Claudsy's Calliope

My Desk—the Modern Home on the Range

2012-02-12T17:31:00.000-07:00

Yes, folks, I knew that sooner or later somethinglike this was bound to cause problems, and it’s finally happened. And what isthat “something”?

Saddle sores! You saw that right. Saddle sores!

And you thought only cowboys had occasion to winceand complain, to use liniment and creams, and to cringe at the very thought ofsitting in a saddle again in their lifetimes.

Now, if your stomach can take it, and you want afresh and literal take on the subject, hop on over to: http://www.fatcyclist.com/2007/03/21/the-sorts-of-saddle-sores-and-their-sources/andread one funny dissertation on the matter of saddle sores that will have youheaving from disgust, or laughter. Like I said, it depends on your mentaltolerance meter.

Nevertheless, it’s a sad state of affairs, and anembarrassing one. Who would have thought that simply sitting in one’s officechair, writing the next major novel or short story would cause a person todevelop the beginnings of saddle sores?

I caught my condition, fortunately, before it becamea full-blown, screaming case of pulsing and pain-filled spots. I can treat themquickly and without resorting to a humiliating trip to the doctor.

But really! Saddle sores from my desk chair? I’ve gotto be kidding, right?

Nope, I’m not. I managed for years of riding andworking on a ranch and never suffered from them, regardless of the milesridden. I can no long make that claim.

I suppose it all comes down to sitting for hours onend, jockeying for position in front of a monitor to gain the best relief for atired bottom, and taking few breaks to get up and do something physical thatrequires standing and moving. Unless that part of the anatomy can get the bloodcirculating, it will suffer, especially when fabric rubs skin, abrading itssurface, which allows microbes to take a bite out of that anatomy.

Please, don’t waste your sympathy on my poor excusefor an injury. I brought it on myself. I can’t blame it on anyone else.

Others out there have far greater problems than I dowhen trying to work. There are those who have writer’s block and pace enough towear holes in their shoes, trying to develop a viable storyline. There are manywho slave over their query letters until they finally decide that there are nogood ways to build a hook for their story, and they decide that they might aswell shove it in the closet and begin again with a different book idea.

Those are the ones who get my sympathy. I can’t passthem the lotion bottle to ease their pain and discomfort. The only padding thatmight ease their office seat is apat on the back, words of encouragement, and a great cup of their favoritebeverage, all while pouring out their frustration to a fellow writer.

I wrote this post to warn those who haven’t yetsuffered from this condition. Force yourself to move around at least once andhour. Turn on your memory and remember high school and changing classes. Thatfive minute break was necessary for more than moving from room to room.

Repeat after me. I will move, I will move, I willmove. Oh, and if you’re over 50, you might want to take this opportunity tovisit the powder room or grab a small snack to stave off the hunger pangs.Think of this break as recess. You’ve worked hard and deserve to have one.

Tell me about your own work habits that keep awaythe consequences of right a desk chair for too long. Share your consequences ofworking at your Home on the Range.

Until later,

Claudsy

Winter’s Day Reflections

2012-02-06T11:03:00.000-07:00

I often wonder if the overcast gloom ofa wintry day is the mental trigger for reflections centered on personalfailures, mistakes in relationships, and speculations about doing better in thefuture.

Scientists call extended periods of thismental depressive condition SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and link it to aperson’s mental response to the quality of sunlight present within the seasonpertinent to the individual.

This condition came to my attention backin the eighties when studies in Sweden indicated that higher winter suiciderates were linked to the reduction in overall sunlight. At that time specificlight therapies were developed to deal with the thousands of cases of thiscondition. Later, deficiencies in Vitamin D were suspected to exacerbate thedepression.

You may be wondering why this comes upnow. It’s because of the blogging challenge that I’m doing over on my Wordpresssite. Diving into continual thoughts of family members, happenings, situations,etc. brings plenty of baggage with it. Reliving emotionally charged memoriesisn’t easy at the best of times.

Memoir writers probably suffer thisroller-coaster ride every hour of the day while organizing, drafting, and writinga complete manuscript. When a writer opens that door to the past, she might aswell brace herself for the tsunami of all those things tagged with highly conflictedemotions.

Psych therapists call this process “cathartic.”So far, I haven’t found it to be particularly therapeutic.

Certain images continue to bring tears,rage, sadness, or what-have-you. There’s no sense of closure about the event.There’s no feeling of resolution or healing surrounding this mulling over ofpeople in one’s personal history.

Perhaps my problem stems from a fearthat if any of that emotion is released to float away on the breeze, nothingwill be left behind and all memory of those people, places, experiences will belost forever, leaving behind only a gaping hole needing to be refilled withsomething else. Could that be it?

Or, could it be that I’m just toostubborn to give up those bits of myself that taught me, soothed me, made meinto who I am today. Do you think that might be it?

Let me ask you. When it’s bright andsunny outside, regardless of season, do you feel more cheerful, perkier, morealive? Do gloomy skies put you in “reflection mode” and if so, would you let goof all those memories irrevocably so that you didn’t have to relive themperiodically?

Leave your reply, comment, perspectivehere. Tell me how you deal with winter blues. Until later,

Claudsy

Saving Purpose for Later

2012-02-02T12:54:00.000-07:00

For those who don’t belong to BlogHer with itsmillions of women bloggers and writers, take the time to investigate thenetwork, or risk always wondering what you’ve missed.

Me? I’m taking the NaBloPoMo challenge for the monthof February. Facebook followers probably already know that. This month’schallenge is themed “Relative,” encouraging all of us to blog each day aboutsome member of our families. It’s an opportunity to blog about those well-loved,others dismissed, those who confuse, or whatever family member that strikes thewriter’s fancy on that day.

Considering my perverse nature, I began at the endof my definition of family and am working my way forward to those who comprisemy nuclear family.

This challenge is allowing me to take a good look atpeople that I’ve not brought to the foreground in a long time. It’s also givingme all sorts of ideas for stories, articles, and poems.

Through this exercise I realized not just howenergizing memory fishing with such a purpose can be for me, but also how well itgenerates its own kind of creativity. Bits and pieces of long-buried memoryfloat to the surface: nothing major, sometimes only a face, a voice, or animage of someone’s hands. Still, that’s enough to trigger another idea, avision to be fleshed out later.

This exercise--this blog challenge--has become acreative tool for me, to serve up a purpose for later as a kind of dessert atmy writer’s dining table.

First, I get to review all of those I’ve consideredmembers of my family. I get to observe, at a distance, who these people werewhen I first knew them. I’m encouraged by my inner voice to compare that to whothey are now in my life. I get to remember those who’ve left this world and howthey were connected to me during their lives.

And, secondly, this mental review of people andanimals creates a gallery of characters in a kind of mix and match way toprovide all that I need for the rest of my years of writing, whether poetry orstories, if I so choose.

Do you realize how much power that is, how muchmaterial? Does any writer know this until the day arrives when the familymemories are sifted for a purpose outside the writer’s own daydreams? I wonder.

As in so many other ways, we take our families forgranted, I think, regarding how much writing material they provide simply byhanging out inside our heads. Now that I realize the extent of theircontribution, I’m going to keep visiting that gallery to find more portraits tobring out into the light and show others.

Have you visited your family gallery lately? Haveyou done character studies on all of them for those masterpieces of prose andverse that wait to be penned? It’s never too late to start. Just look at howlong I took. Don’t put it off. There’s a prize winner in there somewhere.

Ifyou don’t believe, ask the writers of memoir. They know.

Until later,

Claudsy

NaBloPoMo

2012-01-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, folks, your eyes aren’t deceivingyou. There is yet another challenge for the writers who just can’t stand goingwithout one.

I found this particular one when I joinedthe BlogHer Network a couple of days ago. The challenge is to write a themedblog post each day for the given month, in this case, February.

BTW, this should in no way intimidate ordiscourage any writer from picking up the gauntlet of that have beaten backmany a writer. After all, there are many writers and other bloggers who alreadypost each day. I know, because I used to be one of them.

According to the BlogHer challenge,February’s theme is “Relative,” meaning that each post must have something todo with family in one form or another.

Now, having redefined what constitutes “family”many times across the span of my life, I don’t seriously feel challenged as totopic. I have entire state’s worth of pseudo-family to draw from.

What might concern me, if I allow myselfto think about it for more than a nanosecond, is the fact that I have threeblogs—not counting an inactive one in the UK—which might, technically, fallunder the auspices of this challenge.

Should I be held accountable for onlyone of my blogs each day, or, do I have to include all of them in thechallenge?

That’s a big question and one I haveonly a few days to answer before beginning the keyboard shuffle.

I’m counting on all of you to help mewith this decision. Am I supposed to do all three—that includes TrailingInspirations on Wordpress—or can I muddle through doing only one of them? Andif only one, which one—Claudsy’s Calliope on Blogspot, or Claudsy’s Blog onWordpress?

Comments are encouraged, indeed,required on this one, peeps. HELP ME DECIDE!

Claudsy

Can This Be Love

2012-01-28T12:08:00.000-07:00

Can this be love which causes my fingers to twitch?Is it that quivery, nerve-tingling emotion that narrows my eyes, wrinkles mybrow in concentration, or causes my eyes to lose outer focus in order to seeonly the movie playing within?

Just because words fascinate me, and the thought ofconstructing the perfect sentence drives me onward, doesn’t mean that I’ve fallenin love, does it?

If so, I’m horribly lost in this entanglement of feelingswith no hope of escape. I have so few moments in my word-cluttered day in whichpure thought of something other takes hold long enough to distract me from thissuffocating passion.

Poems flit about my head as so many hummingbirds,stabbing toward possible feeding stations with pointed beaks, hovering over gardensof flowery prose in search of the quintessential expression of such vibrant blossomsof thought. Chittering communications between these winged messengers of joyfill my hearing with tantalizing snippets for the taking, if only I couldunderstand the language.

I no longer need outer images to fuel my flights offancy any more than my hummingbirds need solid fuel to power their wings. I’vepassed that stage of this thing called a “Love of Words,” a “Passion for Prose,”or a “Love Affair with Ideas.”

Yes, I admit it! I have fallen madly, deeply,irrevocably in love with language and its expressions across the face ofliterature and the world. I admit it! I cannot live without it nestled in myheart. And never will I allow anyone to pry it from my mind or fingers. Withoutit, I cannot see the world, nor would I want to.

Thank you for listening. I feel better now forhaving gotten that out. I know there are others who feel similarly. Please,take the time to express your own feelings on the subject. Tell the world howyou feel about this philandering lover who keeps you waiting at the altar ofcreation, then begs to be taken back into your arms for another dance aroundthe floor.

Until later,

Claudsy

Thrift Shopping for Gems Overlooked

2012-01-24T21:18:00.000-07:00

Yep, that’s one of the things I did last week while waiting for my computer connection to be repaired.

We went to the new Goodwill that opened here not long ago. We spent over an hour in there and BJ, our friend Jody, and I all came away with something new to us, something that filled current needs. We left because we had no spare cash to get more.

I found something—an electric fuzz shaver—that I’d been looking for in stores and catalogs for at least six months. Btw, it works great. I also got a set of new flannel sheets for $5. I couldn’t beat that with a stick.

Later, while in the same frame of mind, I looked on my desktop’s hard drive when I got home. My poor documents directory was full of stuff that I had yet to do something with. There were articles for children and adults, literary essays that only needed a finishing polish before sending them out, as well as stories for all ages and in all genres.

Among the poetry files were two books that needed those finishing touches. Both could go to competitions. I knew that. So, why hadn’t I already put together a poetry chapbook to enter, or polished the full-length poetry book so that it could begin the rounds of agents/publishers? What about our travel book and the women’s novel?

I had no real excuse. There were some good pieces within my personal slush pile, and I was ignoring them in favor of new ideas or flights of fancy. I’d delegated these potential gems to a littered cache on my desktop to languish unappreciated until some undefined whim moved me to rescue them. How could I have so little faith in myself and my abilities?

That’s when the truth raised its arms and brought the 2x4 down, hard, on my head.

It wasn’t a lack of faith that had intervened and prevented me from completing the writing cycle on any of those wee gems. It wasn’t fear, either.

It was because I had more interests and less discipline than I needed. I saw potential in everything. “Ooo… That would make a great little filler piece for the travel mag that we enjoy so much.” “Hey, I could do a piece on that dog sled race from last weekend. We have pics available, and it could go for kids.”

My problem was that I’d lost control of my ideas, again. (I really have to carry more ropes with me so that I can keep them corralled better.)

I’d diagnosed the disease. I looked for a treatment, one that I could begin immediately. I realized the only way to do the job justice was to take the time to do them all now and be done with it.

“Travel slowly and grasp the details.” became my new work motto.

I chose to take one piece every other day and revise, edit, rewrite, redirect, or whatever it took. Before I could begin work on another, I had to submit the first one somewhere. A paying market wasn’t as important as simply beginning the submission process and having the thing out of my drive. I could easily live with it sitting in a submission’s tracking program.

Now that I’ve begun slowly, it will be easier to move forward. Before I lost my connection with the Internet, I’d already placed three poems and this week I plan to send out at least two articles/stories. I’ve finished a revision on one article and begun the marketing process. I can submit the one article tomorrow since I’m back online.

I spent today doing marketing research that I’d never heard of before, but which seemed to be a good fit for some of what I have to send out.

There you have it, peeps. I’m doing a bit of thrift shopping in my own computer for future published pieces. The cool thing is that a few of the ones I glanced at gave me ideas for at least two or more articles/stories out of that same subject that I can peddle to other venues.

I think I’ll shop closer to home more frequently. How about you? Oh, I also found several pieces that will make great children’s books for a couple of publishers I’ve been investigating.

A couple of weeks away from the net and I’m energized again for these projects. My new scheduling program will work well with this newly intended writing activity.

Dive into your personal slush file and see what you can drag out into the light. Distance lends perspective, they say. Have a great week, all.

Until later,

Claudsy

Off the Horse and Out of the Saddle

2012-01-15T16:00:00.000-07:00

Ever wondered what you'd do with your time without sitting in front of a monitor all day, gathering info, visiting on Facebook, submitting your writing to those editors waiting with nervous anticipation for your word gems?

I've found out for myself. My computer--the laptop--decided a few days ago to no longer tolerate the probing fingers of the Internet. It stolidly refuses to consider the situation from my POV. Instead, it's become silent, unrepentant, and does the neener-neener when I so much as look in its direction.

My desktop computer, which I prefer using, has not allowed itself to make an attachment to our Internet provider since we moved back into this complex. So, here I sit without my own access. Yes, I can use Jo's computer for an hour a day while she's busy elsewhere, but that's barely enough time to deal with emails and notify those who need to know that I won't be around for a while.

As for what I'm doing with my time, I'm working on other projects, studying, and taking the time to read. It's like a vacation. My stress level dropped to acceptable levels after the second day of computer access withdrawal. This morning I sat doing cross-stitch on a table cloth that I'd put away last year--or was that two years ago? It doesn't matter.

I sat stitching, feeling as if I belonged in the past, in a different era. I took note of the fact that my entire thinking process had slowed down. I perceived myself differently, too. There seemed to be a gentleness to the scene that wouldn't have been there if I was doing something else. It was truly an odd sensation.

At that point I had to ask myself if we all become different people, complete with a shift in personality and attitude, by being forced to find something less 21st Century to do with some of our time. What do you think? Are we different people when we occupy ourselves with a different set of activities unrelated to those we normally pursue?

I must close this for the present. I've almost used up my allotted borrowed computer time. Hopefully, I'll be up and running normally by the end of this next week. Wish me luck and money remaining in the wallet when this sojourn into the past is finished.

Take care, all, and God bless. Until I return, remember old

Claudsy

Smoothies Anyone?

2011-12-30T17:39:00.000-07:00

The eerie, yet compelling, music ofKitaro fills my ears from headphones purchased at Wal-Mart, music played on acomputer bought at Best Buy, while I sit in a rocking chair procured fromwho-knows-where years ago. My eight-foot counter came from Home Depot and actsas my desk and work space.

Why do I talk about these things? Isuppose it comes from the reality that I don’t particularly care wheresomething comes from, how little I paid for it, or how strange it looks so longas it functions in the job I’ve assigned it.

A straight counter top, held up by six longtable legs screwed into its underside, is as viable as a desk as it would be totop base cabinets in a kitchen. It cleans up easily and gives ample work room. Uniformfile boxes, filled with items not in use, stacked to a convenient height andcovered with a tablecloth, functions very well as a table. If I’m going tostack them up anyway, I might as well be able to use them for something.

Right?

I think most of us think along theselines at one time or another. I simply prefer thinking like this all the time.And being a writer only encourages the practice.

Why do I say that? Well, examine ourdaily work for the answer.

We create stories. In other words, we’recooks disguised as builders. As writers we stake our reputations on our abilityto utilize disparate ideas, words, etc. for the purpose of telling stories orrelating information. That’s our job in a proverbial nutshell.

Except for the verification ofinformation used within said stories and articles, we don’t care where we gotour ideas. We don’t care where they’d been used before for something else. I’mnot referring to plagiarism here. I’m talking about taking a bit of informationor sparked idea gotten from reading a newspaper, magazine, or another book andputting together our own idea using that information.

