Tag Archives: Writing

The untamed wilderness of heart-song…

Each heartbeat a longing for desire

Each step a call to the wild

The wind stirs up the dust of lust

Dancing in the moonlight

Circling your soul

Heat radiating from the Earth

Warming your thoughts

Power rising in the night

Simplicity and eternity

Woven into the galaxy

Stars twinkling with a mischievous grin

Sweet fragrant blossoms of the midnight hour

The scent of untamed beauty

The opening of a heart

The echo of a promise

The lure of a future

If you only step beyond the imaginary confines of your mind

And out into the wild

To wield your magic into the night

By Yours Truly a.k.a. Maria Montgomery 

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Filed under Love, night, Poem, poetry, Soul, Uncategorized

Clock, tik tok…

The clock was like a grand old lady – timeless, yet on time. Tik tok, tik tok. Steady, but frail, knowing it was living in a world so different from what it was born into. Knowing it was time. Little time. Left.

It was a foreigner in its own home. The times had changed. And it had measured it all. Tik tok, tik tok.

At first it had taken pleasure in the changes – in seeing children grow up and find love. In being there as times changed. But then, it had moved beyond its time.

Tik tok, tik tok.

It was time, but it did not want to go. Did not want to leave, because it did not know where it was going.

It had seen so much, explored the colors and textures of the world, and it wanted to do it all again. There had been hard times too. Wars. But it had come through and found the world beautiful once more. Births and laughter instead of deaths and sorrow. Happiness always returned, albeit in different forms. You lost one thing and found another.

It had all been different times though. The times it had belonged to. Now, time was slipping. Turning into a future the clock could not grasp, because it did not belong there. Time was up.

And as sleep would come a new adventure would start. And time, time would keep moving.

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Filed under Musings, poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Jesters and the night…

Night flutters by and leaves a blanket of comforting darkness to hide in. Sounds fade and the lonely feel lonelier, whilst those content find themselves listening to their own heart and the faded sounds of nature. They discover in the muted darkness what was hidden in the blurred technicolor events of the day. Strong winds are sometimes heard, blocking out all other noises. On such nights restless souls find themselves wondering, worrying, or maybe dreaming of possibilities to come. As dust is stirred imagination is awakened.

With dawn possibilities arise. The night feels far away, almost like a dream hidden in the clouds of consciousness. You aren’t really sure if the thoughts that were awakened were your true heart’s desire, or folly. It seems but a vague memory now, maybe with some bits of clarity attached to it. Other times you feel thankful for sunrise as what you faced was not your heart, but your demons. As morning arrive you feel cleansed. Reborn.

Daylight tugs at you. Pulling you to create what night whispered in your ear, or to create something new to avoid returning to that which you heard in the night. You move into action, heralded by the thunder of your heart and the promise of life. One more day. One more chance.

It is funny what night does to you.

Just another little piece of The Jester.

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Filed under night, poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

How to write a naughty, but nice, tale…

Yesterday I went to the labia. No, I did not go inside myself, more than in an analytical manner, rather I went to the Labia Theatre. And before you ask, no, it does not look like nether parts of someone’s anatomy either. It’s an old fashioned boho style cinema showing quality movies at a great price. It’s one of my favorite places in this world.

I gave a friend of mine a movie as a treat for her birthday, but I suspect I might have been one step closer than her to Heaven in the theatre. There is something about good storytelling which makes my heart soar. Thinking back to a conversation with my sister earlier in the week about how lucky I am to have found that storytelling and leading creative projects are my passions, I must once again nod in acknowledgement to this. Whilst my career path has never been straight and I work for free more often than I work for money, I love what I do. I have passion. And for that I’m very grateful.

Any story well-told inspires me, be it a book, a film, or a blog. There are many fascinating stories, but not everyone is capable of telling them in entertaining ways. I’m particularly impressed when heavy matters are discussed in an enlightening or humorous manner, so as to engage the reader/viewer and leave them inspired by the end of the tale. (If newspapers could only do that, the world would be a happier place.) One example of this is The Wolf of Wall Street, another The Dressmaker, which we watched yesterday. Humor turns a bitter tale sweet and filled with laughter. In The Dressmaker you also see the heart of some hardened characters, whilst you see the comedy (parody) in the not so lovable characters.

There was something which bugged me about the movie though and that was that the end seemed an anti-climax. You see, there are all these things in the beginning that build up the life of the main character. No matter how hard, her life is progressing. Then, suddenly, everything goes to hell quite literally. And whilst the end is a happy one, I felt there was too much bitterness in it. The movie needed one last scene where the past was forgot and the future was the present. It didn’t need to be a future where all was bright, but a future in which the character had inner peace, not revenge, in her heart.

