The Tree

I hired a plumber to help me restore an old farmhouse, and after he had just finished a rough first day on the job: a flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric drill quit and his ancient one ton truck refused to start. While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence.
On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands. When opening the door he underwent an amazing transformation... His face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.
Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.
“Oh, that's my trouble tree,” he replied. “I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but one thing's for sure, those troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children. So every night when I come home, I just hang them up on the tree and ask God to take care of them. In the morning, I’ll pick them up again.” He smiled.
“Funny thing is, when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there aren't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before.”

Plateau Crack

“We’re going to keep an eye on your cholesterol,” the doctor said three years ago. “At 195 It’s a little toward the high side.” I frowned. I had traded my bagels with a schmear for eggs and toast when Prevention magazine claimed people who eat protein in the morning lose more weight. No amount of walking, starving or exercise made a dent. Although I never expanded, things solidified or got mushier depending on activity level. I took up walking. Sporadically.
Median level cholesterol was the only blemish on an otherwise clean bill of health, so I skipped doctors, until year three crept to its end. Gordo reminded me that he’s paying for insurance, tests and preventive measures that need taken advantage of before fiscal year’s end—ten days away.
A flurry of phone calls produced a flurry of appointments, all landing in the sacred week. After a fasting blood test, the doctor on the other end of the phone sounds concerned.
“Your cholesterol is 245.” WHAT? “I’m sending information about how to reduce it. We’ll check it again in a year. If it hasn’t changed we’ll talk about meds.”
There’s only been one change in my diet in the last six months. Eggs. I use olive oil or nonstick spray to medium-fry two eggs, skipping cheese and sausage. I toast two slices of multigrain bread no butter or spread, pile it up and eat it like a stack of pancakes. Sometimes I drink juice, I always have coffee.

Still, no one comments about my weight, othe unbreakable plateau for three years and there are no pre-diabetic indicators (thank God). So, I resolve to double check the types of fats in my snacks (Crackers have bad fats???) and nix the eggs.

The next week of mornings, standing in front of the fridge nothing sounds appealing. What do I eat now? I despise oatmeal, dislike cereal, and gave up my daily bagels for eggs and toast. Although a bowl of berries may get me through this fall, what will an oatmeal hater eat this winter?

Meanwhile, I’ve lost four pounds.

Did you ever have one of those desperate weeks where the flow just doesn't arrive? I really thought I was, what with Dr. appointments and various errands that needed run. But when I look over my shoulder, I realize I'm farther ahead than I thought.

I started my week with the rewrites of Alyce Times One. because I had such clarity about where it needed to go after the two readings. My notes for both nights were almost identical. The segues needed a little tweaking and some chatter needed trimmed. I suppose I cut four pages... I love it but haven't exhaled yet. I'm waiting for my co-writer's opinion before I start patting myself on the back.

I purchased Collins Australian Gem Thesaurus. It's barely bigger than a double pack of playing cards and very handy. Half price books. I haven't ever seen one in the states before, so I don't know how readily available they are...

My client's MS has been transformed and the second round edits are less time consuming than the original version. It's amazing the difference of one who willingly accepts the corrections as opposed to one who will not even entertain the idea that they need corrected. Out of six chapters, there are two to go and then I can return it to her.
The writing improved exponentially. She's truly impressive.

My interview with an exciting and forward thinking Public Relations "diva"
from the North and East Coast took just under two hours. I'm in the process of transcribing every word now to build an article around her for her information packet (a paying gig)and a few mags. If I start feeling sorry for myself, I'll have to remember her story.

I have just begun receiving rejections from the first tier of women's mags regarding another interview. I will begin querying the second tier next week.

I'm on track, I guess. I even have two more article ideas I can market that I've already collected some information for. How is your week finishing up?

Coffee with Dad

I'd taken the last of Dad's old books to sell. I have to say, this place had enough books-in-waiting to start another store, which told me I probably wouldn't be getting much for my half-dozen.

They called my name and made an offer that was the equivalent of two cups of coffee and a tip. Slightly insulted, I decided to take the offer, because I thought this might be Dad's way of treating my daughter and me to coffee.
I talked to my her about it and we decided that the next time we stopped for coffee, Dad was buying.

Later in the evening, in one of our favorites haunts, Barnes and Noble, we stood at the Starbucks counter ordering half-and-half venti's. When we got them, we both said thanks to Dad and sat at a little round table perusing interesting books we might buy.

I paged through a thick magazine size book of Post Secrets. It started as a comunity art project where people made postcards regarding a secret they've been carrying around, things they can't seem to say aloud, or to the person they want to tell. Some have been carrying these burdens for years--decades even-- and they send them to an address. Since it's inception lf less than five years, the creator of the concept has received more than 150,000 postcards from around the world. He published them in a volume of which, there are three. He also has a site: postsecret.com . ( I can't vouch for the purity of this site or its language. Look at your own risk.)

