Last year started and ended the same, happiness landed and is still here.
~~~Instead of making New Years’ resolutions, I give myself a mental tune-up, so I’m prepared for whatever happens during the year. I call this: fine tuning my attitude, or developing more perfection, of a mental habit, for simplicity. Continue reading
As the year closes I can’t name all the people I’ve connected with online. They’ve come from parts of the world I would like one day to visit. Friendship formed is a grand thing. Writers are a breed of people who walk through life with great imaginations. I love reading their bios and am in awe of the accomplishments. All I can say is WOW! Writing is a powerful medium. Continue reading
A task in school was to write down a word and take each letter of that word to describe what the letter meant to you. This quirky game allows me down time from writing, while still sparking examination of me as a writer. I’d like to take the word WRITER and see what I can do with each letter. Continue reading
I’m an organic writer using imagination and instincts. I owe this to my father asking me (ten years old) to recant his two favorite, weekly television programs (over by nine o’clock), when the steel mill put him on the night shift. Continue reading
One Saturday, after giant hands slashed opened the grey sky and released continuous rain, I wasn’t inspired anymore (that day) after hours of re-writes. I bundled up and took the bus to my other home—the library. I love our central library (rain or shine), a magnificent structure of eleven floors of intricate shaped glass and steel, designed by two brilliant architects, Remment Lucas “Rem” Koolhaas and Joshua Prince-Ramus.
When I need inspiration, this library’s enormous fiction section has it in spades. Its national and international selections are a reader’s dream. Continue reading
My mother
This month, August, is my mother’s birthday. Our relationship is a shadow, hers, that follows me. I’ve said things to her I wanted to say. I’ve said things to her I needed to say. I’ve said things to her I’ve hated to say. And I’ve said things to her I’ve regretted.
Mom, a complicated force, having a brilliant smile, with hazel eyes on face always looking younger than her years —- made buying a Mother’s Day card a most difficult task. Continue reading
I belong to a writing group. What I like about this connection ISN’T just stringing together sentences on the fly to test our skills, or that each member braves criticism reading out loud what they’ve written outside the group — it’s more. We look into the inner core of what we each go through before, during, and after we write. These discussions have been my guiding light. Continue reading
It’s hard for me to think when my mind is dry… better known as WRITER’S BLOCK. Writing a novel; drenching my soul to write “THE END” is like carrying a ton of bricks on my back and walking barefoot through the desert. It’s a solo journey moving my imagination inch by inch. Hands click away on the computer slower and slower and less enthusiastic. I’d like to think there are many writers like me, walking through the desert, in need of their brain to be refreshed. Continue reading
I ask myself this question all the time, especially when I don’t have the energy to write a single sentence, let alone fill up a whole page to finish my current project:
The Last Merry Go Round
One day, not too long ago, when I had the time and even the energy to sit at my computer and finish a well-written scene—a question kept bugging me. Why do I write? Do I write out of habit? Do I write to create a best seller? Do I write with the vision of a movie option for my book? The questions kept coming, but not the right answer. Continue reading
Fiction Writing emerges as my personal choice for many reasons. The most important one points to pure enjoyment.
A saying floating around forever (I wish I could remember its originator, but then, recalling the words seem more important): DO WHAT YOU LOVE AND THE MONEY Will FOLLOW. Now, I would not be 100% honest if I didn’t confess all the months of clicking away at my keyboard doesn’t spark a wish to sign a major book deal. But in reality—it may not happen, or as quickly as I want. I slap myself hard. Every known author was once unknown. Yet, this anguish (Many writers eat this ugly insecurity: My writing isn’t good enough . . . I’ll kill myself if I get another rejection letter) dogs me into believing all my efforts are in vain. Continue reading