SHADOW FIGURES

One day last week I took an essay I'd been planning to read with me on a trip to a nearby city. I completed my errands, then sat in a comfortable armchair in the Senior Center, to wait for my husband to complete his afternoon of billiards playing. The heat has taken over our area and the airconditioned atmosphere offered the perfect spot to read.

"The Box Man" by Lazear Ascher hit pretty close to home. As you might surmise, the essay is about a homeless man who collects just the right boxes to form his shelter for the night. It brought to mind the homeless across the street, the men and women who huddle around the machinery and vents that operate the laundry in winter and find shade beneath the trees along the street in summer.

Asher writes from my viewpoint. He acknowledges the lost jobs, the shattered personal lives and the mental illness that drives them from homes, and the fear that keeps them out there. But he and I also know there are people out there who want to be on the streets. The ones I have observed and listened to, some I have even discussed their plight with, are willing to admit they receive enough assistance from government subsidies to have an apartment but they like the life of leisure, the friends they've made, and the freedom from rules and regulations living a "citizen" life requires. I look at the young, able-bodied people and am sad for the waste.

These homeless people do not appear to be on drugs or alcohol. I don't know what their lives were like earlier, if they cooked their brains, or are now ill. I make no judgments of these people, although it does concern me that this is a percentage of the population of a generation who feel they owe no alligience to neighbor or country, a lost core who accepts no responsibility for themselves--and certainly none for others.

I want to do something but know I can only listen. I want them to believe they have something to offer the world they live in, if they would only apply themselves. But I'm not sure they believe they have something to offer anyone, even themselves. And, who am I, to tell them how to act in this world we, not they, have created? When I look at them more closely I wonder if they aren't better off than many of us.

They are basically happy, not worried about terrorism, the economy, society.Their life is laughing and smoking and hanging out with people they have come to trust--all day--until it is time to search for the perfect boxes.
**

Search the streets for those stories you see each day.

PAINTING BY NUMBERS

There is a life other than writing--especially if you have a home.


The task we decided to undertake seemed easy. Others on our street had done this and, after all, we had once built a home, had remodeled others, and had done numerous interior decorating stints. All we needed was to find the time for it in our busy retired life, to purchase the necessary materials, and to tackle the project.


If my talented husband hadn't created the beautiful stained-and-beveled glass window for our guest bathroom, we would probably never have considered the remake. But when hubby replaced the old-frosted glass with the gorgeous pieces, the walls screamed at us.


The walls were covered with birds and foliage--figures that sort of faded into the background until the beauty of that glass accented the drabness. Those birds had to go.


The home improvement guru said it was a cinch to repaint the room. Since the walls were manufactured with the vinyl wallpaper adheared to the panels it was impossible to remove the offending covering. The know-it-all in the paint section assured hubby one coat of the primer would allow us to give the room a new look with the misty-green paint we'd chosen.


Luckily, bathrooms are small. It didn't take long to prime that room. Deciding to let the coat dry for several days, my husband closed the lid of the can tightly, cleaned up the brushes, and went off to complete his wood-working hobby.


Three hours later the birds were once again singing--right through the first coat of primer. It took three coats of that white primer and two heavy coats of misty-green latex to strangle those fine-feathered friends.


It is much easier to write.

SUMMER BLUES

This time of year many writers, yours truly being one of them, find it hard to stay on the writing path. Summer offers so many distractions.

Vacations, the swimming pool or spa, cool drinks on the back porch--or shopping in an air-conditioned mall--all of these rate high on the list of things to do instead of write.

So what can we do to stir up our muse? I know I need to complete my corrections/rewrites of my latest short story collection. And that poetry chapbook is lingering--waiting for me to find markets and write those cover letters. But this is old hat as grandma Della would say. I think my muse needs something invigorating, a mind stretcher. Do you have the same problem?

Do you only write fiction? Why not glance through several of your favorite magazines, do a search for an interesting topic, and try your hand at writing an article? If you write nonfiction, reverse the trend. We all have ideas for stories. Take up your pen or keyboard and write that story that only you can tell.

If you don't have a plan for your writing, maybe these sultry days will give you time to create one. Make a concerted effort to write to whatever schedule you set up. Schedule? Yes, you need one--even for the summer. Make a list of those projects you are working on, thinking of tackling, wanting to research, attempting to begin. Find a certain amount of time during the day or week to write. It is a good idea to set a deadline for each step of these processes--not in concrete but something to give you a goal to set your writing sights on. I have a short list of projects I am working on--so far, some are on track, a few are almost there--and there are ones that haven't been touched. We writers can only do our best.

