This is a shout out to my cousin who lives in Santa Clarita
who I think of often and think of fondly.
I think about when the fires go out and the smoke clears,
how great it must be to winter there.
Illuminating the Winter
I think the best part of Christmas is the lights. Because it reminds me about the verse in the book that talks about not keeping our light under a bushel basket.
With all that good news being shared,
the world is being illuminated
And with out those little shining lights...
it just isn't Christmas.
Black Friday
In those solitary moments of Black Friday, far from the madding crowd, you will find me where there are few others, sans sales receipts, sans shopping bags and with out "deal of the day" stories.
Peacefully reflecting on all I still have to give thanks for.
Giving Thanks
I sit in my living room this morning as the fragrance of baking turkey permeates the entire house.I feel among the blessed for several reasons: I have two extremely dear friends attending, as well as my ever enigmatic and interesting brother and his entertaining son.
My daughter has decided to spend the holiday with the lot of us after a three year hiatus. I anticipate lively conversation a lot of laughing and a few surprises. (All good)
We are having a relatively traditional dinner, if a low fat version, that will no doubt be squandered by the time we have pecan pie. Hope your is grand and that you are surprised when you count your blessings how many there are. Happy Thanks giving.
Just in Time for the Holidays
I was able to do an astronomical amount of writing
and I was finally able to finish my novel.
My first ever.
Happy happy Thanksgiving!!!
Preparing the Heart
Today I watch the snow fall out side the window, so fine it looks like crystallized salt.
Kind Words
I'm sure it isn't because the snow is falling that I am already feeling something of the Christmas Spirit hitting me.
I was in the grocery check out line of the Peach Lady this week. I asked her how people were treating her. She said she wasn't getting enough hours at work. She wondered aloud if she ought to be trying to find another job?
"I don't know, I said. "The big three are in big trouble, and if they start letting people go, that's even more people looking for a job. Seems like you got a good thing going here, ya know? People have to eat."
"You think I should stay?"
"We'll just pray to the Good Lord for more hours."
"Wow, you've really helped me," she said. I thought she might be kidding. But she was practically gushing. "I think I just need to adjust my attitude and keep on. Thank you, I'm not even kidding."
"You're welcome. You have a good holiday if I don't get back here before then."
"You too! Have the best day in the world. Really. I mean it."
Wow.
I was in the grocery check out line of the Peach Lady this week. I asked her how people were treating her. She said she wasn't getting enough hours at work. She wondered aloud if she ought to be trying to find another job?
"I don't know, I said. "The big three are in big trouble, and if they start letting people go, that's even more people looking for a job. Seems like you got a good thing going here, ya know? People have to eat."
"You think I should stay?"
"We'll just pray to the Good Lord for more hours."
"Wow, you've really helped me," she said. I thought she might be kidding. But she was practically gushing. "I think I just need to adjust my attitude and keep on. Thank you, I'm not even kidding."
"You're welcome. You have a good holiday if I don't get back here before then."
"You too! Have the best day in the world. Really. I mean it."
Wow.
Winding Down
I've been noticing something strange. When I write fiction, I don't mind interruptions as much. It seems like a story will go like white water rapids for a time and then you hit a deadzone. I try changing things for about half an hour. IN the back of my mind is a little voice saying, maybe something will happen and I'll use it for my story.
Strangely, I've hit 38,000 words with this one. I wasn't sure how it would flesh out. It's a way to go and I think it could be next year's Kairos Prize entry.
I find writing fiction very different becauseI'm a bottom-liner. I think that's why scripts work for me. You have to present the most information in the fewest words.
Fiction is almost opposite. I'm not sure if NaNo has a screenwriting genre available. But I would have done best there. At anyrate...if I decide to pursue this as a novel, it's got great bones to work with. I'm hoping to write 10K words in the next few days and be a winner by the time the Turkey goes in the oven.
One of my brothers is coming for dinner. I can't wait! ( I bet there will be stuff I can use in the next story...wink wink!)
Strangely, I've hit 38,000 words with this one. I wasn't sure how it would flesh out. It's a way to go and I think it could be next year's Kairos Prize entry.
I find writing fiction very different becauseI'm a bottom-liner. I think that's why scripts work for me. You have to present the most information in the fewest words.
