So all pouty face poor me from yesterday aside, today was a fabulous day! Other than the fact that my little girl threw up in gym class... but that's a whole 'nother blog...
One of the things I do at my kid's school is set up assemblies. I am privileged to be able to pick which parts of their little brains to stimulate, or what experience to give them once a month, all year long! It's fabulous!!
There are four of us who help with this part of school we call Enrichment. Enriching their lives, giving them access to things they wouldn't normally get in the typical school day. So far this year we've had The Denver Zoo, The Denver Museum of Nature and Science, (who did an assembly on all the yucky things our bodies do!) The Fort Carson Singers for a Christmas performance, an incredible Veterans Day assembly, Irish Dance and TODAY??!!!
Mark Ludy! Children's author and illustrator. Here's his link, CLICK HERE, seriously... click it... you have to see it... go on! Mark has written these incredible books, like The Farmer and The Grump and his newest Jujo'. The stories themselves would be fascinating and interesting even without the illustrations, but the PICTURES?!! They are unbelievable!
Not only is Mark an author and illustrator, but he's a fantastic speaker as well. We started the morning off with a short talk to the teachers. Mark shared with us his motivational views on living with the thought of what's REALLY important in our daily lives. What are we giving back to the people around us, especially to the kids? When we die, what do we leave behind? What will people say we gave them?
He told us about his favorite teacher when he was a kid going to school at Lewis Palmer Elementary, how she gave him the love of a story. For the first time, he picked up a book and realized you could dive right in to the story and live a different reality as long as you had the book open. The book he first loved... Where the Red Fern Grows!
I connected so well with what he was saying, I remember all of my favorite books, Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary. I still love every opportunity to read myself into a new reality, pick up a new story... and it's something I've really wanted to give my kids.
But, as so many things, my oldest was not willing to take it from me. He needed his teacher, the MOST FABULOUS second grade teacher in the world, to give him the love of stories. Now my kid comes home nearly every week, so excited to tell me what new book Mr. S. is reading to him. His best days? ~the one's Mr. S reads for an extra long time!!
They just finished reading, "How to Eat Fried Worms," and when he came home yesterday, this is what I got,
"Mom, I really REALLY need (best friend's name goes here) to come over tonight."
"Why?" Boy looks down, sheepish grin crosses his face. I'm on to him! I know he's up to something.
"We made a bet."
"What kind of bet?"
"He bet me, he could eat 30 worms."
"Gross! Why would he do that?"
"Cuz if he does it, I have to pay him $100!"
"You don't even have $100."
"Yes, I do. I saved my allowance."
The funny thing here is, he really has saved $100. Normally, it's like pulling teeth for him to spend any of his own money. There's no way he can part with any of it. But apparently, for an eight year old boy, seeing your best friend ingest 30 worms, TOTALLY worth $100!!
I emailed Fabulous Teacher and told him this story and his reply was, "I told them not to eat any worms... I guess books really do inspire!"
Yes, they do. And more than that, teachers inspire and authors inspire, and hopefully in some subconscious way that 8 year old boys don't actually have to admit... parents inspire. I knew I would enjoy my day today. Nothing is more fun for me than to see little minds excited about new ideas... but I actually came away with even more than I had imagined. I came home remembering to focus on what's important, and to be mindful of what I am "giving" to my kids and all the other people I encounter.
Thank you, Mark Ludy for giving me such a GREAT day, and by the way... I'm scheduling a mental health day, to take a trip to Loodles... anyone want to come with me??
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Friday, March 20, 2009
Monday, October 6, 2008
Write Already Will Ya?
I got yelled at last night for not blogging lately. I know things have gotten in the way. Darling Hubby yelled at me the other day for not writing at all. He said I have the opportunity right now to do something that I love to do and I don’t spend any time doing it at all. He’s right. So today I took the day off of everything else to write.
I know blogging seems a bit like procrastinating, but I’m using it as a warm up. I just thought I’d update you on some of the things that take me away from doing the thing I love the best.
First of all, politics. Part of my family and I disagree very strongly about this years election. I get emails from them everyday questioning and slamming Obama and his ethics. This is the obsessive, neurotic part of me that can not simply hit delete when those messages come in. I spend time researching the issues at hand and then send my best thoughts or facts to debate their ideas. But I’ve decided it takes up too much of my time. I am not going to change their minds and they are not going to change mine, so I’m working on letting it go. I’ll let you know how it goes.
The other night I went to a friend’s house to watch the VP debates. Had a great time with some really fun and like-minded women. I love all my Republican friends, but sometimes it’s just nice to know no matter what you say, no one is going to argue with you. I have to tell you, I loved Saturday Night Live this past Sat. How did they know we were playing a drinking game?
My dog has been taking up a good portion of my time as well. The darling has decided that NO electronic fence will keep him in. He takes the hit and keeps on going. I wanted a big furry beast and I certainly got one. We had to build a fence in the backyard the last two weekends. It is now complete and Big Ass Puppy doesn’t think it’s very funny. He whines and complains worse than my 5-year-old daughter. He’s pretty sure he’s been wrongly accused and jailed. I do have to say it was nice to put up my Halloween decorations on the front porch and not worry that Beasty would ingest them all within a couple of minutes.