An example here is Matthew Bennett’sbreak-out bestseller for expectant mothers, “The Maternal Journal.” Hecertainly couldn’t use personal experience for his book since he was male. Hecould take information found elsewhere, add opinions and insights fromobstetric specialists as well as experienced mothers, and tie it all together intoan easy-to-follow pregnancy guide. Of course, smart marketing helped sell thebook, but the idea was built on a personal question and information gatheredfrom elsewhere.

Writing is hard work within the murky,ever-shifting tides of the publishing industry. There are no clear-cut answerssince many of the deciding factors about who’s published and who’s not stemsfrom an editor’s gut reaction upon reading the manuscript.

Yet, above all else, writing is takingtiny particles of dream(s), putting them in a blender half-full with words,adding dashes of character-driven action, a nebulous theme that peaks out atthe reader at unexpected points in the story, teasingly rambunctious characterswho play with the reader’s mind, and pressing the pulse button until all ingredientsare smooth and ready for the palate.

The end result depends on the cook, noton the origins of each ingredient. Like the workability of my office with itscountertop, computer, headphones, and workspace, the story has arrived on thereading table because of how I use the makings I can find and how I combinethem for that purpose.

How do you cook your stories and servethem up? Care to share? Feel free to tell me how you find your ideas, combineyour ingredients, or market your wares. I’m always interested in learninganother’s techniques.

Until later,

Claudsy

Promotions Rethink

2011-12-22T12:14:00.000-07:00

Every writer inevitably must turn her mind topromoting her work. That’s something many of us don’t want to think about earlyin our writing experience. It’s scary, intimidating, and tends to smack of theego.

Writers talk about publishing and marketing on aregular basis as a rule. Seminars, workshops, and articles instruct writers,regardless of experience level, on the best and easiest ways to pursue thiscourse of necessary work. The stumbling block for some, like me, is when wemust take a more intimate role in the process.

For instance, right now I have three poems in ananthology just released this past weekend. “Prompted: An InternationalCollection of Poems” contains 120 poems grouped around ten poetry writingprompts. Forty poets contributed three poems each for this anthology, pluscreated two strand poems to specific prompts for the book. Our publisher is inEngland, our poets live around the world, and the Foreword is penned by noneother than Robert Brewer of WD’s Poetic Asides fame.

We’ve taken the step to sign over proceeds to theLitWorld charity to promote and develop literacy globally, and we must promotethe book. We are proud of our efforts and should be. We have award-winningpoets here who are sharing their work.

Something we’re doing must be right. “Prompted…”sits at the top of the New Released Anthologies list on Amazon, and managed tomake it there within its first days after release.

You’re probably wondering why I’m concerned aboutpromoting this book. I’m not really concerned about this book’s advertising perse. I don’t mind telling everyone I know about the fascinating choices of poemsand the diversity of voices and perspectives on each subject.

The book is a joy to promote, not because my work isin it, but because mine is such a small percentage of the work showcased. Forsomeone in a business rampant with those who seek recognition and fame, I’m oneof those who want to have anonymous recognition.

I want my work recognized without having to stand onthe corner, hawking my wares. It smacks of insincerity, political arenas, and asnake-oil mentality. Now you see why I didn’t continue to write commercialsyears ago.

Though I want everyone to buy one of the anthologiesto enjoy the work and words of such fine poets as grace its pages, I feelinadequate to the task of promoting it. The worry of whether friends,colleagues, and family will think less of me circle above my head, weighty andmenacing.

Is there any real chance that I will lose respect ofothers? Probably not. Does that answer sooth me. No, it doesn’t, especiallyright now at the holidays.

However, I will take up the gauntlet, stand on thatpodium, and say in a loudly ringing voice, “Please show your support for thespread of literacy across the globe, to towns and villages otherwise without achance, and zip over to Amazon.com/ and select one copy or more of “Prompted:An International Collection of Poems.”

There! I’ve done it. Now to other networks, otherreaders, writers, and delvers into the esoteric pages of poetry. Thank you allfor listening to one introvert stumble through her first personal bookpromotion. I’ve met the challenge and come away without any visible wounds.You’ve been most kind to me.

Until later,

Claudsy

Speed-dating, Christmas Style

2011-12-15T12:34:00.000-07:00

The other day while we were doing Christmasdecorating, Jo and I were talking about stockings and ones we remembered from years gone by, whether those we’dreceived or those we’d stuffed for someone else.

At the time it crossed my mind that Christmas stockingsare much like speed dating. You invest a lot of thought, time, and effort intothem and come away either feeling good about what you’d done or not, and nothaving a lot else to show for all your time. It comes down to satisfaction inthe end, so to speak.

When I prepare items as stocking stuffers, I wrapthem. I know. Call me anal about wrapping presents. I want the receiver toanticipate what the stocking holds for as long as she/he anticipates what’sunder the tree.

I also feel that lots of small packages are betterthan one big package. The only things I don’t wrap are pieces of fruit. Candiesare wrapped, too.

Here’s an example. Many years ago my wallet wasflatter than Scrooge’s Christmas spirit. Not an unusual occurrence, youunderstand.

I lived a thousand miles away from my family—alsonot unusual. That year I really felt the need to send them all something forChristmas. I took what money I could scrape together and went to a discountstore, bought a huge three foot stocking and commenced to buying small toys andsample toiletry items that cost anywhere from a dime to a quarter each.

I had three bags full when I finished shopping. Iwrapped each one in Christmas wrap I’d saved from previous years. Yes, I was one of those. When I wasdone, I had that huge stocking bulging at the seams.

I labeled the gifts as either HIS or HERS and wrotea Christmas card to all of the family saying that they could have a free forall with the stocking. I’d put in an equal number of gifts each and for them tochoose from the gender appropriate tags.

Shipping that box with its goodies cost almost asmuch as the contents, but it was worth the sense of satisfaction I’d gainedfrom the exercise.

When Christmas rolled around, I heard from thefamily and about their appreciation of my stocking. They loved it and stillremember it all these years later.

My satisfaction came from giving to them what Icould and doing it in a way that was unique. I’d thought hard, worked hard, andinvested time and effort in the project because I loved them and wanted toshare with them. They were worth my effort.

Now you ask how this was like speed dating. Thinkabout it.

I’d wanted to share myself with someone else for alittle while. I’d planned how I would present myself to them on this occasion.I’d spent one afternoon shopping at a discount store, choosing among items onsale, so that I could give all that I could to those whom I’d chosen to receivemy gifts, and I’d done it quickly. Getting my gifts to those receivers had costas much as my gifts in the same way paying for a speed dating event would costplus the transportation costs to get there.

At the end of the event, I walked away alone, yetsatisfied that I had made it through another Christmas, given gifts of my time,thought and self for the appreciation of others.

Isn’t that like speed dating?

Until later,

Claudsy

Digressions

2011-12-06T18:15:00.001-07:00

The following is a small digression from the normfound here. Why? I’m not sure. Perhaps it was needed more than I realized.Perhaps it was a truth that needed to be shared. Enjoy.

TheBlessing

She sat behind her desk, fiddling with the ballpoint that should be gliding across decorative paper, staring out the windowwithout seeing the scene beyond the pane of frosted glass. The day dragged onas it had since 8 am. Memories held her attention, drawing her back to peopleand places thirty years before and far away from this cold and dreary place;memories of those gone from this world though never far from daily thought.

Emotional upheaval caught at her throat as shepictured another holiday season, another room, another impending loss. Tearsthreatened to take permanent possession of her eyes even as swallowing became achallenge. How often did she have to relive those days and nights belonging tothe past?

A moment, a day, a lifetime later, the woman turnedaway from the window to see where she’d left off on her annual Christmas letterto family and friends. In the center of the bright red, beribboned page she sawa portrait; an image she’d not seen smile in so very many years. The suddenappearance of that face broke her resolve to forego crying.

Her mother’s laughing, loving countenance required a releaseof the building tension that threatened to overtake her again this year.

Had her mother’s spirit found a way to visit longenough to reassure her of the rightness of things? Was this a messageinstructing her finally to let go? Or, was it merely a sign that her mother washappy where she was?

Did it matter what the exact message was so long assomething positive came from it?

The woman found herself smiling at this gift thathad been given to her. Whether her subconscious had doodled the portrait orsome other means had put the beloved face on the page, the gift was gratefullyaccepted. She could go on now with the holiday that had become a burden to surviverather than a gift to appreciate and celebrate.

A slow smile began to spread across her face, herthroat loosening its muscles and tear ducts turning off their leaks. The timehad come to release the unshed grief. Blessings came in myriad packages, she realized.

Double Messages: Fences With Two Sides

2011-11-27T14:25:00.001-07:00

Current philosophy regarding economics tells us thatless is more. At a time when consumerism leans toward excess, in an environmentof unemployment and, in some cases, hunger, the message at the edge ofawareness tells us to cut back, tighten our belts, and hunker down until theeconomic crisis is past.

I’ve watched how others are dealing with thiscrisis, the messages sent to users from every quarter, the media blitz ofadvertising, etc. What I’ve seen leads me to believe that messages haveblurred the edges of every realm of our lives.

Check me out and see if I’ way off base here. Are wedoomed to live in a world of double messages?

1. Conservepotable water: We’re urged to use more efficient dishwashers, etc. to utilizethe least amount of water for effective purposes. Is that why lawn services,especially those in arid climates and drought stricken zones, have sprinklerssystems blasting water into the dry air during the middle of the day? Thisis the worst possible time to water vegetation—it burns/boils the leaves andstems—and the least effective conservation practice. So, who's conserving?

2. Keepas much out of the landfills in an effort to reduce future problems with groundwater pollution, etc. For this to work, we’re encouraged to reduce/avoid useof disposable products like paper plates and diapers. We're encouraged to recycle more. Question: Ifwe’re supposed to conserve water and can use paper plates to reduce water usage,aren’t we ignoring the landfill problem? And what about all of those defunct, yet fixable, appliances littering the landfill landscape?

3. Automanufacturers were ordered to make more efficient vehicles. Many 1970’s models,especially those from Japan, got better fuel mileage than the same modelscoming out this year. How is that efficient and less polluting? Remember, we’resupposed to support the U.S. manufacturers to help the economy.

These are a few examples of double dipping in themessage department. Here’s one just for those active and potential writers outthere.

Today’s experts in the publishing business have beenemphasizing the use of tighter, more efficient writing. Remove thosequalifiers, they say. Eliminate all of those adjectives and adverbs and shortenword count. Some editors frown on those who use more than a fifth grade educationlevel of prose to write a story since it requires the reader to think beyondwhat’s being read.

When I began the writing course “Building GreatSentences,” I had no idea that what comprised those great sentences were notfewer words, but more words that told an effective story. It does counterpopular business regimen.

Prof. Brooks Landon of the Univ. of Iowa remindsstudents of two millennium of memorable and effective writers who usedlonger and more complex sentences to tell their stories, build their treatises,and write their poetry. He points out that these complex sentences set the tonethat helps create punch, surprise, or poignancy for the extremely shortsentences that can follow them.

He uses many examples to prove his points and thecourse is designed to enlighten the student on how to build, one word at a time, themost effective sentence that not only moves the story forward, but which tellsits own story within the overall frame work of the larger tale. He shows howone sentence can, in 40 words, give a complete picture of a character, asetting, the plot’s pivot point, etc.

There is no advocacy of irrelevant or unnecessaryverbiage, but rather a use of cumulative sentences which act as mini-scenes,each behaving as a mover and shaker within the story. For the first time inyears I’ve fallen in love again with language and its power.

In a time when I’m being told to shrink sentences,cut back, use vocabulary for children to talk to adults, I’ve come toappreciate rebellion and have a solid reason to engage in it, at least in thisone area.

I no longer have to consign good language use to that word landfill residing within my desktop. I don't have to conserve more precise language for the sake of one person's belief in lesser grade words. I can get more mileage out of ten well-chosen words than a dozen sentences that circle the drain of contemporary writing practice.

I can control this piece of the double message question withmy use of language and its place in the world. I don’t have to follow the pathset for me by people who change literary tastes as easily as a butterfly moves to another flower’s nectar.

Ratings and sales don’t have to dictate how I functionas a writer in this new digital age, except on the internet. Even that venuemay come around to insisting on something mature for audiences. Regardless, I’min a position where I can dictate my own terms within my portion of the industry, an industrywhich affords me the opportunity to stretch, express myself, and tell storiesthat can entertain.

I'm ringing this bull's tail regarding double messages and clearing a path for myself.

Tell me how you see our double message state and howyou feel about using language. Short or long, we all have our favorites.

Until later,

Claudsy

Gems in Hidden Books

2011-11-19T15:30:00.001-07:00

Every writer does research. Whether for non-fictionarticles, books, or essays or for marketing that new story that’s hot off thekeyboard, we delve into some esoteric corners on the off-chance of finding agem that can be used as the centerpiece of some new project.

In the past year I’ve managed to dive intofascinating subjects with so much potential that I’m without direction as tothe best use for the material.

For instance, there the global warming issue fromboth the environmental and the political viewpoints. Bits and pieces could beused for great articles with slants not expected by the average reader, orarticles for children to help them derive an understanding of the issuesinvolved, or as the basis for sci-fi stories extraordinaire.

Which way should I go? It’s not like the subject isgoing away soon. It’s around to stay and getting more complex each day, withplenty of twists along the way to create plotlines for sci-fi, YA survivalistfaire, a murder mystery surrounding a leading scientist who’s discovered how tohelp halt the progression of the marching ice fields. You see what I mean.

How about those hidden gems that can be used for acharacter’s profession or hobby? Here’s one that brought me to a point ofpracticing an almost lost art: knots and splices.

What are they? Mariners and their land-grubbinglaborer cousins have practiced tying knots and splicing ropes together forthousands of years. This was and is a practical knowledge that can be used formany purposes. My “Pocket Guide to Knots & Splices” by Des Pawson sitsbeside my copy of “Leather Braiding” by Bruce Grant.

You might ask why I’d have such disparate volumes onmy reference shelf. I’ll tell you. In the first place, I thoroughly enjoylearning new skills. With each new knot or braiding technique practiced andmastered, I will have a concrete example of the craft involved.

Secondly, I can use this knowledge for any number ofcharacters. I can have one of my mystery characters always craft a Turk knot ona gift package. The knot done in leather, for instance, acts as an additionalgift for the receiver. This act of thoughtfulness becomes a trademark for thatcharacter. Or, I can write a short story about a fencer who’s just begun workwith battle swords instead of epees and has to fashion the grip covering on thehilt of his newly acquired broadsword. It can be done in leather or in flatsilk cording, as the Samurai once did. The very act of making that decisioncould make for a turning point for that particular character.

What if I had a character that made art withdecorative knots that behaved as the anchoring point of her textile art thatsold for thousands of dollars? Everything from Celtic knots to old sailorsknots would work well for the story point.

I could do a character that makes bull whips forsale. Those use both leather braiding of a specialty type and special knotting.

Just these three subjects could keep a person busywith ideas for months or more. I often ask myself if there are dull subjects. Ifigure there are a few, but only because they don’t catch the imagination ofthe person looking at them. All subjects, I think, can be used for some form ofwriting, even if it’s only a silly piece of background business in amanuscript. If the writer is clever, that bit of business can become a tellingclue or piece of a puzzle for later in the story.

Now that you’ve seen some of the stuff I’m likely tosubmerge myself into, look at your own preferences. I dare you. Find three ofthose esoteric subjects in hidden books and see just how many uses to which youcan put the information. Then tell me about it. I’m always willing to learnsomething new.

Until later,

Claudsy

One More Silver Lining

2011-11-10T12:16:00.001-07:00

For the past two weeks I’ve been dealing withpneumonia and its many twists and turns. Antibiotics make me sleepy, amongother things, and this time being sleepy didn’t help matters since coughing andshortness of breath were my main symptoms.

I don’t tell you this for sympathy but, rather, toset the stage for what comes next. If you’ve ever had a respiratory infectionor pneumonia to any degree, you know that sleeping on the horizontal isn’tgoing to happen. The lungs won’t allow for it. Throw in a slight sinusinfection, and you’ll really not sleep much.

So, there I was, not sleeping in an upright andlocked position, cradled on the corner of my bed, back against three pillows,one of which actually did hold my head up and allow me to turn it from side toside.

While I sat there for hours in the darkness, notsleeping but wallowing in that twilight state of antibiotic-drugged drowsiness,my mind was free to run wild, without destination, purpose, or forethought. Thehors d'oeuvres of primitive thought kept floating in front of the mind’s eye,offering up delicacies of unlimited scope in the creative sense.

Entire novels rolled by, pulled onward down an ever-lengtheningroad by a team of amusing characters that were fit to assemble into somethingmiraculous if I could just hold onto them to write down enough during the dayto remember them. Unfortunately, such was not the case. They drove away ontheir wagonload of plotline and interesting twists before I could fully graspenough details to hang onto the storyline.

Dragged behind that wagon came another book; Icalled it “The Book of Notions.” This one stuck with me and expanded with eachnew consideration. A vision flashed across my inner movie screen; a man dressedin period costume—late nineteenth century—carrying under one arm a large book, bound in black,thin and mysterious. The title, embossed in gold, was “The Book of Notions.” Inever saw the man’s face. It didn’t matter. The title stuck in my mind.

Now I had something to hold onto. Substance couldn’tbe too far away. Suddenly that great little story that I’d just written for acompetition took on a whole new meaning. It was the first of the “Notions” andwould anchor all of the rest. There would be between 15 and 20 Notion storiesand they would use the same narrator and all would be slightly quirky, sad oramazing, funny or chilling. I could see the entire project; a project I coulddo over time and look for just the right subjects to fill the book.

