Autumn Thoughts

October 2007

It is autumn in the Northern hemisphere. For most of my life, it has been my favourite season.

These are the days of lengthening shadows, of shorter days and frosty mornings. The trees put on a display of riotous colour, their leafy forms, all golden-red, contrasting boldly with skies awash in clear, crisp blue. Underfoot, those leaves that have given their final show, lay scattered across my path. And each day the branches, the skeletons of the deciduous trees, reveal more and more of their unique and rarefied beauty, no longer hidden, no longer masked by foliage.

As my novel, Gabriella, is introduced to this world, I am grateful to have autumn as my companion. It is helping to remind me, in a profound and shockingly beautiful manner, that I, too, have cycles and seasons, that each moment of my life has given way to the next, that what has looked like death, has actually, been birth.

To quote Edwin Way Teale:
Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never again will be; what is, is change.

Judy’s First Post

Five years ago, nearly to the day, the seed for Gabriella was planted deeply within my heart and mind. Bringing that seed to fruition has been a profoundly healing journey, in so many ways, on so many levels.

Early in the process, I became acutely aware that I had spent most of the years of my adult life finding way to give voice to other people’s words and music, lending my creativity to amazing and beautiful stories that other writers and composers had given birth to. And, until the story of Gabriella came to me late one night, as I sat high upon a hill, above the Mediterranean Sea, gazing at a glorious display of swirling stars, it had been enough.

And then, in an instant, it wasn’t…It really wasn’t enough to be an interpreter of someone else’s symbols on a page, of someone else’s notes on a staff.

That first glorious spark of inspiration was also one of recognition. I love that word, recognition, its root is from the Latin and means, “to know again”. I think that when I began to follow the meandering path of character and story, I was invited, in the unfolding of Gabriella’s world, into a new relationship, with, not only her, but with parts of myself as well. Parts I had long ignored, neglected, belittled and abused. I began to re-member and, very slowly, pieces of my personal puzzle began to fit together, as fragments of me came forward, gently asking to be reintroduced to my consciousness.

It has been a remarkable season, filled with paradox and grace, and an ever-deepening understanding of how to take good care of this emergent creative expression. How to balance the joy and sorrow, confidence and insecurity, excitement and disappointment I experience. I sometimes strained, trying to hear each word, to clearly see each scene, every nuance, as it magically unfolded in the sacred place within some quiet corner of my Spirit. And then, when I found that place, all straining ceased.

Maybe that silent mystical space is where imagination abides. In my yearning to visit there more often, and with far greater ease, I have learned two lessons, which have changed my life:

I do best when I write in pencil. I guess the childlike nature in me finds the sound and feel of graphite on white paper incredibly freeing and so I play without judgment.


When I have asked for help, and boy, have I asked for help, people have responded in ways that have literally taken my breath away.
Or, to quote Gabriella,
Giving love is half the test.
Receiving it is all the rest.

Published in: on October 9, 2007 at 7:26 pm  Leave a Comment  
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