Besides all of that, my kids and school take up a huge part of my time. I have this strange guilt about it I can’t seem to shake. Because writing is not a REAL job, no ones paying for me to sit here, I can’t seem to prioritize it. My kids, their activities, their school comes first. Wade keeps telling me there are plenty of other mothers to volunteer in my place, but I can’t give it up.
I love to go on their field trips and to be in their classrooms. I am organizing their assemblies this year, which has been pretty fun. We also have sports and dance we do every week. Right now I only have two days a week with no kids. One of those days I follow them to school and volunteer in their classes.
I think the only option right now for me to write is to get up early or stay up late. That’s how I wrote the last book. For some reason since school started I just haven’t worked out my schedule well.
I just realized this warm up exercise has turned into full on distraction and procrastination. So instead of any more analyzing why I don’t write anymore, I think I’ll get myself another pot of coffee and JUST WRITE!
I know blogging seems a bit like procrastinating, but I’m using it as a warm up. I just thought I’d update you on some of the things that take me away from doing the thing I love the best.
First of all, politics. Part of my family and I disagree very strongly about this years election. I get emails from them everyday questioning and slamming Obama and his ethics. This is the obsessive, neurotic part of me that can not simply hit delete when those messages come in. I spend time researching the issues at hand and then send my best thoughts or facts to debate their ideas. But I’ve decided it takes up too much of my time. I am not going to change their minds and they are not going to change mine, so I’m working on letting it go. I’ll let you know how it goes.
The other night I went to a friend’s house to watch the VP debates. Had a great time with some really fun and like-minded women. I love all my Republican friends, but sometimes it’s just nice to know no matter what you say, no one is going to argue with you. I have to tell you, I loved Saturday Night Live this past Sat. How did they know we were playing a drinking game?
My dog has been taking up a good portion of my time as well. The darling has decided that NO electronic fence will keep him in. He takes the hit and keeps on going. I wanted a big furry beast and I certainly got one. We had to build a fence in the backyard the last two weekends. It is now complete and Big Ass Puppy doesn’t think it’s very funny. He whines and complains worse than my 5-year-old daughter. He’s pretty sure he’s been wrongly accused and jailed. I do have to say it was nice to put up my Halloween decorations on the front porch and not worry that Beasty would ingest them all within a couple of minutes.
Besides all of that, my kids and school take up a huge part of my time. I have this strange guilt about it I can’t seem to shake. Because writing is not a REAL job, no ones paying for me to sit here, I can’t seem to prioritize it. My kids, their activities, their school comes first. Wade keeps telling me there are plenty of other mothers to volunteer in my place, but I can’t give it up.
I love to go on their field trips and to be in their classrooms. I am organizing their assemblies this year, which has been pretty fun. We also have sports and dance we do every week. Right now I only have two days a week with no kids. One of those days I follow them to school and volunteer in their classes.
I think the only option right now for me to write is to get up early or stay up late. That’s how I wrote the last book. For some reason since school started I just haven’t worked out my schedule well.
I just realized this warm up exercise has turned into full on distraction and procrastination. So instead of any more analyzing why I don’t write anymore, I think I’ll get myself another pot of coffee and JUST WRITE!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Writers Weekend
I'm going to the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers 25th Anniversary Writers Conference this weekend. Darling Hubby got it for my birthday. He is coming with me and staying downtown. So I'll get to have dinners with him and some NO KID time!! YEAH!!!
I'm really excited. It looks like a great conference. There are great speakers, editors, and publishers to learn from. Great classes to take the entire weekend and my favorite part of writers conferences~ Writers to meet and talk to.
I told Hubby the other night, after all this political stuff lately, I've decided to become one of those hermit writers. You know the kind of crazy, never showers, drinks alot kind. The ones that never get out of the house, until they write THE END, and then only long enough to see what season it is outside before the next brilliant idea evolves in their brains and they MUST go back to work. He said he thinks that would be best...
Actually, I do feel more drawn to my computer lately. The new story has been evolving in my imagination a lot, and where before I would sit down to work and not really know where I was going, now I sit down and have so much to get to, I'm never really finished.
So after this weekend if you want to find me, I'll be in the loft. Bring a bar of soap and a bottle of wine when you come...
I'm really excited. It looks like a great conference. There are great speakers, editors, and publishers to learn from. Great classes to take the entire weekend and my favorite part of writers conferences~ Writers to meet and talk to.
I told Hubby the other night, after all this political stuff lately, I've decided to become one of those hermit writers. You know the kind of crazy, never showers, drinks alot kind. The ones that never get out of the house, until they write THE END, and then only long enough to see what season it is outside before the next brilliant idea evolves in their brains and they MUST go back to work. He said he thinks that would be best...
Actually, I do feel more drawn to my computer lately. The new story has been evolving in my imagination a lot, and where before I would sit down to work and not really know where I was going, now I sit down and have so much to get to, I'm never really finished.
So after this weekend if you want to find me, I'll be in the loft. Bring a bar of soap and a bottle of wine when you come...
Monday, September 8, 2008
Pork and Ice Cream
When I woke up this morning I knew, it was going to be a long day. The cold had settled in like an unwelcome relative, selfish and insistent. I drug my sleepy body out of bed and headed for the coffee pot, but before I could get there the phone rang. I glanced at the clock, 6:45… this can’t be good.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Brady?”
