We are miners striking new ore at every depth.~Julia Cameron (From Transitions)

I participate in an ill-advised practice regarding my endeavor to write novels. I don't follow an outline. Most authors speaking of their creative process do not support this technique--or lack thereof. I, too, feel somewhat threatened by own audacity. I engage in a rather mysterious undertaking of asking questions to my characters. "What are you trying to teach me?" I ask. This week a character spoke. She's realigning her life, attempting to get in touch with desires that she's repressed for years. She takes a walk along the coastline where she lives and looks up at the night sky, the stars flung out like a tapestry. She shouts amidst the clamor and murmuring of ocean waves, "Do you stars surrender to your brilliance?" 

I became intrigued by her question--so much so that I explored her cry to the starlit darkness in a poem.

DO THE STARS SURRENDER TO THEIR BRILLIANCE

Do the stars surrender to their brilliance?

Do clouds cease resistance to the winds?

What is letting go?

What is releasing my grip?

What am I holding, my knuckles white with dedication?

Does the rose feel terror to unlatch its heady perfume?

Or do flowers innately perceive their existence is bound up in extravagance?

The tapestry of galaxies, cloud lightness and unfurled petals do not clutch and grasp as I do.

They accept their elegance--shining, fragrant, named by God. Adored. 

May your creative process be blessed and expanded as you mine the depths of who you are, no matter your technique.