Many of them touched me, but one in paricular really got to me. When the writer's father died she was disturbed that she had not dreamt about him since. She wanted him to tell her he was alright. She happened to mention it to a friend, and that night, she had a lovely dream about him holding her face, telling her he was fine. Yeah....I'm feeling the first part of that one.

I'm saving the paper sleeve and dating it so I can remember having coffee with Dad this way.

While I looked at books, I felt particularly drawn to "God Will Make a Way" by Townsend and Cloud. It's practically a writing prompt book. I loved the questions which are designed to get one thinking, realizing and begin healing.
So we each got one.

Thanks, Dad. Coffee and Advice. You're the best.

Lost and Found

A friend of mine posted a story about someone he was once very close to.
See it here: In Xanadu.

I hear a lot of people say they have someone from their past that they often wonder about.

I've traveled pretty far. South and North again. I've met and lost a lot of people in 47 moves. People that I haven't been able to find. Maybe they don't want found.

I became a bit of an investigator and found a dozen or so old friends. They were all surprised to hear from me. And once I heard from someone (an x) who surprised me. Even though I can carry on a conversation as well as anyone, when I thought about calling some of them again, I didn't know what we'd talk about. It was as if the word well had run dry.

Our interests had changed dramatically. The stepping stones we shared in that brief crossing had taken us to other destinations. At the time, we didn't know or share where we were headed. But now we were there, like standing on opposite shores, shouting across the rushing water.

We didn't work in the same fields or live where we'd first met and now had nothing in common. Aside from a conversation about our current lives, there semed nothing to pursue. It's like revisiting memories. It's a nice break, but you can't go back in time.

So they slipped again into the past.
And so did I.

Mimi in the Car

I’m reading this book of poetry called “Splintering”. It’s written by a brother and a sister who, with their family, survived a home invasion by a man high on PCP. Their family was dysfunctional before, and evidently it just worsened. I like the writing style because it reads well, flows well. It isn’t rhyming poetry which I favor.

The book covers a pretty wide range of topics. At this particular juncture, the oldest sister is going through a divorce as well as dealing with the trauma of the invasion. her younger sister, the poetess is writing.
this one called Hall of Fame. This line painted such a picture, such a moment for me I had to share it.

…I’ve sat beside Mimi in the car. Almost yelled at her for turning off the song and then turn to see her staring at the rings on her fingers like they were rear view mirrors and she could see all the way back.

Life of Dreams

Sometimes it’s better not to know. I read Jack Bunny’s blog regarding people who pursue their dreams in spite of others thinking they will fail. It’s possible to succeed even when those who think they know us don’t believe in us. Some people are driven by these sorts of remarks. Some people are crushed by them.
Dreams are fragile things. Sometimes a downdraft is all it takes to snuff it out. I once heard a man say that people that come before us with their dreams trust us with a spark. They’re looking for fuel. We have a bucket of gasoline in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. We can either help ignite the fire or put it out. I like to think I have a bucket of gasoline in one hand and a fan in the other. What’s the harm in setting a dream in motion, or even fanning the flame?
We’ve all met people who were seasoned dream hunters. The second we laid out a thought toward the future, someone would be there, elephant gun in hand, ready to shoot it down. Do you remember these people? The bigger the dream the more likely it is to be hunted. We learn very quickly who we can’t trust with our creative ideas. We become guarders of our dreams.
Do you remember the one who believed in you? How many of your dreams have come to pass? Who do you credit with feeding your dreams? If you knew you would not fail, what would you attempt to do?

Tweaks and Rewrites

Jack Bunny found the PDF version of my recent
rewrite to Alyce Times One in his e-mail yesterday.


It's liberating and a little daunting to think about rewriting a full length play. A few scenes were a little spare and needed fattening, a few might've needed trimmed. But once I began it swept me away. The story barely pauses to let one catch their breath. I like that.


He wrote back that he was thrilled. And proud of me! (smile)

I always feel a little guilty when someone/anyone says kind things about something (in this case writing dialog) that's so easy for me. I think, how could I have sweat over this more? But I trusted his talent to direct and redirect where necessary and that he wouldn't let me screw up his Baby (play).


The pages open before me and draw me into the dialog. It becomes so real that I start recognizing what should be said. If they didn't say that, then I scribble in what sounds appropriate. As a writer mentor once said, "Make every word fight for it's life."


A few more punch lines, were added, a few less redundancies (hopefully) and a really powerful story just evolved, yet it remained true to the direction.

In the beginning of the second act, Scene two. Jack and Alyce Peterson are together and he's prodding her memory.
"What do you remember?"

I chose this after several less colorful options, mainly because it easily allowed blanks to be filled that clarified the last event from the first act and bridged to the final scene with out introducing any more characters.


I can't wait to see where it goes, or what happens next. Mr. Bunny's been getting that feeling like something amazing is about to happen. Now, I'm waiting to see the fruit from that tree!

We'll keep you in the loop about production as soon as we can cut it in stone. Wink wink!

