When I first started the Larkspur Horne 4 years ago, I did not think anyone would read it. It was a nook for my spouting thoughts, for my fantasy, for my poetry, it was anything but professional and orderly – but it was me. Projects that never got completed, stories that went nowhere, a journal at times, successes, failures; how imperfect Larkspur Horne is, and how pure. Many people have inquired me about the name, and without going into detail, it was inspired by a dream I had, with a pool and a rising of flowers, and a thin horn being blown. Much like its inception in my sleeping mind, it has existed organically, growing wild and uncured, pulled entirely by the sun. I had no plan, no real reason other than I wanted it. Writing is a compulsion of mine, an itch I’ve had since my single digit days, and a blog seemed a natural companion for a 21st century writer to have. The 20th century literaries had their typewriters; the 19th had their journals and pencils; the 18th had their fountain pens and portfolios; and here we are, We Happy Few, with glowing screens in our eyes each early, early morn, each late, late night.
And so we grow, whether we want to or not. Change comes for us as persistently as time, and we will have to go along with it, even if we have become comfortable. We are not designed to stay as we are – we must change. But transition is often hard, and always bumpy. One struggles to pick a direction amongst all these choices. This last month, I have been choosing; choosing what I want to have, where I want to go, who I want to be. This is Freedom’s little joke on us: to have, to proceed, is to also let go. My Larkspur Horne, I am going to let you go.
I’ll still visit, from time to time. Once a month or so, or less. But when the boots don’t fit anymore, it’s time to buy a new pair. This blog has been a bed of soil, and in it I have grown. From a dreamy Bluestocking seedling that couldn’t get her act together, to a budding self-publisher, to a published poet, Larkspur Horne and the WordPress community helped me bloom. Everyday I was inspired by my fellow writers and poets; everyday I was impressed by the abundance of talent that exists in little unknown people all over the world; everyday, I felt emboldened by all the small and long odes and poems and stories showing up in my feed. It is truly like receiving buckets of postcards and letters in my mailbox each morning, so many secret longings and joys that flumed out my computer screen and spilled over me like a waterfall. Human beings are remarkable. You are remarkable, and everyday you strangers pouring yourselves into the cables of this vast network were my muses. According to many ‘rule-books’ on blogging, I did everything wrong with Larkspur Horne. I left pages blank, fictions went nowhere, I didn’t post regularly, did not consistently act upon comments, often forgot to properly credit images, I was bad at cultivating a following, I often left for weeks or more without notifying; I, under the recommended Terms and Conditions of Successful Blogger, am a horrible failure. And yet, Larkspur Horne has been nothing but a total accomplishment.
For you out there, banging your keyboards, scribbling chicnscratch notes, sending accidental texts of lyrics to your friends and family members in the ungodly a.m. hours, for you, I’ll say this: just do it. Make your blogs as you want them. Damn the Likes and damn the Likers. Don’t post on schedule. Spend weeks out walking the riverbanks and thumbing the tree leaves, allow your followers to slump in their chairs wondering where you’ve gone. Make spelling mistakes. Speak your heart; do it kindly, but don’t sacrifice your thoughts. Experiment. Read books and tell people about them. Don’t chase fame. Do chase the tail of the tiger, teasing you with his striped road of ribboning words. Be yourself, but change. This will all change. Make sure you pick up a real pen every now and again, and draw those letters in whiplash style.
The Larkspur Horne has had many fumbling wisdoms, but some have stood out. 1.) Love nature. 2.) You are brave. 3.) Be kind. 4.) Uncertainty is life. So this little lark has sang that little song over and over in annoying repetitive exaltation.
Even so, she is just a little thing; a small bird in a big blue sky. There are other things I want to do, want to write, want to create. But Larkspur Horne will always have a special place in my heart, and she’ll still be around.
Let’s grow up, all over again.