BarbsWriteTree

TANGLED SHEETS

2011-07-21T20:51:00.000-07:00

During a writer's workshop I once attended, the attendees were given photograph prompts to write from. One of them intrigued me and I chose it to write a short fiction piece in first person point of view.

TANGLED SHEETS

I had one of those no-sleep-in (you can insert your own city here) nights. Not switching on the light, I crawled out of bed. I knew I was leaving a tangled mess of the sheets I had so carefully folded back early in the evening. Nights were like this often since the attack.

Experts contintually tell me I need to set a new routine at bedtime. Go to bed at ten after a nice warm soak in the tub with a cool glass of wine. Only one glass, not the entire bottle. Both should soothe me, comfort my inner angst, offer me a relaxed approach to the dark of my bedroom. It hasn't helped.

Someone else told me maybe I should leave a small light on and play soft music. At first, the light seemed like a good idea; it dispelled the darkness I had found engulfing me that night. It also created shadows on the wall, the ceiling, among the corners--all of which caused my heart to pound so loud I couldn't have even closed my eyes much less found sleep. And the music, even my favorite soft oldies stuff, covered up the chance that I might miss--as I had on that night--the jimmying of a lock or footsteps down a hall.

When I rose from my bed each night, I left the light off. I crept through the darkness through the unfamiliar rooms, dodging furniture shapes in a new arrangement. Slipping a finger between the blinds I peered out on the street from four stories up, needing to know if anyone lurked below. I didn't dare open the refrigerator for fear the light would give my position in my own home away. The fact that I had moved, left a home and an area that was ingrained in my soul, made no difference to my head. There was no safe place to my way of thinking.

So--I wandered around the fortress I had created for myself--rechecked the alarm system, putting my ear to the steel door leading into a well-lit public hallway, listening for any sound out of the ordinary, if I knew what that was anymore. Somewhat assured, I found my favorite chair, curled up in it, hugged myself tightly, and breathed deeply until I could force myself back to that bed--the bed with new soft, pink sheets and a large pillow to hug closely for added protection.

If I didn't turn on the light, I couldn't see the damage restlessness had done to the bed. But I was sure, well, hopefully assured, that when I once more am able to sleep and wake in a refreshed state, I won't find a knife-wielding stranger standing beside me, or see my own blood when I look in the mirror, flowing from wounds I am accussed of causing myself because I screamed and fought back. And those tangled sheets won't look the same as they had that night.

One day, or some night, I will have the freedom to accept peace, comfort, and that wonderful sleep.

SAVE ME

2011-07-20T21:14:00.000-07:00

I took up writing so long ago because I loved stringing words together. I read every book in sight and, as so many writers tell us, thought I could write a better one. The mere act of creating my own stories gave me a feeling of power. It also made me feel complete; I have never lost that feeling when I write.

I have continued to write since that age of ten. Marriage, a career, children, and all that was required of a woman born in my era, didn't allow me permission to pursue that love for words. Do you think that stopped me from being a closet writer? Of course not. Do you think today I would shove my desires, my wishes, my longings for my bliss, as Joseph Campbell called it, and not follow it? Heck no! Don't tell me not to write! And whether or not I publish or give away my work, I am in for the long haul.

I never thought I wrote to save myself until recently. I've been looking back on my life, and how writing has influenced it. That's when I discovered how important those words I put on paper or screen have been all along. Writing has kept me sane, pulled me out of desperation, given me an outlet for anger, frustration, pain and heartache. When I have been about to give up--on more things than I like to admit--writing has given me a road to follow, a way to discover what makes me passionate about writing.

It's not something I took up--like tennis or cooking (or dieting from the cooking). I can't just give it up when I grow tierd of it, or toss aside like a fad I'm following. There is a hunger inside me that is only filled by this craft, and I am firmly rooted in what it adds to my life.

Hemingway once spoke of the artists from America who went to Paris or Florence to study and work. They would give themselves two years; if they weren't successful, then they went back to America, back to college, or to join the family business. It's not enough said Hemingway. "You have to be willing to give it as long as it takes."

Successs is defined by each of us in our own way. I feel I am a succcess because I've never given up on my love for writing.

BLESS YOUR HEART!

2011-07-14T20:48:00.000-07:00

I have just read an article about a very famous mystery writer. She is a Georgia gal and still writes from that wonderful state. However, I did take exception with her lack of a Southern soul when it comes to our phrases when speaking.

She seems to feel we are somewhat less intelligent if we continue to use our syrupy words when speaking to others. I happen to feel all warm and cherished when hearing those words slip into conversations. And I don't think people who speak in that charming way are dumb.

When I hear my voice on the answering machine, I am thrilled. I still hear the South in my voice and my phrases. I have been away for almost half of my life (by necessity, not by choice)and I love the thought that I still carry the South withn me wherever I go, in how I act, and in the drawl in my voice.

Those phrases this violent-crime-scene writer thinks have no place in her books, fit right into the ones I write. No, they won't make the millions I am sure she makes from those books (which I read, too-lol), but I have warm, comfortable, friends from all over the country who enjoy my sweet words, my too-kind conclusions, my characters who always end up together and happy, and they've never complained about that Southern world I create from memories of a wonderful childhood.

And, yes, when I hear of sorrows, of illness, of questions--I often use one of those "quaint" phrases that particular author would never use:

BLESS YOUR HEART!!!!

FRIENDSHIP CAKE

2011-07-13T22:40:00.000-07:00

As everyone knows, I am an avid reader. That doesn't mean that I read off the best sellers list in a timely manner. For instance, I have just completed a book by Lynne Hinton written in 2000; a book that I found to be entertaining, touching, and very true to life.

Five members of Hope Springs Community Church (North Carolina) gather together to create a cookbook. In the process of collecting recipes, they face issues of doubts, sex between unmarried couples, the pastor's quest for a closer walk with God, and the controversy of a white/African American relationship that produces a child. Throw in a death, a tattered marriage made whole, and all the gossip in a small town, makes for an admirable job of facing complex and diverse characters. Lynne Hinton offers a real tale about friendship, and issues that sometimes divide churches, written in a caring and forthwright manner.

I will look for more of her books; she's written many of them and I want to know more about her characters in Hope Springs.

WHAT'S HAPPENED TO US!

2011-07-13T22:04:00.000-07:00

I think in the time I have been away from this blog, this country has gone mad. Not that I haven't been involved in crazy things myself, too numerous to answer, and too mundane for people who aren't involved to give a rat's arse. Shall I start with the murderer who got away with killing her daughter?

Casey Marie Anthony and her attorney's pulled off the coup of the year. She got away with murder and 64% of the people in the US agree with that statement. She'll be out of jail on Sunday; nutty publishers, TV show producers, book publishes, untold numbers of publicity seekers are willing to pay her huge bucks to appear, write her memoirs (would you believe that story?)and be in the limelight.

Then there are the others who believe there was no justice for Caylee Marie Anthony, who want everyone in the world to boycott anything she is involved in. Do you want to see her grinning smirk, her flirty eyes, on the TV or movie screen, on the back cover of a book? I think it is a horrible thought that she will make money off the death of that beautiful child.

And then there's our wonderful Senate who refuses to talk sensibly about raising the debt ceiling, won't roll the tax cuts back to pre-George Bush rates, will allow our national credit rating in the world go down the tubes (making our interest rates on debts go sky high), and insist that Social Security and Medicare be cut to all seniors as their number one way of lowering our debt in the future. Boehner cannot even control his own party and he wants to control this country??? And that bimbo, Michelle Bachman, says that not raising the debt ceiling will not mean we can't pay our debts, nor will it affect social security checks for August. And,of course, the poor in our country can find a job on August 1 when their benefits run out and immediately take care of their children. Yeah, right.

So should I really take all of this seriously? What can I do about any of it?

Not much, I must agree. But I can do what other Americans continue to do--speak out at the inequities in this country. Defend the dead and defenceless. Make our votes count in the next election. These are all our rights as Americans--even though several Republican friends assure me that if there was only one party in this country--Republican--this country would flourish. I have one question for them:

Where all all the jobs Bush created by cutting the taxes of the wealthiest individuals and corporations in America?????

NOT REIMBURSED

2011-06-13T13:40:00.000-07:00

Sometime ago I read an article stating that the FTC stated every blog writer must now make a statement when writing reviews or making recommendations for books or products. We must let readers know whether or not we have received any kind of compensation for praising the writers we read. Sounds very inept (or should I just say stupid and get it over with?) to me. But here goes.

To all of my readers who have heard me praise the following readers or their work--I, do not personally know these authors, their agents, promoters, or book distributors. I purchase the books or magazines with their work in them with my own money--and have not been paid to write a good (or bad) work about them or their work.

The following writers have been discussed in my blog:

Natalie Goldberg, Charles Martin, James Lee Burke, James Patterson, Kenneth Koch, Lisa Jackson, Robyn Carr, Zane Gray, Charlotte Harris, Jane Eyre... Oops, she didn't write a book, did she?

This could take forever, folks, and I think it is so ridiculous I refuse to be a party to such time consuming affairs. So sue me!

Sue me for what? I didn't get compensated, remember?

PURPLE MAJESTIES

2011-06-09T19:55:00.000-07:00

I didn't have any idea what I would write about today but my snail-mail poetry group's return of last session's poem gave me an idea...the subject was purple. Sitting here at the keyboard I realize I am wearing a purple tee (with the words California Dreamin') and next to my note pad rests a purple ink pen. With my first published book, "The Quilt Maker," I began autographing with purple ink. Though I don't want to admit to the "age" thing, for as long as I live I will wear purple.

I also tie the color into royalty and Jesus Christ. And I believe that as a child of God, who is my King, I am allowed to wear purple. Though a commoner in the sight of the world, I am precious to Him.

So...I love purple clothes, purple shoes. Purple (they're not really red) onions in salad. Purple (I think they are more burgandy) wines. Purple orchids, purple-leafed canna lilies, and my favorite purple irisis blooming in my garden in early spring.

Here's a short poem--not the one I shared with my critique group--just a little thing I wrote in my journal.

When I think of my love
for the color purple
and list all my favorites--
purple irisis, purple sweater,
purple shoes, purple ink,
and that favorite wine,
I realize that none
of these compare compare
with my favorite purple.
The one that touches my heart
fiercely grips at my soul is
that Purple Heart on the
breast of a soldier
young and old.
(Barbara Deming (c)2011)

GO WITH YOUR INNER CHILD

2011-06-08T20:27:00.000-07:00

Growing up, I was the eldest of five children and was required to entertain the youngest as babysitter and second mother. Maybe that is the reason I became a writer. I learned to use my imagination at an early age.

Have you ever thought of your childhood play time? I was the kid who turned into the teenager who became the adult who made up stories, told little white lies when younger in order to dodge punishment (or to see my parent's faces grow pale) and, as long as I could make believe with voice or on paper, I was never bored. I was curious and observant and noticed details others (especially my siblings) swore were never there.

Some details we notice at crazy times and from the weirdest places, are the fuel for great short stories and novels. Even personal essays that drive our relatives wild because they swear it never happened that way. The details are what makes the story.

Did you see that shoe beside the road? One shoe? How did it get there? Who wore it? Could she be limping around on one high-heel shoe. There's a story there and you can tell it.

As children, we played, walked around, merely lived in tune with our senses. If you don't believe me, watch a child out on a walk lift up their nose and take a deep breath walking by a bakery, bury their nose in a rose, or wrinkle that same smeller when they get a wiff of a dairy. A child rubs sand between their hands to feel the texture, eats dirto or an ice cream cone for taste, and laughs at a clown's antics or daddy playing peek-a-boo. They are experts at using their senses.

Children easily make connections. Would you reach out and touch a starfish without hesitation, hold your hand next to it and say, "They're the same shape?" If you wink at a child, would you consider yourself a blinking light? If oatmeal cookies are your favorite, would you create the same shape out of clay? Look at your childhood, or the world through a child's eye, and realize just how creative you really are.

A child runs, laughs loudly, cries with big tears and deep sobs, and plays pretend vigorously. Their emotions are on the surface--often too much so according to their parents. Use that same emotion in your writing.

Be a child again. Connect with your inner child self. Your muse will thank you.

CURIOUS PLACES

2011-06-07T14:04:00.000-07:00

Years ago while attending a creative writing seminar, an instructor had us write for ten minutes in the conference room where held. She gave us a topic and asked that we freewrite for that time--no stopping, no corrections,just write. The she moved the small group outdoors to a sunny patio to write for another ten minutes--same directions--without a topic.

If you don't think the world around you affects your writing try this experiment. I found my first ten minutes was more restricted, more classroom-like. It didn't mean that I couldn't produce something readible within those restraints and that time-frame but it was more like being in school again. My ten-minute writing outdoors flowed more freely, seemed more open, and read like I had connected with my inner self.

My recommendation is to try your writing--even on the same subject matter--in your office and then move out to the patio, down to the park, or find a back booth at a fast-food place. It is worth the test to see if you write with more enthusiasm and ease in one place or the other.

One of my favorite poets, and writers, is Gary Snyder. This is one of his thoughts that resonated with me:

"Memories and our old pathways are woven like ghost nets invisibly filling the landscape of our days."

WHERE DO I START?

2011-06-06T09:38:00.000-07:00

This is not the time to apologize for not being here for all of you. But...Life has had its ups and downs, the muses have been playing games with my heart and soul, and sometimes we all feel like running away from home. Enough said. I am here and, hopefully, will do a better job of keeping my readers updated, informed, having fun with, and hoping to let you into, not only my life, work, and dreams, but offer a little knowledge from someone who has been playing this creative game a long time.
***
When I was five I had already learned to read and was the youngest child at the nearby County Library to be given her own library card. By age ten, I had read everything in our small school library, could only go to that County Library every two weeks, so decided I'd create my own "books" and stories. That love for creating other lives has clung to me for more years than I want to admit.

Every time I think I have nothing to write about, in my memory I recall growing up in that small Texas town. I remember taking pencil in my teeth, Red Chief Tablet tucked in my waistband, and my climb to the top of a favorite mulberry tree. It was a great writing room--a place where no younger siblings could bother me and I could hide from Mama calling me to do chores. There are stories upon stories in those childhood memories.

What is your favorite place to go for peace and relaxation? Where would be the perfect spot for you to "hide" in order to write without interference? I sometimes take my notebook--or just a spiral notebook--and walk several blocks from my home to Jack's Pond. During many summers we have taken two weeks, driven 350 miles north, and camped on the Kern River where Ray fishes and I write. Along Bull Frog Creek, with the soft sound of water falling over the rocks, the muse opens up and pours forth all manner of creativity. I work on my stories already started. Or I soak up those sounds and sights around me--emotions that then seep out of my pen or laptop in poetry form. A peaceful place can allow you the right to freely compose whatever your heart dictates.

Look around you, or change your location. Listen to the world in that special place, or shut it out entirely. Close your eyes and soak up the atmosphere, or dream of worlds beckoning from your imagination. Never forget there is a time and a place for you muse to open up, and there is always something to write about.
***
I'm working on a novella, "Badge of Honor," written from a prompt given to my creative writing class. Sometimes my muse grabs one of those starters and runs with it. Carmela Rojas has just slipped away from her former fellow Agents into the night to pick up evidence she has hidden. I know she is going to meet up with a murderer. Does she save herself? Or does she get the help she desperately needs?

GETTING LOST

2011-03-07T21:03:00.000-08:00

"Part of the finding is getting lost."

I'm not sure but if I remember right the author said the above and I agree. I can follow this path right into the maze where I will certainly get lost. Hopefully, I will also find myself. I read this in my second, or is it third, rereading of Sue Bender's "Everyday Sacred." If you haven't read it, I encourage you to do so.

When writing, I feel I must research, read, listen to others, and keep an open mind to find the answers. To my amazement, I often find those answers just as often when I get away from the screen or the page, and wander, stroll, even seem lost.

Maybe because I am a woman of an era when women were expected to stay home, have babies and keep their mouths shut (that certainly wasn't me, at the encouragement of my mother who was one of them, except for the mouth part). Though I had much more freedom that the prior generation, those old teachings aren't far from the surface. I strive to be an independent woman but I also feel driven to be a good wife, mother, a proper housekeeper, and caregiver to everyone who needs me. I need to get lost.

I need to lose myself in my writing, in a good book, in association with other creative people. I must allow myself time to dedicate myself to this love for words when I need to. I should stomp my feet and demand that I be given the time.

As you might know, it's not so easy to lose yourself.

POETS, INC. / SUMMATIONS

2011-03-06T19:08:00.000-08:00

Today at the Escondido Municipal Art Gallery in Escondido, CA, Summations III, the third annual chapbook filled with the interpretation of art through poetry was unvailed with a rousing reading/feasting and emotional four-hour book release.

Many of the artists of the work we wrote to were in attendance; it was inspiring to hear how they came up with the idea for their painting, wall piece, photograph, or sculptor. It was more amazing to see how "right-on" many of the poets were in the word picture they painted without ever having met the artist of their chosen work.

For more years than I care to admit, I have taught classes and workshops for beginning writers. In advance, I request that they show up for the first session with a photograph. It doesn't have to be a personal photograph and, if it is, it doesn't mean you have to know everyone in the photo or the story that goes with it. I ask my students to write the story they see there. That's the same thing we poets did with our chosen works of art; we wrote the story we saw there.

I challenge writers to do this as a prompt, or when you are stuck and can't seem to move forward with your latest project. It will stretch your imagaination and create personal pieces you never knew you had in you.

EXPOSURE

2011-02-28T18:46:00.000-08:00

"Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure." (Helen Keller)

Maybe I'm a bit old to think of being brave and bold. But as far as my writing is concerned, there are no limits--or there shouldn't be.I want the exposure it takes to grab the attention of an agent. I need the exposure of book faires to get my writing into the hands of readers. But those opportunities are not as forth coming as I suppose they should be.

Is it because I'm fooling myself with the thought that I am truly a writer? Are my expectations pie in the sky? Am I worthy of having a name readers will remember?

I need to trust myself. I should remember how successful I have been with this craft I love. I lost count at the 300 mark of short stories, personal essays, articles and poetry published. I know some people are well-known, are making a lot of money, and spend their every hour writing on a computer or in their head. I haven't done that as I have a personal life that is as important to me as my writing. I love words and making them sparkle and reach out to grab readers. But I love my hubby, too, and there is so much more I enjoy in life.