Fiction is almost opposite. I'm not sure if NaNo has a screenwriting genre available. But I would have done best there. At anyrate...if I decide to pursue this as a novel, it's got great bones to work with. I'm hoping to write 10K words in the next few days and be a winner by the time the Turkey goes in the oven.
One of my brothers is coming for dinner. I can't wait! ( I bet there will be stuff I can use in the next story...wink wink!)
The Road Less Traveled
I get emails from the NaNo forums everyday. I am truly amazed at how much whining and procrastinating goes on when people have a goal. Maybe the reason writing is such a solitary practice is because people can't stand to listen to us...
I have found it pretty empowering to drink tea all day and write until I run out of ideas. Then I get on the elliptical, watch a movie while I do it and come back to the story refreshed and with a brain sparked up on endorphins. Woo! talk about a buzz!
"I know it feels like you have all these options
and when you make a decision, you lose a world of possibilities.
But the reality is, until you make a decision,
you have nothing at all."
as told to Janet Fitch by her therapist
Enigma
Somethings may never be understood. In much the same way as the beginning of life is a mystery, so are the feelings I have about death.
First Snow
I woke up this morning to the first snow of the season. I was just getting used to the idea of fall, the passing of Indian Summer and in no way feel ready for the holiday onslaught.
At 30 thousand plus words into the NaNo, I consider dropping out....
I never made it the cemetery to see my dad's name...
Right now, I'm wondering in what country has summer just begun and how long will it take me to pack and go there. What would it be like to enjoy summer for one year? I recognize that this is considered running and what I am running from? Although I could hazard a guess, my answer wouldn't be the weather.
I thought about calling my dad yesterday.
Barber's Adaggio is hardly holiday music, but it comforts me.
The Real Perspective
We are not human beings going through
a temporary spiritual experience,
We are spiritual beings going through
a temporary human experience.
Distinguishing Traits
Drinking without being thirsty
and making love at any time, Madame,
are the only things that distinguish us
from other animals.
~Beaumarchis
~Beaumarchis
Deadlines
I don’t work well to deadlines,
I just don’t work at all without them.
~Kim Patterson, novelist and friend
Idea Makers
While writing my story for NaNoWriMo I find inspirations wherever I can. I went out Friday night to listen to a band at the local coffee house for a few hours. The lead singer had a set of pipes on her that would make a pipe organ shudder!
A bouncer guards the entrances after ticket takers let ticket givers through the revolving gates. Around back of the concert venue, a few roadies are having cigarettes and beers.
A gang of girls in micro skirts and halter tops and far too much costume jewelry, attempt to crash the back stage door. The bouncers are as quick to deflect them as they are determined to get inside. Crescendo steps forward, speaking for the entourage because she explains it in her very best Cockney accented English.
“You have to understand, mate, we’re the Muse. They’re expecting us.”
“I can check that. What are your names?”
“That’s Melody, Harmony, Symphony, Lala, Rubato, Sforzando and I’m Crescendo.”
The concert guard looks at her in utter disbelief but disappears through a door. He returns moments later and waves them through. One of the girls hands the bouncer a camera.
“Will you take a click of us?” he agrees. “Girls look at the camera and say phallus!” The group of girls pauses and waits for the click. The shout the word, break into laughter and run inside.
A gang of girls in micro skirts and halter tops and far too much costume jewelry, attempt to crash the back stage door. The bouncers are as quick to deflect them as they are determined to get inside. Crescendo steps forward, speaking for the entourage because she explains it in her very best Cockney accented English.
“You have to understand, mate, we’re the Muse. They’re expecting us.”
“I can check that. What are your names?”
“That’s Melody, Harmony, Symphony, Lala, Rubato, Sforzando and I’m Crescendo.”
The concert guard looks at her in utter disbelief but disappears through a door. He returns moments later and waves them through. One of the girls hands the bouncer a camera.
“Will you take a click of us?” he agrees. “Girls look at the camera and say phallus!” The group of girls pauses and waits for the click. The shout the word, break into laughter and run inside.
...Lala turned around and saw a cop in his cruiser. Her heart sank. She’d had her fair share of run ins with cops. Some of them ran her off thinking her a prostitute or a bad element that had moved in. The cop put his vehicle in park and left it idling. He clicked out of his seatbelt and got out of his car.
