The 100-day writing project.
That sounds a bit intimidating, doesn’t it? I mean 30 days is fine, maybe even 60 days seems doable but 100 days? Yes! It does indeed require a lot of commitment. And that’s the challenge.
Being a writer comes with a set of challenges and being consistent is one among ’em. We wait, we wait, and we wait to be struck by inspiration to write but it doesn’t happen unless we become proactive.
You get what I’m saying, right?
Take the bull by the horns.
Don’t wait for the motivation to hit you, you go ahead and grab the motivation yourself.
So you might ask why the 100-day writing project?
Even I have no idea but one thing I know for sure is it’s gonna teach us to be consistent with one thing. We dabble in too many things these days and our attention span is no more than 30 seconds, and that’s exactly the reason for our dissatisfaction in life.
I’m onto my 12th day in this project and I definitely see how it strengthens my creative muscle. In all honesty, this is what I see.
- It develops a habit of writing.
- You write better.
- You break out of your writer’s block.
- You get better ideas.
- You channel your emotions in an effective manner.
Now I’ll get to the point, “How I do it“?
Usually, this was supposed to be a solo project. But I made it into a group project which obviously escalated the benefits twofold. Since this became a group activity, another pro that I see is networking with other writers. I created a Facebook group for writers called ‘Creative Inner Circle‘. Currently, the group has over 200 passionate writers (which happened in just one month) and it’s growing fast. The members of the group are so interactive and so talented and I get to learn so much from them every waking hour.
As a host, I’m having a great time reading their writings. I share writing prompts every morning in the group and the writers write around those cues or else they will even come up with something on their own. The only goal is to write every day without fail.
I also created Google docs for submitting their writings so we could go back and revisit the day we did our best. Honestly, I’m enjoying creating all the resources for such a passionate bunch of writers. And I love how diversified this group is, there are bloggers, published authors, aspiring authors, and hobby writers. Some of them are writing for decades and some just barely started but everybody in the group is kind enough to share their knowledge and help their fellow writers.
What else can we ask from any community?
A little help, a few kind words, and appreciation.
So I took permission to share some of their writings here so you could have a glance at what happens inside our CIC.
Oh, you Sky!
You are so high
With no pillars by your side
You make me wanna fly high
You make me wanna achieve greater heights
You tell me that my limit is the sky
But I aim for the star
– Abdullateef Oladapo
Dear Singing Storyteller,
I see the need to reintroduce yourself to you.
Just in case you have forgotten who you are.
Perhaps you have forgotten the Ministry that was committed into your hands…
From that first day decades ago, when you heard those words in a dream…
THE MINISTRY OF WORDS ON PAPER.
Words written as stories. Words written as lyrics. Lyrics of music.
You are but a singing storyteller.
Your stories are full of words crafted from the sensible and senseless occurrences around you.
From the unspoken forces and emotions within you.
From the myriads of thoughts that run through your mind.
From the world of reality and from that imaginary world where everything is possible.
Every one of your stories has exactly the same mission ….to educate, edify and entertain.
Dear Singing Storyteller,
Do not allow this creative side of you to be stifled by the million and one things that seek your attention.
The day you do that, YOU CEASE TO HAVE A VOICE.
Because your writings speak volumes.
Keep on speaking through the words you write in your stories. Speak on through the lyrics of your songs.
Speak through the thousand and one things you write every day.
(Including the ones that will never see the light of day.
Maybe they are the ones that will save your own soul).
Paint pictures with your words so that some may hear and see what they have otherwise been too deaf to hear or too blind to see.
Dear Singing Storyteller,
Who would have known the world history if no one told the story?
What would have become of the Ephesians, the Galatians, the Corinthians, and all the rest of them, if Paul did not write to them?
Who would have told of the Revelation if John refused to write?
And all the mighty writers, who would have taught them too?
The world has learnt great lessons through what these people wrote.
Dear Singing Storyteller,
You need no validation of your writings.
You need no applause for it is not a circus.
You need no tribe for you are just a messenger.
Enough of the delay. Stop self-sabotaging.
Every word counts. Every story matters. Every song is a hit.
For the sake of that one soul, it is meant to hit…WRITE IT AND RELEASE IT!
Love from Yourself to You.
This Mother’s Day, a call, a new DP, or a gift won’t do,
Nor would a dinner, a pedicure, or her name on the tattoo.
For that can be done for one or maybe a couple more,
But this year gave us mothers that are not countable for sure.
The stranger who handed that shaky cup of tea,
‘It will be a long night” he’d said, tapping softly on the knee.
The ward boy who had said a silent prayer for you,
And thanked God while seeing you later make it through.
The comforting silence, the tea, and tap on the knee,
Were all the branches of the same old tree.
The prayer, the hug, the offered chair, and that hesitant tear,
Like a mother handling her child’s anxiety, doubt, and fear.
The year melted all the barriers and confines,
Motherhood transcended beyond bloodlines.
No gender, no age, not even of the same species,
It made sudden appearances, like some long unfound legacies.
Few hands shuttled to feed hundreds every day,
If not a mother, I do not know of anyone who’d do that today.
The resolve to comfort, to care, to heal, and to provide,
These invisible mothers were rising from each corner, all sides.