What I do, whom I love, and where I live is part of the development of my whole life. I have always had highs and lows--great moments of discovery, wonderful spells of happiness, or others of depression, and long spells of contentment--and now realize how happy I am with my life in general as it is today. I am attempting to have this same contentment out weigh the down times in my writing.

No matter how old I am, I want a well-rounded life as long as we are able to sustain it. I have new concerns about my husband who is fifteen years older than I; his age is working against him in a few areas. But he is so "up", ready to travel, willing to tag along with me to my writing functions (or go play pool while I mix with other writers and readers), and maintains his same teasing, funny self. I want us both to continue to pack "life" into our remaining years together.

I hope to pack this same life into the writing I yearn to do. Even though the economy has tanked, all but six big name publishers have drown in red ink and closed shop, and few agents want to represent anyone that doesn't have a famous name and a bizillion books sold under their belt, I am still working on a manuscript, a chapbook of poetry, several articles, and dreaming of discovering the next great idea.

Under the circumstances, does this make me brave and bold?

WRITER CRITIQUE SITE

2011-02-14T21:41:00.000-08:00

I continued to read the ads for this writer site in all the major writing magazines. I thought I would take a look at it, see what it was all about, maybe even post some of my writing and see what kind of feedback I received. That may have been a mistake.

There are interesting genres--short stories, books, poetry of all kinds, and I spent hours sampling them all. I read and commented, added what I thought was great about the work and, if noted, gave suggestions for editing the work.

I submitted the first, then the second, chapter of my novella, "Trusting Strangers" and had some good critiques. Several really good writers/readers picked up on a couple of goofs and made a suggestion or two. I appreciate it and learn from each one who does that.

The mistake is that I could very easily get hooked on this writing/commenting/submitting thing and never get any other writing done. So, readers, will you keep me in your thoughts, try to remind me that obsessions aren't allowed for women who have much too much on their plate already? Help me stay on this writing path and be serious about it. There is no time to allow a critique site to become too much fun. I must show restraint.

I guess I could not sign on, couldn't I?

THE LOST VALENTINE

2011-02-05T21:51:00.000-08:00

I have meant to write about this movie for television earlier but that Nook is addictive and I have been filling my extra time with researching a nonfiction inspirational book that has been hovering in my mind for several years. It may get off the ground--at least the beginning--soon.

Last Sunday I proved to myself once again that I'm a sucker for down home, sentimental, cry-at-the-end movies. I also confirmed my love for Betty White as an actress is not misplaced. She may be 88--or is it 89?--but she hasn't slipped a bit.

I always enjoyed her for years when she was a panelist on a rather silly game show. She kept me in stitches as the homemaker/cooking TV lady on The Mary Tyler Moore show, and dingy Rose was a perfect character on the Golden Girls. But too many of us remember those hilarious parts and don't give her credit as a serious actress.

"The Lost Valentine" was predictable, to a point, I will admit. Parts of the story were standard but Betty White's portrayal was anything but. As the widow of a WW II soldier, MIA in Asia for over sixty years, her character was very real-life and touching.

I won't spoil the story, or the ending, for anyone who might watch the reruns of this movie, but I will urge anyone who likes a "feel good" story to see it. "The Lost Valentine should become one of the classics, shown every February to prove once again that true love never dies. Heaven knows, we have seen enough of those Christmas movies shown over and over each season; let's have some favorites for other seasons, too.

Betty White's smile isn't the only thing that shines through the screen. Her heart is right there for all to see.

LACE

2011-02-01T21:05:00.000-08:00

My creative writing class tomorrow will get the word lace as a prompt to write in class. When I started them writing in class the first Wednesday of each month, there were some grumbling comments from more than one. Now it is one of their favorite classes of the month.

Last February we wrote using the word hearts; that was fairly easy for all of us. I wrote about the time we were living in a townhouse-type apartment while a new home was being completed. One bedroom was filled with extra furniture and one side of the garage was stacked eight high with boxes. We vowed not to buy each other anything for Valentines, not even a card. So I didn't. He didn't either. But he spent a lot of time secretly cutting out and coloring hearts which I found strewn all oer the living room, dining area and kitchen on Valentine's Day.

This year I thought my students needed something a little tougher. They've progressed quite nicely with their spontaneous writing and I think they can handle this one. The word I'm giving them can be lacy anything: trim on Valentines, a lace-trimmed wedding dress, a favorite piece of heirloom lace from a relatives blouse or bonnet.

Or maybe someone will write about one of their favorite movies, Arsenic and Old Lace."

CHAOS IN EGYPT

2011-01-31T21:52:00.000-08:00

Over 100 Egyptians dead on the streets of this ancient city. Tear gas (canisters plainly marked Made in the USA) used on looters. Military tanks (Abrams made in the US) and riot-gear-clad troops attempting to keep peace with non-violent reaction. F-16 jets, supplied by America, have now been added to the mix.

First Egyptian citizens, later the military, guard the priceless antiquities in the museum after thieves broke in, destroying several irreplaceable relics, while searching for gold. Before the world, the image of a 3,000 year-old civilization is crumbling, because of the unbending stance of one man.

Mubarak, always backed by whichever U.S. administration in power, gave lip service to the ordinary people after the shock of riots penetrated his inner sanctum. The citizens, in turn, called for employment, education, price cuts, and an end to the police state. When their President offered no reforms, only a change in HIS government in the form of a new vice-president (the same guy who worked with our CIA in order to have supposedly subversives tortured in Egypt)the people spoke: off with Mubarak! Leave the country! We don't want you--or the son you've groomed to take your place."

In my heart I can see the kind, smiling Egyptian military men sitting in my home twenty plus years ago. I know most of them are retired by now. Their beautiful, highly-educated wives, so gracious to this American working woman, are playing with their grandchildren today. But their younger children, even their sons and daughter's in their thirties, may be among those industrious, unemployed adults who have taken to the streets of Cairo this week.

Have we Americans been blinded by Mubarak? Could we only see the peace treaty between Egypt and Israel he upheld? Was it possible we closed our eyes, giving this man who smells like a dictator clad in the clothe of democracy, free reign?

If so, shame on us!

The country of Egypt is fragile tonight. This writer is torn by what is truly the right road for this magnificent land to take. Is a reformed Mubarak the right choice? Is the opportunity for a democratic election of leaders by the citizens proper? As in Palestine, there is a danger in this last choice.

The Islamic Brotherhood stands waiting to send Egypt back into the Dark Ages where those women I respected so much, clad in their beautiful, soft pastel-colored brocades, will be shrouded in black from head to toe, walking, not beside their proud husbands, but two steps behind, their voices silenced forever.

I am so sorry that for thirty years we sanctioned a man who thought his own people deserved less than the freedom to live a good life in a country they took such pride in. But I'm also scared of the direction the people may take.

May God and Allah do what is best for the ancient land.

I DON'T WANNA WRITE. OR DO I?

2011-01-27T19:57:00.000-08:00

Procrastination? What's that? Oh, you mean like rearranging my office because I don't want to write? Or filing/cleaning out files because I have no idea what my next project will be? Or running off to purchase more supplies instead of, as some expert writers proclaim we should do, sitting at my computer until the muse danced? Or maybe I've taken on so many outside responsibilities in order not to have time to write?

As most writers, I tend to have more fun when I am "in the mood" to write. I am also one of those writers who can produce very well to a deadline so...if I have a special project I really want to complete or keep my novel moving, I type up a deadline schedule for myself and stick it above my computer.

If I am away from my computer and cannot use my laptop, I still work to my deadline. I dig out the pad and one of the ten or so pens I always have at the bottom of my purse, and continue a chapter, work on a character sketch, or draft the next part of my article or a chapter in a nonfiction book. Or work on a lesson plan for one of my classes. The deadline is in my head as I travel and I know I must make up for the time away from the computer in this way.

I've never missed a real deadline or seldom miss self-imposed ones either. So I guess deadlines work for me no matter who gives them.

I have a bi-monthly deadline for my inspirational newsletter and for lesson plans for each of the weekly classes I teach. My self-imposed deadline/promise for the newsletter is to mail it out no later than the firt week of the designated month it is due. I gather all the submissions I've received and chosen and write the fill-in articles to go along with them. Though self-imposed, this is one deadline I won't allow myself to miss by procrastination.

GOD IS GOOD

2011-01-25T20:47:00.000-08:00

Those of you who read this blog, and aren't a believer, will have to put up with my praises tonight--or click off this blog. I should always remember who is in control of my life--even the most minute parts of it.

I pray for others each night but, except for requests for improved health, safe travels, or His leadership for my day, I seldom pray for myself. I mean some things are just too frivalous, right? Wrong! God knows what we need, or don't need, and He is definitely in control. He proved that to me when I prayed about my Nook problems. Silly, huh?

I prayed that, if God meant for me to use this new-fangled electronic equipment, He would help me find out how to access the Internet on my new Nook.

This morning, after hubby left for a pool tournament, I drug out the WiFi installer's paperwork one more time before calling AT&T, hopefully for help connecting. I fired up the Nook, punched in the one password I had only tried one time before (not the ones I tried umpteen times before), and it connected immediately! I was so astonished. And it could only have been an answer to my prayers, His guidance back to that one password, and His approval of my becoming more of a techie.

I can't wait to download the Bible.

BIRTHDAYS +NOOKS=FRUSTRATION

2011-01-24T22:17:00.000-08:00

Saturday, January 22, was my birthday. And, no, I refuse to tell you how many years "young" I was. I hate when someone discribes anyone over 65 as "young." Honey, we are not young. We are on the sunny side of the end of the road and how we walk, ride, or run down that road is up to us. I plan to live every day of my remaining life to the fullest, hope I can do unto others as God would have me, and have a heck of a good time doing it all. Even though I'm not young, I don't have to act old.

I think I made a mistake though when I asked for one of the newest techie things for sale. I read a lot. Do I read a lot! You can tell by the stacks of books in each room, the filled bookshelves in my office, the two cartons of books in our storage area, and the fact I can't pass up a used bookstore or Friends of the Library. I've been looking at eReaders and, maybe envisioning the disappearance of all these books, hubby decided to surprise me with one for Christmas. Not that we hadn't looked at them everywhere we went.

Feeling I might not enjoy reading books on a screen as much as others, I told him not to purchase a higher-priced Nook or Kindle. He gave me a lovely eReader, easy to navigate through, and it had free classics to read. But I could never get it to connect with my WiFi and it had no way of connecting to my computer for downloads. So I returned it two days after Christmas.

A friend got a Nook and loved it. I went to a demo, heard the differences in it and others and, with extra birthday money from hubby, purchased a Nook. I have learned how to navigate it easily; I love the idea of downloading those books from B&N, Amazon, all the ebook sellers. But, again, I cannot connect to my WiFi.

I've spent hours with B&N and online with AT&T, the place where I purchased my WiFi router and my Internet service. I spent as much time on my own attempting to solve my connection problem. My next step is to talk to a real person at AT&T tomorrow. Maybe that will work. My next step, if it doesn't, is to let my computer guru, Jeff, see if he can find the problem--that is if he is available in the next 12 days, which is what time I have left to decide whether I want to keep this Nook or not.

Today, in the middle of my frustration, I came to the realization that I threw away an entire day that I could have spent writing. I have a deadline for the last of my columns. I have two classes to do lesson plans for this week. I am sort of mad at myself for thinking new techie stuff is such a big deal, when the only thing I want to do is write. And have someone read, and enjoy, the words I put on paper.

I don't think this is progress.

The Year of ...

2011-01-21T14:08:00.000-08:00

I'm so far behind in this new year already I don't know what Year of the....it is. That's what happens when you let holidays and cruises take over your life. I do, however, know that I was born in the year of the dragon and my husband was born in the year of the rat. And we are not supposed to be anywhere near each other, much less married, according to these Chinese predictions. Needless to say, we didn't pay any attention and have been married for over 33 years even though we did another dangerous thing and got married on Friday the thirteenth.

So much for predictions. That includes the predictions of what this year will have to offer all of us. We make our own good luck. We work hard at what our passions are in life. We writers must ignore the omens, do our research, conduct our interviews, write our short stories or poetry, edit, rewrite, and submit--that will happen if we are diligent, not because of some sign of the zodiac or some prediction of astrologers. And, though not all of you will agree, I believe God is in control of my destiny and he gives me the knowledge, the words, and the direction to be published or not.

I don't make resolutions but I do set goals. I probably have pretty much the same goals year after year. Most years I fail--not due to anyone's fault but my own. This year my goal is to have more published, to complete a poetry chapbook I have been working on for years, and to submit/publish more nonfiction than I have in the past few years. I did accomplish publishing goals in 2010; I had many poems accepted for publication, I completed my columns for The Storyteller Magazine on time and they were accepted/published, and I assited other writers in becoming published.

Assisting other writers is always on my goal list. I love teaching and leading other people who have this passion for writing. I am continuing my Word Weavers writing class and my memoir class at a retirement facility. I am going to be teaching a class for beginner writers that will be open to the public of all ages on Saturdays so all ages (and working people) may attend. I love this craft and want to share, and be shared with, what we all have to offer.

What is your goal for the year?

WHEN YOU STUMBLE

2010-10-26T21:51:00.000-07:00

When you stumble, make it part of the dance.

No one knows who the author of this quote was but what a powerful message it conveys. All of us find a pebble in our shoe, or a rock on our path as we walk through life. Some have more ups and downs, joys or tragedies, than others. But how we handle the obstacles is the life we present to the world.

My life was not perfect--especially after I married "the jerk." That was a stumble. When it was all over, family and friends were astonished at how well I had hidden the mental and physical abuse. Divorce, at first seemed like a big stumble, but finally walking away was the right thing to do. As scared as I was to suddenly be the sole support of myself and two children, being able to do this was the first steps in a new dance.

Years later, marrying Ray, I wondered if I was about to stumble again. Instead, over the past thirty-three years, I have danced--slow romantic waltzes, hilarious wild polkas, sometimes stomping teeth-gritting marches. But we somehow have managed to end the day with a soothing two-step.

Lost job. Argument with an old friend. Romance gone sour. Children gone astray. Failed a class.

In the scope of your life, these events are only stumbles.

New career. Making new friends. Finding God's saving graces. Meeting the love of your life. Walking down the aisle. Congratulating a child's success. Getting your college degree.

What a wonderful life when you accept that you, with God's guidance, can meet these challenges. It is you who can pick the tune and the steps to the greatest dance.

MY GARNET RING

2010-10-21T22:01:00.000-07:00

I was born in January. My birthstone is the deep red garnet. I wasn't always happy with this stone. As a youth, I felt it was too old-fashioned. After all, Victorian ladies wore this stone and I didn't want to look anything like these large-breasted women adored with jewelry loaded with this red stone.

I was the eldest of five children in a middle-class family where there was no extra money for jewelry, even if I had wanted to wear that stone. So,as a teenager,I was surprised with the gift of a garnet ring set in gold--a gift from my mother on a day that wasn't my birthday or Christmas. I wore it with pride until the day I struck it with the drum sticks of my snare drum during a wild drum session, and chipped out a chunk of the stone.

I was heartsick but continued to wear it for years in spite of the chip. Somewhere along the way of adulthood, the stone fell out of the setting and the ring was no more. But I was in for a huge surprise when mama died. In her possessions, I found an old diary, one from her teenage years. She had received the ring as a gift on her sixteenth birthday from a boyfriend--and it wasn't my daddy.

Prompt: "When you stumble, make it part of the dance." (Author Unknown)

BOOKS, BOOKS, AND MORE BOOKS

2010-10-19T19:00:00.000-07:00

"I cannot live without books." (Thomas Jefferson)

Writers should read a lot of books in order to understand how it's done. That's what I've always read and been told. So I follow the rules: I read, and read, and read. And I have a collection of books to prove I love it.

I'm reading "Live to Tell" by Lisa Gardner and it is creeping me out. It's also an unusual way of writing, one instructors tell us we are not to do unless we are very experienced: the author writes the tale in two other character's voices every other chapter. I haven't decided yet whether it adds or distracts from the telling of the story.

"7th Heaven" by James Patterson is waiting for me to read next. I love this author and am a little disappointed that he is now writing with partners. It reminds me of the painter who has other artists lined up, each one doing a small part of the paintings and then he comes along and signs his name.

I have kept some old favorites, too:

"Blue Highways" by William Least Heat-Moon.
"Bella Tuscany" by Frances Mayes.
"At the Owl Woman Saloon" by Tess Gallagher.

I love mysteries and found Carl Hiassen through exchanging books with a friend. He writes these humorous mysteries set in Florida. Then I found his books written for younger readers (I dare not say what age because kids read way beyond their years today --sort of like I did when young). "Scat," "Hoot", and "Flesh" are these books.

Two of my all time "women" books are: "Sisters of the Earth" edited by Lorraine Anderson and "Secrets of the Zona Rosa" by Rosemary Danniell.

"Grace" by Alexandra Stoddard has been beside me since first published.

And then there are a hundred or so books related to creative writing, poetry books, inspirational books, cookbooks--and all those stacks plus shelves of fiction.

Read everyone. Read in the genre you want to write in, and many in different areas too. Then write your heart out with all the ideas you'll get from all that reading.

Prompt: Write about a ring that was/is special to you.

BANGLES & BEADS: JUNK JEWELRY

2010-10-16T20:16:00.000-07:00

Diamonds are a girl's best friend, or so they've said in song and movies. I don't happen to agree. Not that I don't own some of the authentic "bling" but it's not me. I think it looks great on the ears, necks and fingers of most other women but I'm just a country girl with the same kind of taste. My favorite jewelry is turquoise set in silver and---junk jewelry.

No, I don't make my own. But I do own some thanks to my neighbor's daughter who made me lovely necklaces with earrings to match as a gift. I assist her mom who lives across the street from me (daughter is in Seattle)when she is feeling poorly, needs to be driven to a doctor's appointment, or just needs a friend to talk to. I don't have the patience to string beads and crystals on thread and thin wire, but I so appreciate what the creators do.

I don't know in which country this craze for cheap bangles and beads surfaced. It might have been all those years ago in Costa Rica when hubby purchased the long necklace of fake pearls, pink stones, and purple crystals so beautifully strung together they were hard for him to resist. Or it could have been the hematite from Turkey, Alaska or Mexico. One of my favorite such pieces has an elephant dangling from it; we were in Jamaica and I turned down the offer of purchase because the bus was loading. When the bus driver failed to appear on time, hubby bounded off the bus, ran around the corner, and made the four dollar purchase.