“Yes.”
“This is the Carter County Police Dept. we believe we have your dog.”
“My dog?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my eyes and looked around the room.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. He was picked up last night outside the Tasty Freeze.”
“Okay…”
“We’ll need you to come down and post bail.”
“Bail…?”
I looked around to see if anyone else might be here to understand the parts of the conversation I was missing, but I seemed to be surprisingly alone.
“$250.”
“What?”
“$250… it’s mainly for the damages.”
“Damages?”
I knew I was sounding ridiculous, answering everything as if I didn’t hear him, but it was more just the simple act of understanding.
“He ate the cone.”
“Pardon me?”
“The cone… the big one with the chocolate swirl… the one that sits outside of the shop.”
“He ate it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, I need to pay $250 to get the dog back.”
“That, and the medical bills.”
“Medical Bills.”
“The cone was pretty big.”
At this point I was wondering if I was actually awake or if this was some crazy dream. I pinched myself. Hard.
“Ouch.”
“Ma’am?”
“Nothing. So how much were the medical bills?”
“$2500.”
“But the dog’s okay?”
“Not exactly.” I decided to wait him out on this one. “Actually Ma’am, we lost the dog.”
“He died?”
“No, we lost him. When he came out of the anesthesia, he jumped off the table at the Emergency Vet’s office and ran out the door.”
“So, I have to pay $2750 for the dog and the damages and you lost the dog?”
“That’s it!”
I rubbed my eyes and thought of the coffee that wasn’t even percolating yet.
“Can I ask you one question?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know it’s my dog?”
“We called the number on his tag, and you answered the phone.”
“Well that solves everything.” I said.
“It does?”
“Yes, it can’t be my dog, because I don’t own a phone.”
The police officer on the other end of the line sat quietly for a second.
“I called… an.. and you answered,” he finally stammered.
“Yes.”
“So, who owns the phone.”
“Obviously, the dog.” I said and hung up the phone. I crossed the room, bent down to pet Pork, my two year old, Great Dane that loves to eat ice cream and then slowly made my way to the coffee pot to make my morning Joe.
"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." ~Ray Bradbury
Drink up...
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Brady?”
“Yes.”
“This is the Carter County Police Dept. we believe we have your dog.”
“My dog?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my eyes and looked around the room.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. He was picked up last night outside the Tasty Freeze.”
“Okay…”
“We’ll need you to come down and post bail.”
“Bail…?”
I looked around to see if anyone else might be here to understand the parts of the conversation I was missing, but I seemed to be surprisingly alone.
“$250.”
“What?”
“$250… it’s mainly for the damages.”
“Damages?”
I knew I was sounding ridiculous, answering everything as if I didn’t hear him, but it was more just the simple act of understanding.
“He ate the cone.”
“Pardon me?”
“The cone… the big one with the chocolate swirl… the one that sits outside of the shop.”
“He ate it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, I need to pay $250 to get the dog back.”
“That, and the medical bills.”
“Medical Bills.”
“The cone was pretty big.”
At this point I was wondering if I was actually awake or if this was some crazy dream. I pinched myself. Hard.
“Ouch.”
“Ma’am?”
“Nothing. So how much were the medical bills?”
“$2500.”
“But the dog’s okay?”
“Not exactly.” I decided to wait him out on this one. “Actually Ma’am, we lost the dog.”
“He died?”
“No, we lost him. When he came out of the anesthesia, he jumped off the table at the Emergency Vet’s office and ran out the door.”
“So, I have to pay $2750 for the dog and the damages and you lost the dog?”
“That’s it!”
I rubbed my eyes and thought of the coffee that wasn’t even percolating yet.
“Can I ask you one question?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know it’s my dog?”
“We called the number on his tag, and you answered the phone.”
“Well that solves everything.” I said.
“It does?”
“Yes, it can’t be my dog, because I don’t own a phone.”
The police officer on the other end of the line sat quietly for a second.
“I called… an.. and you answered,” he finally stammered.
“Yes.”
“So, who owns the phone.”
“Obviously, the dog.” I said and hung up the phone. I crossed the room, bent down to pet Pork, my two year old, Great Dane that loves to eat ice cream and then slowly made my way to the coffee pot to make my morning Joe.
"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." ~Ray Bradbury
Drink up...
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Worst Writing Day Ever!
Yesterday, I spent a lovely and quiet day writing my new novel. What a great day it was! Today, I have been caught up in my blog reading by a contest posted on this website.
It is a contest to write the WORST story line ever! It's so much fun, I am obsessing, ignoring my chores and my child. Here are a few of mine:
Procuring the Position of PTO President
Kindergartner, Pickles Parsley’s mom wants the position of PTO President and will do anything to get it, including pandering to the parents, picking off the competition with nasty paper cuts, planting parasites in certain parents potluck and even planning pedicures while pontificating about her perfect purple play dough.
I love alliteration and find it an essential tool in querying.
Malevolent Mailman: A middle-aged mailman delivers a letter to the wrong address angering an entire town who in turn vow to never mail again.
Tree Hugging: A nature loving arborist sets off on a quest to find and destroy the dreaded Pine Beetle only to discover an unrequited love for a tree chopping lumberjack named Ax.
