Notes from god on my ozymandian drafts

All I do every morning is lie in a kind of half-life where I yearn for the spirituality I once had and yet at the same time I yearn for something else, I don’t know what,,,,,,,,,,,,

wait, yes I do know
the minute i wrote that
i understood

isn’t that funny, you can’t know it while lying there unless you get connected to god
and if you don’t get connected to god
then you keep lying there waiting for it to happen
but it doesn’t happen because of your ambition

to be somebody
be somebody


the minute you finally put your feet on the floor
and force yourself to write that one line of truth for yourself
you understand

except that if you haven’t written the truth you really won’t

that last line was me trying to be right all the time
so I explain myself
and then I hate myself for having done that
and when I hate myself
I lose god completely

hello god it’s me nadine

hello nadine

can you hear me I am sad


i hear you


well tell me god what do I do


stop asking god about petty things


hello Ic please step aside


so god what do I do


about those drafts?


yes about those drafts


well they were written in the moment

and then trashed the moment you didn’t publish them

the moment you tried to make them perfect

the moment you cared too much

the moment you hoped to hide

or hoped to explain

or hoped to gain

or hoped for no pain

they died


funeral for my ozymandian drafts

twelve legless trunks of stone lie vast in the desert
a monolithic mass, once a smell pebble
or four, actually
four small pebbles
a mountain, a

oh shit
I can’t remember it


I spent my time roaming the desert
when there was an oasis of truth
just to the right of  me

let the drafts be buried in sand
let them be destroyed
let them be eaten by worms
let their spirits rise
set them free





14 thoughts on “Notes from god on my ozymandian drafts

  1. Beautifully penned, Nadine. I have come to embrace the idea of “waiting for it to happen.” As one who loves to be in control, the concept of “waiting for it to happen” is something I have been practicing for a few months now. This sense of “waiting” allows me to accept the present with all of its happenings without trying to fit everything ever so neatly into a beautiful “Josiah created” construct. In a sense, “waiting for it to happen” is like connecting to god, to expansion, to life, and to beauty—intimately and continually.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks for your kind words ❤️🙏 That is wonderful Josiah, I hope I can learn to connect empty-handed more often… I’ve had little moments, but rarely unless I’m typing, or listening to a bell, or staring intimately at a tree…

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Waiting, is for me, the hardest occupation.
    Waiting, is a kind of doing/not doing exercise that Buddhists practice, not for me, too hard.
    Too hard to be out of control, out of the loop, out of sync, out of myself.
    That’s the key, out of myself.
    As if, myself were something to cast aside like a stone head.
    My father called me “blockhead” when I made mistakes
    I am still making mistakes
    Different ones, to be sure
    My blockhead lying in the sand

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Curious Nadine. Do you keep your drafts or physically bin them if something doesn’t work out? Ive kept everything I’ve ever written creatively (there be monsters) but I’ve always thought it must be cathartic to throw a draft in the dustbin like Stephen King did with Carrie!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I wish I could bin them, but I can’t 😭yet :)) but on the plus side, I feel like I’m getting to be okay with the mess, i.e. letting them sit around unfinished and crumbling, which feels more like letting go than binning them would, at this stage of indecision.

      Once, when I wanted to make room for something fresh, I burned a bunch of stuff, literally burned it in a fire…. that was also helpful (though of course I had some tiny recurring twinges of regret later… but those did not outweigh the benefits overall)

      Did you know that Hemingway’s first beloved wife Hadley accidentally lost a suitcase full of his writings that she was bringing to him…. and yet look what Hemingway accomplished

      From that note I would think, here, as I type, that what happens to the drafts (i.e. burning them, binning them, reworking them, losing them) matters little; it’s our detachment from them or what happen/s/ed to them that frees us creatively


      also Elizabeth Gilbert and her amazing guests in Magic Lessons podcast often talk about this release from past work… the more become okay with the disappointment and shame of creation, the more we find joy in creation and proliferate in it

      something like that

      and of course, any business guru will say that the more we iterate and fail, the more we learn and succeed

      finally, I once saw a tweet or post from Kris Gage that told how her coach had said “publish or delete, otherwise it’s just clutter in your drafts folder” something to that effect

      but I am not sure


      p.s. Stephen King’s work scares the crap out of me, I read some by accident, I’d find it much easier to bin/burn his work than my own 😜😆 not sure what that says about me; but I probably don’t want to know ;))


  4. “so I explain myself
and then I hate myself for having done that”

    Oh. My. God. YES!

    Also, I love how this piece’s form follows the content, circling around an idea/thought, turning it over and over and over again, looking at it from different angles, and at the end we’re left with just as many, if not more, questions than when we began.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. yes and yes :)), though officially she (Hadley) requested divorce from him, due to his affair with another woman…. he writes about Hadley so lovingly in his last novel though, I think he had clearly forgiven her (especially since she felt so awfully about it herself)…. though having one’s works-in-progress packed up as a surprise, and then inadvertently lost, certainly would be hard to take at the time!!!


  5. I’m not a writer. I’m thinking about ‘drafts’, so close the door she says.
    My stereotype of the writer: pulling hair, scrunching the draft into a ball and hurling it into the waste basket. But realize this image must have changed with technology. How do writers get that old school physical satisfaction of destroying a paper draft when there is no paper? Digital deleting just doesn’t have the same sensual expression of righteous frustration…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Sooooo true! Maybe I need to print them, then delete them, then burn them! or just let them continue to sit there, sifting in sand… still I love what you’ve said here, it epitomizes the frustration of what I was feeling about those danged drafts…

      Liked by 1 person

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