Italy offered Murano glass, cameo and enameled harlequin's in all styles of jewelry. Hong Kong dressed my bosom in jade rock of several shades of green. Panama allowed me to don brown seeds, sparkly blue and green crystals, and wooden jewelry, made by bare-breasted women and sold by their husbands.

Recently, I'm in to the cheap chunks of plastic from China that is all the rage these days. I'm purchasing all colors of the rainbow. It's fun jewelry. It's funky. It keeps me young and enthusiastic.

It's REALLY junk jewelry.

Prompt: Quote: "I cannot live without books." (Thomas Jefferson)

Satchel Paige

2010-10-15T20:45:00.000-07:00

"How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" (Satchel Paige)

I agree with Satchel. The number of candles on my cake don't bother me. I feel I am too active, involved in my community, volunteering in several teaching-writing classes, contract teaching, traveling all over the world,gardening, and enjoying my home life, to get bored, stagnent, or old.

I don't want to dwell on how many years I have left. I enjoy looking back sometimes--acknowledging all the fun and great things I have done, been involved in, seen. I never look at the negatives as that would just be depressing--and there's not a darned thing I can do to rectify my past mistakes.

I don't like the wrinkles or the sagging chin or the other changes in my body. But I certainly am not about to go under the knife to look young again. Besides, I'm often told I have a great smile that I bestow on everyone--so I tell everyone these are smile and laughter lines.

I agree with Satchel Paige and I have planned to disgregard the date on my driver's license or passport. I'm going to fill each day with life and joy. And I'm going to dance right up to the Pearly Gates.

So, how old are you?
***

Prompt: Junk Jewelry

Oops & Housework

2010-10-14T20:07:00.000-07:00

I apologize, readers, for not including the prompt for last night. If I fail to give you on, and you want to continue writing, grab an idea out of your own muse. Or pick an object in your home to write about. The prompt last night was: housework.
***

Dust bunnies have found a home beneath my bed. Spiders freely weave their lacy webs high in the corners of my rooms. If unexpected guests drive up, I shove the clutter under the sofa, open closet doors to shovel it in, and hope no one wants tl sit a the dining room table which hides the basket of unfolded laundry. Why do I do this? If there's one thing I have come to abhor in my old age, it's housework.

I want to be at my computer writing. Or in the garden pulling weeds, trimming, or gathering a bouquet. Walking to Jack's Pond with my camera in hand makes me happy--and beats scrubbing toilets any day. Cooking and baking give me a certain fulfillment. Cleaning house puts me in a dark mood.

It must have begun in my early childhood, this aversion for household chores. I was the eldest of five children and, as such, babysat, washed dishes, helped with the enormous Monday wash using an old wringer-type machine, learned to cook standing on a stool, and lost part of my childhood buried in responsibility.

Southern women (girls) in my time were reared from the cradle to the grave to be wives and mothers, and to be subservient to men. Good women were satisfied with that. They shouldn't long for college or think of a career. That was the future planned for me which meant I would be tied to the kitchen, the family, church, and my husband's best interests for a lifetime. That meant housework forever.

It didn't quite work out that way because I was an avorous reader and figured out there was a different world out there for women who dared step out of the picture frame of Southern womanhood. I attended college. I had a career. I bore two children. Of course, I still did the housework.

Today, I am lucky. The kids are raised and gone. I long ago got rid of the Southern redneck and married my soul mate over thirty-three years ago. He could care less about dust bunnies and wheels the vacuum cleaner around with gay abandonment. We forget about the dishes and go for a walk. We've been known to vacation for a month and let the weeds take over the flower garden. My sweetie allows me to put housework way back on the burner.

It's only guilt or guests that pull me back in line--where I discover the house really doesn't look too bad after all. My imagination runneth over, especially when following a prompt.
***

Prompt: Quote: "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" (Satchel Paige)

WHAT MUSIC DO YOU ENJOY?

2010-10-13T20:15:00.000-07:00

George Jones was a disk jockey on a radio station in Bay City, Texas, when I was still in grade school. A struggling country western singer appearing at little-known honky tonks, he would become a star within five years. Since Mama loved country-western music, it was my first love. On second thought, I think I remember the old hymns in the local Baptist church as the first music I sang along with.

When I was a teenager, singers like Chubby Checker (The Twist was all the rage at dances), Fats Domino, and Elvis were the singers I followed. When Elvis appeared on television the first time, Daddy walked over and turned him off! Mama soothed my ruffled feathers by purchasing his latest album and allowed me to (almost) wear our her stereo. And my friends were so amazed when she hummed along with Fats Domino and turned up the volume on Paul Anka. During this period I also played in the high school band which introduced me to Sousa marches (which still stir me) and classical music (which I use to lower stress when it creeps in).

I enjoyed the Beatles, even some of the songs by the Rolling Stones. I was never into my kid's music in the '70's--who can even remember who they were listening to? I was working six days a week to support us after my divorce, so maybe I never had time to pay any attention to what they enjoyed.

When Ray and I married, we danced to late 1970's music and sought out places that were bringing back the Big Band era music. He was astounded that I could sing the words to all those tunes, some of which were popular years before I was born (Mama's taste again). He is also of German ancestry so I was introduced to Haufbrau's with live music and exuberant dancing.

Today, I simply consider myself a music lover. We have a huge music collection of music--all kinds of music. Our home is filled with music at all hours; night only is TV time. Mexican, Italian, Country Music, German, Big Band, 1950-60-70-80 (forget the '90's and today for the most part), Patriotic, Cajun and, for me only,jazz.

A favorite music? Much too difficult to decide.

No Man is An Island...

2010-10-12T22:20:00.000-07:00

What does this quote mean to you?

I personally think it means that, as humans, we cannot be living for ourselves alone. Whatever we choose to do affects others around us. There is no way we can be so selfish, want only what we want, forget what's the best for our family, neighborhood, or the world, and go after it.

But, I am sure you, as I, have run across people who could care less what the acting out of their desires does to others. You see it in Hollywood--stars who drink, drug, commit other infractions of the law--and are in such demand, put on such a pedestal, that they seldom suffer any consequences for their actions. I could care less what happens to them personally; if the headlines one of these days are that they died of a drug overdose, or alcohol poisoning, or such, I can only pray that God will take mercy on their souls. I am concerned, however, about the fact that they are seen as role models for their siblings and for hundreds, if not thousands, of "groupies or fans" who desire to be just like them.

Once someone in my life thought he was so special that everything he couldn't get, each job he lost, every failure he had, was someone else's fault. He ignored his family, spent his paycheck on his pleasures,, and still bragged about "all I did for my family." For years, he bemoaned the fact that his family never showed him any appreciation when he came home penniless, drunk, or smelling of cheap perfume.

He found out he wasn't an island. He lost his family before he killed his wife, or his children were beaten. He died twenty years later, broke, a drunk, alone, issolated in a foreign country; the end of his selfish life was mourned by few.

If we want respect, seek to be content in our place in life, happy in the knowledge we love and are loved, and have given our hearts to the beauty of the world around us, we have built a life that creates bridges to all the islands. And we will find they are
***

Prompt: What music do you enjoy? Why? Share a memory of the time music enfluenced you, your life, or connected you to someone you'll never forget.

ALASKA CALLED/MUSE NOT SO HAPPY

2010-10-11T20:38:00.000-07:00

We've been to Alaska--for the third time. But this trip we took the train to Denali. It was the most wonderful trip we have ever had. If you want a wonderful sea/land trip, log on to HollandAmerica.com and check them out. Is this a promotion--yes, it is. I don't make a dime out of it but I want everyone to have as wonderful a time as we had. Wait until next May or June though--Denali Park is closed for the winter. LOL

Since I've returned, I've managed to write some poetry--had three accepted for a new anthology so guess I didn't leave my muse behind--two of them were written while on our trip.

But I've been moping around since I returned when it comes to my writing. I don't feel I have true writer's block as I am still writing, but I am having a serious problem with focusing on something concrete, something written well enough to consider submitting. I manage to submit poetry, a children's picture book, but want to do more. (Overachiever, huh?)My head is filled with all these neat ideas and I can't settle on which one I want to write about.

So I've decided to take a clue from the creative writing classes I teach. Each week I offer them a prompt to write from--in case they can't focus and create ideas of their very own, or aren't involved in an on-going work-in-progress. For the next few times I appear here, I'm going to use a prompt to write from--a beginning line, a quote, dialogue, a topic, whatever.

Want to write along with me? I'll offer the next prompt at the end of each blog.

Tomorrow's prompt: Quote: No man is an island...

See you tomorrow, fans.

MENTAL STROLL

2010-08-22T21:45:00.000-07:00

"When you practice walking meditation, you go for a stroll." (Thich Nhat Hanh)

This quote was also be said about keeping a journal. When you write in your journal, you go for a stroll, without purpose or direction, without a travel plan. You start now, and you walk for a while, write for a while, then you stop. You have fragments. The next day you do it again. And some of what you write in your journal will be whole, make sense, and some other things will still only be fragments.

My journals have been all sorts of things in the past and will take all forms in the future. I've done many writing types, filled with tidbits, quotes, titles, bits and pieces of story ideas. A journal can be any of these, and more. They may be experimental, a path for women's healing, a nature lover's field guide notes. I have done daily meditations, long spiritual quests, and searches for the right path to publication. They are all worth keeping--though I doubt anyone will read them when I am gone.

"The purpose of walking meditation is walking medication himself. Going is important, not arriving. (Thich Nhat Hanh)

NEW ORLEANS COMING BACK

2010-08-21T22:29:00.000-07:00

I graduated from High School in Houma, Louisiana, about sixty miles from New Orleans. New Orleans was the city where you went to soak up the city's history, to enjoy zydeco and jazz music on Bourbon Street, to watch the artists around Jackson Square, and to sit on the levee, watching the traffic on the mighty Mississippi. Though I left there two years after graduation, I have never left the area in my heart, still have good friends there, and love to visit. It was a nightmare to see what damage Katrina did to my city, and now what BP had done to the Gulf.

Tonight on television, I watched a program entitled "New Orleans Rising" about a section of New Orleans I must admit I knew nothing about. Ponchartrain Park, with a view of the Lake from second stories, had been established in 1951 and middle-class African-Americans grew with the community, raised children to become doctors, layers, contractors, and actors. It was not crime ridden because the residents were law-abiding citizens who wanted a good place to rear their children. And those children, no matter to what heights they had risen in the world, still called this community home. It was heartbreaking to see it virtually destroyed by that hurricane, and ignored when the officials, federal, city and state, began to rebuild the commercial and more affluent white neighborhoods.

This show will be repeated on CNN several times this week--and hopefully beyond--and I'm urging you to view it. It is a story of family, community, determination, hard work, and the true American courage and faith to never give up.

SHORT STORY ANECDOTE

2010-08-17T09:19:00.000-07:00

If short story writers would analyze the structure of an effectively told anecdote, they would clearly understand the traditional story form. Read anecdotes in as many articles as you can, and you will see that they are basically little stories used to emphasize the theme of the piece you are reading.

It is an idea that has become a story developed through a plot line. There is narrative, foreshadowing, dialogue, motivation characterization, description, suspense, crisis, and a conclusive end.

Inside a lean anecdote is a fat story ready to be written.

Quote (Author Unknown): There are no "one-novel" writers. There are only novelists who have stopped writing.

ROADS

2010-08-12T21:40:00.000-07:00

Do you have a favorite road to take drives on? This is brought to mind because the weather has finally turned lovely around here and we are thinking of getting out of "Dodge" for a drive this weekend--maybe a sort of delayed anniversary gift to each other. Our 33rd anniversary is Friday, the 13th. And, yes, we got married on a Friday, too. No bad luck here.

When thinking of roads, I remember one that I love and hated years ago. It was a beautiful winding mountain road in all seasons, and I always wanted to drive it at a slower pace, maybe even the 35 MPH speed limit; drivers behind me hated that leisurely drive I insisted on doing. Lights flashed, horns honked, and tempers flared as other drivers insisted I speed up. When available I pulled into a pull-out created for just this reason, but they were few and far between.

I lived at the end of the winding road for five years. It was bordered with tall pins and oaks, large boulders, and sheltered by an immense blue sky. Quaint village, ski resorts so active in winter, and a few scattered businesses appeared on the drive. It was beautiful in all seasons, a place that whetted the muse and made a writer's figures long for pen or computer to capture the varied thoughts.

In summer it was cool, in autumn the leaves on oaks changed colors, in winter it was a fairy tale world of white. In most seasons, it was a sweet-smelling, fresh-air, sort of drive. But any season of the year, you'll have those fast boogers on your tail attempting to hurry you past it all.

REPETITION

2010-08-10T22:01:00.000-07:00

Although we are creatures of habit, many of us become bored very easily. I have heard people complain because their bus or train or automobile follows the same route to work each day. How could they be bored?

How can any new or known path, a routine way, be any less new and full of possibility than a route traveled on any day? I like to believe that I would see something unique each time I passed along the way. Haven't you looked at paintings a second time, or sat gazing at it for a long time, and seen more and more as time passes? The same happens each day as you move through your routine.

There is constant change everywhere in everything. There is a new experience to collect every day. For writers, each new experience, or a repeat of the pattern, offers new ideas, new descriptions, new characters to use in our work. Just walking in your own neighborhood will bring something different to the eye.

Repeat your route of travel. Repeat your daily walk. Look at the same paintings or photographs again and again, waiting for the multitude of stories or ideas to appear. I guarantee you won't be bored.

HAVE BIOGRAPHIES GROWN UP?

2010-08-09T20:23:00.000-07:00

When it comes to writing biographies it seems we have come full circle. Years ago the stories people's lives were enhanced with the authors creativity--in other words, the writer wrote the character to read, for good or bad, like a character in fiction. Then along came the era of "nothing but the facts, ma'am" and writers could not embellish anything no matter how dull the whole book or article was. Now, we are seeing a leaning toward creative nonfiction, even in "true" life stories, and it seems no one is going to be exposed on Oprah as long as the readers buy those books.

"We want biographies that show all sides of a character, humor as well as the ugly, or saintly, side. No more heavy-handed moralistic biographies. These books must be based on solid research but you may tweak the characterization a bit, let us hear the voice even though the author never heard the real person speak, but we should not sanitize the facts."

What double-speak is that? How can a writer write to those guidelines--or were they guidelines? Is this what they call creative nonfiction? And, if this is the definition, are we allowed to use this tool to write the story of someone's life? And if I was writing a biography, how would I handle it?

I've added writing for children to my mix of genre; it's actually not anything new as I have been doing this for years. Maybe I should say that I have come back to it after a long rest. Should I write about my many-times removed cousin, Jessee James, the outlaw from the late 1800's? I don't think young readers today would be interested and certainly not if I couldn't fictionalize the dialogue. Plus, today's youthful readers are much more interested in reading about a sports figure, a rapper, or someone who has overcome great odds--Jim Abbott, a pitcher with one hand, is a good example. I don't think Cousin Jesse has too many redeeming qualities.

Scholastic Books publishes the most biographies for children, mainly because they are used by teacheers who order for their own classes. This thing has been around so long I remember asking my parents for money for Scholastic books in the early 1950's. Who can compete with them? How do we get a book accepted by them?

What sells most? Heroes. But who are heroes today? We've lost Tiger, and Dennis Rodman,with green hair and nose rings, already has his biography for young readers. Astronauts used to be high on the list and scientists--they seem to be passe now. Books about minority women are popular. So shall I write about the woman in our western history who passed herself off as a man in order to live an exciting life as a stagecoach driver? She also became the first woman to legally vote in this country. Would Scholastic, or anyone, purchase such a book? The answer is no. Why? Because today's kids never heard about her. You know, when I had to read Shakespeare, he was long dead and I had never heard of him either.

If we are lucky, we will find a publisher willing to read our biographies--ones of women minorities and people who are not super famous. We might be able to sell them on historical figures no longer living--so they don't have to be revised and have a longer shelf life--or the biography of someone who just lived a fun life. We know they will never become bestsellers but they are in constant demand.

Biographies are a lot of research, aren't that easy to write, and are difficult to sell. But I remember how much I enjoyed reading them as a child and feeling I knew this people from reading about their lives.

I think it's worth writing a biography.

NAMES AND PLACES

2010-07-25T22:07:00.000-07:00

It is important to say the names of who we are, the names of the places we have lived, and to write the details of our lives.

"I now live in sunny (usually) San Diego County, California and, since I can not live in my beloved South, I am happy here. For five years, I lived in an Alpine-type village in the California mountains. I walked the streets of that small place in all the lovely seasons--which I miss each year. I have lived in the desert and in the Central Valley, the bread basket of the West. There are some of these places, like the South, that I still long for in an almost hidden part of my heart.

We all have lived; our moments are important. This is what it is to be a writer. A writer must say yes! to life, to all of life. So what if we're middle-aged, slightly overweight, and color our hair to cover the gray? We are also individualists, women with a lot to offer the ones around us, and the world.

There are so many "no's" surrounding us. We, as female writers, must find how to assert the positive realities of our lives, but also accept things as they are--for example, the fact I can't reside where I most desire. If we can do this, we will have the capability to create writing most satisfactorially, out of these loose threads of our existance.

Remember to name the places you call special.

ORIGINAL DETAILS

2010-07-23T20:43:00.000-07:00

One of the best pieces of advice I was ever given was to use original details in my writing.

Life is so rich. I can write down those real details into my scenes and hardly need to create any others. Really? Not true in all cases. If I only use those details I know first hand from my own experiences, my writing may sound rigid. I need to make up or create some to give my writing more believability.

I love the South I was born in. I have been told I write with a Southern voice which thrills me. If I asked myself why I choose this setting again and again, part of the reason is probably because I feel I know the details--or can make them up with some authority. I know the people there, how they talk, react, and the emotions they show--or don't. I can write about them and the places they live because they are me. And I don't think I would do too well writing about other places. For example,if I have just been to New Orleans for a visit of nostalgia on a heat-filled, dripping August afternoon, stopped to have boiled crayfish and a Jax beer at the Magnolia Bar on St. Charles Street, I'm not going home and write about some off-beat bar in Chicago.

Where are the details?

Be aware of the details around you, but don't be self-conscious. You will naturally take in your environment; later you will be able to sit at your desk and bring these recollections to the screen in a positive way.