I don’t know what would be a good suggestion,
How’d you celebrate this selfless service, care, and affection?
How’d you show your gratitude to them, when most couldn’t do?
What words would perfectly say the best ‘Thank You?’
This Mother’s Day, let’s open our hearts a bit more,
And be that one who leaves a little mother-like feeling at the core.
In prayers, in wishes, in small deeds of goodness,
Let’s remember this newfound light and spread its brightness.
Someone left us these memories to cherish,
Now that they’ve started, let’s take it to the finish.
Make that call, lend that hand, do something to ease the pain,
In this parched land, let’s try to be the cloud and bring some rain.
– Lilima Kumar
To see a garden by moonlight
is the closest one gets to black and white.
Dark statuesque conifers backdrop
Other greens muted in contrast.
Defined by shape and tone
Spiky shafts, and glossy round leaves
catch a glint of light,
yellow and white flowers
add a dazzling zing of delight.
– Caro Ayre
I dig into the cold dirt, the flowers sitting next to me, eagerly awaiting to be placed in their permanent home.
The black soil under my fingernails flashes me to last summer, picking tomatoes and jalapenos from our garden.
Making salsa and tomato sauce and lasagna. The food just grows and grows and grows. So much so that I’m giving it away to friends, with dirt still caked on my nails. As I pull up the weeds and move dirt around I’m reminded of backpacking in the Diamond Peak Wilderness.
Feeling the earth below my feet as I hike farther and farther into the deep woods
The lake exposing itself as we round the ridge towards our campsite for the evening
The cool refreshing mountain lake soothes my aching bones, refreshes my worn-out body
Survival is all that matters out there, find some wood, start a fire, and cook our food
The sounds of the trees blowing in the wind soothe me to sleep, a natural lullaby with a sense of danger
I don’t know what lurks beyond the walls of my tent
Waking up to the sun and the morning breeze, cold feet on the solid earth, breakfast over the smolders of the evening fires. The hike back is exhilarating, I’m excited to see society but I long for the vastness of the woods.
Snapped back to the reality of digging a hole for my flowers
I am humbled by this earth
I am in awe of its beauty and bounty
I let my fingers linger for longer than necessary just to let them feel the cool cold earth.
– Molly Newhard
A dream that lives
A dream that grows
A dream that excites, upsets, and suffers
A dream that happens with eyes wide-open
And a dream that I wanna take chances again and again for,
A dream that lets me find happiness in sleepless nights,
A dream that lets me appreciate the body aches after a long workday,
A dream that builds me every day,
A dream that makes it all worthwhile.
And a life without it seems like the sky without the moon.
I am a Writer,
and I dream to be Better.
Your mind is a beautiful landscape
Elemental!
Your ideas are like the tall trees
That change color with the changing seasons
Your strength like the mountain range stands
Hard rock that crumbles rarely
Your desires the ever-flowing, ever-changing stream
Gush forth like your passion
Your mop of hair
A shaded thicket of grey and white
And your love
A rainbow, multi-hued, blesses All and sundry
But you seem oblivious
That the Sepia, brown, red,
Muddy, black, and grey hued
Earth you sleep or trudge on
Is yours truly.
The Canadian goose is impressively large. They are bigger by far than most of the other birds here in North Carolina. They aren’t normally aggressive, though. Many local forums actually suggest that you can make them quite agreeable to your presence if you bring the right foods and treat them with kindness.
On my first day of work, there was a Canadian goose in the parking lot right in front of where I parked. I remember thinking how strange it felt. I moved from a thousand miles away, and an area where that type of goose just isn’t seen. In Louisiana, the swan is much more common and much more aggressive. Having something that size that didn’t chase me made me feel welcome, even though I can’t quite explain why. I texted some friends from back home and sent the picture that you see here. One of my ex-coworkers named him Tom Honks.
Tom Honks spent a lot of time around the office. He was always there in the morning, some afternoons, and he wandered the parking lot across the street as I left at 5:00 to go home. A month in, I see that he’s got a lady goose with him! We will call her Waddle Wilson. The two of them weaved in and out of the parking lot, brushing up against the wolf stakes that were placed there to scare them off.
Lately, there have been four new additions to the party: Tom and Waddle have little goslings that follow them around. Since the little ones require lots of food to grow fast, they’ve been grazing through the parking lots one street over, where clover is abundant and they can chew the little white buds to get all the nutrition they need.
Friday I left work late enough that it had quieted down in our little industrial block and the family was attempting to cross the street. I stopped a good distance back to give them all the space they need. Tom Honks was leading the formation, marching slow and deliberate. The four goslings ran like an unruly creek behind him, spilling over each other, separating and rejoining as they crossed. Waddle Wilson managed from behind, stepping left and right to keep the little goslings from straying too far and get everyone across safely. There’s always one, though. One particularly slow and distracted gosling got so far behind that she had to waddle back and get him, and the two made their way alone for the second half of the street crossing.
I hope you enjoyed reading these stories and poems from our CIC’s 100-day writing project. We are on the 12th day of this challenge, but if you are a writer and you wish to have a community to connect with, please join us. We would be so happy to have you.
Then enter CIC.
I’ll see you soon again!
Happy scribbling!
Cheers,
Nikki.