There is one other thing I am doing this summer--something all writers should do a lot of. I've tackled the stacks of books I want to read. Curl up in your favorite chair--in front of the air-conditioner if necessary--or spread a quilt beneath a shade tree in the backyard. Follow your hero/heroines through their adventures, research that fantasy world you'd like to build, or learn about an interesting subject you feel drawn to write an article about. Read. Enjoy.

And have a pen and pencil close by. Summer ideas will abound.
***

Make a list of projects you want to be working on. Schedule some time for them. Read.

DO IT TODAY

I'm too busy to be a writer. LOL Well, that's what I have about figured out when I read all of these how-to articles. I teach others to write, drive neighbors to doctor appointments, take care of a home, keep my hubby happy, try out new recipes and try to use a little of the creative abilities God blessed me with--but not as often as I should.

In one of the recent newsletters I received, a writer (of crime stories it seems), suggested that we writers who are too busy should do several things to make sure we find the time to write. Some of them were the common sense ones we all know (but don't follow), like carry a notebook with us or a tape recorder and write during those extra moments we all waste. Or stay in the chair. Turn off the telephone. But this particular gal went a little too far with several of these--some of which I might need to try.

Like tie a leg to the computer chair so you have to stay in that spot until you write.

I think the idea of ordering takeout more often--even ice cream or popcorn as suggested--is a great idea. If I didn't have to cook, I could devote another hour or two to writing. Right? I wonder if hubby Ray would go for that? Well, he is supportive of my writing--but I don't think it would work each night.

Say no to social dates isn't hard. We don't go out a lot socially.

The last one was a hard one--sell the TV. Hey, my TV is a research tool. I write romantic suspense when I create fiction and I need to learn all I can. I read a lot of those type of books but I need the visual aides too--like CSI (I prefer Vegas to Miami, thank you), Close to Home, The Ghost Whisperer, The closer--I mean, those shows teach me a lot. Maybe I could even claim my new TV and DVD player (for suspenseful movies, of course) on my income tax--if I had any income to claim.

Okay, okay, I'll find something else to give up in order to write, okay? What will you give up?

Let's write!

FRAGMENTS FROM A WRITER'S MIND

Time marches on and on. There is a writer's life outside of blogging but there should be room for both. I have good intentions. I want to keep this blog moving along; life rushes in and those thoughts are somehow washed away. Focus is a small word that should be stuck in this brain. If I focus strongly on placing this blog on my daily schedule--ah, maybe I should make that weekly--I should be able to use my creative mind more often.

**

I've just returned from a very hot camping trip. But, in spite of the heat, the muse didn't dry up and blow away. I managed to get some work done and to make some notes for future work. Some of it was in full form--paragaphs of essays, scenes for stories, snippets of poetry and--fragments.



Some of these fragments come out in the form of beginnings of books, or chapters or maybe even endings. I tell students in my classes to keep a notebook of such lines. Many times I have gone to such notebooks, found the perfect line, and had the take-off for a short story or chapter. Lines to begin, such as:



Things were disappearing from the house.

The silence was no longer tranquil.

The shadows in the room danced up the wall.

Living with Jerry felt like a ride on a cut-rate roller coaster.

There was a time when I couldn't see the road ahead.

I've always been a sucker for lonely men.

In the ruins, we built again.



What about some intriguing endings?



He wasn't a sheriff who liked seeing his face on the six o'clock news.

She later would remember the prophecy.

A large, dark shape stood between her and the door.

A smart woman could learn a lot about a man over dinner.

If John hadn't killed him first.

The photo sat there, silently accusing.

Do any ideas come from these beginnings or endings? If so, start writing.



Snippets of poetry:



Safe from her enemies,

a wren chirps happily

among the cactus thorns.

**

Love--

Broken dreams,

Old promises.


I copied down quotes from famous and unknown people. I love to collect quotes and use them at the beginning of articles and essays or chapters of my books. You can find them everywhere. Just remember that they must mean something, have a connection to the content of your work, or a character in your story.

"There are years that are questions and years that are answers." (Zora Neale Hurston)

"Map out your life, but do it in pencil." (Jon Bon Jovi)



Titles? You can always come up with titles but, as with the quotes, they must fit your work.



Some Blue Sunday

The Peddler's Pack

Field of Flowers

If I Had No Voice

Offering Up a Song

Crying Out Somewhere

The Magic Never Ceases

A Hush on Christmas Eve



Remember this: your muse never goes on vacation and--



When you aren't writing, you have plenty of time for fear to silence your words.