OBSESSIONS

2010-07-22T19:14:00.000-07:00

Have you ever made a list of your obsessions? You think you have none? There are many? We all have them and they change and grow, or fall off and others take their place. Some are, thankfully, forgotten but there are some we should embrace.

Writers always wind up writing about these obsessions whether in nonfiction articles or essays, or giving these characteristics to one of our characters. Things that haunt us; incidents we can't forget; dreams or hopes or pain we carry--our minds going over them again and again, unwilling to release them.

What are my obsessions? Writing. Reading. Traveling. Politics in an election year. Christmas. Attempting to get everything right. Once I obsessed with hiding the fact I was an abused wife, wanting to protect the illusion that we were an okay family, needing to keep my job, not wanting to admit that I needed to get out of the marriage and get a life. This is an extreme example of obsession but, if you look at this, there is nothing in existence that we can not be obsessed about.

Obsessions do have power in our lives--and the lives we create in our stories. We can harness this power in both instances. Are our characters obsessed with each other, or a crime that happened years ago? Do we have people, instances, or something in our lives that could be considered an obsession? For example, I don't consider myself whole unless I write something each day, and am obsessed with keeping the freedom to do that writing. Don't get between me and my computer, anyone!

Now that's obsession.

FREE YOUR MIND

2010-07-12T01:39:00.000-07:00

Don't "make" your mind do anything. We are told to sit in our chair and wait for the muse to arrive, but what we usually do, if we will admit it, is sit there, hands on the keyboard, willing or making ourselves write--something, anything. We have this fear of not putting something on that darned screen so we "strain our brain" to make writing happen.

Maybe this has its place in our scheme of writing, but it is not always the best avenue for our creative minds to drive down. More often than not, we should simply get out of the way and let creativity happen. Listen to what is going on in our head. Record our thoughts, even though they make seem wildly rambling, and let our mind roll along at its own pace. If we do what Julia Cameron says, get up each morning and do our "morning papers" or writing practice, most of us will find our groove.

Our minds leap around. If we allow it to leap, our writing will probably do the same. Try it. If your mind is like mine, it will jump, hop, skip from one thought to the other. Each thought will lead to the other. Write down as much of these thought experiences as you can; notes of our thoughts will lead us to writing that we never thought possible.

Let your mind run wild. And enjoy the adventure.

DISCIPLINE WHEN YOU WRITE

2010-07-10T20:26:00.000-07:00

There are times when you have to beat your lazy self into submission. There is always a part of the makeup of we writers that hits those times when we don't want to put seat to the chair and pen to paper. We'd rather play.

I haven't been playing but have found my injury and pain has curtailed the drive to write. I think my muse has been hijacked. I realize we can't always control this urge to be nonproductive but I am putting myself on a guilt trip. So I have tried to do something I teach writers to follow: take up my notebook and write this resistance out of my system. As I always preach, I plan to allow five or ten minutes to these voices who have nothing to do with what I should be writing--maybe work on my next book, write a short story for an online site, a new poem for my critique group, or sketch out another children's story. (If I worked on all of these, even bits and pieces, my notebook would certainly not be empty.)

Two friends and I have started a new snail-mail writer's group. We keep in touch in between submissions to each other (a newsletter from each of us to each other)by email and in a short while have already created a good bond for helping each other with our writing and our lives. I don't like groups where they expect you to be perfect or to always be striving for an agent or a market for your bestseller. I also don't enjoy groups that tear the offered writings into little pieces word by word but, on the other hand, I don't want someone to always hold back with critiques or pat me on the back with a "wonderful everything" proclamation either.

But I need to write, as do you. I need to find my way back to the demand on my mind and heart to create. And that takes descipline--and maybe more than one trick. I can tell myself I only have a certain time each day to write so I can't fool around and waste one minute of it. In other words, I should set a writing/working routine.

I read once that every writer should try to fill one of the 80-word spiral notebooks each month. That's a mountain for me--not because I can't do it but because I writein so many notebooks--writing, morning glories, quotes, etc. I need to stick to a open-ended notebook for writing anything and everything that comes to mind.

Whatever it takes, you and I should descipline ourselves to write something--dare I say somewhat useful--on a reasonable schedule. Only then can we continue to call ourselves writers.

LIFE CAN BE A SURPRISING OUTING

2010-07-09T21:28:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, I tripped on a sidewalk pushed up by tree roots, and "smushed" my knee. I am such an active person this has been a pain in more ways than the one in my leg that nothing seems to aleviate. Taking Tylonal, Motrin, Advil and combinations of each is like eating candy, but the pain doesn't go away. When I was in Urgent Care on the day of the accident, the doctor urged me to head back if I saw any signs of swelling in my ankle.

I have been doing everything as ordered: the ice backs four or five times a day, elevatated foot while sitting or when sleeping, and walking around with a cane in the house, a few ventures out with a cane, and had spent the first three days after the accident flat on my back with foot elevated above my heart. I saw my physician a week later because the swelling of the knot filled with blood wasn't going down and I wanted assurance I was doing all I could do to heal. She did some tests, checked for torn muscles or tissue, and told me to walk more as inactivity could cause blood clots also.

That's when the ankle and foot began to turn purple/black. Then, almost two weeks after my fall, two days ago, the ankle began to swell.I headed for the doctor this morning; my physician couldn't see me but one I knew from a prior appointment did. He immediately sent me to the lab for a special blood test. I waited 30 minutes for the result and cringed when it came back positive. For what? Could be a blood clot, or constriction of the veins. I would have to drive 30 miles to the hospital and have a vascular scan.

No blood clots. No blood poisoning. Just very severe, deep trauma to the entire leg. The swelling is caused because the blood from my "knot" is slowly draining out and downward. The doctor showed me where the discoloring is getting lighter in most other places and that was a good sign of the blood seeping into my system. I am to continue the ice packs, do 60% leg elevation and 40% walking. I am to definitely continue sleeping with my leg elevated. And it may be weeks (yipes!) before my leg/pain/swelling is gone.

So hope you will understand that my writing time has been somewhat curtailed. But I hope to drag this laptop across my knees and keep up this blog.

I'll be back tomorrow.

TEACHERS CAN DO THAT TO YOU

2010-07-05T21:49:00.000-07:00

So you have always wanted to be a writer. You knew that when you were how old? Did others encourage you--your family, your classmates, your teacher? If they didn't, ignore their voices in your head. If you have the desire to write, you can nurture that desire, and your talent will grow with practice. Tap that ability just beneath the surface and the flow will come through for you.

No matter what you want to write, give it a try. Contrary to what teachers have always told you, you don't have to write about what you know. That path destroys curiosity, the urge to learn, and the need to grow. Hosw dull our writing would become if we never searched for something new.

Writers and school students rush into classes. That's not a bad thing; it helps us to learn more about the craft. But sometimes teachers are not really good for us. They long to, and often do, control the muses.

Public schools can take a natural poet and story writer, have them read "real" literature, discuss the virtues of famous writers,and embrace it. We don't have to step away from the warmth of our work, or not so famous others, in order to understand.

Stay close to the heart of your writing. Know what you want to say to the world of readers--and write it.

HEARTS OPEN, IDEAS WELCOME

2010-07-04T22:24:00.000-07:00

The trick to writing is to keep your heart open; eyes are good too, but your emotions are what makes your writing sing. We who write often, know when we sit down each time, no matter how much we have written in the past, this day on something new is the first time all over again. And our heart has to be in the process.

If you're looking for ideas, all of the topics, scenes, characters, and stories are all around you. Look around the room you are sitting in, for example. I'm sure you will see something that will trigger an idea, or lead you to get on the Internet and research something you've seen until the essay or story begins to form.

Go out onto the street. Who lives in the area? What do they do for a living? How many children do they have, and can you recall something you've seen or heard them do that might give you an idea? Or go on a trip and keep notes. To a park--watch the children on the slide, or the homeless person digging through trash cans for cans to recycle.

Write about anything and everything you know. If you are curious about a subject, or hold a nostalgic memory in your heart, seek more information on the subject matter and share the story with the reading world.

In matters of the heart, or ideas your cherish, you are the expert, even if you've only been in this idea mode for a few minutes. Write!

TOPICS FROM THE MIND

2010-07-02T21:50:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we sit down to write at our appropriated time (if we are so lucky to be able to schedule such time)and cannot think of a thing to write. I know many so-called experts say we should just start typing, even if it is to say "I can't think of anything to write." I try to do something different.

Remember those notebooks I tell you to always have handy--a large one around the house and a small one in your purse, briefcase or backpack? You should have snippets in them: there should be notes on books, quotes, lines of dialolgue, beginnings of stories, anything that might be used one day to write about. Take one of those ideas and type it onto the screen, or write it at the top of a page. Write.

Maybe this snippet will elude to a flash of memory. You might write poetry, a short story, the beginnings of a novel, maybe even a personal essay. Anything can help you activate your writing, such as my memory of the scene out my kitchen window in a home in Bakersfield, California:

My favorite light comes in through my kitchen window during the spring mornings. The Chinaberry trees I planted as bare twigs have grown so tall they throw morning shade over the window, leaving no glare anymore.

The trees branches are long, the tiny leaves are lacy, and the shape of the tree is that of an umbrella. My husband thought I was a bit mad to pick these "sticks" out at the local Home Depot and plant three of them in a row on the east side of the house. I chose them for several reasons, one of which was the fact that they grew quickly and our new home was starving for anything to block out the hot San Joaquin Valley sun. Another reason was that these Chinaberry trees brought back childhood memories of shade made in that Texas yard where I had first found my love for capturing my life with words. And, in Texas, another name for the tree is an umbrella tree, which is what these trees in my yard looked like.

Beyond the tree I could see colorful beds of Sweet William, red and yellow cannas, pink and burgandy oleanders, yellow Carolina jasmine, sweet honeysuckle, and the white cups of the calla lilies. The soft morning light seemed to draw the color and scents into the room.

When the sun shifts to strike the stained glass and crystal suncatchers hanging in the kitchen window, and casts prisms of primary colors over the walls, countertops, and floors, I am so pleased that a season ago I chose to plant those twigs that became a shelter for birds, soft breezes, and childhood memories.

CRACKLING PLOT OF MIND-BENDING COMPLEXITY

2010-06-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

Reader, you have got to read this book. It is fascinating book (which followed an equally great one, "River of Bones." Let me give you a little review of this thriller (can find it at Amazon), and be sure to got to Mary Deal's website: www.WriteAnyGenre.com, too.

DOWN TO THE NEEDLE (ISBN 978-1-4401-9820-5)
By Mary Deal

Five-year-old Becky went missing 23 years ago. Abigail Fisher has never stopped looking, nor given up hope, that one day she will find her daughter. When clues lead her to Megan Winnaker, a young woman soon to be put to death for setting fires that killed people, Abi and her friend, Joe Arno, begin a dangerous, twisted journey seeking the truth.

Even with Megan jailed, the fires continue. Detective Britto believes there are extremist groups involved and joins forces with Abi and Joe to follow the clues. The more Abi learns about the prisoner, the more see-saw emotions rise, causing her heart problems to send her into a tail spin. Were Megan and her daughter members of a gang, followers of a supremacy group? Did the scar on Megan's face cover removal of a tell-tale mold? Why did her artwork duplicate Becky's? If she isn't Becky, how can she know the nick-name Abi gave her daughter? What part does her kidnaper ex-husband Preston play in this scene? And how can they save this woman even Detective Britto believes is innocent?

When birth certificates for both Preston and Becky are found in the bottom of a decorative box hidden among Megan's deceased father's memorabilia, Abi is sure she has finally found her daughter? Or has she?

Mary Deal, award winning author, has created a multi-layered, pitch-perfect story which propels you into a stunning race of hide-and-seek. Down to the Needle offers a crackling plot of mind-bending complexity. This book will keep readers busy grasping for bits and pieces they hope will hold the key to the mystery, right up until Deal delivers the perfect ending.

If you read only one book this summer, make it this one.

The Knees Have It

2010-06-28T21:57:00.000-07:00

I had such good intentions of keeping up this blog in a more timely manner. And then I tangled with the "root feet" of a tree pushing up a sidewalk and suffered a knee injury (no broken bones, thank goodness)and have been flat on my back, knee elevated above my heart and ice packed for three days. The massive bruising and swelling are still apparent but not as large as at first; today I managed to walk with a cane but soon hit the ice packs once again. And,if you have ever attempted to work on a laptop while flat on your back, it doesn't happen.

I have caught up on a lot of reading though, and now know every flaw in the ceiling and walls of my bedroom. I'm always a bit behind in reading new books but have just finished Tami Hogg's "Deeper Than the Dead." She starts this book with children finding a half-buried female body, and goes from scary to terrified in a few pages. I've read about a book a day and already passed them on. It's been good to find this time, though I'd rather have done this reading for a different reason.

Tomorrow I will tell you about a new author I found who will knock your socks off.

LOVE OR MARKETS ONLY

2010-06-23T19:43:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to step away from writing only fiction and have been drafting some articles to submit—who knows where at this time. I know I should study the market first, right, but in order to get back into the nonfiction groove, I have simply been writing. But there will come that time when I must study the market in order to place my work.

That brings up the age-old question: what comes first, your love for writing, or a market to sell it to? Some writers will tell you they only write for their personal pleasure and what they want to read. Still others say that doing such a thing is a waste of time. What if you can’t find a market for your work? What if the audience you thought was out there for your work, isn’t? What if no editor today wants to publish what you love to write? Hard as it may be to acknowledge, we all have to write to the market if we want to be published in today’s writing world.

That means we have to know our market. We have to read and research those magazines or publishers we want to accept our work. What interests us may not be anything like the topics editors find unique. And that is a word (UNIQUE) we have to listen to. Today what we submit must be different, off the beaten path of the same old information recycled, a topic covered thoroughly that will give the readers information they don’t get in their daily lives.

Researching your market means knowing what the editor/publisher will print. Write a good piece suitable in content, word length, and interest for the publication. Offer the audience something unusual about your subject matter, give expert’s advice or worthwhile quotes, and make sure your manuscript is proofed, tightened, and follows the guidelines set forth by the editor.

I’m looking forward to the research for my pieces, even though it will probably mean a lot of rewrites. I want editors, and their readers, to be as enthusiastic as I am about my topic. That means writing for their pleasure too.

CATCHING UP

2010-06-23T03:33:00.000-07:00

Hopefully, I have sufficiently recovered from eye surgery to once more keep this blog up. Of course, that is just one of my excuses for not being as consciencious about writing this blog as I should be. Now, my brother introduced me to Facebook and my kids, grandkids and old classmates have me hooked. Also, I am back to teaching and writing and reviewing so...

My critique pals, Lora and Carol met while I was "laid up" so have kept the group going. Carol's workshop schedule has picked up so it might be Lora and I for the most part, especially since Carol is beginning her own speaking engagements soon. Lora and I write along the same lines so much it won't hamper us. We met last week and spent four hours critiquing, talking writing, and were a great help to each other. I am hoping to continue this no matter what happens.

I'm back into my book: BJ and the Alligator Stomp. It sat for a year or so while I worked on other projects and I felt I needed something for my snail-mail critique group so pulled it out. I have actually written several chapters in a few weeks so that has encouraged me. I need to go back and insert a chapter showing the on-going conflict (even after thirty years) between BJ and Pete, and rewrite their first new encounter. Can you believe I have them meeting again when BJ plows into his shiny black pickup with the U-Haul truck she is driving? Well, what can you expect from an author who has her main character in "Aunt Lutie's Cafe" meet the sheriff while climbing out of a dumpster?

Lora also has encouraged me to submit a children's story to a picture-book publisher. I am in the process of looking up such publishers and then I need to do the dreaded query or cover letter. She can certainly help me with this as this writing is right up her alley. She writes the greatest children's stories! I am sure she will find more than one publisher for her work this year.

I'll have more to say along those lines in this blog as time goes by.

The weather has been improving--though the wind is still high and the fire danger is growing. Our garden is producing and the camera has been kept busy with snapshots of all the beautiful blooms and nature. I need to work on some poetry/photo booklets again.

So many ideas, so little time.

UNBALANCED

2010-04-07T20:38:00.000-07:00

I had my first cataract surgery on March 31--one week ago today. The distance vision has been restored--it is awesome. And the colors are sooo bright, white, real! But, my mid-level vision is whacky, my old perscription is way off, and I had to purchase readers across the counter which work so-so. I feel so unbalanced. I can drive and I can see the television, every tiny word on the screen, and there are really white houses on the mountains across the valley, but my world is rocked.

May 5 the left eye will be operated on. It is a little more scary as that is, what my surgeon calls, the damaged eye. It has an elognigated eyeball and the stigmatism/pronounced nearsightedness make it not a sure thing. However, I have placed this in God's hands and am sure this will be successful too.

In the meantime, even with "readers", I have found it very difficult to read and work on the computer. I have been replaying writing workshop tapes by Natalie Goldberg, Julia Cameron and Anne Lamott. Each of them, in their own way, tell writers they should do some kind of writing each day. Anne just says write. Julia Cameron calls her three pages minimum "Morning Papers" and Natalie Goldberg tells us to just put pen/pencil to paper and keep it moving, writing "Writing Practice."

In spite of all the fuzzy visions before me, I will attempt to do my morning pages or writing practice each day. I led my writing glass today and, the group that has always been there for me (and I them), proved how truly caring they are. I voiced my concern about the struggle to prepare constructive lessons for them until the completion of my surgeries and the healing process which will lead to the right corrective lenses. Their answer was simple,"We don't care about the lessons. We're just glad you're here with us." Wow.

NEW EYES

2010-03-30T19:37:00.000-07:00

I am having the first of two cataract surgeries tomorrow. Surprise to me, as it was suppoed to be April 7. However, I have scrambled to get some projects completed in the last two days since finding out about the change, and am ready to go.

I attend a writer's conference on book marketing on Saturday with two dear writer friends. Some of the points were well taken but we three agreed that most of this marketing was out of our league. Do I have money for 10,000 copies of my books and give away 5,000? Do I have extra money to give a cruise away in a contest for purchasers of my book? Can you hear me laughing all the way to your front door? I was a little disappointed that most of what I heard was not for the ordinary writer. Even traditional publishers don't give out such goodies on behalf of their writers.

I am going to be out of the loop for a few days while my eyesight reaches a certain point of healing but I have a few writing tapes I will listen to and can make notes on some ideas I have "squirrelling around in my head"--and hopefully, be able to read my hen scratch when I recoup.