“Yeah, is that a bad thing?”
The cop chuckled.
“I can tell by your tags that you’re not from around here…” he said walking all around the van. “So what are you doing here?”
“I just got a job here. I worked the lunch shift.”
“So you think you’ll be sticking around, then Miss--?”
“Parrish.”
He was fortyish with chiseled features. He stuck his thumbs in his waistband. After looking at the van he took a long look at Lala.
“Well, Ms. Parrish, I like the van. It looks like a labor of love.”
“You paint officer?”
“Officer Davis…When are you working here again?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Welcome to town, Ms. Parrish. See you tomorrow.” He sauntered off to his car, got in and drove away. Lala raised a brow wondering if she’d just become a target. And if so, of what?
“Yeah, is that a bad thing?”
The cop chuckled.
“I can tell by your tags that you’re not from around here…” he said walking all around the van. “So what are you doing here?”
“I just got a job here. I worked the lunch shift.”
“So you think you’ll be sticking around, then Miss--?”
“Parrish.”
He was fortyish with chiseled features. He stuck his thumbs in his waistband. After looking at the van he took a long look at Lala.
“Well, Ms. Parrish, I like the van. It looks like a labor of love.”
“You paint officer?”
“Officer Davis…When are you working here again?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Welcome to town, Ms. Parrish. See you tomorrow.” He sauntered off to his car, got in and drove away. Lala raised a brow wondering if she’d just become a target. And if so, of what?
Road Trip
We're going for a ride...It's called NaNoWriMo. Get your story on, and ink on down the highway of imagination.I have no idea where this story is going. I only no how it will end. So far I have 4890 words.
More as it unfolds.
Keeping Busy
I just signed up with a publisher to be a book reviewer. What was I thinking? I know, that they only want about 200 words. But I'm wondering if the book I chose will be too fat? I can't tell you what it is, because I might give it as a Christmas gift...I also see that I promised to be a judge for two contests (that start in December) and I'm enjoying the (very) slow, no deadlines process of helping a young Cuban national with his writing through e-mail... I think I need another hole in my head.
To let the pressure out.
Going, Going...
You know that when they hit a certain age,they don't want anymore kiddie stuff. And then they aren't interested in Coke as much as Cabernet, they still talk but it's not about all the toys they want, but about that special boy.
When that special boy is 20, he's a man. Your little girl is a young woman.
Everyone seems to see it before you do...(in fact people thought she was 18 four and five years ago...thanks for the warning!)
But when you finally see it all you can think of is, where did the time go?
She's officially 18 and has already done voting women everywhere proud.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
JUST DO IT!
Take the time to educate yourself on the issues and get out there!
It hasn't always been this easy to make your voice count.
If you want to make a difference, VOTE!
Lala
Lala made a right turn onto mainstreet. Standing in front of the concert hall was Brodie the roadie. He sat on a drum case smoking a cigarette. He had greyed around the edges maybe gained ten pounds, but he looked much the same as he had the last time Lala had seen him. Only he wasn’t with the old group anymore. He was with Vegas Vertigo. .. 1822 and counting...
First Day of Nano
Lala awoke with her hair as fuzzy as her mind. The bandana was still there, slightly skewed. She felt her ears for the earrings...both still there. Good. The silver hearts had been a gift from her daughter.
When she strethed, the silky sheets slithered comfortably around her body, smelling of lavendar. The dull haze of dawn knocked softly at the windows and Lala didn't want to open her eyes.
Instead she played a game with herself. A game she'd played hundreds of times. The game was called, "Where Am I?" She tried to think how many years it had been since high school when she'd begun asking herself a series of questions. Thirty five? Forty? It always began the same:
"What's the last thing I remember?"
When she strethed, the silky sheets slithered comfortably around her body, smelling of lavendar. The dull haze of dawn knocked softly at the windows and Lala didn't want to open her eyes.
Instead she played a game with herself. A game she'd played hundreds of times. The game was called, "Where Am I?" She tried to think how many years it had been since high school when she'd begun asking herself a series of questions. Thirty five? Forty? It always began the same:
"What's the last thing I remember?"
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