Mardra
Profile
I have recently been wandering through one of those life periods when I am frequently asking myself about who I am. My focus is scattered yet urgent. My ideas are fragmented – sharp, tinted and broken. I am searching for clarity and finding distraction. So – it’s come time for me to take a time-out.
Work goals, pressures, and learning will continue to be. It is what it is.
But the part of me that I am. The part that I will be. The part of me that is confused, silent, and lost. That part of me that is waiting/watching for my muse.
The poet, the playwright, the story-teller, the humorist, the critic: the me most important to my being is struggling. So, plan C: time out. Refuel.
Don’t Panic.
I will be back with something to say. I will be back with good news.
Don’t wait up; I’ll wake you when I arrive.
– Mardra
Groups
Mardra hosts Vanishing Points and is a member of "Exceptional Ekphrasis", Buyers Club, Castle Magic, Fantasy Art, Feminine Intent (LIMIT TWO IMAGES PER DAY), Flash Fiction, Happy Hour, RedBubble Nude, The Greatest View in the World, The Word Tree and Writing Workshop.
Journal Entries
Don't wait up
Posted about 1 month ago.
Mothers Day - Indulge me
Posted about 1 month ago, 1 comment so far.
On the ground shortly
Posted 2 months ago, 7 comments so far.
Writer's Blech
Posted 3 months ago, 1 comment so far.
All in good fun
Posted 4 months ago, 2 comments so far.
Mardra - in another language
Posted 4 months ago, 8 comments so far.
Now What do I do?
Posted 5 months ago, 2 comments so far.
Fortune Cookies and the New Year
Posted 6 months ago, 2 comments so far.
Selective Service
Posted 6 months ago, 4 comments so far.
Write hard about what hurts
Posted 7 months ago, 3 comments so far.
Art
Writing
Three - A Woman of Strength
Magdeline took the infant. She moved her fingers across his tiny muscles; she felt his ribs; she noted the color of his skin and the depth of his breath. The Prince did not cry.
Why do I write?
The endorphins of the addiction give me the texture, enable the distorted visions, and find the purpose in tragedy.
Sleeping on the Shop Floor
And then, nights after our vending machine snack, we’d get ready for bed. We didn’t go home to bed. We took our pillows and blankets and laid them in Grandpa’s office
One - Peter
The aroma was thick enough to be swallowed. An acquired taste: a roomful of old men, smoke, and a bottomless barrel of ale.
Naked Garden
She was nude, but no chill had ever been felt to her skin. The softness of her innocence mirrored the purity of the garden.
Strength of Winter
A scene that proves the sum of all color is white.