Though this is "a piece of cake" as others have told me, my doctor has said there are 95% "perfect sight" outcome, but then there's that 5% that goes wrong. So keep me in your prayers, or at least send good thoughts toward my Dr. Zane.

FEAR AND REACTION

2010-03-26T21:18:00.000-07:00

Deeply buried fears can help generate exciting plots. Who or what am I afraid of? Snakes. Really violent men. Someone waiting for me inside my home late at night. Something happening to my husband or children. Cancer. Memory loss. I guess I have more fears than I thought.

Who knows what writers fear that creates their plots. It seems that my favorite authors either have a lot of fears, or great imaginations that need no outside stimulus. Whatever, they come up with outstanding plots, where detectives or brave amateurs are each driven in his or her own way to find answers.

I love to read (and write) mysteries. I don't usually have detectives as my main characters in what I write--I go for the amateur detective more often than not. But when I am reading, my favorite characters are detectives, PI's, forensic experts, etc. I want these characters (theirs and mine) to strive to solve the crimes or catch the criminal. Why should they do that? Because many of them fear not being in control and, therefore, must be the ONE who creates the outcome for a criminal or mystery. Others fear failure, or losing authority if they don't find the culprit. Many I read about, and hope to write as well about, drive themselves to meet the problems, even the murderer, head-on or face-to-face.

What should my characters fear in the deepest part of their mind or soul? How do they deal with that fear? Through avoidance? Compulsion? Anger? Depression? Pretending not to have any fear by taking chances of who they meet or where they go? Seeking out the perpetrator? Or finding the hero to cling to because he is stronger?

Can this be used, this way my characters handle fear, to create plot or new ideas? It seems like the best place to start if I were beginning a new mystery. Hmm What did I say I feared the most--snakes? Forget it, I can't write a book, especially not a mystery, including snakes. That is one fear I don't want to face.

REJECTIONS

2010-03-24T21:29:00.000-07:00

Over the years I have been writing I have received more rejections than I could ever count. It seems today, however, that more of the articles, short fiction, and personal essays I write are rejected. Most of these would have sold several years ago. Now they seem to be unacceptable.

I wonder if it is the way they are written? Am I not sounding fresh enough, or researching the material in as much depth as I once did? Maybe the markets I am choosing are just not the right ones. Or is it that so many magazines are now using in-house staff to write for them, not using as many freelancers as before? Has this economy done us all in?

Whatever the reasons, I will continue to make the attempt. I love to write and I enjoy having readers comment on my work, come back for more. I will do a better job of seeking out the correct markets. I will check my sources, my research, and make sure I have proofed my work to the very best of my ability.

And, even if there are fewer markets for short fiction, my heart is there when I write in that genre. I will continue to get my tales into words on this computer, hoping that at least my friends will enjoy reading them, hoping someone will laugh or cry or agree with my characters. I will try to see them published because, afterall, all I can receive are rejections!

P.D. JAMES

2010-03-23T12:31:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite authors, P.D. James, died recently. She lived near London, wrote wonderful detective stories, and was my idol. Not that I enjoyed all of her books, but I admired her work ethic, her longivity in this publishing world (she was 90 and has just published a wonderful book for writers, "Talking About Detective Fiction" and her depth of research to create a "real" fiction world.

in 1983, Phuyllis Dorothy James, was awarded the Order of the British Empire; then in 1991 she was named a life peer of the United Kingdom and given the title Baroness James of Holland Park. In 2000 she was a member of the House of Lords. And all the time she wrote.

She always said she gained the knowledge that she used to write her mysteries from her own life. She entertained her own siblings with her storytelling, but she waited for years to write her first novel. Her husband became ill so she went to work--eventually administering the Forensic Science Service of the Police Department.

Though I admit to not reading all of her work, I am a big fan of her character, both in books and on TV, Adam Dalgliesh. She decribes this character thus: Middle-aged widower, commander in Scotland Yard, London. His wife had died in childbirth and he has no romantic entanglements. He is tall, dark; rather moody and writes poetry for a hobby to help him cope with the pain of his job.

P.D. James gave him the qualities that she felt are important in a man--courage, intelligence, generosity and sensibility. He has a fondness for architecture claret wine, and reads biographies. And he would never be caught dead fabricating evidence!

I also enjoyed her character, Cordelia Gray, a female PI, which has been portrayed on many TV. P.D. James said she always enjoyed this charater.

It was interesting to me, as a writer, to read what is always on her desk as she writes: a dictonery and thesaurus, a pad of lined paper, and a collection of ball point pins with black ink. No computers for her, I presume. At least, not on the first draft.

I will miss just knowing she is still out there somewhere at her desk writing those perfectly researched mysteries.

SAILING THE SEAS WITH EYES GONE FUZZY

2010-03-20T02:08:00.000-07:00

I’ve been out to sea for awhile (literally, for we have been on a cruise) and, before that, spent several weeks with appointments to determine what was going on with my loss of vision. That’s a very scary thing for a writer and one who loves to read as much as I do. It turns out the “small” cataracts are not so small anymore and both need to come off. The left eye will go under the knife on April 7 and then, as my surgeon says, you will probably go a little nuts (nuttier than I already am I think he actually meant) with one good eye and one bad until the next one cataract is removed.

The thought of losing my sight has certainly put the brain to working. It tells me I should appreciate this lovely world around me; all the writing I have been putting off for a “better, more convenient time” needs to be done, and I need to laugh and love more. Maybe I can’t give all the credit to this diagnosis of lost sight though. It might have something to do with my leaving the stressful Board I was on, finding in less than a month’s time how relieved I am, how much more free I feel, how open to new writing paths I am now, and what a joy it is to not have a “meeting” called at the drop of a hat. There iS a good life out there and I have been missing part of it for more than two years.

So this is just a short note to encourage all of you to look at your life—are you volunteering (or working) too much, have you scheduled some time for yourself to kick back and daydream, and have you finally made it clear to your family (or yourself) that this craft of writing means a great deal to you and you must have the freedom to pursue it? If any of these things are missing from your life, set them in motion. Life is short. The writing muse doesn’t hang around forever. Make time to follow your dreams.

Monthly Holiday Writing

2010-02-28T21:02:00.000-08:00

As most of you know, I teach a memoir writing class to seniors at a retirement facility. Each month I give them a prompt for each session and they share their work with their fellow writers. This last week I gave them a list of several "holidays" in the month of February: There are more holidays than just Valentines Day and Presidents Day after all.

For my own sharing, I chose Ferris Wheel Day, February 14. That reached out to me because it brings out a memory that goes back to 1944 when I was four. My aunt had come to live with us while her husband was in the Army; he fought in the Battle of the Bulge and I can still remember how worried she was when she didn't receive a letter for many weeks at a time. Anyway, she was a great aunt and, having no children of her own, she "adopted" me as her own during those years.

Aunt Margie's in-laws lived in Texas City, Texas, about thirty miles from our home. She often took me on the bus with her to visit them; we always stayed for a few days and had a great time. Her in-laws treated me like a favorite granddaughter and I loved the attention. On one of these trips, she took me to a county fair—my very first visit to one. I loved everything about it—the animals, the exhibits, and the midway with all the barkers attempting to draw you in to pay to play their games. Or ride their exciting pieces of magic machinery.

We rode the Tilt-a-Whirl. We rode the Carousel. But my eye was on that huge Ferris wheel towering over the entire fair. I insisted I wanted to ride that one. My aunt tried to discourage me, told me I wouldn't like it, that it was really high up there, that once on I couldn't get off. And I insisted that was the one I needed to ride! She gave in.

Do I need to tell you that it was fun going up but when the chair rose to the top and we sat there swaying back and forth and I looked down on the tiny world below me, I was absolutely petrified. I wanted off. And, as she had warned, there was no way to get off that thing. I began to cry. She couldn't console me. The more I cried, the higher the terror rose in my throat until it came out in a loud wail.
My aunt tried to soothe me. She tried to calm me down. She reverted to something she never did, she threatened to spank me if I didn't shut up. I didn't care what she did once we were off that thing, I wanted off—NOW! I made such a ruckus, the operator let us off as soon as we got back to earth. My aunt didn't spank me, but she was certainly ticked off at me.

Over the years, as a teenager and later as an adult, the Ferris Wheel day became a joke between us. She and her husband had moved to Washington, DC after the war where my uncle had a government job. Later they lived in Virginia, and in each place we visited often. When she proposed we go to some historical sight, I would always say, "Just as long as it doesn't have a Ferris Wheel."

I have never been on a Ferris Wheel since that day. Something about that experience stuck in my psyche and I have never wanted to try it again. I have ridden huge roller coasters across the country, have flown on rings at the Munich Octoberfest, and have zipped through all the rides at Disneyland and Disney World but never a Ferris Wheel has attempted me.

Why not check out some of these "odd or different" holidays each month, pick one, and write about it. It might stimulate you to check each month out--and there must be a market for one of your brilliant pieces.

HOW DID THEY WRITE

2010-02-07T20:50:00.000-08:00

Recently, I was reading about some quirks of writing habits among famous writers. I wondered if I had some--not the same--but ones original only to me. Do I write better in certain places? At certain time of day or night? Do I only write on the computer, or with pen and pad first? Is there a certain color of ink I use to write, or sign my name?

I write most anywhere. If I am meeting a deadline or doing final edits, I am only comfortable in my office at the main computer or on my laptop. If I'm writing off the top of my head, or creating a first draft of a story, I take my Acer mini to Jack's Pond, Discovery Lake, or Starbucks. Or out on the patio.

Once upon a time, I could write into the wee hours of the night. Now, I am into writing in the morning or early afternoon when I feel fresher. If I'm on deadline or editing a story or piece, I can work at night but the creative side of my brain, my imagination, is not as active late in the day as it used to be.

I often don't begin writing on any electronic device. I use a yellow-lined pad and a pen. If writing a story, I begin writing and continue until my first spurt of inspiration is run through. Then I will go to the computer, input it, print off the last page for my next beginning point. When writing an article or essay, I complete the first draft before going to the computer. I believe that by putting my work on the computer at this point, I am editing/rewriting the first draft.

And I do have this one quirk regarding ink. For example, when writing in my journal, I swtich colors of ink with each days entry. I think it gives my journal a more colorul, insightful look to my work. And when I autograph my books at a book signing or to send off through the mail, I create my message and sign my name in purple ink. Maybe it is something to do with the poem --when I grow old, I will wear purple.

Here are a few habits of the famous: John Nichols (The Milagro Bean Fields) writes in the tub beginning at 4 a.m. He writes by longhand on the back olf junk mail.

Tennessee Williams wrote "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" on his favorite writing material--an assortment of hotel stationery.

Robert Pirsig (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance) wrote his book on index cards.

Count Leo Tolstoy and William Burroughs both used scissors and paste to "rearrange" the drafts of stories.

Toni Morrison writes on yellow legal pads with "a nice number two pencil."

John updike wrote with pen or pencil, no computer for him.

Ernest Hemingway wrote standng up.

What are your habits, or quirks?

CHILDREN WRITE LIFE

2010-02-06T19:43:00.000-08:00

"How can you sit down to write until you have stood up to live?" (Thoreau)

I was going through some of my journals today and came across this story I had written from some book I am sure (which one I didn't make note of) I must have been reading at the time:

A poor woman living in the projects could not give her children a room of their own. But she did give each of them a blank spiral notebook. She told each child it was his very own; he owned it. The only thing she asked was that they write in that "book" each day. She didn't read them, letting them know they were free to write what they wanted. ***

Can you imagine what stories those notebooks contained? Did they write from their imagination? Did they tell the stories of the last soccer game, where they could have made the goal, but didn't--or did? Did they write poetry? Or letters to each other, a relative, to that mother? Or did they begin a memoir, painting a picture of what their life was like in that project, including the dreams, hopes, plans they had for gettng out of there?

You have that opportunity. Can you do less than these children? Write today, write in a spiral notebook, on the computer, on your hand--just write. Get your stories out there.

ARE YOU JOURNALING

2010-01-29T21:25:00.000-08:00

"The life which is unexplained is not worth living." (Plato)

Tonight, I want to encourage you to keep a journal. You should always carry a small notebook or index cards with you--this can be the core of your journaling. I carry one or the other, then transfer them to a larger journal, my computer, or use my notes to create new fiction, essays, articles or poetry.

Do I write something substantial every day? No. As you all know, I certainly don't write in this blog everyday. But the simplier question is: do I write everyday. And the answer is yes.

A great deal of "activities" can be called writing. I have recently published my third book (Pink Poodle Pie (Other Tales of Getting Even) which is available on Amazon. com. Any author knows that publication is only the beginning of the process. I've been writing and sending out press releases, mailing postcards, writing copy for book signing lectures, and all those emails to friends and family to tell them all about my newly born "baby."

And, of course, there are all those other writing projects I have in progress: another quilt story collection, a romantic suspense, and a nonfiction book of my husband's WW II experiences. I need to research publishers for a completed novella (Trusting Strangers is a romantic suspense also), do the final (for the second or third time) edits/rewrites, write a synopsis, and come up with a cover letter that really hooks a publisher. More writing.

I write every day. Whether published, famous or not, writing every day allows me to honestly call myself a writer. Even if it's only in my journal.

LET'S WRITE CHRISTMAS!

2009-12-23T21:34:00.000-08:00

I know we are to write/send out our Christmas manuscripts in June but are you in the mood to do so at that time of the year? Why not write while you are "in the mood?"

I began to put together some drafts of article ideas,have written two new Chrismas short stories, and a few poems while the season is upon us. It seems much easier to stir up the muse when carols are playing on the radio, holiday movies are popping up on several TV channels, and the tree is winking and blinking in multi-colored glory. This is the first season I've attempted this "writing in season" and it works for me!

TRUE JOY

Keep a touch of Christmas
Tucked within your heart.
Remember its sacred meaning
The Holy birth that heralded its start.

Keep a smile, but share some too
With those you meet along the way.
Tell them how God sent his Beloved Son
To give us each the true joy of Christmas Day.

Barbara Deming (c)

Merry Christmas and happy writing about it.

Best Wishes

2009-12-22T11:53:00.000-08:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF MY READERS.

I hope, in 2010, to treat you to more writings--on a more timely basis.

Until then:

Live today to the fullest because tomorrow is not promised to anyone.

WHEN LIFE INTERFERS

2009-11-19T20:57:00.000-08:00

We are our own worse enemies when it comes to selecting the priorities of our lives. My first love is writing--and reading. Do I devote a great deal of my life to these? No. At least, not at the present time. I have left life ovetake that love.

I would like to blame this on my parents who instilled in me a work ethic that has spilled over into my volunteering responsibilities. I was taught that you give the job you have one hundred percent. Therefore, I can't say no to extra projects and find myself spending more and more time on them than on my writing. I am feeling overwhelmed again and know this is not good for me healthwise. But I have an out in March--gosh, that is still three plus months away, isn't it?--so I attempt to plug on.

And then I run up against nasty events I don't want to be a part of and it dwells so much on my mind, I can't concentrate on my writing. And I miss those days on the computer, the walks with my notebook or laptop to the pond where I test new ideas, and I am getting grumpy over the whole thing.

This is a short lecture from me to you writers--don't get involved in outside things. Write, be with your family, write, enjoy that hobby, write, take a walk with your loved one, and NEVER VOLUNTEER FOR ANYTHING.

Hubby Ray said he learned that lesson in World War II--I was too young to learn it then, and haven't managed to follow his lead--yet.

WRITING FOREVER

2009-11-09T12:27:00.001-08:00

I have been having my writing groups do in-class writings on the first class of the month since we began the new semester. One of the assignments was to write about your writing--why you write, when you started, etc. Here is my 10-minute piece:

I might have been born a writer. I know I was born talking and making up stories. But my first story to share was written at age ten--up a mulberry tree, hiding from the call to chores.

I progressed to poetry instead of birthday cards. Then followed essays and more short stories. It seems I had to be writing, no matter what was happening around me. I still feel that way; want to share my thoughts, imagination, love for words, whether I get published or paid or not. Maybe that is why I am in front of you on Wednesday--because I want to share what I read, learn, and/or write.

When married the first time, I learned to hide my writing. It was a source of trouble in a failing marriage; the time, I was told, was better spent working, caring for my family, or running from him. Once my scribblings were found and destroyed, but I still wrote whenever possible--in secret.

No one can kill the desire to write. I've proven that. I think I would shrivel up and die a bitter, old woman without it. And I still love to share--even if I'm not good enough for a traditional publisher, I'll pay so others can read my work.

Recently, I received an email that I had won third prize in a national anthology contest. What an exhilarating feeling to know hundreds of others will read my work. But I got the same thrill when one of my student's first story was published, when another hit the big time in Highlights for Children, when another had a poem accepted and another was accepted by submitting a nostalgic piece. I feel that same surge of love for writing rise.

We all have to write if no one but God sees it.

MY, HOW TIME FLIES

2009-11-07T21:03:00.000-08:00

I look at this blog and can't believe how long it has been since I wrote here. I have no excuse except that life and writing responsibilities have eaten up the days and weeks. Ray's healing from surgery has taken more time, and medication, than we thought. I am so happy to announce the surgery was a success, he can see better without glasses than he could with them before (at least in his left eye; the other one needs new glasses and is driving him nuts!), and we are very impressed with the surgeon who performed (with God's direction) this miracle.

I did find time to send out a few contest entries and won a third place in one, had a poem accepted for an annual anthology out of San Diego, and have managed to complete another quilt story for the collection of inspirational stories I am slowly building.

Today I attended the NCAP Book Exposition at Oceanside Library. There were not only author speakers, but college instructors, translators, publishers, agents, and printing company reps. It was an outstanding day of learning and sharing and networking. I also sold five books which certainly helped my ego and boosted my conficence about this book.

I still have to work on a list to mail my letters to offering a lecture or workshop in exchange for the right to sell books. The letters are ready and dated so I must get busy. I also have Press Releases to get out. This publicity/promotion is a lot of work.

Never think word-of-mouth doesn't go a long way. My daughter lives in Florida and went into a Books-a-Million Bookstore to "see if your book was on the shelf", knowing it wouldn't be. She talked up the book so much, the store buyer ordered ten to put on the shelves. That's the way to go, gal.

