Posted in Enterprise fan fiction, Flash Fiction Pieces, Just for Fun!, Life Writing, Mindful Monday, Writing in Freedom

In a Playful Holiday Spirit: Mindful Monday

Do you play? If so, how, when, where, why, and with whom?

What do you think of when you hear the word play? Is it a single activity, or a wild array of options – a structured garden, or a wild meadow?

Can you say or write the word ‘play’ in another language? Sign it?

What good is play? Is it possible to play mindfully? What would that look like?

What would a life centered around play – one where play is the goal of the family, look like? Is that possible? Is it a good idea, or a disaster waiting to happen?

I’ve been mulling the idea of play very seriously, these last few days., turning it over and over in my mind, like the rock I hold when I meditate (for playful reasons of my own, I refer to this as my trellium rock). I’m exploring it through all of my senses, and at different angles.

And I’ll likely be coming back to it, again and again, here on my blog.

Today, two childhood memories arose They’re connected to each other, and to play. I don’t promise that I have the words of these memory-voices exactly right,because memory and perception are, at best, capricious things…

Memory #1:

I’m sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of black coffee. I’ve got a pen in my hand, and I’m writing yet another Star Trek fan fiction Spock story. My parents don’t know this, but it’s an erotic story, as all of my stories are. I think I’m about sixteen years old. The erotica is particularly bad; I’ve got no personal experience to go on, at this point in my life.

Why are you wasting time with that scribbling?” My father yells. “You’ll never make any money writing, unless you become a journalist. Otherwise, this is just a pipe dream.”

I don’t want to be a journalist. At sixteen, I already know I’m too opinionated; a trait inherited  honestly. I don’t want to report objectively; I want to write what I want, and find the truth in the stories I weave.

Memory #2:

 My mother is finishing supper preparations, and I’m setting the table, because it’s my job.

How can someone as smart as you like such a stupid show?” Her voice is scornful; it always is when Star Trek comes up.

“It’s not a stupid show -” I start, but she cuts me off. She doesn’t want to hear it; her mind is made up. Judgment has been passed, and it’s a stupid show, so that’s that. She doesn’t really want an answer from me, anyway.

So there’s no point in telling her that, for me, Star Trek is a fascinating playground full of new ideas, new philosophies, new possibilities. I don’t dare tell her that it’s my lifeline when things are too much in our volatile home? And how could I ever tell her how very much I love to play with Vulcans, or why?!

And Now…

For decades, I heard those voices endlessly repeat in my mind. I didn’t stop loving Star Trek – without it, quite simply, I wouldn’t be me…it’s woven into my warp and my weft, and indelible part of the pattern of my life.

I didn’t stop writing, either (or, at least, thinking about writing, since there was a marked dry spell of actually putting words to paper when my children were small). I didn’t even stop writing Star Trek fan fiction.

I put my writing guiltily in spiral bound notebooks; when they were full, I guiltily piled them on a shelf, or in a cupboard – proof of the time a smart person had spent stupidly, and of my childish refusal to give up onpipe dreams.

I seldom showed them to anyone, except my best friend. Once in a while, I would read one of the ‘naughty’ bits to my Accomplice. But, for the most part, those stories just sat there, gathering dust, taunting me.

If you browse the sidebar, you’ll see that’s no longer the case.

These days, I treat all of my writing – fanfic and otherwise. – as mindful play. The fanfic itself has changed, some – I’m more likely to write Trip and T’Pol shipping stories now than I am Spock stories. But, regardless of the particulars, that’s my playground, my sandbox, my learning lab. It’s indispensable to me, as a writer and a human being.

I learn about writing from them – and I learn about myself, and the world I inhabit, at the same time. I’m a better writer and a better human because of them…

And, this holiday season, I’ve decided to honor that.


Beginning tomorrow, December 1, I’ll be sharing my Enterprise Advent Calendar.

What’s that?

Well, for that part, you’ll just have to wait a day – (or, if it’s after December 1, 2015 when you read this, click the date and be a time traveler!).

Come on back tomorrow, and open that Very First Tab!

Click for more Mindful Monday playtime!


I am myself. I own my life, and live with three other people who own theirs. My intention is to do only those things that bring me joy, and to give myself wholly to those things I do. Writing has been my passion throughout my life, and this will become the home for my writing life...because it brings me great joy!

2 thoughts on “In a Playful Holiday Spirit: Mindful Monday

  1. For the last three years or so, my blog has been my playground.
    Before that (it’s hard to think of a “time before writing”) I guess I’d say my mind played in books.

    I’d read a couple of books a week, hungrily consuming each new story as if it were the oxygen that kept my imagination alive.
    Now, since the writing bug attached itself to me, (like one of those flying pancakes in Star Trek that nearly did for the non-erotic Spock all those years ago) I’ve barely even looked at a book.
    The part of my brain that used to be so desperate to absorb other people’s imaginary worlds has become fixated on creating my own little universes to play in.
    I sometimes look at my rapidly growing, precariously teetering book pile (just because I’m not reading them, it doesn’t mean I’ve stopped buying them) and I feel vaguely guilty that all those words are trapped between the covers, eager to make that life-giving connection with someone’s imagination. But then another idea pops into my head, demanding to be committed to one of the increasing number of online platforms that I’ve built my playground in, and suddenly all that matters is adding to the mental universe I’ve brought into existence, hoping that it has the same effect on someone, somewhere, as those stories did that fed my ravenous mind for all those years.

    (You see: I could have just commented “Writing is what I do for fun”, but where’s the fun in that?)

    1. First off, what do you mean, ‘non-erotic Spock’?! Those are fighting words! Spock is sexy. All the time. =)

      I’m glad you went into detail. It was a great deal of fun to read, and I totally understand that desire to read, but being so consumed by my own worlds that I can’t seem to get to them.

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