Now, of course, that’s just my take on events, but it felt like the bittersweetness turned rather bitter in the end. Could just have been that Chris Hemsworth disappeared off the screen. After all, there’s something to be said for six packs on the silver screen. Women are easily distracted by this kind of display and it can’t be helped if we feel a certain kind of disappointment if we are later robbed of it.

I must return to my paid work duties now. It’s also the end of the tax year in some countries today, which means I’m in a state of terror. People look upon my life and tell me I’m brave – they’ve never seen my face when I receive bank statements, bills and tax returns. Any form I have to fill out leaves me shivering. Which is why I need to get back to my paid work so I can hire a PA before someone sues me for filling in the wrong form.

Later. After I’ve had a nervous breakdown and restorative quantities of wine and chocolate. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

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Filed under filmmaking, Storytelling, Uncategorized, Writing

Good morning lover…

Each person is a story. Graspable and ungraspable at the same time. Comprehensible, yet incomprehensible. As a person leaves this world, what is left is the impact they had on others; their story turning into other people’s stories. Still, with each person gone a story is lost, unless captured in memories, photos, films and books. Fragments of a life, pieced together. Analysis from people who most likely don’t understand. They create their own stories around the story. Still, that’s what makes it so beautiful – how we fuel our own fires with that of someone else’s. Yet, at the same time, it’s the tragedy as we will feed our own beliefs to the point of ridicule. Look at what happened in Germany, look at what’s happening with terrorism today. The religion at fault. The scapegoat.

Give me a word and I’ll write you a poem. I can even write you a story. I can write about anything. I can make up the unbelievable and believable. In high school I called certain discussions and essays “intellectual bullshitting.” I still do. I can take a quote or a novel and make up almost anything about what it means. I can weave it into a nice story and argue my point of view. You can debate anything if you really want to. I can look at things from different point of views and argue them; making up more arguments as I go along. Most people don’t. Most people look at it from their point of view; using the fabric of their life as a point of reference. Just like I do when I write poems and stories. I’ll write about anything you ask, but it’s still me. It’s different things I see. Different aspects of my life. And sometimes I like arguing the points I haven’t resolved myself, nor know if they are resolvable. By the end of the day we know very little. Life evolves and we with it. Today is not tomorrow, nor yesterday. Yet, I still believe we can learn from the stories of others.

Sometimes we find ourselves in stories too. Like I’ve said in previous blogs, artists connect us through their art. For a moment in a note, in a lyric, in a painting, in a choreography we find ourselves. A part of our world. And we feel connected to the artist. At the same time, we created our own story around the story. We connected with what we felt; not necessarily with what they meant.

And there he was this young boy…he was strumming my pain with his fingers, singing my life with his words… – The Fugees (One of my favorite lines of all time because it describes that moment of connection perfectly; in love and in art.)

The media writes stories all the time. It comes up with opinions of its own. I once read that because Oscar Pretorious once lied and once ended up in a pub brawl (or similar) where he shouted “I’ll kill you,” he was a murderer. I’m wondering how many people have lied and at one point shouted “I’ll kill you” in a fit of anger? I presume there are quite a few murderers in our midst if this is what makes you a murderer.

It’s rare to read articles about what we can learn from so and so conflict and how we can best resolve it. Experts are wired to talk about it from a certain angle. I’ve rarely ever heard someone scream “Yes, let’s get some immigrants and involve them in a project in our country whilst the war is on so that we all come out richer because of it.” Not sure that’s possible, my point is mainly that people tend to view situations from a certain angle (it’s a “crisis” not an “opportunity”) and therefore go about creating results based on their assumptions.

Collaborations across man made borders is a beautiful thing. It’s also rare. Because there are borders of beliefs. Of assumptions. Of trains of thought, religion and politics. But it’s possible. And stories help it become possible as they share our humanity with the world. Romeo wasn’t all that different from Juliet after all. The Capulets and the Montagues.

Stories to me is about how we see life. I tend to see mine as a tale; one where I can add magic by changing my point of view. I’ve also been known to make decisions based on how well it will suit the plot of my life. Adventure normally comes before sanity. Sometimes that leads to plot twists. Yet, at other times I’m so dedicated to my dreams I forget to live entirely, I just work and lose the plot with it…

Stories to me are also my life in so many other ways. I write them for others. I write them for myself. I have a passion for sharing people’s stories. I want to create products that create stories for people; give them an opportunity to enjoy the magic of a moment that was crafted for them. The story was written for them and they get to experience it. All products, in essence, are stories waiting to happen.