Tomorrow is Sunday--a day I can leisurely read the Sunday morning paper. Then I have to put away the book signing "stuff" until the next one appears. I'm trying to keep us on a low-carb regime and have found preparation takes quite a lot of time; we blew it today because of my long commitment but tomorrow we will be back on track.
I need to find some time to do that promotion work--after I have a long walk.

Monday is free. Tuesday Ray does a presentation for Veteran's Day ceremony at the Escondido Sr. Center; then I must come home and back a birthday cake for Vici, my neighbor who will turn 92. Wednesday is Veteran's Day ceremony at the wall where Ray's name appears, then home for her birthday celebration at 3. Hope she likes strawberry cake.

I think the rest of the week is free, so maybe I will have time to really write something fun.

DON'T STOP WRITING NO MATTER WHAT

2009-10-04T01:50:00.000-07:00

Things have been pretty hectic in my house for the past two weeks. Hubby Ray had eye surgery: a membrane from the back of the optic was removed along with cataract removal/lens implant. It will be a long, slow process for this eye to heal (6 to 12 weeks) and I am the medication dispensor/caregiver for this time. And, as most males, he is not patient with this recovery bit. Having never been in a hospital, and seldom ill, takes no medication for anything, it is easily understood that he is not too happy with this confined-restricted-behalf-yourself part of his life.

I have stayed pretty close but have managed to do some pretty good writing. Well, maybe I should say--darned good writing--as a short story, a personal essay and a poem have found homes with publisher during this past two weeks. And I know the reason why I have been so productive (not why the editors have decided to annoint me with their blessings). I have been confined along with hubby, have made myself stick butt in chair, and have done what I usually say I don't have time for--set up a schedule for writing--and stuck to it. I hope to be able to keep up with this after he is fully recovered.

It takes a schedule of some sort, an acknowledgment that your writing is as important to you as something like vacuuming the floor or watering the tomatoes, and a feeling of worthiness (I am due this time to pursue this craft I love), to write toward our dream of being published, of making a name for ourselves. I can see it, have known it, but have not done it as much as I should. As I told one writer friend, it would also help to get published if you took the time to send your work out.

Submitting our work is the only way we will accomplish our writing goals whatever they may be. Writing, editing, reworking, tightening--and submitting over and over again will put our name out there. I am going to do more of this--even when other duties call, I will put my writing up there as a necessary priority. You can too.

NEW/OLD WORDS

2009-09-27T22:30:00.000-07:00

I thought every once in awhile I would offer some of what I "collect" in my writer's journals. In this case, I'm sharing some "new/old" words I made notes of.

Voile: a thin, sheer fabric
What an old-fashioned word; something I would think would only be used in Victorian novels. Or maybe a young girl only purchases her clothes from vintage shops and buys a dress made of voile for a special date.

Mead: A drink made of honey and water==fermented, I think.
Old England? Vikings? I can't remember what era this was but it might make a good drink when I have a serious sinus attack.

Burished: polished
I see old statues or jewelry that has been burished or polished to a high sheen.

Splayed: spread out
I know this is another of those old-fashioned words we seldom see use--except maybe in nature books or tales of the sea. What about a romance--Her hair was splayed out around her as she waited for him atop the satin sheets. Doesn't sound very romantic, does it?

Desecrated: treated inappropriately somethng considered holy
I think I might do a lot of this every time I use the King's English.

Have any of these collections of words?

PERSONALLY

2009-09-20T19:56:00.000-07:00

Many of the articles I've sold were personal essays. What is a personal essay? It is an article that expresses your viewpoint about a subject you have experienced. Many of mine have been stories of my childhood, events experienced, or lessons learned, in a bygone time.

Often writers such as the late Erma Bombeck, used humorous ancedotes--even exaggerations--to create her personal essays which were often collected into books. On "Sixty Minutes," Andy Rooney's commentaries are short personal essays. These writers entertain us with their personal opinions, and I might add, earned a fine living doing so.

Your personal essay writing can be triggered by an old photograph, the passing of a favorite aunt, or a note in the news. A teenager has been convicted of a horrendous crime, for example. Can you tie this into a time when you committed some infraction of the law (stole a lipstick, or spray-painted the coache's office door)? Did fear you'd be found out and arrested by Sheriff Bud weigh heavily? Or worse, placed in the custody of your Dad who would deal out the harshest punishment--grounded for life--or until you turned eighteen and joined the Army, or became a num.

Kids playing video and/or computer games brought out a personal essay from my past. I wrote about the games we played, the lack of fancy toys, and the active imaginations we used to create our own fun. Another personal essay I recently sold was one about Daddy reading the Sunday funnies--no cartoons on television for me.

Make these personal essays a part of your "writing for dollars." Or write and collect them as a memoir to sell as a book, such as my "Growing up Barefoot in the South."

If nothing else, these personal essays you create make a wonderful gift to friends and family.

REMEMBER

2009-09-11T22:04:00.000-07:00

SEPTEMBER 11, 2001

Flames, smoke, debris
filled the New York sky
on this September day.
I think my eyes deceive me.
It can't be happening.
This is my country.
This is my America.
Land of the free--maybe too free
If terriorist-manned planes can invade.
I hear the sirens, imagine the rumbles
As one by one
The melted steel plunges to the earth.
Ghosts of Pearl Harbor, Dresden, Magasaki
Rise, phantom-like before me
As I watch people run for their lives,
Screaming, weeping, fearing the unknown
As those two pillars sink to their deaths.
It is the end of innocence.
We must never forget.
We must always remember.

SEPTEMBER 11, 2009

Today I saw the Phoenix beginning to rise
On that ravaged square of American soil.
A tattered pillar has been returned
A remembrance of that fateful day.
In the future, pools will reflect
New towers reaching skyward,
Visitors with grateful hearts, enjoying life
Will mingle with the silenced voices
On that sacred ground.
Renewal, revitalization, resilence
Will ring out on a new era.
The spirit of America will not be lost.
But we will never forget.
We will always remember.

(c) Barbara Deming, 2001/2009

WRITER'S JOURNAL

2009-09-08T22:19:00.000-07:00

When I think of keeper's of journals, the first one that comes to mind is Anne Frank. Maybe because I first read her journal (or diary) when I was about sixteen, the age when she wrote the final pages of her diary--and died. As an adult, I found (I think there were three of them) the diaries of Anne Morrow Lindbergh--youth, maturity, happiness through tragedy--through odd marriage to charming independence. The words of both of these diarists have haunted me.

A writer's journal can be anything we want; a place to examine feelings and reveal daily happenings as my two favorite examples, and they can also be a source to inspire our writing. Over the years my own journals have included new ideas, lists of characters names and descriptions, events in my daily life, travel, news clippings, a collection of words and phrases, cards received, and photographs. In some I have actually completed entire short stories.

Someone once said keeping a journal is like "thinking aloud on paper." One idea can lead to another. One news clipping can become the basis for a story--or book. A photograph may trigger a personal essay. Sharing places you've traveled to, or lived in, could help you discover somethng new about yourself. For example, maybe there's a spark of adventure within you that you've allowed to become dorment. The urge to write could be rekindled by journaling about what you want out of life, your dreams, your need to write, or the daily events around you.

Pick up that journal, or even a sheet of paper, and think on paper.

NEW FANGLED STUFF

2009-09-01T21:27:00.000-07:00

Today I had to bite the bullet and replace my five-year old computer. It has been great as far as ease to use; it has been horrible as far as running smoothly. At 18 months, under extended warranty, it went back to the factory where they replaced the memory, hard drive, this and that, until I believe they could have sent me a coupon for a new computer--or some money back. And, for the last three months, it has been making the same kind of noises and moves and lockups that it did right before it crashed for good. Needless to say, I have downloaded all the necessary things, and did not go out looking at the same brand for replacement.

I purchased a Dell computer today with losts of memory and hard drive space. It will also be upgraded to Windows 7 when it is available. I hope it will run for as long as I do. LOL

Now if I can get that darned Word 2007 to magically become as easy to handle as Word 2003, I'll be one happy camper.

S ANDRA CISNEROS

2009-08-29T22:09:00.000-07:00

From time to time, I enjoy recommending author's I have enjoyed. My creative writing students are encouraged to read not only in the genre they write in but in all genres. Sandra Cisneros is a writer I recommend for her "way with words," for the freedom of her woman's voice, and for the strong message she offers all readers.

One of her first books I read was "The House on Mango Street" which is a series of vignettes about a young girl growing up in the Latino section of Chicago. It is a deeply moving story filled with the power and rage of growing up. As with most really good authors, Sandra Cisneros leaves you with a sense this is her life story in the guise of fiction.

"Women Hollering Creek" is another great book. Some of her most powerful work, however, are the essays she has writen over the years. Though I can't remember the title of this particular essay, I recall she was always seeking her father's approval which she wrote about in this piece. It was only when he was very ill and she read him an essay she had written about his not being able to accept her successes in the publishing world, that he truly saw her for what she was--his special daughter, the writer.

Recenly, I purchased a book on writing at "The Friends of the Library" and found her article on letter writing included. I was blown away by the beauty of the art of letter writing she laid out for high school students. I'm going to quote a few of her thoughts here--with permission, Ms. Cisneros.

"People don't realize you can start a letter anywhere...write whatever comes into your head." She uses it as a "way of meditation, of listening inside my heart to how I'm being affected by the outside world." She also says you can use your letters as a gateway to the creative world for either fiction or nonfiction.

Pick up something by Sandra Cisneros. I think you will be intrigued by the way she "speaks" the written word.

ASK FOR A WORD

2009-08-23T22:58:00.000-07:00

A recent flight to and from Florida gave me some extra, quiet, uninterrupted time to write. I was elated as I had been pushing to meet a book deadline while packing (and repacking) for the trip and tidying up loose ends before a two-week absence from home. I deserved this time to write.

So what to write about? I didn't want to pack notes for some big project I had in mind. I wanted something new, never thought of before, no seed already planted. And it began to jell on the beginning flight from San Diego to Atlanta.

Before hubby went to sleep (I swear that man can sleep anywhere!), I asked him for a word. Knowing what my favorite type of story to write is, he offered the word "comfort."

My seat mate was young--tall, I could tell by the legs folded beneath the seat in front of him. Clean-cut, muscular, perfect short haircut. Living near Marines and Navy bases for many years, I saw military written all over the man.

It turned out to be Army--Special Forces. He shared some of his training when I asked. He was rightly vague about the parts of the world he had served in but admitted to Iraq. And while he napped I observed him, and took notes.

There was little time in Florida to write. The family hadn't been together for five years. My youngest granddaughter was getting married. My three great-grandsons were a treat to be with. I did find some time to sketch the outline for a story.

On the flight home while I sat near the window, hubby slept (yes, again), and the sky turned from afternoon to evening, I wrote. There's this mother going home to care for her terminally ill daughter when she meets a young Army officer on her flight. He listens intently to her as she speaks of facing the loss of a daughter and then shares his loss of too many young soldiers under his command.

Somehow I have to get them together, to have them help each other through their pain.

I haven't completed the story yet. But I'm not worried. There's an old saying--"Don't push the river." It means some things have to be left alone to simmer, to happen by themselves--in their own time.

I'll wait for just the right word or words to bring my story full circle.

What's the word that can get you started?

PLANTING SEEDS

2009-08-21T20:54:00.000-07:00

I've got a scene running through my head and no matter how frivalous it sounds right now, I'd better take notes. It's those glimmers of ideas, with a little time and right brain mentoring, that often become some of our best work.

Lisa Leonard-Cook says in her outstanding book "The Mind of Your Story," "these ideas stuck in my head are fictional seeds." She tells readers she's not ready to begin to write, not with that one seed, because it takes her at least three unrelated seeds collected before she can begin.

Back to my seed. I see a woman in an older model car slowly pulling over to the side of a highway as the car dies. She sits there for only a moment before pulling her heavy coat from the crowded backseat and stepping out into the cold, whipping wind of a gray Wyoming afternoon. It's then I see with my muse's eye that she is pregnant--very pregnant.

Who is she? What's she doing on this road alone, in her condition, in late October or early November, a time when she could have run into an early snow storm? My mind says she doesn't live anywhere near here. Where's she from? What is she doing here? Yes, that's it--she's running. From what? Or whom? A violent boyfriend? An abusive husband?

If we look at this scene, I realize I have more than one seed planted already. But I'm not quite ready to begin writing this story. Where is it going? Who will rescue her? Will she be found by her pururer? What is the plot about? Where will the story take the reader? What's the message?

The seeds have been planted but they have yet to root or leaf out. I'll just let them strenghten and grow right where they are--until the story won't let me wait to tell it.

COMPARED TO WHO?

2009-08-15T22:22:00.000-07:00

The book is with the publisher as I've said before. It's been edited, polished, rewritten--all of those steps we authors take in order to have our books sell. I have no illusions about having written a bestseller. Seldom do short story collections reach those heights--unless written by a novelist who has a name already, or a celebrity who has the name but may not know a noun from a verb. But what if no one buys my book?

Loyal friends will purchase a copy I know. Many of the readers of my previous books will purchase this one. Except for the readers who have expressed disappointment that this book is not another quilt story collection, I can count on them. When I speak of readers in general, I am talking about new readers--ones who come across one of the promotions I will be doing, a book review, or a spot on Amazon. I want them to read me,love me, buy the next one I write.

But who am I, in comparison to an Allison Brennan (super mystery writer), Nora Roberts (prolific best seller), or Margaret Coel (a writer of Southwest/Native American stories). Of course, my writing isn't as deep as some. It's not a comedy, nor a thriller, or a romance. The book may not appeal to every woman reader, and I doubt if many men will want to learn just what women can do if twisted crosswise. The "catchy" title might be over the top for other potential readers.

Why do I do this to myself?

When I go to the bookstore or library, do I choose the same book as you, or my friends, or the stranger standing in line with me? Of course, I don't. Each one of us choose a book for an individual reason, different from the other choices in most cases. If the same book appealed to all, what need would there be for we authors to dream up the worlds and characters we live with as they tell us their stories?

I know there will be readers for my book. I must get beyond this comparison business. Readers of short stories will love the variety of tales; women who have been done wrong by husband or lover will enjoy seeing those creatures get their just desserts, and maybe even pick up an idea or two. And some may buy a copy simply to find out what the heck that quirky title of book and story is all about.

I'll buy one of your books if you'll buy one of mine. Thank you in advance.

FINDING ALL THE ERRORS

2009-08-14T22:29:00.000-07:00

With the submission of my latest book, and the editorial comments, I had a fresh look at editing. Although I chose not to spend the big bucks for their editing servies, the first reader pointed out the best of my writing skills, and where I need work. I used these comments to edit/rewrite the entire manuscript. And I am sure those points will be used over and over when I seek publication of my other work.

Here are some of the things I have learned to look for and do:

Seek out dilengently those excess words we all use (just, that, etc.)
Watch those tenses. The change sneaks up on us.
Use the best, strongest verbs we can; snuggle, jog, demand, scream, fight...
Tighten up the work; we write too much, add excess scenes, offer mucho narrative.
Don't depend on Spell/Grammar Check.
Have the right details that will add color to our story.
Seek to write dialog that moves our story along, offers description; show, not tell.

And I learned to not listen to everything you are told. For example, don't change your voice, the special way you tell the story, not for anyone. If you characters are moving this story along, don't rewrite until the plot overwhelms their voice. These were two things I was told to do, and refused to do.

My readers expect to receive a certain type of story from me, and I hope I continue to give them what they want to read. Do the same for your readers.

WRITING ESSAYS

2009-08-11T22:07:00.000-07:00

I have been attempting to squeeze in writing a few essays among all the other things I am involved in. Lately, personal essays are what I am most interested in writing. Two went out within the last week and were accepted.

One of the authors at the Book Exposition in July has a new book on the drawing board and she passed out flyers requesting stories on her topic--sharing tea. She specifically asked me if I would write a story for her. The minute she handed me the flyer, the muse began to work and I knew what I would submit. By the time I reached home, I had two ideas for personal essays. The two submissions were made on Friday and Monday I received acceptance of both stories. I am hoping these acceptances put my muse in gear and I can write more along these lines.

Famous eassiest Thoreau wondered about that new fangled telegraph. Folks were saying that this invention could speed up connection between far-flung places in America--Maine to Texas, California to New York. The grand essayist questioned what they would have to say to each other.

Years ago, before cell phones and e-mails, writers such as Thoreau painstakingly wrote essays to connect readers to each other. His essays, and the ones we read today, are how we speak to one another in print. Some have a special information to convey. Others want to allow readers a glimpse into their personal lives, a chance to laugh or cry over an event of importance. And, with the Internet and blogs in particular, we essay writers can reach a huge audience. Mr. Thoreau, we have plenty to say to each other--good and bad.

Essays are authentic. Readers feel like they are communicating with the writer, a real person who offers a glimpse into his soul. Sometimes writers throw out too much information about themselves, but we are people who like to talk to each other, tell others all about the good, bad, and ugly parts of our lives. And readers flock to such sites or blogs to read all the juicy details. That would most likely greatly surprise Thoreau.

I'm going to stick my neck out here and say this: A good essay is one that takes you on a journey, a trip though a new world, gives meaning to observations you may have once made, or wanted to make. Writing and reading essays give us a chance to learn and to share what we have ourselves learned. Then there are the humorous ones, the nostaglic essays, and the pieces that reach out to better the world. They all have a place in our world today.

I am in no way comparing my efforts to those of Thoreau, but I am happy to say his worries about the telegraph having undue influence on writing such pieces, is not a fact in today's world. There are still writers out here who pour out wonderful essays to make readers think, debate and, maybe even write an essay of their own.

NEW PROJECTS

2009-08-10T22:51:00.000-07:00

Now that "Pink Poodle Pie" is off to the publisher, I can begin to look at a new project, or two. One thing I am working on is the next issue of "Soul Sisters" and that is well on it's way to be completed. I've finally gotten back to Aunt Lutie's Blue Moon Cafe cookbook,and have completed all but three sections. Then I will go back and put in the graphics. Ray's book is started, and I hope to begin putting the quilt stories I have written into the computer. New quilt book maybe?

Of course, life gets in the way. I am still on the Homeowner's Association Board here and we are once again dealing with problems. Presidents of boards seem to think they are God-like,don't have to answer to other Board members for decisions, and can spend money not allocated to be spent. And I have to schedule a meeting of the Landscaping committee within the next two weeks; as new Chairperson, I need to learn what I am supposed to be doing. LOL

And, when I have time, I have a life with Ray. He's facing eye surgery when the surgeon finds a spot for him. It is much more serious than the cateract that also has to be removed, and I will be his eyes, driver, and caretaker for awhile. We love to go to movies or see them at home, take the train to the coast, and enjoy other things together.