The whole project resided within that black bindingwith gold lettering. I knew where I’d look for the stories. I knew the approachI would take. I knew it would work.

It isn’t often when I come across something likethis that has such a feel of rightness to it. I always hang onto those withboth hands, and they’re always worthwhile. And it isn’t as if I don’t haveenough projects already on my plate. I have five that I’m working on now. Thisone, though, is one that haunts, but in a good way; a way that forces me tokeep it in mind, forces me to keep thinking about what the stories will be. Iwon’t neglect this one for long between story installments.

Perhaps this is a true example of inspiration.Perhaps it’s only an example of hallucinations and fevered dreams. Either way,I have a long-term project that will hold my interest in easy installments andthat’s something worthwhile.

Here’s hoping that all of you are so fortunate tofind a silver lining for yourself. Until later,

Claudsy

Scoring the Right Music

2011-10-21T22:51:00.001-06:00

Much has been written of late about music and the writer.I’d never put my mind to the question before this past couple of months.Suddenly everyone wants to know what others listen to when they’re writing.

Some prefer to hear nothing while their minds struggle toput precise words onto the screen or the paper. I could not do that on aregular basis. I have specific music that I listen to when I need to shut outthe world while composing whatever prose or poetry is destined to flow from myfingertips.

Kitaro's or Deuter's fabulous CDs work well when in that dreamy,contemplative phase of creation strikes. For those lively stories that demand lotsof movement, Andes Manta fills the headphones with Ecuadorian life andcelebration. I highly recommend this group or ones like them for fast pacedwriting. For op-ed work, pipes and drums come to mind or something very martialin attitude—one of the classical works, perhaps. Mannheim Steamroller is an impressive incentive type music, too.

I’ve tried music with voices raised in song. I can’t doit—too distracting. I want music, but only instrumentals. Relaxation,meditation, or sound effects CDs will work as well--for poetry, especially.

When I think about those writers of centuries ago, I wonderwhat filled their ears while their fingers were busy with quill and parchmentor vellum. Did they come to the point of screaming at the distraction of rowdychildren squealing and running below their window? I tend to doubt they hiredminstrels to come play for them during working hours.

What did Homer hear while penning his masterpieces? Was itonly the surf pounding against the rocky shoreline, or splashing against thesides of ships at anchor? Did Tennyson or Bryon, Melville or Hawthorne wait forthe appropriate strains of music before risking their brilliance to thepermanence of ink on paper?

Somehow I doubt it.

Our times dictate most of what we do and how we do it. Manyof us can no longer envision a life without a ready connection to othersthousands of miles away that takes less than the flick of a thought to bringinto your space. We’re spoiled by our now.

And yet, I wonder if we recognize our now when we’re init. How many of us are actually aware of an instant of thought or inspiration?How many take the opportunity to breathe deeply of a rose’s perfume beforestrolling off to our next encounter? And how many are aware of what they missedtoday because their chosen writing instruments and music have kept themprisoner behind a screen.

You tell me.

Until later,

Claudsy

Notes on Writing

2011-10-16T14:12:00.000-06:00

Lastnight Sister Jo and I went to the symphony. We’d lucked out a couple of monthsback when she won tickets to the first concert of the season of the GlacierSymphony Orchestra and Chorale.

Weweren’t disappointed in the performance. It was brilliant. Amit Peled, therenowned cellist, performed to the strains of Antonin Dvorak’s Cello Concertoin B Minor, Op. 104. Over the years I’ve heard a lot of cellists play, but I’venever heard one that did multiple harmonic chords simultaneously. That featsent shivers up my spine. He definitely deserves his acclaim.

SisterJo, much to her benefit, became overheated during the first movement of thefinal piece, Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 4 in G major. She excused herself andheaded out to the lobby. It was fortunate for her because while she sat in thecomfort of an overstuff couch with plenty of elbow room, Amit Peled joined her.He was cooling off after his performance. I tried not to be jealous later whenshe told me of this encounter. I’m still not sure if I succeeded.

Duringthe fourth movement of Mahler’s Symphony, guest soprano, Emily Murdock, sand amarvelous rendition of the German solo. For those of us in the audience whodidn’t speak German, we made do with following along with the printed lyrics inthe program via tiny pen lights.

Theoddity of this symphony was that it held many passages in discordance. Theglory of it was that though the discordance was held, harmonics surrounded andblended with it so that it was no longer a disruptive element. I’ll come backto this fact in a bit.

Itell you all of this because I have a habit. Maybe all writers have a similarone. I don’t know.

WhenI’m listening to a symphony like this, where several pieces are broughttogether for presentation, with each one having a distinct theme and sound, Ipay attention to the different mental images evoked. I sit with my eyes closedand allow my mind to create whatever images it wants. If I work it right, I canbegin by thinking of an unfinished story project on my desk and watch the restof the story unfold.

That’swhat I did last night. I began by thinking of my YA/Adult fantasy novel,“Wisher’s World: Composing an Apprentice” and slipped the reins on my imagination.By the end of the first musical offering of the evening--Josef Suk’s ScherzoFantastique, Op. 25--I had the rest of the story, full-blown, complete withplot twists. The music was perfect for my purpose. My job at that point was toremember what I’d seen behind closed eyes.

Ienjoyed the cello piece for itself, and then turned to my women’s novel“Dreamie’s Box” for the symphony. I got some great twists during that session.Remember that fact about the discordance? While I listen I realized that for meit symbolized those obstacles that the main character must overcome, solve,utilize to advantage. I began to see the interplay between discordant actionand the harmony of other parts in a story as having an intricate relationship,built of both necessity and achievement at the end. They must both be present.

Thatlesson was an important one for me. I suppose it’s an important one for anywriter. Learning from listening to that music brought the lesson home withimpact and permanence.

Icame away with more than the music ringing in my ears. I had new notes forwriting on two novels under construction right now. What more could any writerwant? What I wonder is whether other writers do the same thing when they listento music.

Thinkabout it. Let me know what you think. Until later,

Claudsy

Taking Time

2011-10-07T16:00:00.000-06:00

There are times like now whenpreparations for a short trip, entertaining, etc. begin to pall. That’s when Ichoose to take my mind completely away from the current time consumers and lookfor something totally different.

Doing this clears the mind to allow forsubtle preparations and mental lists to go on while the body and front brainare engaged elsewhere.

Today, that elsewhere was learning moreabout how to effectively use Office 2010. Beginning with Word, the processmoved me though templates, themes, styles, etc. There was very much to learnand try to keep straight in the mind. Though I used this version of Word forover a year, I’d never gotten to know it and its potential. That oversight israpidly being corrected.

Suddenly the idea of all of those lovelypages that I saw everyone else put together didn’t intimidate me anymore. Forso long I’ve watched from the bleachers while all around me creativity wasflaunted with such ease that I felt like a complete idiot.

I know there are books that seemed writtenjust for me. I’ve seen them on the shelves and felt too embarrassed to actuallybuy one. Way back when I got my Office 2010 software, I went to all the troubleof buying a nice book called “The Ultimate Guide to Microsoft Office 2010.”

I’d refused to take sufficient time orattention to read, absorb and fiddle on the computer to learn anything it mighthave had to say about my new programs.

Shame should cover me with its scarletflush. Now it’s possible to create marvelous-looking documents with simpletools. Hope springs up in my heart; hope of learning how to edit with notes inthe margins, or that exciting photo modification that’s available—and dare I think Publishing. Can’t wait to get to that chapter.

Study time has ended for the day.Perhaps this weekend while I’m killing time in a motel room in Washington, Ican take on the next phase of this process called “becoming familiar withOffice 2010.”

Laptop and book will accompany me on ourshort trip westward. I’ll keep busy with learning and reading.

Anyone who is only now beginning to takethis software seriously should drop by the local chain bookstore. Get yourselfa copy of a book like mine that can walk you through the process of learningribbons, media creation, etc. You don’t have to go online and listen totutorials unless you want to, or unless you have two computers; one for thetutorial and one for hands-on practice.

Jump in and explore some of the options.If you’re like me and haven’t taken the time to dive deeper than you’ve gonebefore, strap on the scuba tank and take a gander at what’s on the sea bottom.I’ve found treasure I didn’t know existed. All I have to do is haul it up andcash in on it.

Until later,

Claudsy

View From the Road

2011-09-25T13:41:00.001-06:00

I wanted to show you all the kind of autumn day that comes our way here in northwest Montana. With Jo's permission, I put this together with a poem I wrote for the occasion. I hope you all enjoy it on this marvelous Sunday afternoon.

Think of this as my little postcard to you all.

Claudsy

Allowing the Story to Grow

2011-09-19T16:02:00.001-06:00

A couple of months ago I set about creating a slewof character studies in preparation for work on a new novel-length project. Ifigured that when the well ran dry at the end of a long writing session on mysister’s and my country tour book, I could work on something totally unrelated.Plus, I could use some of the material gathered from our trip, as well.

A reasonable prospect, don’t you think?

Inspirationto Dilemma

That’swhere the problem began. I’d accumulated such diverse material that deciding ona series of plot twists and points of interest evolved into a nightmare.

I first had to decide on voice—poignant or dramaticwith mystery. There was always a possibility of putting those two directionstogether and running them parallel. I hadn’t seen that done often, which helpedmake that bridge an interesting one. I patted myself on the back and continued.

TheMC’s character definition was set. I could go on to build her circumstancesinto a realistic model. No problem there. Background details sprinkled alongthe way could create clarity.

Lastly, I needed to decide how far I was willing totake this character and her story. I’m an organic writer and most of what I putdown in copy in my first draft is as much a surprise to me as to the reader. Asa result, I require a point of exit for the story. That stop sign in my mindhelps put my rewind brakes on when I get too enthusiastic with the storyline.

You can see the difficulty. I had a great maincharacter and several feisty and intriguing secondary characters. I had so manywho were dying to have their stories shown to readers who hadn’t yet met them.What could a writer to do?

Learninga Lesson

Veteran crime writer, Elmore Leonard teaches thatusing tiny details about a character creates something memorable for the readeras well as for the other characters. He advocates using major bits of dialogueto drive the story and reveal the secrets. He’s used these techniques to createcrime novels that continue to fascinate readers since producing “3:10 To Yuma”back in the pulp fiction days.

I used this lesson and learned about my characters’tiny details. Those can help drive both dialogue and reveal secrets. I knowthat my MC despises the married life she’s lived for seventeen years. I know that she longs to be free and livingon her own terms. I also know that she goes to the library twice a week andspends the day there, which her husband allows because he deems the activityharmless and safe from temptation.

Those and more surround the major points in herlife. Smaller details include the fact that she wears different clothes to thelibrary than she does at home or to church. She wears a certain scent when shegoes to town. She likes hats. Each of these facts assists in the creation ofthe overall picture of the character’s reality.

Mystery whispers around the base premise. Herfriends and other secondary figures also hold secrets. These help move thereader toward discovery at the plot’s conclusion. Without that sense of mystery,that sense of anticipation, the story would fall flat and remain lifeless.

Many of the MC’s personal details are things thatwould resonate with folks in a Southern location. Ergo, setting made it knownand added another dimension to the tale. With all of that worked out, I couldmove on to plot and setting.

Mappingthe Plot

From first page to last, only one serious question requiredan answer at each juncture along the plotline.

What if? Those two words are drivers of stories. Ilistened when my MC told me that she had a secret life and that she reallydidn’t need her husband for any reason. She had her own life. It simply wasn’tas free as she would like it to be.

What if the MC goes to the library one day and isassaulted or raped? How would these actions play out? Would she hide in shameand refuse to tell her husband—a husband who might blame her for the attack?Would the police be brought in? And if the police were involved, who would theyfind guilty of the crime? Why would the attack happen that day, to that woman?

With that in mind, logical questions would follow. “Whatif her husband wasn’t around anymore? Would she prefer that he leave her alonebut not have a divorce?

Why did her best friend need to be involved and whatcould she contribute to the MC’s situation. And on and on…

Discoveringa Conclusion

Many of those “what ifs” evolve from the story’sregional setting. People behave differently in each region to the same stimuli.Anyone who has traveled around soon comes to that conclusion.

That fact allows me to work with a bit of logic, abit of intuition, and a listening ear to discover what might be the only properend to the story. After I have that piece of the puzzle, I can put the chapteroutlines together and ready myself for a true beginning to the writing project.

Because I wanted to use material gathered for adifferent book project, I came away with much more. I came away with a novel,starring a character that previously had remained hidden somewhere inside mymind. In addition, I found a literary use for some of my travel material, whichalso gave me walk-on characters.

I titled this novel “Dreamie’s Box.” My writingpartner told me to set aside the first two chapters for use as bits ofbackstory later in the story. Beginning with the death of the MC’s husband inChapter Three will force a much faster pace to the story. It’s a good thing.Thankfully, I have a scrupulously honest writing partner. I may finish thisthing long before NaNoWriMo.

Until later,

Claudsy

Conquering Writer's Guilt

2011-09-10T16:48:00.000-06:00

One of the things I’ve been contemplating this pastweek has centered on why writers can’t stop themselves from writing.

Admit it. If you don’t write on a regular basis, youget cranky, unbalanced, and not pleasant to be around. Little things that haveno import begin to tick you off for no real reason. In the end, you must takeup paper and pen or keyboard and monitor to put something in writing, whetheranyone else will ever read it or not.

Many of you are nodding, thinking back to when youwere a youngster and creeping off to a corner where no one would find you for awhile, in an effort to put your thoughts, ideas, and ponderings into a morepermanent form.

Some of you, like me, were either teased about youruse of words or discouraged in a more hurtful way. It wasn’t pleasant. You feltmisunderstood, unworthy, and alone in a world that didn’t honor you. I rememberthose days well. By the time adulthood came along, you probably had no morebelief in your abilities or writing dreams than anyone else had shownthroughout your life.

I’ve never understood why those who are supposed tolove us can’t give encouragement to a child’s dreams and aspirations. I’m at anage now where I know that I’ll never understand a person’s need to berateanother rather than move toward understanding.

Whether we still hunker in corners for secret writingsessions or sit at desks and flaunt our right to express ourselves to theworld, one aspect of a writer’s life tends to remain true; at least in myexperience.

We all tend to feel guilty if we haven’t writtenanything on any given day. It doesn’t seem to matter how busy and clutteredwith errands that day has been. What matters is the reality that we didn’t findat least fifteen minutes to put words down for use later.

Guilt seems to be built into the job description ofmost writers. You feel guilty if you’re running behind on a timeline, even if you’rethe one who created the timeline. Pangs of guilt flutter around your head everytime you think you haven’t spent enough time on research, editing, critiquingof other’s work, what-have-you.

Have you kept your presence fluid and immediate onyour social networks and the media? Another source of guilt has come to rooston your head. Have you been keeping close enough email ties to your contacts?No? Well, you’d best get cracking. You could lose those contacts. They could beoffended and never really be friends with you again.

You see what I’m talking about. Be honest. You’ve feltsome, in not all, of these symptoms of a Writer’s Guilt. The cause is unknown.It lies so deep inside the psyche that few, if any, would find it without abulldozer and other heavy equipment.

The only cure is striving for a regular dose ofpreventative. Write a long email to someone you’ve not contacted in a while.Apologize for the oversight--make no promises about doing better, since thatleads to more guilt later—and be positive in your relating of doings in yourlife, what you’ve been working on, and how insanely chaotic your personal life hasbeen. That will take care of that problem for now.

Edit an old story and get it submitted anywhere. Itdoesn’t matter where. It’s the submission that matters. Another symptom will begone for the moment.

Continue with these types of firebreaks and soon theguilt will be controlled. You will be able to say “See, what I’ve done thisweek. I’ve gotten all of this done.”

Until the next time I feel guilty about neglectingthis blog for another, have a great weekend and week to come.

Claudsy

Family Separation, Disconnection, and Chaos Theory

2011-08-30T11:20:00.000-06:00

What happens when you’re suddenly contacted by someone you’ve not seen nor talked to in 26 years? Stick around and let me tell you what happened to me.

Last week when I called my father, who’s recuperating from hip surgery in a convalescent center, I got to talk to my brother who happened to be in the room at the time. He asked me if I wanted the phone number and email addy of my first cousin, Pat. I took up pencil and paper and duly wrote down the information. Color me too shocked to object or question anything.

It seems that she’d paid a visit to Dad that day while visiting with an old classmate. She even brought along the classmate. She’d been thinking about him recently, had spoken to her friend about not being able to contact him, and this classmate happened to be in Burger King one day to discover someone who knew Dad. In that round-about way, Pat was informed of his stay at the convalescent center.

Talk about your seven degrees of separation!

The upshot was that I now had in my possession the information to make contact possible after 26 years. The oddest part of this story, I suppose, was that this cousin had been on my mind for a couple of weeks. I had no clue why I kept thinking about her, though. Couple that oddity with the fact that all of a sudden I’d been picking up friend requests from writers from Indiana for a solid week, when I had no others before that. Now you can glimpse my need to shiver a bit.

Yep, things aren’t always what they seem on the surface, unless you’re like me, and have dealt with too many coincidences in the past to take them lightly. There is no such thing as a coincidence, in my humble opinion.

I contacted Pat, who now goes by a different nickname, by email. It was short and sweet and inviting. She responded immediately and we’ve been corresponding daily since.