All Around Afghan Hound: An overweight, washed up gymnast, who once tried out for the Olympics, turns her useless life around by taking up dog walking and in time teaches a trusted pooch a floor routine to beat all breeds, and winds up loosing ten pounds in the process.
Party Pooper: A middle-aged housewife, sick of leftovers and processed cheese, combats door to door sales men and telephone solicitors while trying to diaper her skittish toddler who refuses to poop in the potty.
AHHHHAHAHAHAH!! This is so much fun...who needs clean clothes, or dinner? I'm just gonna sit here all day doing this!
It is a contest to write the WORST story line ever! It's so much fun, I am obsessing, ignoring my chores and my child. Here are a few of mine:
Procuring the Position of PTO President
Kindergartner, Pickles Parsley’s mom wants the position of PTO President and will do anything to get it, including pandering to the parents, picking off the competition with nasty paper cuts, planting parasites in certain parents potluck and even planning pedicures while pontificating about her perfect purple play dough.
I love alliteration and find it an essential tool in querying.
Malevolent Mailman: A middle-aged mailman delivers a letter to the wrong address angering an entire town who in turn vow to never mail again.
Tree Hugging: A nature loving arborist sets off on a quest to find and destroy the dreaded Pine Beetle only to discover an unrequited love for a tree chopping lumberjack named Ax.
All Around Afghan Hound: An overweight, washed up gymnast, who once tried out for the Olympics, turns her useless life around by taking up dog walking and in time teaches a trusted pooch a floor routine to beat all breeds, and winds up loosing ten pounds in the process.
Party Pooper: A middle-aged housewife, sick of leftovers and processed cheese, combats door to door sales men and telephone solicitors while trying to diaper her skittish toddler who refuses to poop in the potty.
AHHHHAHAHAHAH!! This is so much fun...who needs clean clothes, or dinner? I'm just gonna sit here all day doing this!
Friday, July 25, 2008
Too quiet to think...
I’m writing a new script. It’s a romantic comedy. I love the concept; it actually came to me in a dream. There are also some really funny parts. Or at least I think so… but right now I am struggling to get past the mid point.
Page 50. Midpoint. Something great should be happening by now. Is it??
Usually, I am writing with my kids around. They constantly interrupt me. Asking for snacks, fighting with each other. Just coming up to say hi! I always wonder how much easier it will be to write when they are at school full time. Something I will experience soon enough.
Well today, they are at their grandparents. It’s 2:00 and I have had the entire day to myself. It’s really been nice. I’ve had no TV on. No radio, just sitting quietly me and my computer and this new story unfolding. But you know what???
It’s too quiet.
I can’t figure out where I want to go next. The little voices in my head are staying quiet. Thanks for nothing. The TV is calling me… come sit down, watch me…do nothing…you’ll love it.
I procrastinated through every blog I could find to read. Read the news clip about Randy Pausch. He’s the guy that wrote the inspirational speech about dying. Well, he died. And spent a while trying to find friends on myspace. I have only five and one of them is the Tom guy…
So why is it so hard to write today?I guess I’m just used to thinking amidst the chaos. I miss the kids. What a pity. I guess I can’t let them go to school after all. Poor little things. They need to stay home and help their mommy become a great writer.
I hope the State will understand why I couldn’t possibly let them go to school. I need my noisy little muses.
Page 50. Midpoint. Something great should be happening by now. Is it??
Usually, I am writing with my kids around. They constantly interrupt me. Asking for snacks, fighting with each other. Just coming up to say hi! I always wonder how much easier it will be to write when they are at school full time. Something I will experience soon enough.
Well today, they are at their grandparents. It’s 2:00 and I have had the entire day to myself. It’s really been nice. I’ve had no TV on. No radio, just sitting quietly me and my computer and this new story unfolding. But you know what???
It’s too quiet.
I can’t figure out where I want to go next. The little voices in my head are staying quiet. Thanks for nothing. The TV is calling me… come sit down, watch me…do nothing…you’ll love it.
I procrastinated through every blog I could find to read. Read the news clip about Randy Pausch. He’s the guy that wrote the inspirational speech about dying. Well, he died. And spent a while trying to find friends on myspace. I have only five and one of them is the Tom guy…
So why is it so hard to write today?I guess I’m just used to thinking amidst the chaos. I miss the kids. What a pity. I guess I can’t let them go to school after all. Poor little things. They need to stay home and help their mommy become a great writer.
I hope the State will understand why I couldn’t possibly let them go to school. I need my noisy little muses.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Contest time
I am posting my screenplay and a poem to the Writers Digest competition. The winner from each catagory wins a trip to New York and time with four editors or agents. I have always wanted to go to New York. With my darling hubby being as tight as he is with our budget, winning might be my only ticket. My son (little dreamer) is sure I will win. Gotta love em.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Cujo
Cujo was written by Steven King totally blitzed! He admits to it in my absolute favorite book of all time, Steven King On Writing. He seriously doesn't even remember writing it.
It leads me to wonder whether we let the little elf speak his mind better after a couple of cocktails. Let’s test, shall we…
My very good friend Sue just sent me a recipe for Cosmos. It’s not just any recipe- it is the BEST RECIPE EVER!!! I can only give this opinion after my third. My typing is slow but my mind is a racing. I happen to think the best poem I ever wrote, was after a few glasses of a fabulous Cabernet. I will include that at the bottom.