Not enough hours in the day.

TRAIN RIDES, SUNSHINE, AND NOTES

2009-08-08T21:46:00.000-07:00

After several weeks of tremendous heat, we have settled down to the mid-70's, foggy mornings, and late sunshine. Today, we took advantage of the wonderful weather, hopped on our local train running from 15 miles inland to the Pacific Ocean, and began our Saturday adventure.

I have just sent off my book to the pubisher, have been working on a cookbook project and have my inspirational newsletter deadline rearing its head, but thought I could take off a day from writing. Is that possible for a writer?

Of course, I have my trusty notebook with me at all times. Right there on the train I had to whip it out to take notes. The man across the aisle, dressed in below-the-knee plaid shorts and San Diego Tee-shrt, speaking and laughing loudly on his cell phone (he was meeting someone named Audrey if he could catch the Coaster (an Oceanside to San Diego train), then they'd go to visit two people in Mercy Hospital, and meet up with someone named Gary for the evening). He called Gary after we heard all of this news.

There was the gray-hair-in-braid used-up hippy who drags his bicycle on our car at a Vista stop, then realizes there is no rack for it, pulls it off, and runs it down the concourse, and in another door door while the security guard held the train for him.

A father comes in with his precious blonde daughter in cute sundress. She is so pale and he is so dark--sun dark, I find myself scribbling guesses at an occupation that would create such a color of skin. Construction? Landscaper? Border Patrol? Or merely surfer?

The beach area was out of this world. Hundreds of people under umbrellas and picnic-table shelters, BBQ's going, soft music playing, sun worshipers on towels, swimmers, and surfers. We walked the long pier, stopping along the way to speak with fishermen.
Out came the notebook again. Mexican fishermen on the surf end of the pier were catching large grouper, using mussels for bait. At the end of the pier, Asian fishermen were catching macherel (using macheral as bait) as fast as they could throw their lines in.

Off in the distance, multi-colored sails on a dozen or more boats scoot across the ocean. And as we walked back down the pier, a brown pelican was seated on a trash can, posing for pictures by cell phone bearers, and waiting for someone to come along with those fish he just loved to swallow. A fisherman came to the rescue and offered him lunch.

You do know this writer also had their camera along, don't you? I have photos of crowds on the beach, fisherman hauling in catch, a fisherman cleaning grouper, sailboats on the horizon, a pelican being fed, and two people who had a wonderful day at the beach.

You don't need to write each day. But you will never not be a writer, wherever you go. That trusty notebook has notes to go along with the photos and the day. Who knows where these characters might appear?

FACE TO FACE

2009-08-07T20:59:00.000-07:00

Recently, my good friend and writer, Carol, discussed a project she had undertaken for an organization she belongs to. She is to write an article for the newsletter about a fellow member. This may sound like a fairly easy task for an excellent writer but there are several obstacles.

Carol doesn't know this member very well. The subject is very quiet, never speaks out at meetings, and there was no way they could meet before the article had to be turned in. Carol stated she was going to give her a telephone call--"to at least hear her voice." Her question to me was did I feel face-to-face interviews were the best way to go, and could the second best be an interview by telephone?

I went back twenty-five years to the memory of a college course I took on reporting.
Paul McLeod was my instructor, as well as being a reporter for the Orange County (CA) Register and several other local newspapers. He made the classes so intesting I never wanted to miss a class. And he was one who always gave us the opportunity to have a "hands on" session.

Paul told us interviewing someone face-to-face would guarantee an emotion-packed interview. He cautioned us to have our questions in mind, of course, but we should also look the interviewee in the eyes, note the reactions/emotions, and always watch the bodylanguage. Writing an interview, he told us, was much more than words. His second choice would be a telephone interview; make sure to listen to the tone of the voice.

I never thought I would find myself in my mid-forties interviewing a 6' 7" college basketball star--and enjoyiing it. I added the sound of the crowd, the rush of the game, and the expressions on the players face to enhance my words. It's the same way I conducted an interview of a local rock star after the loudest concert I can remember ever attending. Beneath the wild hair-do and dark makeup/lipstick, was a sweet gal with a great voice. What an experience Paul gave us all--interviews in living color--words and expressions used to the max.

Even today, I feel Paul had excellent advice. Being in the presence of someone you are tasked to write about adds all the personal touch you need to offer an article complete in all ways.

DRAGONFLIES

2009-07-28T21:08:00.000-07:00

While in Florida, I sat on the screened-in patio (the mosquitos in Florida are large enough to carry you off) and watched not one but three dragonflies run up the screen to escape the rain. My son-in-law thinks they are grosteque looking bugs and I have always been fascinatd by them. That interest caused my husband to purchase a lovely dragonfly broach for me one Christmas; it is still on my favorite coat.

Webster describes the dragonfly as "a long thin flying insect with transparent wings and a shimmering body." Those wings seem iridescent and I find them beautiful. I've never written about them, or this fascination I have with them. I suppose once I thuoght about doing so because recently while going through one of my journals I found information I had collected on my fairy-like winged beauties.

There was the description, a picture of one snipped from a Zoo News Magazine and a snippet of background. It seems that in Japan the dragonfly was once revered to the point that soldiers of old wore them on their helmets or headgear as a symbol of strength. Can you imagine such tiny creatures being entwined with the belief of strength?

I like the other information I made a note of best: Dragonflies encourage us to let go of the past and welcome the winds of change.

I am open for the dragonfly to bless me with such encouragement as I need a change in my writing life--if I make it through next weeks book submission.

BLESSINGS

2009-07-27T21:41:00.000-07:00

Most of my readers probably think I have once again fallen off the dark side of the moon. Sometimes during the past month I wish I could. I am still editing my last few stories; will have them done by Thursday when I meet with my critique group (we are a trio at the moment). They are working on the last story of my book and I hope to take the suggestions I agree with, do the final rewrites, and send this book off to the publisher no later than the end of next week. It is about time I let my baby go.

We had a lovely trip to Florida, attended my granddaughter's wedding, and had a lovely visit with our three great-grandson's and the rest of the family. We all wish we lived closer so we could enjoy these framily times more often. As I said, it was wonderful being there but also nice to come home to our "rut" as we describe our fairly predictable life.

We have been expecting that our brother-in-law would any day reach the beginning of the end of his battle with leukemia. He spent four days of last week in the hospital with pneumonia and his doctors sent him home with hospice. We spent the day Sunday with he and his family; it is especially hard for my husband to accept letting him go as they have known each other for over seventy years. It is hard to let go of pieces of our life, too.

Because my writing life has been so tied up with the completion of this book and the editing, I find a need to break away now and then. I picked up one of those dozens of journals I have told you about, began to read through my notes, quotes, ideas--I am actually surprised that I collected such neat stuff. All sorts of new ideas kept popping into my head. I want to rush through the completion of this book and get involved with new things. Isn't it ironic that we fall in love with our words, want readers to grab our book off a shelf, fear letting it go--but still find ourselves looking forward to the next project? I think this is probably a good thing, a productive gesture, a nod to us and our love to continue to create words others will enjoy.

One of the things I ran across was a prayer I'd like to share with you all:

"May the sun bgring you new energy bg day, may the moon softly restore you by night, may the rain wash away your worries, may the breeze blow news strength into your being.

May you walk gently through the word and know its beauty all the days of your life."
(Apache Blessing)

I wish this for you, my friends.

VACATIONS CAN PROMOTE IDEAS

2009-07-07T16:18:00.000-07:00

It has been too long since I blogged but I have an excuse. I have been working long hours editing, rewriting, and proofing a manuscript for my next book, Pink Poodle Pie (and Other Tales of Women Getting Even). It will be out sometime in the early fall. Of course, I will remind all of you when the release date is decided.

I took two weeks off (yes, my editor knows where I am and what I'm doing-lol), to fly to Florida for our youngest granddaughter's wedding on July 4. Shannon Hall married Richard Hughes on our most patriotic day. Grandma helped decorate, shop, plan some last minutes fun things, and was so proud of the lovely bride (and her choice of husband). Very proud of the job my daughter and son-in-law have done in bringing up three wonderful adults also. It has been a super time with my three great-grandsons too.

And I have gleaned some ideas from the whole process. Weddings and parties and all those characters that show up offer great material. The lush green of Florida, the aligator-clogged ponds, the hardworking, beer-drinking, pickup-truck driving, Crackers or Rebels, or Rednecks of FLorida, and the Cuban influence all make fodder for future stories.

As I have said before, never forget that little notebook when you venture from home. I have been scribbling notes in between events, while sitting on the patio (covered, of course), while listening to the squeals of my great-grandsons in the pool, or feeding ducks in the pond in back of the yard. I may not use the notes any time soon but I have them down.

Happy Writing. See you soon.

EDITING ANGST

2009-06-16T22:26:00.000-07:00

I know all writers go through this but it doesn't make the editing process any easier. I have a book accepted by iUniverse and am doing rewrites/edits/additions on it. Let me tell you, an initial evaluation showed me how much I don't catch when writing and proofreading. It has been an anxious time but such a great learning experience. Still, when I first received the evaluation, I felt like a comment my husband once made when taking art classes: "Those who can't paint, teach." I'm--"those who can't write, teach."

I do feel better now. My reps along the few steps of publishing I've been through have been marvelous and so helpful. And understanding. I panicked with the evaluation, drug my feet about continuing, wasn't sure I could do all they felt I should to make this book saleable. With their kind assistance, answering of questions, and assurances, I am able to go on from here. Except...

These rewrites and edits are tough. I am on the third go-round. I know the stories are stronger now. I have created another story which I feel is one of the best things I've written in a long time. I've added scenes to old stories to strengthen them. In doing so, I hope I have addressed the main thing the evaluator found wrong--my short stories are more character driven than plot driven.

I had a problem with this. I think my voice works. "The Quilt Maker" was primarily character-driven stories and they worked for readers. iUniverse wants me to rewrite them all so I will have a greater audience. I'm not so sure this is what I am seeking. I have a pretty good reader base already, this collection was for them really, and I fear something will be lost if I rewrite them all. So--I made an attempt to do what the evaluators think is best--but left many of the stories the same, the ones in which I think readers will hear my voice when reading.

I'm working on my last edits. I would hope to get this done before I leave for Shannon's (my youngest granddaughter) wedding in Florida. But I won't submit it until I return. I need to be available in order to continue with the steps to printng. That has been okayed by my representatives.

So remember--getting ready for publishing is hard work. You have to do all you can to reach your goal of putting that book into reader's hands. But it's the best thing you can do for your work--you will never write the same, or edit the same way after this experience.

You will be a better writer, I promise.

WRITING FREEDOM

2009-05-24T22:26:00.000-07:00

I've written about keeping a record of my own writing--and making a permanent volume of each year's work. I admit I need to write more nonfiction--personal essays, articles--and submit them in order to have any size to my books at all. But my heart in recent years has been with fiction.

I once read parts of several well-known authors journals. They used words to describe their love for writing that seemed to have been pulled from my soul:

Unadulterated pleasure...sit down and just write the darned thing...write to see what happens...I had to write no matter what else was going on in my life...freedom.

It is so wonderful to write fiction, to go anywhere with your ideas, to create a setting you've dreamed of visiting, to have your characters do, and say, things you have only wished you could do or say, and let the heart of the writing take any form--short story, chapters, poetry--maybe only letters between characters. It is liberating to me not to have to stick to data, dates, cold hard facts.

To write, whether to be published or not, soothes my anxiety and gladdens my heart. Doing so makes me a whole person. Writing fiction is the icing on my creative cake.

And, writing anything is never a waste of time.

A WRITER'S GUIDELINES

2009-05-23T21:36:00.001-07:00

I am always clipping articles from all sorts of sources that I feel might prove beneficial later. Recently, I decided it was time to go through some of those clippings, weed them out and, just maybe, find something useful at the moment. In that context, I came across "Creating a Writer's Guidebook" by Michelle Mach, published in ByLine Magazine, September 20o6. She wrote that she tracks her submissions by creating a book each year of what she writes.

Mach copies all of the work she has produced within the year. She says this gives her a look at what she has accomplished. She makes these two-sided copies and divides them into published and unpublished. Usually, the unpublished is a larger stack than the other but that is not a bad thing--it shows she is continuously writing and attempting to publish. She includes rejection letters/slips, acceptances, reviews, submission records, and goals for that particular year. She even keeps a list of books read for the year. She has these bound in volumes that she keeps handy so she can compare how she grows from year to year-hopefully.

I must have thought this was a good idea then, as I still think so today. But I haven't done it. I do keep a submissions list so I can track what I have sent out but I have no idea of what I have written in each given year. A great deal of my time in recent years has been devoted to writing novels which would be a little cumbersome to bind and keep.

This shuuld be the year I do this. I haven't done much (yet)writing of anything but a novel, novella and rewrites of old fiction so it shouldn't take too long to begin my stack to compile into a book at the end of 2009. But just maybe I should start submitting some other writing before the year gets too far gone.

Maybe this is something we could all do, right?

ART LOVER

2009-05-22T20:50:00.000-07:00

I have been an art-lover at heart for as long as I can remember--probably since I used crayons to create my first masterpiece. My maternal grandmother had framed pictures of famous art. Daddy Joe had real oil paintings in his grocery store, battle scenes of the Battle of Midway in which, my uncle, the artist, had flown a Navy plane off an aircraft carrier. Daddy painted in oils and I treasure one of his paintings I inherited now hanging in my office. And over my lifetime, I have visited hundreds of art galleries and museums. I am thrilled with what I've seen.

In the early 1980's, a tour of famous Impressionists came to the Los Angeles Museum of Art. Myself and three other co-workers got tickets for the viewing, called in sick, and traveled the thirty miles to indulge in the real paintings within our reach. I can still remember wandering from room to room, fixated on looking at them up close, and then standing as far away as possible to get the true picture. There was a hush in that building, a quiet adoration of beauty and power.

Some of the paintings were playful, several were severe, more reached out and touched my soul. I was drawn to the color, the artist's imagination, not bothering to wonder whether I was an expert in the meaning of the work, or not. My emotions were on a see-saw. I smiled, I laughed and I felt the mist of tears fill my eyes. Those paintings filled me with a deep longing to be a part of that world. And I found out a way to do just that.

As a writer, I see stories in the art pieces I view, then and now. It makes no matter when the art was created, or what the experts tell us the artist had in mind when he painted it, I can make up my own tales of what I see. If you are blocked in your writing, go to the library, pull one of those huge, heavy art books off the shelf, grab pen and paper (or your laptop) and make notes on what you see in a special work. If a story doesn't form immediately, I will guess that at least you are once again writing.

I left the art behind in that building then but it still, all these years later, remains in my heart. I was in the midst of royalty, celebrity, unforgettable beauty--and the possibility of being able to create my own art--with words.

DADDY'S GIRL

2009-05-21T21:07:00.000-07:00

My garden is a wonder to look upon. With our cooler than normal spring and no rain, I wasn't sure the seeds would even sprout. Today, the tomatoes are tall enough to be tied up and are beginning to bloom. Corn stalks are shooting above the low wall--which means the plants are about two feet tall. I dug around the potatoes--we had our first tiny potatoes for dinner several days ago. There is one tiny yellow squash on a large bush. The green beans are blooming; maybe they'll be ready by the time the rest of the potatoes are. Lettuce, spinach, green onions, cilantro--it's all there in the small plot, in pots, and beneath the avocado tree (blooming too). I don't really have a green thumb--I am merely my daddy's girl.

When I work in my garden I feel a connection with Daddy. He always had a large garden to feed his family. I can remember before entering school, following him down rows, dropping in beans, corn kernels, and okra seed. By the time I was seven or eight, it was my duty to help water the garden--no hoses in those early years, just a bucket and a tin can. Of course, when I was older, I hated the picking, snapping, peeling, chopping and canning of those vegetables. I would rather climb up in my favorite mulberry tree with a pad and pencil to write my stories.

My husband watched me several weeks ago as I dug holes for my seeds, tenderly tucked the potatoe plants into the soil with a basin around each one, and sprinkled lettuce seeds in the shallow row. He didn't say anythng until I had finished and stood back to look at my work. It was then he touched my shoulder and said, "You are your father's daughter, honey."

He couldn't have offered me a more welcome gift.

"The fullness of joy is to behold God in everything." (Julian of Norwich)

IN EDITORIAL EVALUATION

2009-05-19T14:37:00.000-07:00

My latest book is in editorial evaluation (editing?) as we speak and I guess it is time that I get busy with a new blog to promote it. I wonder how to go about this, however. How much can I say about a book that hasn't been published yet? Even then, how much do I want to give away to readers in order to encourage them to purchase the book?

Maybe I can tell them how the stories in the collection were written--when, what motiviation, where the ideas came from.

Taking each story and offering a glimpse at what the topic is might make short entries into a blog.

Since I enjoy sharing what knowledge of writing I do have, maybe I could offer tips on writing short stories, editing, rewriting.

And, mainly, maybe I need to write on the topic of marketing and promotion since that is what I will be doing from now until--well, who knows, how long I will promote this book. "The Quilt Maker" was published in 2005; I'm still promoting and still selling it. "Growing up Barefoot in the South" is a newbie out in 2007, and I still offer readings from it every chance I am given.

I just noted that I published books two years a part. I'd like to do better than that from now on so I will have even more books to market.

Anyone want to offer me some tips on the new blog and/or marketing?

NEW BOOK COMING SOON

2009-05-12T20:08:00.000-07:00

No, dear readers, I have not dropped off the face of the earth. Nor have I been fortunte enough to be traveling around the world. Instead, I have been licking my wounds after once more evaluating the possibilities of having my short story collection accepted by a traditional publisher, grinding my teeth over the audacity of those rejection letters, and sucking up the disappointment. I surrendered to going the POD self-publish route.

That quest took up more time. My first publisher, Ann Phillips, with her Star Publications (no longer in business), was a dream editor/publisher. I managed to even sell a nice number of books--and it is still on Amazon until the copy supply runs dry. The second book publisher I used was PublishAmerica; it was quick, no cost, they did an excellent job of manuscript set-up, the cover is out of this world, and I was my own best customer. LOL Since it is a memoir, it's no surprise that for the publisher it was a hard sell. They don't like writers like me I'm sure (I didn't sell enough books although I really tried) because they weren't interested in my publishing with them again.

