MANUSCRIPT OFF!

I've been working for the last few days on the last edits of the first three and (last) chapter of my latest novel. It seems that the more you go over your work, the more you find that can be improved. Don't all authors feel that way?

But I finally took a deep breath, said enough is enough, packaged up the chapters, my cover letter, and the synopsis and dropped them in the mail. Today. I left a message for my editor that the requested material was on the way. Now I wait.

That's not what I will do, however. All the experts tell writers they should begin right away on the next book, article, or short story. I must decide what will be the next book I work on. Shall it be "BJ and the Alligator Stomp," which just might fit into my editor's "Southern Weird" category. Or shall I begin another book starring Mary Margaret Butler (MM)to continue the series I've planned for the characters in the book I've just submitted? (Maybe I should wait on that until I see what my editor thinks of the characters, plot, and storyline.)

Or maybe I will concentrate on my poetry for awhile--this blog could use some extra tender loving care, too. Whatever it is, writing is something I won't give up on. There's no end to what I want to write about--so much to write, so little time.

THOUGHTS AFTER SEEING "CONSPIRITORS"

Mary and Jackie

Mary was dressed so fashionably
Was it pink like Jackie?
She sat beside her husband
In the theater box, enjoying a play
Jackie sat beside her husband
In a car, enjoying the crowds,
Did Mary hear the applause that night
As Jackie heard on that sunny day?

At the sound of the shot
Husbands slumped, wives,
Reached out, seeking help.
Mary was removed from the room by doctors
Jackie clung to his hand as
He was pronounced dead.
Does anyone know if a president’s blood
Spattered Mary’s gown as it did Jackie’s suit?

What we do know is this—
Both wives followed the caisson
Bearing assassinated presidents,
One to Illinois, the other to Arlington,
Both women clad in blue-black widow’s silk.

PURPLE MAJESTIES

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)

CURIOUS PLACES

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."

USING ART TO WRITE

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.

POET'S SUNDAY

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)