We’re getting reacquainted. As we all know, people change over time. Life does that to a person. I’ve learned some things about this lovely woman that I would never have expected. For instance, she loves poetry and buys books of poetry every time she finds a poet that she can click with. She's happily used her time to garden since she retired a few years ago.

These are the kinds of things that I would have known if we could have communicated over those intervening years. We’ve lost time with each other. We’ve lost our connections. As we grow older, having family contemporaries becomes more difficult.

She is one of only three cousins of my age—within a year or so—on either side of my family. That’s a really small pool to draw from, and she’s the only relative that I know left on my mother’s side of the family. That pool just got dangerously small.

Why am I talking about all of this? It has to do with recognizing how fragile connections and communication really are. It focuses one’s attention on those bits of self that have been left behind; bits that impacted other people that one never expected. And, it allows for more examples of those seven degrees of separation that Chaos Theory is always shoving down our throats.

Remember I said that Pat loves poetry. I sent her a link to some of my published poems on the Soft Whispers site. She came back to me expressing her pleasure in a specific poem and told me how much it reminded her of her favorite poet, Gwen Frostic. She told me that she used to go to Gwen’s studio each year to get any new books of poetry that had come out since the last visit.

Now I’d never heard of that poet, but I remedied that with a Google search. Though deceased now, Gwen became an instant favorite of my own, as well. Look her up and see if you can figure out why. Her books are also still available on Amazon. Somehow I can see an order in my future.

I discovered a new poet, introduced to me by a cousin long estranged, reconnected with a much forgotten past, from a place I hadn’t lived in 26 years. I think that’s a good week’s work, don’t you?

I’m just trying to figure out what I’m going to discover this week. Until I find out, take care, all, and may blessings litter you path through life.

Claudsy

Relatively Speaking

2011-08-23T06:07:00.000-06:00

An old adage says “Everything is relative.”

Everyone stumbles across this one truth at some point in their lives. That is, if they’re paying attention.

If you’re paying attention, you’ll remember that to walk into a house heated to 65 degrees from an outside temperature of 32 or less feels like you’re walking into a hot house. Give yourself a couple of hours and the inside temps won’t seem so warm.

Place that same scene in the dog days of summer with outside temps of 100 degrees and walk into that same house set at 65 degrees. Suddenly one has walked into a meat locker.

Someone has undoubtedly thought of the analogy of “How do you boil a live frog?”

The power of relativity has come to bear on our lives so often that we seldom pay attention to it. We make our statements about conditions around us and move on to another distraction. It’s not something that seems terribly pertinent.

Why am I talking about such a petty little observation? Isn’t it the petty little observations to which writers must pay attention?

Whether a writer is dealing in fiction or non-fiction, it’s the details that will either set you free or bury you. If you’re working in non-fiction and you present one of those little observations of relativity incorrectly, credibility will be tainted. Precision of detail is critical in non-fiction. The writer cannot afford to allow relativity to color those details too much. Even memoir has its limits concerning relativity.

If the writer works in fiction, the relativity displayed by character and situation makes or breaks the reality of the story presented. If you have a character who hates feeling cold, who lives in the desert for that reason, for instance, her air conditioning unit won’t be set at 65 degrees in the summer. The character would never stand for a temperature setting that low. Yet, such a situation can be successfully used to further define the character’s individual needs, tastes, backstory, etc.

Some people call this perspective since relativity is reserved for a physics theorem. Regardless, writers deal with the continual relativity/perspective factor every day. Many times we do it unconsciously. Somewhere, on an intuitive level, we understand how critical it is that we appear authentic and accurate.

The genre dictates how we use this factor, as well. Children’s writers must write as adults. Their presentation of material or story, on the other hand, must be from the perspective of the readers’ age for fiction and use appropriate language level, etc. In non-fiction children’s age-appropriate language also holds hands with concept understanding and developmental stages. Targeting the proper age market for one’s work is crucial to success in that genre.

The same holds true for marketing any piece of writing to any audience. Relativity/perspective demands proper marketing for success. The writer of technical journals, for instance, targets only those who need that particular information, written at specific levels of expertise.

As you can see, everything is relative. From the content to the marketing the writer juggles accuracy with approximation every time she sits down at her computer, regardless of what she’s writing.

Maybe that’s a large part of why this industry is so fascinating and frustrating at one and the same time. If anyone has another take on this subject, let me know. I’m always up for discussion.

Until later,

Claudsy

Driving Focus Needs the Right Schedule

2011-08-17T16:47:00.000-06:00

Spinning one’s wheels without forward movement is a true exercise in frustration. Putting more on one’s plate than can be eaten in a meal is gluttony. And writing without a plan of action is just plan insane.

We all know these truths. If we haven’t learned them within the first few experiences, we don’t deserve to call ourselves intelligent.

I bring all of this up to preface my new beginning. I’ve been stacking so much on my writer’s plate that even Hercules couldn’t have lifted it without a forklift. There are just so many marvelous projects that I must stick my fingers into right now. I know that I have four-ten other projects sitting in the wings looking for a finale. I understand that a new project needs extra time for development, which eliminates time slated for other work.

Yeah, I get it.

Addiction is a terrible thing. This addiction on mine to constantly find new, more fascinating projects to tinker with has got to stop. That’s why I’ve taken today to develop a work schedule for myself that is rigid enough to keep me focused and flexible enough to allow for movement between projects and chores outside of writing.

I’ve done scheduling before without success, I think because too much rigidity and I don’t get along well. We tend to go to war. Blame that on my need for flexibility.

With this new attempt, I’ve built in those non-writing tasks that always stole time I didn’t feel I had before. I built in time for email and social media twice a day. I built in time for reading for review and for pleasure. I built in specific timeframes for writing on different projects on different days of the week.

I even built in time each day for personal home tasks and half an hour of exercise. Believe me, that’s definitely new.

Each week’s schedule will shift just a bit as administration tasks are completed and others take their place. Now I can go to my day’s calendar and see just those things that need my focus, without having to think about those that will come on a different day.

Down the line further, I will build in all of the deadlines for submissions. I’ve already allowed for a few hours each week for marketing research and submissions.

I’m going to try, with determination and focus, to get this new attempt to work for me. Every other one has failed so far in the last two years. I’ve learned a bit about myself since then.

Wish me luck and check in on Monday to see how the work proceeds and how my newest project is coming along. What is that project, you ask. It’s a women’s fiction novel titled “Dreamie’s Box.” I’ve completed the first two chapters and moving forward.

Until next time,

Claudsy

Answers by the Bushel

2011-08-09T12:08:00.000-06:00

A few days ago I posted about the confusion I felt concerning whether I could do this thing called writing in today’s publishing world without losing what was left of my mind. I got part of my answer last evening as I listened to two more class sessions on Author Summer School.

As I was listening to the experts, my mind filled with how each of their points pertained to me and what I could do both in strategy and platform without doing much more than I am already. The only thing I really needed to do was stop worrying so much about not getting more writing done and devote a short amount of time to putting what I really needed into place.

I suddenly saw myself in my tiny rowboat, floundering with oars that weren’t quite gaining enough purchase in the water to propel me forward. It came to me that that was the problem I’d been having. It wasn’t that I was writing all the wrong stuff or not enough. Instead, the problem lay in my scattering all that writing as so many jetsams inefficiently onto the waters of potential publishing success. I was actually sabotaging myself by not taking the time to put together a working and effective plan of action for myself.

I realized that while I would lose a couple of weeks writing time, I would gain much more, including a renewed focus and a method for doing all the types of writing that I wanted to do. The key was to actually have separate platforms with separate foci.

I know. It sounds daunting, doesn’t it? But the way I envisioned it, the only daunting part was that initial learning curve for putting the plan into place and for keeping the different arenas separate on the net.

For example, I have this blog with its followers for children’s work and the occasional experimental piece of fun. I have my Wordpress blog for interviews, reviews, and commentaries of various types. I also have a brand new blog opening soon to replace my Positive-At-Tent-Ion website; a new blog that I believe will be better by far than the old site and that will be run like a small magazine. God willing, my followers there will come over to the new one.

The social media portion of the equation will be put together in the next couple of weeks while I’m taking classes and building a large file of expert advice from all across the spectrum. I figure if I take the time now to do this, along with subbing out all the remaining work in my file cabinet, I have a shot of coming into September with a plan of daily action that will keep me motivated, productive, and moving forward with my writing career.

That’s where I am today; beginning to put together the plan. Making those decisions that force me to dedicate my focus, as well as time, to writing to the best of my ability while riding a marketing strategy toward the future.

I hope that others out there with this predicament can find hope in my trials and struggles. There are answers out there, if you ask the right questions and if you’re willing to accept opportunity when it’s offered. I just had another thought. This change is necessary for me because my writing grew beyond the fences that had previously held it. Will that happen again, if I take on another growth spurt?

Huh. If it does, I'll just have to adjust again. Practice makes... and all that.

Take care, all. Until later,

Claudsy

Re-examining One's Direction

2011-08-08T00:37:00.000-06:00

For the past few days I’ve been taking some classes through Trissa Tismal’s Author’s Summer School Program. These were simul-cast over telephone/web.

The majority of the information given to the students was geared toward non-fiction, but easily converted over for fiction. Both traditional publishing and e-publishing were addressed in easy to digest ways to ensure that everyone would come away with valuable tools for their publishing future.

Much of the emphasis was that writing—if you want to do it for something other than a hobby—is a business and must be approached that way.

I have to admit that anyone writing--whether for books, articles, essays, etc.—this is especially true. Any writer who wants to make a living at writing through copy writing or book production must change their thinking processes to allow for office mentality.

It came as a big shock to me over a year ago when I came face to face with that reality. Every time I turned around, I was hearing the same thing. I heard it from fiction writers, screenwriters, essayists, journalists, travel writers, and copywriters. There was no escaping the reasoning behind that truth. There was no lark singing sweet songs for the Muse that may or may not bestow creative genius while I sat at the computer trying to decide what to write for the day.

I still don’t have to like that reality. I just have to find a way to live with it and organize my writing life in a way that makes use of it in the most efficient way possible.

That’s one of the big problems for me. I have enough projects on the boards to keep me very busy for the next year without developing any new ones. Each of them takes time to write, edit, polish, and market.

Hiding in the corners of the mind sits a wee concern called enjoyment. How does the writer gain enjoyment from the work while still viewing it as a business with schedules to meet, plans to develop, schmoozing to do on social media sites, etc.? Can there be enjoyment within the process alongside all of the demands from the business?

As I sat listening to the experts talk about how much social media and its uses were necessary for a working writer, I pondered my ability to do what was necessary. I wondered if I had what it took to be the writer I want to be without having to become a slave to the changing face of the publishing world.

I can tell you that being an eclectic isn’t going to make the situation any easier. Each writer needs a platform. That’s been drilled into us all. When you write travel pieces, children’s stories/articles and hopefully books, along with social commentaries, op-ed pieces, memoir and essays, plus adult fiction, what kind of platform can you build that will work? Drop poetry into the mix and you have disaster waiting to claim the world.

Like everyone else, I want a life outside of writing. It might not happen, but one can hope. I want to be able to read books for enjoyment besides those I will do for reviews. I want to be able to do interviews for my Wordpress blog. On top of all that, I want to go out of the house on occasion to see if the rest of the world still exists and has something to show me that I can write about.

There you have my dilemma. How crowded does my daily schedule have to be to get everything into it? How much time do I have to shave off this hour or that one to allow for laundry (I can do poetry or reading then, too, during the drying cycle)? Can I make an outing a time for jotting down notes for that YA fantasy on the back burner?

If anyone has any suggestions for me on how to make scheduling work better than it’s been so far, let me know. If you have a way to cram more into a day without feeling as if deprivation of spirit is just around the corner, please, I implore you, tell me what it is. I’m counting on suggestions here, peeps. My present scheduling system isn’t working at all well anymore.

Do I really have to scale back what I want to be writing on in order to get the rest done?

Load me up with suggestions, sure-fire ways to excel, anything you have on hand will help. In return I will loan you my sure-fire ways to overload your desk while skipping joyfully down a path toward writing overload. Hey, fair is fair.

Until later,

Claudsy

Pleasure vs. Work

2011-07-29T17:47:00.000-06:00

I’ve never really looked into what a writing coach does. It never crossed my mind to inquire. A couple of years ago when I got really serious about writing, I had a well-published writer with whom I was acquainted tell me that I should be a coach.

That was the first time I heard of such a position and I certainly didn’t feel qualified for it. I’d just started in this crazy business that so many of us struggle with. I couldn’t believe that what I’d been doing during our association was anything other than friendly encouragement and suggestions.

I'm one of those who gets a high from brainstorming some one's plot, or creating characters from thin air, or floating ideas that may never come to fruition, but sound good in that moment. Let my imagination run wild and I'm a happy camper.

And no, I haven’t taken the title of Writing Coach for the shingle hanging outside my office.

I guess what I’m feeling my way toward is the fact that what seems only common courtesy and helpful information sharing also seems to be the activities that designate an actual professional job.

Case in point: when I’m looking at markets for possible sales for my own work, I carry with me a mental image of those writers whose work I know and whose talents I admire. These are writers whom I’ve been associated with for a few years; some may still be struggling toward publication, others may have sold numerous pieces.

If I come across a market that could mean a sale for one of these other writers, I take note of the link and the market needs and send the writer an email to that effect. Most of the writers I converse with on a regular basis are children’s writers. Sometimes finding a market can be devilishly difficult in a shrinking marketplace and it helps to have more than one pair of eyes scanning submission guidelines for possible matches.

It always takes me aback when the recipient of my email replies with profuse thanks as to my thoughtfulness. It makes me wonder if I’m the only one who does this. I’m not a fairy godmother dispensing markets to starving writers willy-nilly. I’m passing on information to friends who might be able to use it.

It makes me feel good to be appreciated, but that appreciation wasn’t my motivation. I just can’t understand why anyone would squirrel away a market in hopes no other writer will come across it and thereby elevate her own chances of making a sale. That is simple greed to my thinking.

I suppose I got spoiled when I began writing in earnest because my first pond of endeavor was children’s writing. And those I came to respect, appreciate, and associate with as friends were children’s writers. The group I fell in with, at ICL’s Writer’s Retreat, holds some of the most generous and caring individuals I’ve ever had the privilege of spending time with.

Unfortunately, I don’t have time to play on the Retreat right now. I have too many projects in flames, on burners, drowning, or otherwise needing my attention. It’s all I can do to find some concentration time to create new poetry, which has become another passion for me.

Those dear friends of near every age and experience level over at the Retreat still sit in the background of my days. I can hear their imaginary conversations and satirical asides as I work at the keyboard. I smile when I think of the family they’ve created at that little café along Main Street in a small town that floats on the dreams and aspirations of its patrons.

Writing coach? I don’t think so. I don’t feel I’ve been in the business long enough to really have that much to contribute to such a position. Encouraging writing friend? You betcha. If I can help, I take time for it. If I have information, I pass it on to someone who might be able to use it.

And there you have my writing philosophy for today. It’s as simple as: if you’re willing to allow others to read your words, you should also be willing to help others get their words out. One person’s view makes for a very narrow and lifeless picture. Help create the biggest picture you can.

Until later, peeps,

Claudsy

Stepping Out

2011-07-20T23:57:00.001-06:00

In the past several weeks I’ve found myself standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the rushing possibilities of my life.

I know that I night fall down and skin my knee, but it’s better than ramming my head against a stone wall.

I could paint my nails after a good shower. Then I could dress in my best color and go out to smell the flowers.

I could find a cool spot to reflect on my future and perhaps come to see the path that I must take from here.

There is a light to guide me, one which can illuminate the mundane and create art.

I’ll take the high road, though I may flounder a bit, and I’ll scale the walls of opportunity.

The mountains of work before me feel as if they could fill a valley.

Yet, at the end of the day I will have accomplished something, even if small, and that’s what counts when I sleep.

At last the day is done. Until later folks, have a good end of the week. Try something new. You never know when inspiration will strike. Whether it works the way you anticipated doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you tried something different by stepping out.

Claudsy

All photos are with permission of BJ Jones Photography

Why Does It Make Us Crazy?

2011-07-12T17:21:00.000-06:00

Those of us who live much of our day on a computer know the kind of frustration that comes with the inability to get on it and work.

This morning BJ and I were working away on our computers after putting our time in on laundry.

We had one of those “blink of an eye” power glitches” that’s so fast a person isn’t really sure if it happened. I was on me wee laptop. BJ was on her desktop. I had no problem with mine. She came up with major problems on hers.

She rebooted and knew that all was moving along, except for one thing. The monitor didn’t return to its former colorful glory. Its blank screen stared at her from across the desk, daring her to fix it. She thought it had blown its power cord and had no spare for it in the house. All the spare cords are in storage in the garage.

She turned to her laptop for solace. It came humming to life, awaiting her every whim. Her first whim was connection to the net. Alas, she was doomed to yet more frustration. Her laptop couldn’t find a server, a link, a connection, or the driving software that had been there for over 18 months. The software programs had mysteriously disappeared.

I downloaded the software from my desktop onto a flash drive. We uploaded it to her hard drive, and waited. No dice. It didn’t recognize any kind of authorization. We’d slid back behind the starting line yet again.

Speed dial still worked on my cell phone and before three rings had passed I had Best Buy on the line to enquire as to the price of a new power cord for her desktop. We could pick one up--we had to go to the store anyway later—for a mere $15-30.

