesting structure for poetry.

Poets.org describes it thus: 

The highly structured villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. The form is made up of five tercets followed by a quatrain. The first and third lines of the opening tercet are repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem's two concluding lines.
 Using capitals for the refrains and lowercase letters for the rhymes, the form could be expressed as: A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2. 

Want to learn more?  Visit Poets.

Dylan Thomas was a master of the villanelle, as evidenced by his poem below (one of my favorites):

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Variety is the spice of a Writer’s Life

Poetry is a great way to wake up the Muse if she’s gone to sleep at the typewriter.  It forces you to really think about words, how they sound, how they fit and flow and dance. 

Poetry, especially in this form, makes you concentrate on structure and sound and emotional impact.  If you’re stuck in your writing, try composing a villanelle.

Muses eat that stuff up.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Have you ever written a poem in villanelle form?  Share it with us!

A is for Atwood: Spring into Poetry!

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.

~ Leonardo da Vinci

Back in January, I began the One Page a Day Challenge and immediately threw away my quill.  Now in April, I’m participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.  I need ink, a stiff drink and therapy.

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his has definitely been the winter of my discontent.

Although I love winter and reveled in the extended snow fall ~ much to many of my friends’ dismay and loathing ~ the lack of a daily dose of sunlight and Vitamin D turned my Muse blue, navy blue.

But now it’s time to shake the snow and ice, and yes, a little dust, from my quill, and start writing in earnest again.  And what better way to thaw out the ink than with a blog challenge.

This is the first year I’ve joined the A to Z Challenge and it should be interesting.  It’s my kind of challenge: there is a guide (the alphabet) but it’s flexible (choose your own topic).

A is for Atwood

I could have been a smart acre and just said A is for April – National Poetry Month.  But that would have made for either a very short post or a very long one.  And that would have led to tomorrow’s letter: B is for Boring.

So instead, I decided to pick a poet that I like whose name begins with A.  Could have been their last name or first name, but first name would have made for another long list and, yeah, we’ve already been there.  Boring.

Poetry is far from dead.  A song is just poetry set to music.  And poetry is music without instruments.  Save that of the human voice.  And one of my favorite modern writers of musical words is Margaret Atwood.  And one of my favorite poems, Variation on the  Word Sleep, which I’ve shared below.

It’s a beautiful day. The snow is gone. The sun is shining.  Take some poetry outside, and read it out loud.  Spring can’t be far away.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Who is your favorite “A” poet?

Variation on the Word Sleep

I would like to watch you sleeping,

which may not happen.

I would like to watch you,

sleeping. I would like to sleep

with you, to enter

your sleep as its smooth dark wave

slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent

wavering forest of bluegreen leaves

with its watery sun & three moons

towards the cave where you must descend,

towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver

branch, the small white flower, the one

word that will protect you

from the grief at the center

of your dream, from the grief

at the center. I would like to follow

you up the long stairway

again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully, a flame

in two cupped hands

to where your body lies

beside me, and you enter

it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

& that necessary.

Margaret Atwood was born in 1939 in Ottawa, Ontario. She earned a B.A. from Victoria College, University of Toronto, and an M.A. from Harvard.

She is the author of over fifteen books of poetry, including Eating Fire: Selected Poems, 1965-1995 (Virago Press Limited, 1998); Morning in the Burned House (1995), which was a co-winner of the Trillium Award; Selected Poems II: Poems Selected and New 1976-1986 (1987); Two-Headed Poems (1978); You Are Happy (1975); and The Animals in That Country (1968).

Read more about Margaret Atwood here.