Haiku for Today

Father's Advice

You always said,

Anything is possible.

I want to live that.

Recent Publication

I had the pleasure of contributing 4 dates to this anthology. It made me smile when the email announcing publication arrived yesterday.

This is not your typical "Christian" book. At the time I heard about this project, editor Patricia Lorenz had already gotten repeats of popular Bible quotes. I submitted my work based on famous author and artist quotes (which I collect) and all but one of my submissions were accepted.

If you're looking for a daily dose of inspiration, wondering if you have what it takes to be a writer, or just want to see what some other writers think about as they work, this book could be just what you're looking for. It's filled with funny anecdotes, tips on writing and a thought provoking quote for each day.
Daily Devotions for Writers is the brain child of Patricia Lorenz who worked tirelessly to complete the book as a fundraiser for The Writing Academy (www.wams.org) Look below for more information about the book and how to get your copy.

Daily Devotions for Writers by: Patricia Lorenz (Author)

ISBN: 0-7414-4594-8 ©2008
Price: $19.95
Book Size: 5.5'' x 8.5'' , 397 pages
Category/Subject: SELF-HELP / Motivational & Inspirational

Daily Devotions for Writers is the friend every writer needs: warm, real-life stories, prayers, and inspirational quotes to keep you writing every day of the year! Daily Devotions for Writers provides 366 true stories about the highs, lows, struggles, and joys of writing. This daily pick-me-up is a must-have for those who write professionally, for themselves, or for their families. The page-a-day readings include a short prayer and an inspirational quote. Daily Devotions for Writers takes you by the hand every day and shares real-life experiences to keep you writing. This friendly guide makes a perfect gift for yourself—or any writer in your life!


If Daily Devotions for Writers doesn’t crack through writer’s block, nothing will. This is a handbook no writer should be without. The real-life, page-a-day stories for every day of the year come from two hundred writers of all levels of expertise—from the most highly sought-after Christian writers in the country to those for whom this is their first publication. Daily Devotions for Writers depicts the joy, pain, ecstasy, agony, highs, lows, excuses, persistence, and pleasure writers go through in the quest to be published and share God’s word.

In addition to real-world advice about how to write, when to write, where to write, and what to write, Daily Devotions for Writers includes inspirational quotes and short prayers to help the words keep flowing.

Daily Devotions for Writers was compiled under the auspices of The Writing Academy (www.wams.org), which in 2008 celebrates thirty years of fellowship and teaching writers to share God’s good news with a hurting world. The nonprofit organization’s instructional program includes courses in basic writing skills, essays, fiction, non-fiction, poetry, drama, devotional, myth, metaphor, memoir, and writing for children.

A Trio of Haiku

Father's Advice

You always said,

Anything is possible.

I want to live that.

Work He Loved

Wood sap, splinters saws,

Sandpaper, stain and varnish

Our kitchen you built.

Things I'll Miss

Navy stories, your way

Sunrise, sunsets through your eyes.

Hearing "Hey, that's great!"

A Daring Adventure

I've been asked to let a budding young writer shadow me for career day. At first I thought, no way. We just buried the patriarch of our family. Then I thought about who I was at 14. I started thinking about what the shadow and I would talk about. What are the most important lessons for a writer to learn? I began thinking along the lines of how I could answer that. Before emailing the mother that I had agreed to career day, my mind had already accepted. Although nearly a month away, I'm excited to see what develops.

I've long been a believer in encouraging others to dream big dreams, reach for the stars and at least dare to overshoot their daily routine. I believe life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

Years ago, a young friend called me with an opportunity to travel and work abroad.
"Go!" I said. "Before the responsibility sets in."
Maybe it was my own desire for freedom that caused me to give that response. I was already tethered to a house and spouse with a baby on the way. A life in Europe sounded exotic.

He left and lived there two years, give or take. I don't know if they were the best years of his life, but he's glad he went, aren't you Savage Wit? He witnessed the fall of the Berlin Wall. His time in Europe changed his perspective. I enjoyed the photos, postcards, coffee and chocolates that occasionally turned up in my mail box.

There is nothing as intoxicating as living on the meridian of possibility the cutting edge of life, daring to dream. It keeps life interesting, sparking us alive. Maybe that's why people take vacations.

The older I get, the more things tend to stay the same. The more predictable they become, the more I want to stay home. But staying home is only good in small quanitities. Eventually, my brain begins to atrophe.
Then I find myself hankering for an aberration of almost any kind.

Jack Bunny might have it right. He works to live and gleans essence from people watching and bits of dialog from his part-time window of "the world." He gets out, keeps his wit sharpe and his eyes on the look out for something interesting. He's out shoveling snow at 69 and still living to tell about it.

I must remember to tell my 14 year old shadow about risk, taking a dare and above all, twisting the life out of every opportunity. Live your life as though you're in the middle of living a great story. So even if this mentoring gig doesn't go well next month, I'll tell her and myself, "It'll be a great story to tell."