By now we were used to that slide back to square one. Sorry, there is no budget for a cord. Another doomed attempt with the laptop gained no ground for her. We sat in the living room, individually thinking through where to begin again.

A bright shining glow formed above BJ’s head. “I’ve got one more thing I can try,” she said as she rose and headed for her bedroom. Naturally I followed.

When I got there, she beamed at me. “It worked.”

I looked at the monitor and saw a colored patch in the center of the screen. “I plugged it into a different socket in the power strip,” she said with enthusiasm. “The power surge must have blown just that one socket. It’s all better now.”

She works as I write this. Two pieces of advice from this new experience of ours:

1. Surge protection strips can lose a single socket from a small power glitch, so try another socket before beginning to pull out your hair, and

2. Never get between a photographer and her access to Photoshop when she’s working.

Most of us have encountered such days. Ours had a happy ending, fortunately. It didn’t cost any money—also a good thing. In all we lost nearly three hours of working time because of it. And blood pressure pills take time to work. Mine should be kicking in sometime soon. We can finally concentrate on productivity.

That’s been our day here in the North Country. I wish all of you a cool evening. We were supposed to get to 82 deg. today, but I don’t know if we’ve made it. We had a slight cool front come through this afternoon. We might make 85 deg. one day by the end of the week. It’s in the 40’s and 50’s at night. We did have a t-storm about 4 am this morning.

So, why does such an experience with our computers make us crazy? Is it the frustration of no long being the master of the machine? Is it the fear that BIG BUCKS are going to be needed to fix it? You tell me what you think it is.

Until later,

Claudsy

Freedom and Our Right to Choose

2011-07-04T13:55:00.001-06:00

Many people are taking the time today to write about freedom. The Fourth of July tends to spark our need to be patriotic. We’ll rail against this or that policy from our government’s offering plate throughout the year, but come July, patriotism sails ahead of other concerns to act as the flagship for our lives.

Me, not so much. From the time I was a child I considered myself a citizen of the world. I’ve never truly understood the need to wave flags, banners, and rhetoric about national patriotism.

It’s not that I have anything against it. I just don’t understand it and probably never will. But then, I don’t understand why any two or more groups of people find it necessary to kill thousands of others to prove a point. It’s always been my philosophy that some tribes had it right. Choose one or two champions for each group and let them have at it. The champion(s) that comes out on top wins, everyone agrees that the matter’s closed and has a feast to celebrate the end of the disagreement. Now, that’s civilized.

I wanted to talk for a bit about a different kind of freedom, though. It’s the freedom we have to CHOOSE.

Come on now, you say. That’s what Fourth of July is all about. And that’s where everyone makes their mistake.

Our forefathers had the right to choose whether they wanted to be under the thumb of King George, and they made their choice: rebellion. They chose to fight for their independence. They chose not to back down. They chose the kind of government—a republic rather than monarchy—that would rule the country.

Those are all choices they made. Those that came after chose to continue the tradition until the Civil War era. Then a few chose to leave the “Union” and become their own people. That idea got squashed because those in Washington D.C. chose to retaliate and teach the South a lesson.

Besides, there was that unsavory little social habit the South fostered called slavery. It seemed far better to eliminate both problems at once.

You see what I mean. All those choices made those events possible.

Each day we choose what words we use and what actions we take. We each have that freedom, given to us when Free Will was passed out. We all know where that came from.

For myself, I choose to watch the fireworks displays and think about how we got where we are and who made sure that I get to keep my freedom to choose. I also think about all of those choices that still lie ahead of us and speculate on which ones will float to the top for use.

My wish for everyone is that they enjoy this day. It represents more hard choices made by more people than we can wrap our heads around. Pay whatever homage is your choice and reflect on how you will use your freedom in the future.

Until later,

Claudsy

The Art of Taking Lessons

2011-07-02T10:45:00.000-06:00

For those who don’t read Glimmer Train on even a semi-regular basis, you might consider at least subscribing to their online newsletter.

Oh, I know they have monthly contests that you swear you’d never win, and there’s a fee to enter. It’s so tempting, too. Yet, in their newsletter is a wealth of reading and writing encouragement, exercise, and plenty of practical lessons in the form of the essays by prize-winning writers.

Take the newsletter that arrived in my inbox today. One essay talked about overlaying history with fiction while another spoke to using one’s deeply personal memories to capture the essence of a piece of fiction. The third told of one writer’s journey to learning how to use words precisely within their definitions but also by stretching those same definitions to cover more territory.

Each essay was short and sweet and left behind a special flavor on the tongue, forcing the reader to think about her own ways of choosing words and making each letter within them work overtime, or about how the funeral home smelled and sounded when a loved one lay in eternal sleep at the front of the room.

In a very real sense all things involve history. We decide how to present it to the world. Whether we think about it or not, all of history has colored how we think, what we feel is important, and how we choose to express our fiction.

It makes no difference whether we write for children or adults, young or old. Our own lives, as we know, get wrapped around our arms for the entire world to see the second we write a piece of fiction.

Here’s an example for you that some may not have thought of in many years. Most of us watch television on a regular basis. We have our favorite programs, whether fiction or documentary. Here are some memories of old--and not so old--programs which were fiction surrounding reality that got in your face and left you panting for another dose.

Quincy blasted into our homes for years with his crusade against ignorance and injustice. He allowed us to vent our own sense of intolerance toward those practices and issues that were reported in headlines across the country.

Marcus Welby, MD brought us knowledge of medical conditions that could endanger our lives. House took over for him a while back. The bedside manners are vastly different, but the information is no less real. And here’s something else about this comparison. Dr. Welby represented the comfortable family physician who loves his patients as family--the one we knew as children. Dr. House represents the impersonal, and many times arrogant, specimen we call “Specialist” today.

There are lessons in the simplest of places. We get to choose which ones to pay attention to and which to disregard. If we're looking for education, it's out there waiting for us. How much time we wish to spend on it is also our choice.

And if you find yourself with extra time on your hands, you could consider subscribing to John Rember’s MFA in a Box website newsletter. This long-time professor of creative writing gives the same information here as in his book by the same name.

It’s astounding the kinds of info you can get for free on the information highway should you stop long enough to read the signs. Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve run out of time. And I so wanted to tell you about the great FREE writing courses you can take from universities around the country. And they’re online, too. I'm going for a few of the ones fron MIT. I guess I’ll just have to clue you all in on that next time around.

Have a safe and fantastic holiday weekend, all. See the sparklies on the Fourth and thank a serviceman when you see hin/her.

Until later,

Claudsy

Turning the Page

2011-06-28T22:02:00.001-06:00

The past few days have been interesting to say the least. BJ and I have begun serious work on the travel book. She’s been processing photos while I deal with the text portion, etc. Her work seems to be progressing much faster than mine.

For the last several months, what with being on the road and then getting re-established here in Kalispell, I haven’t done interviews or book reviews for blogs or Amazon, either. I haven’t felt that I’d gotten settled enough yet to take on either type of activity.

A couple of days ago, though, I got an email from one of the publishers that I review for. It asked me if I’d please do reviews on their new line of ebooks. They’ve decided to put some of their books into ebook format first. Later, the manuscripts will go into print form.

About the same hour of the day, I received another email from the other publisher that I review for, which asked me to take at least one of their coming releases for review, and gave me all the pertinent data on the offerings.

While all of this is going on, I have my hands full with getting a new travel blog put together—it’s going to be awesome—as I take care of poetry book manuscripts, travel book work, keeping up with blogs, and the rest of the daily activity.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I merely surprised that so much could come together so fast and at the same time.

I know I will do a couple of reviews. I’m already thinking of whose interviews I’d like to do and how I will approach them. It sounds like a lot, but in truth, most of my real “work” of writing is that travel book which takes far more thought and consideration.

I know others among the ICL crowd and those of my connections and friends on FB, LinkedIn, and other social networks who have far more on their plates than I do. And most of them have families. Just because I’m thinking on things doesn’t mean that meaningful progress has been made toward them.

Oh, yeah, I was also approached by another writer who wanted to send clients my way if I had room for them. Someone up there must be trying to tell me something. Either that, or… oh, we don’t want to go there.

I have several pieces still to go out in the next couple of weeks. I’m keeping my fingers crossed on those. Hey, a girl can dream. Besides, rejection is good for the writer’s soul. At least I keep telling myself that.

That’s my update, gang. BJ and I have been taking small tours in the state to use for that new blog I was talking about. That camera of hers will be worn out before we know it. It’s amazing what you can see on the road at 6 am.

Take care, all. Until later,

Claudsy

Time’s Awastin’

2011-06-17T21:12:00.000-06:00

Everywhere I look, it seems, people are talking about procrastination. I go to my writer’s forums and at least one and sometimes more threads will be discussing the various forms of it and how to cure us of it. Some of my poetry sites are having the same discussions about the same subject---procrastination.

We all think about it, write about it, and talk about it—to the point of discussions in the grocery store. The other day we were wandering through the meat department and I overheard a couple of ladies talking about not being able to get started on "that new flower bed." The one lady didn’t know what was wrong with her; she always had things settled in the yard long before now.

This type of lament appears to be sweeping the nation. Is it the odd weather that we’ve been having since last December, do you think? Perhaps it’s a new virus that’s infecting the general population.

I wonder if the latter is true in its own way. What if the virus that’s taking over this country is a reflection of the hectic, non-quality lifestyle that many of us lead?

Here’s what I mean. Each of us has a list of things we “need” to get done on a given day. We’ve made that list because: a.) no one else will do those tasks and there’s a time limit on completion, b.) someone else has asked us, told us, or blackmailed us into becoming responsible for said task, c.) we look at those around us who seem to be getting so much more done with their time and we don’t want to appear under-achievers, or lazy, or ill-equipped to handle the load.

Does that about sum it up? I could add a few more reasons for those arm-long lists, but you get the idea.

This is my question. When do we get to do those things that actually make us happy, that give us great pleasure, that help us grow as people? I ask that because until three days ago, when my mind went all scattered because of a family issue, I picked up one of my comfort books.

A comfort book is one of those favorite books of ours that allow us to escape the daily issues, wrap ourselves in selfish pleasure with familiar words and feelings, and give us a chance to bring our minds back to a more balanced state. In my case it was Janet Kagan’s “Hellspark,” which is a great SF book.

I use it as a gyroscope and now know it almost by heart. Taking this time has afforded me a good look at what I’m doing as well.

Yes, I’ve taken on more projects than anyone should ever put on a schedule. Some are very long term, while others take only moments to accomplish. I’m trying to sprinkle them all with things that give me small crumbs of pleasure. I love writing almost as much as breathing. But in working on the writing for gain and publishing, I’d lost sight of why I started doing it in the first place.

I loved to read, and I wasn’t allowing myself time to do that. Now’s my chance to remedy that. I agreed to do a review for a new writer friend of mine. I haven’t done a review lately, especially non-fiction. Monday I get to release that little bit of heavenly pleasure for others to see. I will have taken some of my pleasure back from the work schedule.

I think that’s what most of us need to do more. We should do as many things as give us pleasure as those which are necessary. If we procrastinate because we’re tired of being forced—by ourselves or others—to do only those things required, are we living, growing, and stretching as people? Or, do we merely exist?

Think it over and decide for yourself. If you’d like, share your conclusions with those who drop by here from time to time. Until later,

Claudsy

Blessings and Irony

2011-06-08T12:27:00.000-06:00

I’ve been thinking for the past few days about blessings and how often we fail to take the time to count them. I’ve been trying to take the time for a few blessings each day and ruminate over them so that I can truly appreciate them.

Being thankful for the ability to write anything and have someone read it seems a petty thing. But when you think about it, it’s not petty at all. For instance, I have this blog and another, plus the website. I have poetry and short stories. There are articles around and about and essays. And now, BJ and I are putting together the beginnings of our book.

Those aren’t really petty at all. They may not garner a Pulitzer, but then I never expect to get one of those anyway. Hanging on the edges of that blessing is one other consideration.

The ability to write and have it read and appreciated is a blessing for me and others. But, what if all you could write was something for only a few and it brought them nothing but pain and sorrow? See what I mean about edges?

BJ and I went on a short car trip on Saturday, winding our way through the mountains and across the eastern high plains to Great Falls. Photos were many, but not as many as we would have liked. One of the things we noticed throughout was the river levels being so high. Flooding is going on throughout the northern Rockies and plains. Just ask Iowans about the Missouri.

We looked at the headwaters of the Missouri Saturday from its edges. It was running full and heavy. The geese and pelicans didn’t seem to mind, though. One of the little towns we drove through to get to Great Falls is called Sun River because the Sun River runs alongside it. The Sun was running high, fast, and heavy, too.

Word came down this afternoon that all roads leading into/out of that sweet little town are closed right now due to being under water. We can say that if the roads are under water, I feel for those residents that couldn’t get out in time.

We talked about the weather following us around the country while we were on tour and little of it was good weather. I had that same déjà vu feeling when I heard the news about Sun River today. Talk about irony! BJ and I discussed how high the river was as we sailed past on one of those roads on Saturday.

Speaking of irony, here’s one for you. If any of you have gone to my http://claudsy.wordpress.com/ blog, you’ll know that I posted little travel piece about our drive on Saturday. This morning I received a notice from Wordpress admin that someone had liked the post so well that a finger had been engaged in pressing the “Like” button. Admin congratulated me and told me that said reader was from Manila, Philippines.

I loved this notice. It told me that someone really enjoyed my words. The irony is that try as I might, I looked everywhere I could think of and couldn’t find a like button to click. Did they hide it? If someone knows where they keep it, let me know. I’ll start clicking. There are some marvelous postings over there each week.

My writing blessing brought pleasure to reader and to me. It brought deeper thoughts about serendipity of events and the irony that’s carried with some of those events. I’ve run the gamut this morning.

Now, you want to hear the last little topper. We’d planned on doing lower Glacier Park this morning. It began raining during the night and it’s still going. Up there it will be snow. The last word on Glacier’s Going-to-the-Sun road—it’s iffy whether they’ll be able to open the Visitor’s Center this year. Right now it’s buried in snow. That Center sits a good twenty feet above the parking lot, and they can barely find a speck of roof. It seems the Park Service did aerials on June 4.

Our temp right now is 43 degrees in Kalispell, with rain. The blessing for us—we live on the northwest side away from rivers barely below flood yesterday. We also live on the only hill around of significance and we have a second-story apt. Sometimes it pays to have irony work in your favor.

Hope you all stay dry and happy. Take care. Count those blessings, too.

Until later,

Claudsy

Mental Movies and the Things Dreams Are Made Of

2011-06-02T11:18:00.000-06:00

Since returning from our trip, I’ve found myself in a wonderfully interesting place in my head. Once I actually got accustomed to sleeping for longer snatches of time, my find began filling in the space between my ears with a large movie screen. Each night I get to sit in the front row and partake of the movie of the night.

I’m never disappointed, though there have been mornings when I remember the movie selection from the night before and wonder at the creativity involved. I’ve been on battlegrounds, along shorelines watching for ships to approach. I’ve gone on hunts on horseback amid a group of obviously experienced huntsmen. I’ve found treasure and lost loved ones. I’ve sat at table with my grandmother presiding and talked with my family, reminiscing and thoroughly enjoying myself.

It’s been a grand time of movie watching. Last night’s triple header was a real winner. A war fantasy about a Middle Eastern Princedom and the military coup that puts an insane teenager on the throne that makes things far worse than they were before began the night. Navy S.E.A.L.s and native rebels were in pitched battle while a young native woman was trying to secure her family and hold onto a method of communicating with the outside world. Secret rooms held whispered conversations among rebels. Revolting acts of brutality marred every turn of the rebels escape route. In the end, the good guys did win their freedom, but at a terrible cost.

The second feature was a light-hearted comedy starring BJ and two enamored middle-aged men who were both determined to help her with her photography. The piece got really interesting when I informed them of her ever-present phobia of heights while they readied a cherry-picker to get her high enough to take aerial photos of a particular landscape. The resulting activity had me in stitches as I watched their antics and BJ’s response to them. This, too, ended happily for all.

The last film was probably the best of the night. Jim Belushi starred in a comedy about marriage, boredom, and a wife’s determination that it turn out in her favor. I rolled through that one, mental popcorn in hand and anticipation in mind.

I woke laughing.

This is the kind of thing that’s been going on in my dream life since moving into this apartment.

I can look at those three mental flicks from last night and figure out the triggers for them. I read an article yesterday about trouble in Syria and the heavy negative response to the torture and killing of a 13 year old boy. That made for the first film of war. The scenario that followed the beginning of the dream seems a natural outcropping of that story.

The second film undoubtedly came from an incident that took place here last evening. Details aren’t important, but the trigger makes perfect sense for me.

That last dream film was probably an offshoot of the second as far as characters was concerned. My mind evidently needed the comic relief from yesterday’s frustrations. The almost slap-stick quality to it filled the bill nicely.

My question after all of this is “Do you watch full-blown mental movies in your sleep and do you know where they came from?” Another question for the writers out there is “Do you ever use these dream films for stories that you write and submit?”

On top of that question is one other about us as writers. Do we dream differently, more completely, than those who don’t write? We’re always looking for interesting bits of news to pin a story on. We scour reality, news stories, and even commercials looking for characters to sprinkle in those stories to make them unique and memorable.

How big a part do our dreams play in our creative life on paper once we’re awake?