So I spent weeks reading up on every well-known POD publisher (and some obscure small ones)I could find. I found that they are not all cut from the same fabric as Mama used to say. I also discovered I'm not computer savvy enough to do some of the girations those companies want you to do in order to submit your book. Do you know what a manuscript looks like if you "eliminate all hard breaks?" Let me tell you, if you use * * * for time breaks, it is not a pretty site. Several of the biggies required that.

Then several wanted you to design your own cover, front and back, and spine; with all the right dimensions too. I felt that so many of them required me to do everything except print the book--so when I put out the big bucks, I was merely paying for a print job.

I do reviews for a New Jersey publisher, and for an online book review magazine. Many of those books are published by iUniverse. They are clean, virtually error-free, perfectly set-up, and the covers are outstanding. I was impressed by the look of each book I read, or received. I also spoke with a writer friend who had a book published years ago. He vouched for the editing, quality, and for the marketing help.
I read all I could at their site, signed up for an account and received contact from a publishing representative. We talked by telephone where I asked more questions, discussed all publishing levels (and prices), and I went with them.

It was a little scary downloading my book (my rep had me send as attachment for her, she put it in pdf form to see if I had a "clean" copy according to their submission requirements--which were simple to follow). It was fun to write the blurb for the back cover, a media tag, a web site posting of part of one story to hook readers in, and a new bio. Yesterday I downloaded the entire file and received a confirmation that the book had arrived. Today I went into my account and it shows that the manuscript is in the first stages of the process.

"Pink Poodle Pie (and Other Tales of Women Getting Even)" is in production.

TITLES THAT STAY WITH US

2009-04-24T21:01:00.000-07:00

Doing research recently for a magazine article I came across some information about titles. Titles are the first thing that grabs a reader--or editor/publisher. They also help writers stay focused on their work; a working title may be the only thing that keeps you on track at the beginning. Make it a title that keeps you interested in writing page after page.

I have been a collector of titles for years. Some catchy phrase, line in a poem, or word in a conversatin may join my list. My list isn't catagorized--essay, article, mainstream, romance, western, inspirtional--but it's usually not hard to figure out which ones would fit best to a certain genre/story. Sometimes even the titles will set your muse off on a story line.

On my bookshelf are several titles that might grab a reader's attention. I've offered the genre after each grouping.

McKinnon's Bride, The Rancher Needs a Wife, or Unexpected Complication (Romance)

Mardi Gras Madness, Burn Out, Nothing But Trouble (Mystery)

The Piano Man, Plain Truth, Dairy Queen Days (Mainstream)

Bouquets of Hope, Keep it Simple, A Cup of Comfort (Inspiratiional)

Write Brain, Finding Your Voice, Make a Scene (Creative Writing)

There are famous titles we will never forget: Gone With the Wind, The Wizard of Oz,
Cat on at Hot Tin Roof, The Shining, etc. The one title I am so glad didn't make the final cut is a book by Tennessee Williams. He titled it "Poker Night." That book became "A Streetcar Named Desire." I can't imagine even removing Poker Night from the shelf to read the back cover.

What do you want your title on a bookstore shelf to convey?

CHUNKS OF TIME

2009-04-21T22:25:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned several blogs ago, I've been under the knife for skin cancers. That good-for-you antibiotics make me fuzzy headed. It's really very disconcerting. Here I have this large chunk of time--free time to work on that book I've been trying to restart and complete--and I'm wiped out. Brain doesn't work for extended periods of writing. Concentration is woozy. Terrible!

That doesn't mean I won't get anything done. It will be less than I usually plan. I have a schedule every day where I set aside at least two hours to write. Because of my busy life and scheduled teaching gigs, the chunk of time set aside is not the same each day. But I attempt to get those hours in.

Experts say we should create a time to write, the same as we set aside time to eat and sleep. Yes, there are some people who equate being able to write with the needs of daily living. I think I might be one of them but I do manage to snack at the computer and that is done without a schedule or any will power. It's not the best way to sustain myself.

I often have deadlines set by someone outside my usual schedule--editors, publishers, Homeowners Board I serve on, or lesson plans for my classes. I schedule those. Around them, I still mamage to make time to work on that unfinished novel, create an outline for a new short story, try to understand all the requirements of a POD publisher for my latest book, and all the other ideas flitting thourgh my head.

Those chunks of time are needed by all of us who write. Take advantage of them--make time for them--create that schedule to include them. Once you make the alloted time a part of your writing life, it will be routine to claim those chunks of time.

USING ART TO WRITE

2009-04-20T14:55:00.000-07:00

When I teach memoir writing classes or give seminars on the subject, I bring along a family photograph. I encourage beginning writers to pick such a photo and write the story they see in it. The memory might be of the people shown. Maybe it's the place--the river where you fished with your grandfather, the area where your family went on picnics, the lot where you chose the Christmas tree each year, cousin's homes, or the great-grandmother holding you as a baby.

You could also use a photo as the basis for a short story, or the beginning of a novel. Or you could use a great painting, a piece of sculptor, or a Remington bronze to stir the emotions, bring out the story.

Viewing artwork stimulates the poetic areas of our imagination also. I've done this thourgh a local art gallery where writers choose a painting or piece of artwork to produce poetry. It's a great opportunity to let art speak through your words.

Make this a part of your writing schedule. It's especially good to use such techniques when your book is stalled, or the article you have a deadline on won't come together. Using images or artwork heightens your creativity when you least expect it.

MIRRORED IMAGES

2009-04-17T10:44:00.000-07:00

I need to apologize to a dear writer friend, Rosanne Catalano, publisher of "Cat's Meow for Writers & Readers Ezine (www.rosannecatalano.net). If you don't receive this newsletter, you must sign up. It not only offers much needed publishing news and contest information, outstanding fiction, poetry and essays/articles, but it also brings writers the comfort of feeling we are a part of a caring, creative family.

That, however, is not why I owe Rosanne an apology. Some time ago I purchased a copy of her book, "Mirrored Images". This short collection of short stories (you will have to try real hard to decide which are fact or fiction), articles and poetry, both touched my heart and made me smile. I am here to tell you, Rosanne, and my readers, that I am sorry I haven't reviewed this book before. It's a great read!

It touched me because of the love shown for parents, God, and husband. It touched me because I was the kid with glasses who was bullied and picked on and I could feel Rosanne's pain when it happened to her. It touched me because I have lost my parents and her tribute to her father, and mother, brought back all of the good times and love I had with/for my own parents. It touched me because Rosanne, as I feel so many of us are but never put it into words so elequntly, are survivors.

I believe we all have guardian angels and "Mirrored Images" proves it to all who will listen. No one but angels could have saved her from bullies in junior high school, have looked over her until she found the perfect mate, and still guide her to this day in her writing craft. These are stories we should not only want to read, enjoy reading, but they are stories we all need to hear.

I get a glimpse of the love and courage that Rosanne shows, and shares, in her newsletter--and our most welcome online correspondance. She is writing a continuation of her life stories titled "Skeletons from the Past." I can't wait to read that. But first, my readers, you must read "Mirrored Images."

"Mirrored Images" may be purchased at Rosanne's website (www.rosannecatalano.net) or at Lulu Press (www.lulu.com). It is availabe in both e-book and paperback form.

STITCHES AND STITCHES

2009-04-16T19:34:00.000-07:00

I would much rather be submitting something positive about the pleasure of writing, or putting my readers in stitches over something funny. However, I am not laughing tonight.

Instead, I am sending this short message--while on pain killers and antibiotics, keeping salve on stitches on my face and ear, willing the swelling to go down so I can breath properly and put a phone to my ear.

Good news. I was not melanoma's--confirmed first biopsy by this pathologist that these were basal cell carcinoma skin cancers. The stitches will come out next Wednesday. Before then I hope to be back online, and this blog.

Until then----Watch that sun exposure!

IS FIRST PERSON THE VOICE FOR YOU?

2009-04-13T19:12:00.000-07:00

My "Aunt Lutie's Blue Moon Cafe" is written in the voice that seemed to come from the heart of the story--first person. When the muse came to me with this story of a young woman in East Texas inheriting a cafe, it was her voice I heard telling me the story. "I've been hog-tied to Harts Corner, a place I've tried to run away from half of my life." Who could resist her right to tell the story?

Contrary to what many experts tell us, writing in Mary Margaret Butler's voice was easy. Her tone flowed, page after page, until some 400 plus double-spaced pages later, she gave me the exciting, surprising ending. I hadn't attempted to write a novel in first person before this; several award-winning short stories proved I could dodge the pitfalls and so I listened to the voice. This Southern woman, with her soft accent, wanted to tell her story, her way. I let her.

Something I recently read urged writers, such as I, to choose a narrator whose voice will work well in this tense. They say to make sure to choose a character with a rich interior life. What does that mean in MM's (Mary Margaret) case? The character-building brought on by her mother's death and her aunt's love? Having to admit she has the skills to run, profitably, a cafe even though she's longed to live somewhere else for years? Feeling God's presence? Loving others--in this case--a needy child and a gorgeous lawman? MM can show readers all of these qualities through her own voice telling her own story.

Many of those experts, and authors, admit that writing in first-person POV is hard work. For example, it's difficult not to begin each sentence with "I". A writer must create sentence structures so readers are not conscious of this "I", this storyteller. She can't overwhelm the story.

The writer through the narrator cannot forget the description. So often, first-person stories are told so deeply into the person and heart, they don't share what they are seeing--the cafe where she works, the apartment where she lives, the people around her, and the events of the story. I hope, through MM, my readers can see the cafe and its kitchen, observe Bess when MM first saw her when she was a child, and the smell of those catered parties. MM must let the readers see what she sees.

I'm reading this book aloud to a group. I hear them laugh or gasp; I look up and see them smile and nod at appropriate places in the sharing. This tells me that MM's voice is genuine, that people can believe the tale she is sharing.

This woman in the story speaks to me, a Southerner, and I hope to ones who have never lived in a place like Harts Corner. I want them to share that wonderful, simple and complex life and to meet the colorful characters found in those towns.

First-person is the only voice that can tell this story.

DAUGHTERS

2009-04-11T21:38:00.000-07:00

On June 22, 1961, my beautiful daughter, Elizabeth Lauren, was born. She was, has been and is the apple of my eye, a wonderful daughter, wife, mother and now, grandmother. She and I are close though we live 3,000 miles apart. No one could take her place in my heart.

There is room in a mother's heart for everyone. On February 15, 2009, another beautiful woman slipped into her place in mine. Jarkata became the wife of my son, Edward (Eddie), and brought a new joy to me.

I haven't met my new daughter-in-law yet. They were married in Reno, will live in the Sacramento area of California, but she is back in the South working through tax season and the end of the school year before she will officially move to be with her husband. Until then, we talk via email to each other.

It's not that hard for one woman-wife-mother to size up another. She is a jewel. From all accounts from my son, her two children, Anna and Michael, are precious, well-behaved--children with those Southern manners I pray will not be corrupted by living in California. She shares her concerns about them, and I admire her for that. And she longs to make a home for them with my Eddie as soon as possible--and that endears her to me.

As a writer, it delights me that she reads and writes poetry when the muse creeps up on her and time permits. She is reading my work and enjoying it--that makes me feel good. I hope that we can one day soon share some of our work--in person.

The most important thing to a mother is for her children to be loved and to be happy. My son sounds like the happiest, luckiest man on earth. Jarkata says he is wonderful and expresses to me how much she loves him, how fortunate they both are to have found each other. That touches my heart, warms me inside, brings a tear to my eye.

Because that is all I can ask for, isn't it? That these two newlyweds will cling to each other, share the good and the not so wonderful aspects of life with love, caring, forgiveness, and laughter. No mother could ask for more.

Jarkata has asked if she may call me Mom. Isn't that wonderful? How honored I feel that she is comfortable asking--and doing so. I have a new daughter, a wonderful addition to our family. I can't wait to hug her and her children, to welcome them, and to see for myself that my son is loved.

Blessings, prayers, love to you both but especially to you, Jarkata.

Mom

NEVER THROW IT AWAY

2009-04-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

I last wrote about making notes and keeping them--hopefully, where you can find them. Since them I read an article online about an author who lives in a 2-bedroom apartment in New York City, has just turned her office into the new baby's room, and now keeps her ideas on slips of paper, napkins, whatever, in decorative hat boxes. Mentioning keeping all these notes reminded me of a lesson I learned several years ago--one I hope you already know.

Don't throw anything away--not those notes, story starts, essays rejected many times---nothing.

We have moved quite often in our almost 32 years of marriage. On one move of quite some distance, I knew I needed to lighten the load, really cut down those 88 boxes (my husband does exagerate) coming out of my office. Therefore, I really cleaned out those files. I scanned through some of the old stories, essays, articles, clip files. I'd never completed them, or sold them, and the idea clippings hadn't been used, so I won't miss them, right? Do I need to tell you I still have thoughts of several stories, etc. I should have kept, picked them up again, and completed?

I have a new rule: never throw it away. As you might imagine, I don't have enough room in my office for all the files to hold all of these saved items. There are plastic tubs in our storage area of the workshop and four are in my walk-in closet in the office. One of these days I will set up a "program" of some sort to catalog it all, and not have to sit in the middle of the closet, searching through files looking for something I know I saved. Until then, I am not throwing it away.

And while I am sorting through those files, hopefully, I will find the beginning of a book a former student says he gave me to critique--just as I was giving up my teaching of that particular class and two months before I packed everything up for another of those moves.

I hope I haven't thrown it away.

POET'S SUNDAY

2009-04-05T21:47:00.000-07:00

It's the first Sunday of the month which means I spent three plus hours with the wonderful voices of San Diego County poets. Our guest speakers, Oriana along with Janet Baker, were outstanding! Oriana is originally from Poland and often brings us this European insight to the poetry world. Janet writes nature poetry and it grabbed us all when she read of the cacti blooms of spring.

I've been invited to be a third member of the Board for this group and it is such an honor. The position means that I can be in on the decision making for where the group is going and am involved with the Escondido Arts Council when they meet. And someone has to stand in for Bob or Lenny, the facilitators of Poet's Inc, when one or the other is out--setting up the room and the "grazing" table, and making members feel welcome.

I feel pretty inadequate when I hear the poetry of these talented writers. But poetry writing is one of the oldest forms of writing, especially my own. I wrote poems when I was ten and have never stopped. My mood captures the pen and my muse is open to many topics. Here's a poem I shared today:

RUNNING

Hands reach out from nowhere
Faces appear from the past
Fielding questions to answer
Creating more questions to ask.
And I am dashing away
Ignoring them all. Or so I say.

Why am I running?
Why am I here?
What have I done
To feel such fear?

I hear the voice again--
"If we catch you, we'll kill you
Or wreak your life,
The only way to dodge us
Is to escape
To run from this strife."

So into the night,
Even during the day,
Not knowing where to go
Or the reason why, I obey.
I seek a place to hide
Turn my face
Close my heart
Shut off my pride.

Can't anyone see?
Can't they hear my plea?
What can the problem be?
Who is my enemy?

I turn to face my tormentor
And find that
It is--
Me.

BD (4/09)

SCRAPS

2009-04-04T20:39:00.000-07:00

I find story ideas on scraps. Words on napkins. Names on business cards. Scenes on back of an envelope. Dialogue on a theater playbill. Short paragraphs in the notebook carried in my handbag. These fragments have triggered many of the stories, several novels, dozens of articles, personal essays and poems. Save those scraps.

There are other items I would suggest you collect to lead you to new ideas. I travel whenever the budget allows and have found that sourvenirs--a fan from Spain, a black heart-shaped necklace from Alaska, a Texas flag, a small watercolor from Italy, a menu from Turkey--all have led me to stories.

Remember to pick up brochures from towns, museums, tourist spots, and public gardens. Pick up a local newspaper, the freebie classifieds, and listen to the regional radio station. Eat in the small cafes offering homemade biscuits and gravy, chili or apple pie; you'll be in close proximity to the townspeople. Those napkins, or the small notebook, are a repository for character sketches.

Never throw those scaps away. You never know when one word, a short line, a paragraph--even the perfect name--will bring call forth the muse needed for a bestseller--or at least publication in your favorite small press quarterly, or monthly literary magazine.

Save those scraps.

STORY MAPPING

2009-04-02T13:30:00.000-07:00

I've been reading a lot recently about storyboarding. I don't have any excess wall space in my "office" to tape charts/outlines/scenes of my books on (and I'd probably not look at page after page of such in a notebook) but it is a fascinating way to work. I do have room for story maps though.

My writer fried, Diana Ice, as I have mentioned before creates fantasy worlds for her intriguing characters to live in. I am blown away by the way she pulls the reader into a country and city she has completely made up. With her descriptions and marvelous dialogue fitting the place and era, I walk the streets of ancient cities, feel the icy winds on the deck of a ship, and hear the clash of swords during battles. Diana tells fellow writers that she creates maps of her country and cities in order to "be there" as she writes.

If a town of your own creation is the prominent setting for your story, draw a plot of that place. Put in the house(s) where your character(s) live, add the business, the church, the park--even if some spots don't have a place in your story, draw the complete town so you can "be there."

A home may be an intregal part of your work. If so, draw a floor plan. Maybe you need to place furniture in the room--so in the dark the intruder won't bump into the furniture, so the suddenly blind person can find her way around, so the reader can see what the home looks like from the view of the characters.

Use these drawings. They are more dependable than your memory, less trouble than having to scroll back page after page for a description. These maps are reference tools. THey don't have to be perfect; the basic outline is all you need. Tape them up near your computer and write with confidence.

Looking back, I could have used such a town layout for "Aunt Lutie's Blue Moon Cafe." In fact, I will draw my map anyway in the near future, as I'm probably facing a rewrite of the book, and I have an outline for a sequence. I should have had one for the novella I recently wrote as I kept going back to the New Mexico road map. Even though I made up a town for my main characters to hide out in, I used actual highways for the escape route. Not looking at the map close enough, I had them traveling too far south on Hwy. 28 (when it actually turns toward El Paso). (You have my permission to nod and grin here, Diana.)

Create those town maps. Draw that house plan. Don't rely on your memory for important details. Using these visual aids will save you time and show readers you have presented the accurate, entertaining work you promised.