For now, lets just go on an exploration.
I had a thought the other day about humility. What does it mean, and can a human being actual achieve it at any complete level? So, we’ll start the story there…
Brad Pickens walked with the confidence of a three hundred pound prizefighter. No matter that he was really a buck twenty, and had the acne of an eighteen year old. Even at the ripe old age of forty-two, he knew where he was going, all the time.
Today his goal was a park bench in the middle of Grand Avenue. The place in his sights, was teeming with vagrants and pigeons, the dirty little things begging for every last bite. As he rounded the corner, he saw his goal, and swiftly placed the bag as he strode past.
Fifty feet from the target he stopped by a tree, as if to tie his shoe. Slowly he turned and leaned, without any overt action, he watched to see what would take place at the bench he had chosen.
Ten minutes past, then twenty. Pickens busied himself with a newspaper someone had haphazardly thrown away in the trash bin next to him. As his timer rounded to 22:22, she came along.
Kate Williams was coming from a doctor’s appointment. She was mulling over the facts revealed to her in a completely clinical manner. “Mrs. Williams, your biopsy came back positive. It’s cancer…” the information after the fact, was a blur. All Kate needed at that moment was a place to sit down. She stumbled to the bench and placed herself upon it as delicately as she would fine china. Then she sank into her misery.
How can this happen to someone so young? How can this happen to someone with so many plans?
Pickens watched her with exclusive attention, biting his nails and wondering about her story.
Finally, Kate looked up through her clouded eyesight, and noticed the bag resting attentively next to her. Her first thought was to leave it and go home. Then, the curiosity that had been a part of her since she was four years old, won the battle. She opened the bag.
As she pulled out the money, Pickens walked away. She found the prize and what she did with it from there was her plan, her decision. He walked away without knowing what the tears meant that fell unabashedly down her perfectly shaped face. He didn’t need to know. All of that wasn’t part of his story.
Kate frantically searched the faces around her, looking for someone that would reveal to her what was happening. How does this bag of money relate to the worst possible moment of her life? How can it be sitting here without any strings attached? The questions were too much for the moment.
Slowly Kate lifted her spirit from the bench and walked from the park towards her home.
(from suz) I’ll have my editor check the commas’ later. Ha… here is the poem I wrote in a happy elf speaking state. I love it; I think it tells the story of my sister and her husband very well. Thank you August Briggs.
The Music Never Lies
See through drops of wine
Run down my perfect glass
I ask myself quietly
Why don’t the good things last?
A perfect love between the two
A girl and boy so young
Of all the lyrics playing
A perfect song they sung.
He always loved the music
Different kinds, a different tune
Their lives the perfect melody
All gone, disappeared too soon.
She lives her life in memories
Her boys they live it too
All shades a constant reminder
The memories seem so few.
Now everything is different
The road that they had taken
So suddenly it ended
In happiness forsaken.
The killer hides in constant shadows
Of how it could have been
How happy the life of four
No truths will ever amend.
The lies are not uncommon
Among the guilty parts
Their truths are deeply hidden
Among their troubled hearts.
And in the end, who pays the price
But not for she who cries
Her boys and her will always know
The music never lies.
It leads me to wonder whether we let the little elf speak his mind better after a couple of cocktails. Let’s test, shall we…
My very good friend Sue just sent me a recipe for Cosmos. It’s not just any recipe- it is the BEST RECIPE EVER!!! I can only give this opinion after my third. My typing is slow but my mind is a racing. I happen to think the best poem I ever wrote, was after a few glasses of a fabulous Cabernet. I will include that at the bottom.
For now, lets just go on an exploration.
I had a thought the other day about humility. What does it mean, and can a human being actual achieve it at any complete level? So, we’ll start the story there…
Brad Pickens walked with the confidence of a three hundred pound prizefighter. No matter that he was really a buck twenty, and had the acne of an eighteen year old. Even at the ripe old age of forty-two, he knew where he was going, all the time.
Today his goal was a park bench in the middle of Grand Avenue. The place in his sights, was teeming with vagrants and pigeons, the dirty little things begging for every last bite. As he rounded the corner, he saw his goal, and swiftly placed the bag as he strode past.
Fifty feet from the target he stopped by a tree, as if to tie his shoe. Slowly he turned and leaned, without any overt action, he watched to see what would take place at the bench he had chosen.
Ten minutes past, then twenty. Pickens busied himself with a newspaper someone had haphazardly thrown away in the trash bin next to him. As his timer rounded to 22:22, she came along.
Kate Williams was coming from a doctor’s appointment. She was mulling over the facts revealed to her in a completely clinical manner. “Mrs. Williams, your biopsy came back positive. It’s cancer…” the information after the fact, was a blur. All Kate needed at that moment was a place to sit down. She stumbled to the bench and placed herself upon it as delicately as she would fine china. Then she sank into her misery.
How can this happen to someone so young? How can this happen to someone with so many plans?
Pickens watched her with exclusive attention, biting his nails and wondering about her story.
Finally, Kate looked up through her clouded eyesight, and noticed the bag resting attentively next to her. Her first thought was to leave it and go home. Then, the curiosity that had been a part of her since she was four years old, won the battle. She opened the bag.