Help me answer this question. Do you use your dreams or parts of them to write stories? Let me know by dropping an answer in a comment and leaving it behind.

Until later,

Claudsy

Karma, Kalispell, and Settling Back In

2011-05-24T19:29:00.001-06:00

Getting settled back into an apartment after being on the road for five months has its dual impressions. It’s nice to be stationary for more than a few days at a time, but at the same time it presents its own set of limitations, expectations, and curses.

When you’re on the road, if you don’t appreciate the music played by those at the next “home” site, you pick up and move the car to another site. That’s not possible with an apartment. If the neighbors fight a lot, we would have had the same recourse and the same dilemma in an apartment. The police seem an awful resort to call upon, but…

So far we’ve found ourselves with great neighbors downstairs from us. He’s helping us move in our stuff from storage. Anyone who lives above the ground floor knows what a bonus that one is.

The odd part about that is that last December Jo and I were downtown finishing up some last minute preparations just before leaving on the road. She’d just taken our Kalispell Clock snowstorm photo and we’d gone to the library for a few minutes. When we came out, we were approached by a younger man who desperately needed a lift back to his apt. complex. Seems he lived in the same one we did.

Of course, we gave him a lift. He would have frozen if he’d tried to walk home. His mother couldn’t come back to pick him up for a couple of hours. We made a stop at Wal-Mart on the way home. He came in with us to stay warm. We all made it home without incident.

And now that younger man is determined to show his appreciation for our act of kindness. What’s that old statement about “what goes around comes around”? We didn’t have a clue that it would possibly come back so quickly or be so wonderfully timely.

We’re taking it slow with the bringing our stuff in. We need the time to get things put away. And since I had a wee accident a bit over a week ago and bummed my knee, I’m no use whatsoever in the moving experience, except for feeling guilty that I can’t help.

We definitely don’t want me trying to bring anything up or down the concrete stairs. I’m not stable right now on level ground, so helping is out of the question. As a result, my cane and I sit, trying to remain out of everyone’s way. Putting my office/bedroom together and getting it back up and running is going to take a bit more time than originally planned, I’m afraid.

On top of all that, I haven’t yet found the power cord for my desktop computer. I have everything else but that one cord. Until I can find that I can’t get myself into my big computer. Thank God for a little brother who loves me and is generous.

The cable guy came this morning to connect the internet. Guess what! It still isn’t working. Oh, the service comes in but our computers aren’t recognized by it and the security key we use isn’t recognized by the system as viable. So here we sit with more computers than many small businesses and we can’t use the internet that’s flowing into the apartment. Whew! Finally found the problem. Almost had a coronary there for a minute.

How’s that for irony. We’ve been pulling the net in from the open air for nearly three weeks and still can’t get regular net in the apartment. It’s great having a business across the street with public wi-fi that we can use, but we’d like to have our own now. God willing we’ll have that problem taken care of before noon.

There you have a peek at our day so far. I’ll leave you with one piece of advice. Kindness comes around unexpectedly and from the oddest corners. Remember our downstairs neighbor? One of his predecessors in that apartment helped us move in to the previous apartment we had here. Now you have the rest of the story.

Until later,

Claudsy

Wordplay and the Writer

2011-05-18T15:00:00.000-06:00

What can you do with an oxymoron?

The average writer can take almost any oxymoron and use it for the basis of a good story or article. Take this one, for example:

Why do we sing "Take me out to the ball game" when we are already there?

Think about this for a moment. Okay, here’s one option. What about writing a short story about a kid going to a ball game, who asks that question of his father. The child’s father can’t answer the question to his satisfaction. The boy asks a few people sitting close by, none of whom have a ready answer, either.

At last he meets a slightly older boy who’s obviously standing with his father. The older boy looks at him as asks, “What do you think they do it?”

The young boy looks around at the spectators, along the bleachers to his own father who’s avidly perched on the edge of his seat. He remembers the smiles on everyone’s faces while they sing that old favorite and the laughter at the end. He sees how energetic people are as they watch the game.

The boy turns back to the older one and says, “They’re celebrating a day off work, aren’t they? They all get to come here and play.” He’s so pleased that he finally understands why adults do something in particular.

One oxymoron, one possible story.

Here’s another easy one that can create an interesting article for adults or children.

Doesn't "expecting the unexpected" make the unexpected expected?

This question creates an interesting puzzle. Since the word “expecting” negates the other verb tense “expected,” the result should be a null action. But, is it? If you ask any good Boy Scout, the Scout Motto demands that very action on the part of each member. Always being prepared means to be prepared for whatever comes, much of which will be the unexpected.

An article discussing that very motto and its implications could work for all ages and both genders. Examples of preparedness along with examples of unexpected events can be used to educate about such things as disaster pre-planning. There are more than enough good examples of disasters from the news over the past three months. The subject is a timely one.

A writer can sometimes turn something as innocuous as an oxymoron to their benefit. Using a simple reference point can make a writer’s life much easier when in need of a short piece to use as filler and still get paid for it.

I’d like to hear the types of subjects others use for putting together small articles. What kind of odd triggers do you use? Drop your experience in a comment and share with the rest of us.

Until later,

Claudsy

Headlines, Toed-lines, and the Gut

2011-05-14T13:53:00.001-06:00

Curious or just confused?

Each day, whether delivered on the ether, on television, or in the daily paper we are inundated with headlines of things that happened near and far. What we do with those headlines is an individual choice.

Most people discuss the story and its impact, or the story and its cause. Implications run the gamut of pros and cons. There are those who obsess on the story, especially if it involves a celebrity. Some dismiss the news almost as soon as it’s been heard.

On the sidelines sits the writer. Headlines represent a wealth of story ideas, research possibilities, and general interest. So many gems of plot potential exist in the average bold print of the front page, including those headlines that mislead the reader in some way. If you don’t believe me, watch Leno for his take on headlines. He tantalizes his audience once a week with bold-print words from local papers sent to him by viewers.

Okay, that takes care of headlines. How about those toed-lines? What’s a toed-line, you ask. It’s the line of distinction a person doesn’t cross for the sake of self-interest.

Remember those headlines mentioned about celebrities? Here’s an example of how someone couldn’t toe the line.

It was reported this morning on Yahoo! that CPS visited Mariah Carey when she and her husband brought her new twins home from the hospital. It had been reported to the agency that drugs and alcohol had been used in the hospital room after the birth of the twins. Is the allegation true? No. It’s believed that a chance remark made about beer and breast milk production by someone in the room had been overheard and misinterpreted by a passerby.

The headline, to be sure, impelled any reader interested in the entertainment industry to read further. Yes, readership of the magazine increased, but to what end? Money? Perhaps not. What did the good-Samaritan receive for making the accusation? Self-satisfaction, maybe?

The magazine checked the facts. The person who began the story by reporting a falsehood to CPS obviously didn’t check those facts before jumping to a misjudgment and creating the subsequent distress for new parents and their families. In the end it’s unimportant that this happened to celebrities.

What’s important about this story is that it happened to any new parents. For the average new parent, it’s unlikely that a national magazine would investigate the truth of the allegation. Instead, lives would/could be permanently damaged, if not destroyed.

Us Magazine toed the line. The accuser didn’t. What about the writer who reads this story for an explanation of that headline?

This is where the gut comes in. Here’s a fantastic opportunity for an article, story, or book. There are slants, angles, and genres waiting to be utilized for such a juicy premise. Women’s fiction, horror, non-fiction expose, and YA fiction all vie for possible avenues of use.

The Gut tells the writer whether to use the story, how much of it to use, the angle, slant, etc. that will work the best for whatever purpose desired. That gut reaction depends on the writer's moral stance, experience, and preference. It also depends on timing. If the need for extensive research exists for a proposed use, the writer may choose a quicker use for the information.

I’m not interested in using this premise. It’s not my kind of story. There are many writers who would take it and run with it, though, and rightfully so. It has potential to become a winner.

This example helps define what I call Headlines, Toed-lines, and the Gut. More potential material exists in the daily headlines than any writer has a right to expect. Choosing to use them requires thought and discretion much of the time. Without fail, the Gut will tell the writer what to use and how to use it. All the writer needs is trust in her personal choices.

Tell me how you choose a storyline. Share how you decide when to use headlines in a project.

Until later,

Claudsy

Kalispell, Comparisons, and Creating Books

2011-05-06T11:21:00.000-06:00

Any time you’re away from a place for an extended period of time, you take a good hard look at it when you return.

Sister Jo and I returned to Kalispell Monday. Given my poor eyesight, it generally takes me a bit longer to pick up on changes along city streets. This time I didn’t have any difficulty spotting some of the changes.

Our list of notations began before we arrived in Kalispell. They started along the I-90 from the Idaho state line. The high north-country had moved from winter’s grip into its other season—construction.

By the time we entered Kalispell we were mentally prepared for other observations to add to our list of changes.

A car dealership gone from one street, a new building going up on another, the new highway bypass opened up with the requisite stoplight all made for immediate notation. Work begun on the perimeter of the apartment complex parking lot in December had begun again this past week. Winter hiatus was finished evidently.

There were small signs of change everywhere.

One of the things we had to get accustomed to on the road was the fact that change happens quickly, though some flavors linger over distance. We recognized the fact that we constantly remembered certain aspects of the places we left behind. It takes little to recall a place that has affected us in some way. The result is an automatic comparison to where we are now and an evaluation of which is better and why.

The funny part is that even little kids do this “I remember when… and it was… I think I liked it better then.”

So it has been for us throughout our trip. When we returned to Montana, we got to do it again but with many more comparisons. We had all of that knowledge from our previous life here and all that we’d experienced while on the road. I’ve noticed that it makes for a heady combination.

How does one compare the Redwoods with Glacier Park? Which is better—a beach or lakeside? Is there a better?

You see the difficulty, I’m sure. I find myself trying to decide where we found the best food, or whether the people here are as friendly and helpful as those we found in Tennessee, or if I’ll be able to find pine needles here as long as the ones I found in Idaho to make my pine-needle baskets.

On top of all that is the knowledge that we get to travel this mental road every day we work on our book. I have this virtual picture of us sitting around our work area doing an imitation of “This Is Your Life” and arguing about the virtues of each place and how it affected us and why or just what happened at that convenience store we patronized at that last little beach town along the Oregon coast.

I’ve already begun the comparisons. In the end that is part of this process that we must go through in order to put together our thoughts for our book. They are necessary for the writing and the layout design.

I wonder, though, if we all don’t continually write our lives’ books from those small, silent comparisons of things seen, conversations voiced, and people known. Are we, when all is said and done, merely a compilation of comparisons from our years of life?

I know that memoirs are something we all have. The question is—do they make us what we are? You tell me.

Until later,

Claudsy

Making the Most of Memories

2011-04-29T15:52:00.002-06:00

Memoir is making a comeback as most editors can tell you. It isn’t just the big publishers who’re trolling for good pages of memories. Magazines are just as interested in finding passages from one person’s memories that will resonate in another person’s mind.

Literary magazines seek memoir in a variety of genres. Everything from a boy’s first soapbox race experience to a girl’s first brush with love fascinates readers when delivered with finesse, humor and/or poignancy. Editors know this and sit on the river bank of possibility, fishing for the perfect submission to float by, ready to be reeled in.

Plucking the perfect memory to expand into an essay can happen quickly. You only have to hear someone tell about a recent event or see a commercial on television. A similar memory flashes through your mind that is vivid, exciting, and filled with details to entice a listener. Within an eye blink you’re inside that memory, breathing in the sensations that riveted you back then.

If you believe that others have had similar experiences or that they have felt as you did, you have the makings for a memoir subject. The trick is finding its length of memory strength and subject direction.

Memory and Subject Usage

Just because you have decided on the memory doesn’t mean that the heavy work is done. Once a specific recollection is chosen, what aspect of it are you going to use for your essay or story?

This choice can make or break the impact of the finished work. Everything else hinges on this choice. If you have a specific market in mind to approach, the subject will have to be something they will appeal to that market.

If your memory concerns how long it took you to choose your wedding gown from all the available dresses at the local shop, it wouldn’t appeal to a magazine which specializes in disabilities. If, on the other hand, it reveals your wedding dress selection as based on the fact that you happened to be on crutches due to a recent injury, that disabilities magazine might leap on such an unusual slant to the question of disability and everyday life.

You could take that same memory and use it for a memoir piece from a sports slant, especially if said injury came on the ski slopes. In this one, you don’t have to mention the dress selection, but rather, concentrate on the injury and the mental upheaval that occurred when facing your wedding on crutches. It could end with admiration for those who function each day knowing that the inconvenience of crutches is a permanent thing.

In the end, whichever richly detailed memory is chosen, the subject for a memoir drawn from it can vary in emphasis and direction. Much depends on what use you wish to make of it and the medium you’ve selected to receive your manuscript.

Length of Memory Strength

This expression denotes the strength of memory being relived coupled with the calculated length of written piece sparked by this memory.

Here’s an example.

A memory of swimming with friends at the local creek sparks many memories that can tie into it. There is a memory of having dear old Dad through you into the deeper water to “teach you to swim” and how your terror kept you from taking to the water for another ten years. That memory ties to one with your first “official” swim instructor and the crush you had on him until you learned that he only liked redheads.

This line of memory (and we all have ones like it) creates a timeline for either an article or a story. For an article, the writer can flesh out each strong mental impression and create a piece on the consequences of mile-marker events in a person’s life. On the other hand, the article could revolve around only the fear-driven experience and the scars that ensued, or how the father’s action changed the relationship between child and parent. The permutations are endless, depending on how many memories were sparked and their quality or importance.

Once the decision is made regarding how the memory is going to be used, the critical factor is how long the article or story will run. Consider it the petal vs. blossom question. It could run very short (under 400-600 words) as a personal experience piece for a children’s magazine. It could go between 1500-2000 words for a popular magazine as personal experience, as well. Two thousand to 5000 words could take the memoir to literary magazines that are looking for more detail, critical thinking, and expertise.

Standing above the rest is the book-length manuscript. Many book publishers are looking for well-written memoirs of varying types for their lines. Some want manuscripts from celebrities or public figures. Others snag those from people who know people (the starlet’s personal assistant, for instance.) Still others will consider superbly written manuscripts from the ordinary man or woman.

Some of the time humor is selected over other considerations. Geographical or historical relevance can also help trigger interest from publishers. Every book deal has its own deciding factors.

One Way for Making Memoir Work

My writing for the next year or so will utilize huge amounts of travel memory and its central role in articles. After so many months on the road, I have more material than I can ever use on just about every subject imaginable.

Much of it I’ll use for literary. There are tons of bits for children’s magazines. Still more can go to trade magazines and travel markets.

The book, at least for now, will center on the changes that took place within Sister Jo and me as a result of the places we visited and what we experienced. That subject has distinctly personal reverberations. As well, the manner in which we chose to approach the project makes it more unique. Once that one’s finished, we can discuss others with different slants.

We have a few more days to explore before settling down again. I hope your memoirs are as rich as ours. It’s never too early to begin thinking about the past and how it can be used.

Until later,

Claudsy

From Beach to Volcano in One Day

2011-04-24T19:25:00.000-06:00

Our new location is far up the West Coast. We left Paso Robles and moved up through San Francisco and Marin County. Once we got into the Redwoods we found so much to capture our interest.

One thing that hadn’t changed from when we came down the coast back in December was the pricing on campgrounds for tenters. At $35/$45 per night, they had priced themselves into economic hurt. The problem was that private campgrounds tending to be less expensive, when we could find them, than those in the State Parks.

One resident, in the Redwood forest area, told us that the state government had lost its mind to be charging those kinds of fees in years like this. We didn’t disagree with her at all. Few of the campgrounds we passed were even half full of RVer’s and few accommodated tenters.

This section of California is so beautiful and so big that seeing all of it would take weeks. Vineyards are just as available that far north along the coast as they are further south. Giant trees loom along the roadsides, giving the largest herd of Roosevelt elk a protected place to reside.

We caught part of that herd early one morning. The cows and young females were looking for handouts at one of the local campgrounds. Some of the young bulls were acting as sentinels at one of the state part entrances along the 101. With their antlers in velvet and their minds on relaxation, they didn’t bother to move when we stopped to snap photos.

We saw more elk in that park half an hour later. No deer put in an appearance. A few squirrels scampered among the trees, but they were much faster than a camera shutter.

By the time we made Crescent City, California, we had overdosed on redwoods and were ready for beaches again. And our sojourn from CA in OR didn’t disappoint us at all.

Our last stop along the Oregon coast was South Beach. We stayed in a nice campground there among the trees and the protective dunes. We shared the space with a troupe of small vintage RVs, some prize winners. A tour group in a school bus took one end of the park for teen girls toting personal tents. Everyone turned in early, though, which meant we could all sleep pretty well.

We left that park this morning and moved north. At Lincoln City we turned onto Hwy 18 and went east to hit the I-5. From there we moved through the upper end of that Oregon area, through the farms, groves, vineyards, and orchards of the Willamette Valley. Portland was an easy crossing today. I know, odd, huh?

Once inside Washington State, we took a detour at Castle Rock to make a sojourn up the mountain to see Mt. St. Helens as she stands now. Irony reigned today, though. It sprinkled as we drove up to the upper Visitor’s Center. At that point St. Helens stood swathed in cloud cover. We continued upward from the Center. By the 1800 ft. level, the mists had lowered even further.