I just took a break from a very busy day to write this as I felt the need to write for me, not clients…and because the threads of a poem started coming to me as I was walking around doing some things round the cottage and I felt like taking five to write it down. You’ll find it below. And I could tell you what each line means. I could tell you what made me laugh about it. I could. Or you could just write your own story around it. Mine is my secret. Written in plain sight.

Good Morning Lover

He blew by on the wind
Chili mingled with salt
Spices calmed by yoghurt
Mildness and sweetness
Yet that undertone of hot sauce and fruity notes
Playful adventure; hot desire
You meet, you greet, you feel
You learn to taste them
See them for who they truly are
Discover their scent, layer by layer, until only the base notes remain
Yet they wouldn’t be the base without the heart and the top notes
You fumble
Search
Through the dust and the sweat; passion tangled in starched sheets
Midnight reveries
You search, yet you already know
You stand there half-drunk on possibility
Possibly scared of heartbreak
Like two souls semi-conscious at the dawn of eternity
As the sun cuts through the clouds

By Maria Montgomery

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Tangled Up

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Filed under poetry, Stories, Storytelling, The Media, Uncategorized, writers, Writing

The movie in my mind…

Have you ever had a dream, or an idea? And slowly worked to make it a reality?

As an entrepreneur and filmmaker I have plenty. There are scripts that have lived inside my mind for years. Ever so often I have an idea for a new scene. I just lack the time to sit down and write all my ideas down. It makes me mad sometimes. I just want some time you know. To get all those scripts on paper. Of course I write on them sometimes, but with regular work, being on the board of two charities and launching a business, there just isn’t much time. On top of which I help with the kids. When Magique is up and running there will be some time. Till then I continue to see random scenes inside my head at any random time.

Truth be told though, even with time to work on my scripts it wouldn’t stop. Because new ideas come to me constantly. I have stories living inside of me.

Today it hit me how weird it is looking at the progress of Magique sometimes – I’ve spent thousands of hours on an idea. I’ve developed a brand, products and strategies for something which isn’t tangible yet, save the brand and the website. To me each step; each brand and marketing presentation I put together, each strategy, each calculation, each element that ends up on a piece of paper is amazing, as I see the company coming alive. At the same time I find it peculiar how I can have spent so long with an idea inside of me which I have developed endlessly, without it being an actuality. And whilst I know we’re launching some products I don’t know if we will get the money to launch it the way I envision, or if it will take off the way I envision. In which case I’ve spent an incredible amount of time building up a world that will never be experienced by most people. It’s really quite bizarre.

Then again, Magique is my world. And the world I will always live with.

Of course I also love the process of both putting together companies and movies. It’s my passion. And I learn from each project. But still, it’s kind of mind-boggling isn’t it? To have this vision and try to bring it alive, not knowing if you’ll succeed, no matter how much you believe in it. But until you do, you are trapped by a reality you aren’t enjoying. For me my dream was always to do what I love and do plenty of it. I’m a workaholic by nature, because to me that’s living. Movies and companies. Projects. Art. Creating. And unless I’m free to create I feel trapped. So every day I do what I can to reach freedom.

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Filed under adventures in life, Business, dreams, Entrepreneurship, Film, fulfillment, Passion, Uncategorized, Writing

Vanilla sunbeams…

Isn’t it random how one thought leads to another? How stuff comes out of our mouth, or is written by our hands? Of course there’s some logic to the madness, but still…it fascinates me. Often I don’t even know what I will write before I’m writing it. My New Age friends would say I’m channeling, but I suspect it’s only the stories stored in my soul that come out to play…

An L.A. Man

You make me coffee

I’ll make your dreams

High on caffeine we’ll swirl through the ether

As one does

When one has New Age friends

Who are vegan and care for Mother Earth

As our roots dig deeper

We fly higher

Till we reach the sky

Our spirits soar

Mixing with the matter

Of our ancient souls

Stardust

And you pray that it will last

And I pray that I won’t fall

Then we’ll wear our suits

Attend the parties

With our New Age friends

Who are dressed for the paparazzi

Eating vegan food

And you’ll tell me that one day we flew

But that day is gone

It’s been mixed with the matter

That is now our soul

Which we sold

To a devil named Oscar

Vanilla Sunbeams

Vanilla ice cream

Sunbeams

Fingertips touching

And you melt

Salt crushing between fingers

As I touch your hair

Magic

By Maria Montgomery 

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