As she pulled out the money, Pickens walked away. She found the prize and what she did with it from there was her plan, her decision. He walked away without knowing what the tears meant that fell unabashedly down her perfectly shaped face. He didn’t need to know. All of that wasn’t part of his story.
Kate frantically searched the faces around her, looking for someone that would reveal to her what was happening. How does this bag of money relate to the worst possible moment of her life? How can it be sitting here without any strings attached? The questions were too much for the moment.
Slowly Kate lifted her spirit from the bench and walked from the park towards her home.
(from suz) I’ll have my editor check the commas’ later. Ha… here is the poem I wrote in a happy elf speaking state. I love it; I think it tells the story of my sister and her husband very well. Thank you August Briggs.
The Music Never Lies
See through drops of wine
Run down my perfect glass
I ask myself quietly
Why don’t the good things last?
A perfect love between the two
A girl and boy so young
Of all the lyrics playing
A perfect song they sung.
He always loved the music
Different kinds, a different tune
Their lives the perfect melody
All gone, disappeared too soon.
She lives her life in memories
Her boys they live it too
All shades a constant reminder
The memories seem so few.
Now everything is different
The road that they had taken
So suddenly it ended
In happiness forsaken.
The killer hides in constant shadows
Of how it could have been
How happy the life of four
No truths will ever amend.
The lies are not uncommon
Among the guilty parts
Their truths are deeply hidden
Among their troubled hearts.
And in the end, who pays the price
But not for she who cries
Her boys and her will always know
The music never lies.
Monday, April 7, 2008
My Elves
My sister and I went to a talk yesterday by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love. It was a really interesting and fun time. She gave some wonderful anecdotes, some advice and her perspective about not only the book but about writing and finding your own path.
The thing that struck me most about her was the same as when I was reading EPL. She thinks a lot like me. She seems terribly scattered. One of her first stories was about missing a plane while sitting right next to the boarding gate. She wasn’t meditating or thinking about anything life changing, she was simply in her own world with her everyday thoughts. The plane boarded with people all around her and she missed it all.
She went on to say that on the other end of this mishap, that is completely part of her personal make-up, was a room full of people who paid to hear her talk about how spiritually grounded she is now. How she has gone from being a depressed mess to a whole person. She didn’t intend to let anyone down, it just happened, but it conflicts with the message that people may read from EPL.
I find that happens to me.
I think people have an impression of who I am that is not completely flattering. They think I am flaky, and not particularly caring. How else can you explain the fact that someone close to me just told me a very personal and significant story about themselves and I never heard a word of it.
I tend to fade when there is drama. You know the everyday kind that seems terribly important to those that are in the eye of the hurricane? It’s really not that I don’t care. I just simply lost the connection. Dropped the call. Slipped off the edge, right in front of you.
Elizabeth spent the second half of the event answering questions. Someone asked her how she handles the criticism that EPL is very self absorbed. I suppose that’s what people think of me. Too busy with my own thoughts to listen or remain present. And I suppose in a way that’s true, but the thoughts that are usually causing such a stir that I can’t ignore them are not entirely about me. Usually they are about completely fictional characters or situations.
Elizabeth called it your Genius. Not that I think I am one, but she described artists of the past as having Genius that is similar to having a little elf in your house. A house elf, you know, like Dobby from Harry Potter. I can relate to this well. The thoughts that distract me most often almost seem like a conversation between this elf and myself.
I start down a path that was constructed by someone I am talking with. The first thoughts might actually be real and related to the conversation but within a couple of seconds they jump around like little Mexican jumping beans and land somewhere completely fictional and honestly more interesting.
I suppose this is all very hard to understand, as it seems hard to explain. And I am a little afraid that if I explained myself better you all might think I am psychotic. Little elf voices in my head, Yikes!!
I was just very satisfied to know that I am not the only one out there with these particular obstacles. It also bolsters my confidence to know, I am not self absorbed or uncaring, I am simply easily distracted by elves. See it’s very simple…
The thing that struck me most about her was the same as when I was reading EPL. She thinks a lot like me. She seems terribly scattered. One of her first stories was about missing a plane while sitting right next to the boarding gate. She wasn’t meditating or thinking about anything life changing, she was simply in her own world with her everyday thoughts. The plane boarded with people all around her and she missed it all.
She went on to say that on the other end of this mishap, that is completely part of her personal make-up, was a room full of people who paid to hear her talk about how spiritually grounded she is now. How she has gone from being a depressed mess to a whole person. She didn’t intend to let anyone down, it just happened, but it conflicts with the message that people may read from EPL.
I find that happens to me.
I think people have an impression of who I am that is not completely flattering. They think I am flaky, and not particularly caring. How else can you explain the fact that someone close to me just told me a very personal and significant story about themselves and I never heard a word of it.
I tend to fade when there is drama. You know the everyday kind that seems terribly important to those that are in the eye of the hurricane? It’s really not that I don’t care. I just simply lost the connection. Dropped the call. Slipped off the edge, right in front of you.
Elizabeth spent the second half of the event answering questions. Someone asked her how she handles the criticism that EPL is very self absorbed. I suppose that’s what people think of me. Too busy with my own thoughts to listen or remain present. And I suppose in a way that’s true, but the thoughts that are usually causing such a stir that I can’t ignore them are not entirely about me. Usually they are about completely fictional characters or situations.