We made the decision that further exploration was pointless and turned back down mountain. Halfway down it began raining in earnest. Toward the bottom, rain pounded the car. When we turned back onto the I-5, the sun popped out. Now, an hour later, the sun is still out. I guess the mountain didn’t was to wave hello today.

We’ll be leaving this McD’s soon to find our camping spot for the night. Tomorrow we’ll move on to Tacoma where we’ll spend time with Sister Jo’s kids and grandkids before turning east once again.

I hope you continue to stop by to see our reports. Be sure and comment on anything that strikes your fancy.

Until then,

Claudsy

Another Departure Looms

2011-04-18T12:54:00.000-06:00

Yes, we're leaving first thing in the morning for parts north. We've been dawdling in Central California. Our friends here may miss us after we leave, but we’ll certainly miss them more. They’ve spoiled us rotten. The kids (read that as one dot and two exotic birds) have kept us entertained each day. And we’ve had wondrous weather while we were here that we could not fail to miss our resting time here.

My writer friend, Mikki, and I have had the opportunity to talk writing, and projects, and gripe about all those things that writers feel the need to vent about. It’s been marvelous. I don’t get the chance to do that face to face normally. It’s gonna hurt, giving that up.

After our opportunities to roam beaches, watch elephant seals, and tour local wineries, we have plenty of material for whatever projects we wish in future. We've sampled local produce from the open air market, enjoyed meals at the local eateries, and generally luxuriated in California's Central Coast environs. That's not bad for an otherwise stormy April in the rest of the country.

Were we privileged? You betcha, and we don't feel one whit of guilt over it, either. Oh, yeah, we've enjoyed ourselves very well, thank you very much.

So, today we’ll get the last of our laundry done, repack the car toward evening, get ice in the cooler tonight, get final showers taken, and God willing, get my hair cut. Before bed, we have to get the car gassed up as well. We’ll pull out first thing in the morning, coffee in hand, and good-byes on our lips.

We’ll try to remain smiling, but it will be hard. We’re part of their herd now, according to Dylan, their Corgi. He believes we belong here, not out wandering the highways in search of new sights and interests. And we feel the same way about Mikki and Richard.

Once we get on the road, though, and point the car north, we’ll do Monterrey first, where we hope to do the aquarium during our stop. Neither of us has seen it. Now’s our chance.

From there we’ll move on to the Redwoods where we plan to camp for a couple of days at the least. Of course, assuming the primal urge doesn't force us to remain longer so that we can soak up all that serenity, we’ll try to keep it down to a couple of days. I’ve camped there once before, back in the nineties¸ and know the spell with which the forest blankets the area.

We’re not putting an itinerary on the calendar this time in any form. When we feel like stopping, we will. When we need to move on, we will. Much of our return will depend on how we feel on any given day. We’re old enough now to allow ourselves that luxury.

So now you know why we’re taking our time going back. We want to spend a few hours in San Francisco, too. We’re both looking forward to that.

The Oregon coast calls to us along Highway 1, the scenic highway. Sunsets along there and the lighthouses there make for great photo ops. That drive also allows for great photos.

In the Tacoma area we’ll take the time to see Jo’s kids and family for a couple of days before heading east along I-90. We’ll see her oldest son in Central Washington during that trek. We won’t be able to get into an apartment until the middle of the month of May, so there’s no real hurry. It’s not snowing here at the moment. It is up there.

And there you have the situation with us. We’ve had our ups and downs, mostly with the weather and the continuing rising costs of gasoline and, consequently, everything else. We just didn’t budget for that kind of rise in costs.

Yet, when we look back, we managed to huge amounts of material and experience in 20 states in five months, and much of that while stationary in only a few of them. That’s not a bad track record, don’t you think? The really hard part will come after we re-establish ourselves in Kalispell. Jo gets to put in months of work in PhotoShop while I work on the book and the articles for magazine submission. If luck and writing perseverance prevail, those articles will help us put money back in the savings account. So, keep those fingers crossed.

I can’t promise when I’ll get to post on anything again after today, so you’ll just all have to keep an eye peeled for the slightest blip on your radar screens. I’ll try to pop in again before getting back to Kalispell.Take care and God bless.

Claudsy

Memoir--We All Do It

2011-04-10T12:38:00.000-06:00

In Lee Gutkind’s book, “Keep It Real,” he discusses the many aspects of creative non-fiction. (For those who don’t know, Lee Gutkind is the founder and editor of Creative Non-Fiction, the journal.) In one section he talks about The Memoir Craze.

The section isn’t long as descriptions go, but it has everything one needs to consider when thinking of writing any piece of memoir. Of course, the reason for that is because he’s so thoroughly covered the other aspects of the technical considerations of writing non-fiction—creative or otherwise.

One of the best, and for me most telling paragraphs, says this of memoir…

“When you look at our tendency these days to interface with technology rather than one another, perhaps the surprise is not that memoirs are flourishing but that anyone questions the trend. Neuropsychologists are discovering that the impulse for story is likely hard-wired into our brains. The less we talk to one another, the more our personal narratives—our confessions, our dark sides, our recitations of the things we do in secret—with seek other ways to emerge, finding voice in the genre of memory.”

Reading this paragraph begs any storyteller to delve back into personal memory just to prove the assumption of brain hard-wiring as it pertains to them. The question arises as to how long the writer has personally lived inside a storyline that pleads to be told to someone else. The storyteller also learns that the affliction of ever-present swirling plot ideas and character profiles is something to be endured whether they make it to print or not.

For bloggers, professional or not, the memoir is a mainstay of posting something for whoever drops by to read it. Trolling for new opportunities to learn about a person nets the surfer a load of disparate choices.

When people socialize face-to-face, they discuss the day’s events, philosophy, experiences, etc. Much of that interaction is pure memoir. Humans emphasize their political views by sharing memories. They use personal experience to declare their life’s philosophies and attitudes. All of a personal’s experiential history gets filtered in micro-seconds for the perfect—or not-so perfect—example to wedge into conversation.

If you listen to children when they’re “talking things over,” they often refer back to past experience to make their points. Do they learn that technique by modeling their parents, or do they come by it naturally? According to Gutkind’s book, experts believe it’s a natural tendency.

The cliché example of the memoir storyteller involves the hunter/fisherman. Fishermen gathered around any stationary object, such as dining table or campfire, use memoir use discourse for opinion pieces on everything from travel recommendations and “factual” reporting of fish population conditions to forecasting conditions five years hence.

Hunters talk about game population conditions, both physiological and habitat, and go on to a complete consumer report on ammunition and arms power. The gamut of subject matter also includes family related information about preparations to marital relations. Personal history and future aspirations are all brought out and aired before the council of game experts gathered for the purpose.

Let’s face it. Humans can’t go one day without referring to one memory or another. We use time-line reference for everything from clock time to calendar time. We rear our children based on memory, work according to past experiences with the activity and expectations, and even worship as we’ve learned to do so.

The very act of learning requires that memory be used each and every minute of the day. Otherwise, each moment would be as fresh and new as the one that came before it. We wouldn’t be able to learn at all.

What astounds me is that it’s taken neuropsychologists so long to come to their conclusion. Every writer knows that without memory there is no story. The writer, whether working in non-fiction or fiction, recognizes the invaluable benefit of memory and memoir to the written word.

It’s not every day that experts validate the truth of what writers take for granted. And Gutkind was gracious enough to put that nugget of official validation out into the world for us all to see. For that, and ever so much more, I applaud him.

Anyone who would like to know what other gems of insight Lee sprinkles into literature should drop by his website: www.creativenonfiction.org/ You’ll find more than you thought possible in that compact website. Creative Non-Fiction journal is also a must for the non-fiction specialist or dabbler.

On that note, I’ll leave you for today. Have a great week, whatever your activity.

Until later,

Claudsy

A Sighing Do-over

2011-04-02T09:20:00.001-06:00

In that pre-dawn hour, just after the early morning bathroom run and crawling back into bed, comes a time when Muse takes her dipper of brilliance and sprinkles profound and inspired thoughts through the near-slumbering mind. The mind pursues these wisps of creative wonder along pathways destined to come to naught. Sleep again overtakes thought, and morning finds only hints of earlier mental journeys.

Why do so many of us never learn from our frustration? Why can’t we allow ourselves to get out of bed and use that hour to write down all of those magnificent ideas and ponderings? It’s not as if we’re going to forget that we had them; we only forget what “they” were about.

This morning I had half an essay written in my head—a nice lyrical piece on this subject. When I woke, it was all gone, except for the initial idea for the piece. Frustration, directed at myself, ensued.

Dr. Wayne Dyer postulates that when a person wakes for unknown reasons early in the morning, it is due to higher powers speaking to the sleeper. Dr. Dyer never identifies the higher power but allows the individual to make a personal interpretation of the term. He goes on to say that the best and most inspired writing, painting, or whatever creative outlet the person uses, comes during that time just after the pre-dawn wake-up call.

I must agree with him, for that is when my mind is the most free from daily concerns, sees the world in the least cluttered way, and has the most fluid writing ability. I agree and would like to accommodate that axiom of taking that free-thought time for writing.

The problem is that sleep tempts me too well. There is always a dream to finish so that I have an ending to that particular storyline. Or, I didn’t get into bed until the wee hours of the night and haven’t had enough sleep to keep me awake to do more than make that bathroom run.

Sleep and its many guises will become an issue again after tonight. BJ and I are beginning the last leg of our tour just after dawn tomorrow. Neither of us sleeps well nor long while on the road. We’ve learned all about that already.

There will be many very early mornings in the coming month, some far earlier than we’d wish. My wish is that with all the new sights and adventures, inspiration will become more delegated to regular working hours and not to those frequently interrupted ones devoted to sleep. There are times when only a sigh and a do-over will suffice.

One question haunts me sometimes. I wonder how many Pulitzers, Nobel’s, Oscars, etc. have been left at Muse’s doorstep because the sleeper couldn’t be bothered to write down the words on the calling card?

Until later,

Claudsy

Sirens Aren’t Only For Emergencies

2011-03-23T15:43:00.000-06:00

Whether you’re a blogger or novelist or merely jot down letters that go to Aunt Tilly, you’re answering a call of some kind. People listen with heads, hearts, and ears. The only thing that differs from one time to the next is what they’re listening to.

And if a writer listens hard enough, she might just come to special territories yet uncharted.

Self-Discovery

When I got serious about writing a few years ago, I thought I’d stick to one genre and deviate only by age group. Children’s writing allowed for that choice. Along the way to seriousness I discovered many things.

After working on short stories for children, ages second grade and younger, I realized that I don’t have the knack of writing for very young children. I like those stories and books written for the age bracket. It hurt to learn that writing for that age wasn’t my long suit. I can’t think in the same vein they do. I’m much better creating stories for older children.

Along the way, too, I learned that I liked working in non-fiction more than fiction, which scared me silly. There are many exciting ideas out there in the real world that could excite a child. I wanted to be one of those who excited and entertained them with such stories. At the time I had a marvelous editor, who had faith in me and told me that my strength was non-fiction.

Why is it that other writers recognize our strengths long before we can?

In addition to that, I began writing for adults, both non-fiction and fiction. Poetry came into the mix, as well. I was one of THOSE writers; I found true pleasure only when writing in multiple genres for many audiences at the same time.

Enter the Dabbler

My nemesis had returned. I was a true dabbler, with fingers and toes in mud pies everywhere, never satisfied any other way. I should have known. I’d dabbled in hundreds of things during my life. As soon as I mastered them, I was off and running toward something new and different.

Was my nomadic lifestyle trait going to take over every aspect of my life? It seemed so. Knowing my past, I could attempt a prediction of my future in writing. I studied and wrote for children and young adults when I began. I moved on to study more and to write for other writers. I segued into poetry only to find a different type of joy and expression. From there, I jumped over to the journalistic side of the house with local interest pieces and travel.

What Now?

Now the most serious work begins. I can finish my journalistic studies and move onto my first book in that arena. While I work on that with my sister and photographer partner, I can split the rest of my time with work on poetry projects, plotting and preliminary work on a women’s novel. When time allows, I’ll dabble in two different fantasy worlds for YA. Odd moments will find me working on articles and short stories for magazines and Yahoo.

A couple of years may pass before I get all of those projects done. I’ve learned a few things from NaNoWriMo, though. Plotting doesn’t take forever any more, since I learned how to plot from a few experts.

Besides, every writer knows that the initial writing doesn’t have to take years for a book today. It’s the rewrites, tweaking, querying, grabbing an agent’s attention and contract, and then marketing it to publishers and readers. That’s where the time lays waiting. Unless, of course, you’re building major universes to live in like some of the greats have done.

I’m also realistic enough to know that some of those projects will fall by the wayside. I’m doubly blessed in that I have terrific writer friends who will give me a good swift boot where it counts if I don’t do the best job I can on any project. They’ll hold my hand when my characters turn traitor and abandon me in the midst of a crisis. Laughter will take me by surprise when I’m most in need of it.

A writer’s circumstances ebb and flow with the Moon’s cycles as do the tides. Procrastination wars with frantic productivity and creative exuberance. I’ve climbed into my baby writer’s rowboat and placed my hands on the oars. My only decision of the moment concerns which port-o-call holds the greatest allure. Muse sirens call to me.

I cast my glance toward a distant shoreline named Journey and begin with the first stroke. I have heard that the destination isn’t as important as steps taken to get there. Each stroke of the oars will move me ever closer, but what will each stroke reveal along the way? That’s a question that can only be answered as they happen.

Until we meet here again,

Claudsy

Weekly Wrap-Up

2011-03-17T18:48:00.002-06:00

The last few days have been lazy ones for me—totally unrelated to writing, or socializing, for that matter. It had nothing to do with desire for solitude or lack of ideas. Rather, it had to do with chaos and instability of direction for those days.

Sounds gloomy, doesn’t it? It wasn’t. Instead, the hours have been used for reading and contemplation. I studied part of the time, both books on writing and those for pleasure. Of those for pleasure I managed to use those for study as well. I studied what it was about those particular writers and their stories which kept my attention and how the story’s construction was done.

I must admit that I can only do the latter type of study on books that I know really well. If I like a new story, my only attention is on the story itself, not on its construction. The only thing that will stop my eyes from their scanning is a typo or awkward sentence, etc.

I’m also readying to get a card for the local library. I'm staying with cousins in a small town, you see. They have a credible library that has a wonderful children’s section. I spent a couple of hours in that section just the other day. Soon I’ll go in, present my IDs and get my very own card to the local book lender.

I’ve been collecting library cards for many years now. I have several. I’ve always considered the possession of a library card to be the official citizenship ID. It may not stand up in the legal system, but without it, a prospective book borrower is doomed to failure.

I may only be here for another month or so, but I will have access to resources that I can’t carry around in the car with us. That’s a real plus. Besides, I like the smell of libraries.

Clouds and rain showers kept photo ops to a minimum these last few days. Jo did get to shoot a wedding last weekend, which was a bonus for her. She got to be in the wedding and shoot part of it. She had a great time doing that.

We did take the opportunity to go down to Honor Heights Park in Muskogee one day. That park celebrates the entire month of April each year with their Azalea Festival. Several years ago severe ice storms early in the year decimated the park and its largest shrub and tree specimens. Those in charge have replanted since and the park fairly bristled with visitors the day we spent time there.

Resident ducks and geese favored those making free with goodie bags with their attention. Quacks and honks kept the air filled with sound. Children ran and played while parents looked on. Other families gathered for picnics at tables dotting the grounds.

Early summer has come to Oklahoma. It was 78 deg. here today and in the mid-90s in OK’s far SW corner. Tomorrow we’re supposed to be in the low 80s here and warmer south of us. Everyone else’s mild spring is the beginning of summer here. It’s the same nearly every year.

That’s the local report from NE Oklahoma. I have done little writing, though there’s been plenty of planning. The next week may prove very productive. I hope so.

Here’s hoping your week has been to your liking, everyone. Take care, study hard, and have fun.

Until later,

Claudsy

Diving for Answers

2011-03-07T22:00:00.000-07:00

Like most writers I know, time and its use hold importance to me. Life’s circumstances dictate time’s use and my mental athlete runs the race around the clock. Whether that race is designed for rats or not is irrelevant.

Decades ago, Frank Herbert, the brilliant creator of other worlds, made a statement that still rings true. “I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when my fear is gone I will turn and face fear's path, and only I will remain.” Paul Atreides, the MC Herbert’s masterpiece, “Dune,” said it well.

Symptoms of Fear

That niggling flutter in the pit of your stomach signals fear’s presence. That quaver in a voice tells more than spoken words. Sleeplessness caused by tension-filled muscle tissue disrupts therapeutic slumber.

Sound familiar? Some form of the question “What am I so afraid of?” falls from your lips. Your mind may or may not have the answer at that moment. The question mark hangs, dangling like a hangman’s noose, waiting to strangle your forward momentum.

Our lives are bombarded with images to instill fear. We carry around cell phones just in case something happens that necessitates our immediate attention. Some people panic at the thought of not having their phones or iPads with them.

A writer’s fears are no different, except when it comes to their work. A ditch digger doesn’t worry whether his skills are good enough to get the job. The guy at the newsstand doesn’t spend time wondering if he’s up to doing his job. Most people get along each day knowing that they’re doing their best.

It’s not always that easy for writers.

What’s the worst that could happen?

For writers like me who have yet to hit the “big time,” the noose labeled fear is a constant companion to some degree. Once I’ve asked myself that aforementioned question, I must identify the immediate fear culprit. Dealing with intimidating fear requires personal honesty.