Elizabeth called it your Genius. Not that I think I am one, but she described artists of the past as having Genius that is similar to having a little elf in your house. A house elf, you know, like Dobby from Harry Potter. I can relate to this well. The thoughts that distract me most often almost seem like a conversation between this elf and myself.
I start down a path that was constructed by someone I am talking with. The first thoughts might actually be real and related to the conversation but within a couple of seconds they jump around like little Mexican jumping beans and land somewhere completely fictional and honestly more interesting.
I suppose this is all very hard to understand, as it seems hard to explain. And I am a little afraid that if I explained myself better you all might think I am psychotic. Little elf voices in my head, Yikes!!
I was just very satisfied to know that I am not the only one out there with these particular obstacles. It also bolsters my confidence to know, I am not self absorbed or uncaring, I am simply easily distracted by elves. See it’s very simple…
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
this place of disarray
I’m in a strange place. It is crowded, dark and loud here. The cacophony confuses me and leaves me without understanding of any single sound. I see a light and try to follow it out, only to find myself lost in a different place. Someone reaches out to me, and tries to draw me out, but their grasp is weak and soon falls away. I wander, seemingly enjoying myself. How can that be when I am lost? But still, the echoes of a thousand sounds reverberate around me creating some comfort. The light that escapes a small crack in the interior blinks like a cursor waiting for the next word. I stumble and fall, bruising my ego and as I try and erect myself I realize… it’s safer here, nearer to the ground. As I grope my way along the tangled map that is this place, I finally recognize a sound; the first to make any sense. It is my name. Someone is calling me from this sanctuary? Insisting that I come out. They don’t see that this dim surrounding is my comfort. This is my home, this is my creativity, this place… is my own head.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Read blogs!
I love to read writers blogs. I think they are terribly entertaining and I learn some stuff too. Take today... I was reading a lovely blog by Ken Levine, which I truely enjoy reading. He was making a point about Hollywoods ability to take a well written peice of art and turning it into a droll, money making, disaster. The blog is here if you would like to read it. http://kenlevine.blogspot.com/
Anyway, I was reading the comments (which were also fabulous and funny) and one guy says: "So topical, so specific, so very amusing. On the other hand, though, as with the best satire (e.g. Jonathan Swift), your subtext is wonderfully vitriolic."
I was delighted by the word vitriolic. I wrote and said I had to know if the writer used a thesaurus to come up with vitriolic and said it was nicely done! Definitely a 10 cent word. Very soon after I got two responses that my vocabulary seriously needs work if I think vitriolic is a 10 center. Seriously!!
Okay, I admit, my vocabulary mainly consists of little gems like "poop" as in "please don't poop on the carpet." And "drawin'" as in "whose been drawin' on the walls?" It's been awhile since I carried on a conversation that would in anyway involve a word like vitriolic. Don't I wish! (But I am teaching my four year old the word as soon as I get done here!)
I live with my thesaurus and my dictionary, by my side. I love to find new words especially one's as juicy as vitriolic! By the way, for you morons, I mean mom's like myself, vitriolic means: "filled with or expressing extreme bitterness and hatred toward somebody or something".
Guess what, no matter what they say about me, I am not feeling in the least bit vitriolic towards any of the erudite writers who so blithely ridicule my inadequate vernacular.
Love me
Anyway, I was reading the comments (which were also fabulous and funny) and one guy says: "So topical, so specific, so very amusing. On the other hand, though, as with the best satire (e.g. Jonathan Swift), your subtext is wonderfully vitriolic."
I was delighted by the word vitriolic. I wrote and said I had to know if the writer used a thesaurus to come up with vitriolic and said it was nicely done! Definitely a 10 cent word. Very soon after I got two responses that my vocabulary seriously needs work if I think vitriolic is a 10 center. Seriously!!
Okay, I admit, my vocabulary mainly consists of little gems like "poop" as in "please don't poop on the carpet." And "drawin'" as in "whose been drawin' on the walls?" It's been awhile since I carried on a conversation that would in anyway involve a word like vitriolic. Don't I wish! (But I am teaching my four year old the word as soon as I get done here!)
I live with my thesaurus and my dictionary, by my side. I love to find new words especially one's as juicy as vitriolic! By the way, for you morons, I mean mom's like myself, vitriolic means: "filled with or expressing extreme bitterness and hatred toward somebody or something".
Guess what, no matter what they say about me, I am not feeling in the least bit vitriolic towards any of the erudite writers who so blithely ridicule my inadequate vernacular.
Love me
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Why I Write
I just found this fabulous website. It is http://whywewriteseries.wordpress.com/. They are stories from published and not so published writers, about why they write. I think this is a question that is rarely answered. Why do people do the things they do? I am ALWAYS curious about why someone is doing, whatever it is, they are doing.
WHY do you think, that guy is stopping in the middle of the street, to tie his shoe?
WHY, is she leaving her husband after 12 years?
WHY, is this guy waiting tables, when he thinks Pellegrino is a wine?
Do you think most people even take the time to ask themselves that question? I don’t. I probably spend so much time wondering why everyone is doing whatever it is that they are doing that I never stop to ask myself, why do I care?
SO, I am asking myself right now. Why do I write?
Lets see, there seems to be a million reasons I could go with, lets start with the most obvious. I am a seriously scattered, dramatic, wack job! I can not possibly sort out the butt-zillion things that go on in my head in a single day, unless I write them down. I am a list maker, outliner, hysterical, letter-writing-complainer, soap box stander.
I think that the only way to make any sense, out of the befuddled mess in my head, is to put it on paper. Then, when I take the time to reread what I have written. Sometimes I can see what the heck it was, that was keeping me up at night. Sometimes, it takes other people who read what I wrote, to point out the most obvious positions of my writing, that I never noticed at all. Sometimes they change my mind!
Hallelujah!! Yes!!! My mind can be changed!!
I know that this concept is confusing to many, so I am going to spell it out. Sometimes your thoughts are WRONG!! If I take the time to write something that I am curious or passionate about, sometimes, it really clears my head. I can see with the vision of 20/20, in hindsight, what is misguided about my thinking. I can’t say that I always correct myself, but sometimes. And that my friends, is something.
The other reason I write, which really should not be left unsaid, is because it’s fun. End of story, fade out, last chapter. Why else would you continue to do anything in life. If it’s not fun, STOP DOING IT!!!
WHY do you think, that guy is stopping in the middle of the street, to tie his shoe?
WHY, is she leaving her husband after 12 years?
WHY, is this guy waiting tables, when he thinks Pellegrino is a wine?
Do you think most people even take the time to ask themselves that question? I don’t. I probably spend so much time wondering why everyone is doing whatever it is that they are doing that I never stop to ask myself, why do I care?
SO, I am asking myself right now. Why do I write?
Lets see, there seems to be a million reasons I could go with, lets start with the most obvious. I am a seriously scattered, dramatic, wack job! I can not possibly sort out the butt-zillion things that go on in my head in a single day, unless I write them down. I am a list maker, outliner, hysterical, letter-writing-complainer, soap box stander.
I think that the only way to make any sense, out of the befuddled mess in my head, is to put it on paper. Then, when I take the time to reread what I have written. Sometimes I can see what the heck it was, that was keeping me up at night. Sometimes, it takes other people who read what I wrote, to point out the most obvious positions of my writing, that I never noticed at all. Sometimes they change my mind!
Hallelujah!! Yes!!! My mind can be changed!!
I know that this concept is confusing to many, so I am going to spell it out. Sometimes your thoughts are WRONG!! If I take the time to write something that I am curious or passionate about, sometimes, it really clears my head. I can see with the vision of 20/20, in hindsight, what is misguided about my thinking. I can’t say that I always correct myself, but sometimes. And that my friends, is something.
The other reason I write, which really should not be left unsaid, is because it’s fun. End of story, fade out, last chapter. Why else would you continue to do anything in life. If it’s not fun, STOP DOING IT!!!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
I hate commas!
Grammar sucks.
I have just realized that I am really more of a story writer. Love the overall creativity of developing a story or characters and seeing where they go. I have dreams that begin a new story and that story lives out it's own life on the pages in front of me, developing into something new and complete.
My trouble?
Where do the commas go? how do you use the apostrophe correctly? Why can't you start a sentence with But and end it with a preposition. What is a preposition exactly.
I am not completely illiterate. Obviously. But, (HA) I have come to realize I need an editor. Always. What I concentrate on is the overall flow and story and credibility of the characters and dialog. Not where the damn commas go? For all I know they are all on a nice vacation in the Caribbean.
And, that's the way I like it. I hate to read something and concentrate on the science of the English Language. I can not, pick apart my stories and try to see the mistakes. It stripmines the entire peice in my head all over the placement of the comma. Unless I can hear in my head that the reader needs to take a pause for dramatic effect, forget about it.
So, I am hiring. Any editors out there?
I am also curious if that is a common characteristic. Are all you creative souls also good at the mechanics, or are most people one or the other? Left brain, right brain?
Anyway, I prefer things the way they are. (hmm... that can't be good) So, I will go on to dream and write and be who I am. As long as i can see my misgivings and hire, hire, hire. I'm all good.
I have just realized that I am really more of a story writer. Love the overall creativity of developing a story or characters and seeing where they go. I have dreams that begin a new story and that story lives out it's own life on the pages in front of me, developing into something new and complete.
My trouble?
Where do the commas go? how do you use the apostrophe correctly? Why can't you start a sentence with But and end it with a preposition. What is a preposition exactly.
I am not completely illiterate. Obviously. But, (HA) I have come to realize I need an editor. Always. What I concentrate on is the overall flow and story and credibility of the characters and dialog. Not where the damn commas go? For all I know they are all on a nice vacation in the Caribbean.
And, that's the way I like it. I hate to read something and concentrate on the science of the English Language. I can not, pick apart my stories and try to see the mistakes. It stripmines the entire peice in my head all over the placement of the comma. Unless I can hear in my head that the reader needs to take a pause for dramatic effect, forget about it.
So, I am hiring. Any editors out there?
I am also curious if that is a common characteristic. Are all you creative souls also good at the mechanics, or are most people one or the other? Left brain, right brain?
Anyway, I prefer things the way they are. (hmm... that can't be good) So, I will go on to dream and write and be who I am. As long as i can see my misgivings and hire, hire, hire. I'm all good.
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