If the fear focuses on querying a market about a story, etc., I ask, “What is the worst that can happen?” If I’m honest with myself, I say, “They could reject it.”

The answer to most questions is “Yes” or “No.” It’s that simple. In this case, the real question I’m asking myself is “Is this story good enough to get accepted by this market?” Remember, the underlying fear centered on the query and the market.

Once the “good enough” question gets an answer, another question pops up. “Am I a good enough writer to have this piece accepted?” Anything less than an immediate affirmative reply reveals the real question.

Fear tends to pool deep within. Again, I come to the “Yes” or “No” portion of the exercise. The answer to this next question takes pondering because it’s asking about belief in one’s self. The final question asks, “Will I ever be any good at this or should I quit now?”

I know a lot of writers and I’ve never heard any of them say that this last question hasn’t crossed their minds. At the end of the day we all wonder if we’re good enough at something specific; writing, drawing, competitive riding, advertising, making a paycheck, etc.

Finding the value in an answer

We ask ourselves if the activity is worth it and the time spent on it. If we’ve been honest with ourselves along the way, we can answer the question about “Worth” and being good enough.

All it takes is personal honesty. I work hard at writing. I enjoy the process of putting words together to create meaningful image. If an editor rejects my story idea, at least one person has read it. I can always try to place the story again. One person’s rejection of one idea means little in the writing world. Ask Stephen King or any other renowned writer about rejection. Writers like Jane Yolen actually post their rejection experiences.

Whether the fear focuses on writing activity or studying for the next test in school, it always takes a toll. It prevents forward movement in our lives. It sidetracks our faith in our own abilities or interests. It destroys relationships with others. And it does all that with our blessing when we don’t confront it and ask the real questions behind it.

Like all things reaching out from the unknown behind that creaky door on the movie screen, fear demands our attention. The more attention we give it, the more we miss, away from that focal point.

Paul Atreides may be a character fulfilling his fated destiny, but the writer behind the character knew a great truth and shared it with everyone. “I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when my fear is gone I will turn and face fear's path, and only I will remain.”

Once we understand what has been driving our hesitation, we can get behind the wheel and drive ourselves. That’s a gift we can give ourselves each day for the rest of our lives. That gift is also part of our "worth."

I wonder how many don’t realize that they’ve only been a backseat driver in their own vehicle all these years. I know it took most of my life to finally understand.

Here’s hoping I’ve sparked a bit of self-discovery or discussion among those who come to my table.

Until later, take care, all, and God bless.

Claudsy

Riding That Mental Train

2011-02-26T23:01:00.003-07:00

For the past few days I’ve been using my creativity in other ways than writing. Most of all, I crocheted. That doesn’t seem like much on the surface. In a very real sense it was time well spent.

Not only did I end up with a beautiful, hand-made gift for a writer friend of mine, but during those hours with yarn and hook, I worked out the primary outline for an adult novel. I learned the complete backstory of the main character, some of the secrets held by secondary characters, decided whether the book would be a mystery, romance, basic mainstream effort, or something else. That's a good couple of days.

Letting the Juices Flow

I consider that working. Others may disagree. When characters come calling, though, I tend to listen to their pitches at least. I can always say “yay” or “nay” later to any proposed project.

This one kept my interest without even trying. A woman trained to be subservient and expected to remain in her role is old hat, I know. What if that woman leads a separate and secret life? That’s the premise of the novel. Add a death and the writer—me—has something that can go in several directions.

That’s why I crocheted. That singular activity allows my mind freedom to roam the prospects of plotting, character development, etc. while still producing something else at the same time. Sewing can’t do the job; too much concentration and focus required.

Crocheting, on the other hand, can be as mindless or focused as a person wants to make it. It equates to plotting in the shower for me. And every writer knows that the best ideas come while your head is under water.

Don’t You Already Have a Project?

Why, yes, I do Thank you for remembering.

How many writers do you know who only work on one thing at a time? Not many, I’d wager.

Since this project is a total change from the others on my current list of projects, I can use it for a focus breaker. When I need a complete mental shift in gears from working on a short story, queries, articles, or the camping book, I’ll use this project. The focus is different, the characters unique and engaging, and the storyline, for now, remains close to my surface thoughts.

This novel can act as a trampoline of sorts. I hope it will act as a springboard of ideas for use in auxiliary projects that are already on my list. That’s how my creative mind works most of the time. Working on one story triggers ideas for bits of business on others.

What Now?

I’ve already begun the characters studies. Most of them are finished and waiting for use. Putting together chapter outlines comes next. I wish I knew exactly what was going to happen in the middle. Since I haven’t figured out that part yet, I’ll just have to wing that section for the moment. It will come clear soon.

I will use this creative time to get done what is already flowing on this novel. In a week or so my Muse will return to the travel book, a few queries, some submissions, and scheduling for the rest of our time here in Oklahoma. I have quite a bit planned for the next several weeks.

There you have it. That’s how things work for me on occasion. I’ll start one thing and something entirely different will pull me away from it for an indefinite period. The odd part is that when I do return to the original project, I have renewed vigor to work with it, new ideas or insights, and a tighter focus.

It’s almost as if my mind needed that vacation to rid itself of a niggling distraction so that it could concentrate on the big WIP. I could try to control it. The problem lies in the fact that when I do that, it takes over my dream life and I don’t get restful sleep. And I need all the restful type sleep I can get.

So when that steaming mental train of yours decides to take a spur line for a hitherto unknown destination, go with it for s while and see where it takes you. You might just find yourself in marvelous new territory.

Until we come together again, enjoy your life and write to your heart’s content.

Claudsy

Staring Into the Face of Possibility

2011-02-12T20:58:00.001-07:00

When will that other shoe drop? Will it be today, tomorrow, or next week?

Have you ever wondered when that death knell was put on the cosmic time chart?

What about that axe? When will it fall?

So many sayings, so many questions. Why do we use them? We all know what they mean, don’t we?

The writer in me got to thinking today about these adages and others like them. I asked myself these same questions and a few more. At the end, I asked one other major question—a question directed solely at the writer in me.

Before I get to that I’d like to ask a few more leading questions. They’re pertinent, I promise. How old are these sayings, and why do we keep using them?

Everyone I’ve ever known who were older than me used these lines. Kids today learn their meanings early in life, too. Such sayings seem to have been around for as long as man in one form or another.

The reason? Paranoia exists for a reason, too, you know. These sayings appear to fit that mold quite well. I mean look at that one line; when will the axe fall?

I’d think that comes from the time of beheadings for political purposes. That reasoning makes the line centuries, if not thousands of years, old. Ask any turkey if there’s a reason to be paranoid about axes.

The shoe dropping? That might be a bit more difficult. How about this purely personal definition—listening for the other shoe to drop tells the kids shivering with fright in their beds exactly when their brute of a parent will be by to pound on them again? Too dramatic? Maybe, but it fits the feel of the saying, don’t you think?

The death knell is something else again. I asked that question from a purely spiritual education perspective. It’s still a good question.

The writer in me asked the questions for a specific purpose. Any of these old adages can be taken apart, redirected, reasoned, and used as the nugget of a plot for stories, whether for children or adults. My last and most important question concerned how I could use these kinds of adages to build stories. I’ll show you what I mean.

1. If we begin with the premise that the death knell saying is based in a Fate-driven cosmos, the possibilities become endless. If that’s the case then my very first question has an infinite number of answers. The reason is that I like to think of that infinitely large time chart hanging out there somewhere with an appointment for said pealing to begin.

2. I can take the stand that my character’s name was written in stardust somewhere in the Orion constellation around the time of its formation. At its creation another tiny notation was made close to earth that at a certain instant in the future a small impact would happen on the Moon, which would set it to ringing. As soon as that ringing began the character’s heart would explode in his chest.

Now that’s drama! Okay, it’s a bit over the top but dramatic nonetheless.

What about that shoe?

1. What if a boy waits each night to hear that shoe drop to the floor after his mother gets home from a second-shift job? He knows she’s tired and probably hungry after so long on her feet. To help her he’s left a plate for her in the refrigerator that she can put in the microwave. At least she can have a hot meal before relaxing with the late news.

2. And what if that boy placed a hand-made Valentine’s card in the refrigerator beside the plate so that his mother will know just how much he loves her? He’s waited for a couple of hours to know that she’s safely home, getting the meal he left her and the card that he made after school. He can go to sleep now knowing that she’s aware of his feelings and his caring.

That scenario puts a different spin on the saying, removes any paranoia, and releases some warm fuzzies into the reader’s moment at the end. Not bad for a quick try-out for a story, don’t you think?

We have hundreds of such adages at our command every day that we can use and reuse, according to the spin we put on them. No writer has to go without a plot. They stare us in the face like so many worrisome little nuisances with nowhere to go.

Why not make them work for us for a change. If we can’t use them for the clichés they are, let’s at least use them for building something unexpected for the reader to ponder.

Lots of writers have done the same thing over the years. Agatha Christie is a prime example. Think about “Ten Little Indians” and see if you don’t come to the same conclusion.

In the meantime, take care, all, and enjoy your time on this fascinating place we call Earth. Read Hemingway and find out why. His titles alone should shout his reasoning process.

Until later, have a great weekend.

Claudsy

Experiencing Life As A Dream

2011-02-07T13:10:00.000-07:00

Sister Jo and I began our sojourn two months ago. It feels like many more months than that, which got me to thinking. I’ve always known that one’s sense of the passage of time is relative to the experiences within the timeframe being referenced. There’s a very valid reason for the phenomenon.

Back in the 1970’s researchers at either the University of Michigan or Michigan State University did a long term study on time perception. They found that there is both “real” time and “mind” time.

Time Differences

The researchers found profound differences between the two types of time.

“Real” time was defined as the passage of time as recorded by a clock. Such time is a man-made measurement of experience. It’s also considered a measurement related to distance, but still a measurement.

“Mind” time was defined as a person’s individual experiential perception. Each person perceives the passage of time differently according to how fast their mind processes information, as well as the emotional investment used during the experience.

Apparently the research was prompted by someone asking why a person can experience hours or days of time passage within the body of a dream. The brain processes information in nanoseconds, which is infinitely faster than clock time. The researchers decided to look for the truth.

The Experiment

The basic experiment was a simple one. Find subjects who’d always wanted to learn to do one thing specifically—compose music, learn a foreign language, etc. Once the subjects were located [all were mature adults], each one was hypnotized for their instruction.

Example: [Not taken from actual study] During hypnosis a subject—let’s say a civil servant--is told that he’s been given two years to learn how to write music, which he’s always dreamed about. He can stay in his room and learn for that two years. He will be provided with everything he needs to learn. All he has to do was ask.

He’s told that someone will come to tell him when his time is up. He’s left to his own devices to use the resources provided to learn his new field. Whatever he asks for, he receives. He spends his time working on a computer, playing with instruments, and learning.

The Results

Are you concerned? Don’t be. The amount of time he’s in the room, as measured in “real” time, is only a few hours.

The result astounds the researchers. Not only can the man compose music but beautiful music and is ecstatic with the results of his new education. He’s also told that only a few hours have passed since he began.

The ultimate reality is that “mind” time runs and processes information incredibly fast. Learning under this process of mind usage is excellent, takes little “real” time, and has lasting effects. (When rechecked several months later, our civil servant is happily writing music for publication.)

Personal Appreciation of “Mind” Time

You might ask what this has to do with anything. Why is it important? It’s important for a couple of reasons.

When I said that our time on the road seemed to have lasted many months, I meant it literally. It seemed as if the calendar should be pushing toward May instead of February.

The reason for that perception is the number of experiences during that near eight weeks on the road. We’d covered 18 states in that “real” time. Within each of those states were individual experiences that had made an impact on our memories, either good or bad. That’s a mighty load of memories in so short a timeframe.

We’d taken a few notes here and there about most of the major experiences, but not the entirety of the road experience. My poor fingers would never have been still if that was the case. Whether I preferred it or not, my poor old mind had to carry the brunt of the load in memory form with scanty notations along the way.

The good thing about experiential memory is that it doesn’t escape when there are two of us on the drive. Each of us have a slightly different perspective, but that’s why it works so well. We can fill in details better that way. We can use her visuals and my audios. It’s according to who was paying the most attention at the time.

Also, have you ever had one of the days when you’ve worked and worked, gotten tons completed, and then looked at the clock only to see that only a couple of hours have passed? That, my friend, is “mind” time in action. Enjoy it while you have it. It usually accompanies those days when clock time seems to drag along and it seems that the day will never be over. Ever have one of those?

If not, I’m sorry. I used to groan each time until I realized how much I could get written during “MIND TIME.” It’s my writer’s best friend come to call.

I can use it for marketing research, which always seems to take forever. I can use it to draw out a plot or rough out an essay. It’s lovely for poetry. I relish those days now.

Take a minute and think about whether you’re using your mind time to its best advantage. Until we talk again,

Claudsy

Finding Inspiration Wherever You Are

2011-02-02T11:04:00.001-07:00

During our trip Sister Jo and I have learned many things and had good and not so good experiences. The interesting aspect of every day so far is that no matter where we've been there has been more than enough to use as inspiration.

The most profound understanding that I've come to is that regardless of where one is inspiration abounds. Whether one seeks it out or not, it arrives on silent feet to rattle one's sensibilities and leave reflection in its wake.

Inspiration comes in many guises and waits only for recognition.

Types of Inspiration

According to the dictionary there are seven different definitions of "inspiration." Like all concepts, inspiration can only be defined by itself. The current definitions are:

1. an inspiring influence--action, etc.
2. an idea
3. a result of inspired activity
4. a thing or person that inspires
5. theological--a devine influence directly and immediately exerted upon the mind/soul. The devine quality of the writings or words of a person so influenced.
6. inhalation
7. act of inspiration, quality or state of being inspried.

Synonyms: stimulus, incitement

The Muse deals specifically with inspiration for the writer, musician, poet, artist, even engineer. But what inspires the Muse?

I may not be a typical writer, but I'm inspired by more things than I can ever use. Spectacular sunset colors can bring lines of poetry to mind, unbidden and spotaneous.

Overhearing a snippet of conversation in the local convenience store can create the basis for an entire scene of dialogue for a story.

Seeing how a group of old friends or older relatives interact can give me both characters and plot aspects. It can also give me glorious realistic regional dialogue.

Watching the signs along the freeway gives me place names for stories or ideas for historical pieces in both non-fiction and fiction.

The world has so much to offer by way of inspiration. All a person has to do is keep mind, eyes, and ears open and ideas will flow. The fun thing is that no one has to go far from home to find such inspiration.

For instance, take a walk through the yellow pages. It's remarkable what you can learn about a town through that simple act. I'd be willing to bet that you'll find businesses you didn't know existed in places totally unexpected.

If you find fifteen different computer stores, ask yourself if enough people live in the area to warrant that many computer stores. Perhaps your community has grown more than you thought. Perhaps one of the stores has exclusive contracts with the school districts in the area. There are questions that will come to mind.

What about the Doll Hospital downtown? How long has it been there? Who owns it and why did they begin the business in the first place? What kinds of stories does the owner have about the store and its customers? And what kind of customers frequent the place?

See what I mean? So many questions about one small business in one town can lead you in so many directions, each of them inspired.

You know that old barn down the road? Who built it and was it a dairy barn? How long ago was it abandoned and why?

Sit at the local hangout for the WWII generation and listen to the guys talking about when they were younger. Listen to the subjects they talk about and the emotions that surface. A world of characters, plots, and description resides at those tables. Living history sits in front of the watcher waiting to be absorbed.

Inspiration walks the earth each day to be absorbed, activated, and utilized. It's up to each person to recognize it. I'm hoping that you all can find your inspiration today and each day. Whether it's a highway sign, a want ad in the local paper, a commercial on the tele, or something one of the kids said at Sunday School, keep those senses open to possibilities.

Until we talk again,

Claudsy

Redirection and Resolution

2011-01-24T09:47:00.003-07:00

Our lives continually demand redirection and resolution. That's the very nature of LIFE. Regardless of a person's professional or academic proclivity, the demand remains constant.

This trip that Sister Jo and I are on has turned out to be an excellent example of the Principle of Redirection and Resolution. When we began, we were determined to see the country our way and do it as inexpensively as possible. Our goal was to tent across America. Somehow I don't think the Universe agreed with our plans.

From the first hour on the road we were driven by the weather.

Well, YEAH! you say. You began in the middle of December, for pity's sake.

That's very true. The problem wasn't that so much, though, as La Nina. That little Missy has been our bane since the beginning. It didn't help that this was the worst La Nina in over 50 years. What hurt was that we hadn't anticipated it.

We didn't take that little weather pattern into account and we got stuck with its effects.

We didn't get to see Oregon or California (with the exception of the few days we visited with my friend, Mikki in Central California.) Two hours after we left Mikki's place, the deluge hit the coast and the slides began. We fought that wind and rain all the way to El Centro. And it didn't end there.

The cold followed, and on and on.

Our Redirection came in the form of what we didn't get to see and what we found instead. The Resolution came in enjoying what had been given us to take the place of desired and planned sights.

Along the way we saw and learned things that would have seemed too mundane prior to our trip; too ordinary to be of interest to catch our attention and cause the "AH" effect.

We wouldn't have learned some of the Texas history, or seen Holly Beach, Louisiana. We wouldn't have known about Battleship Memorial Park in Mobile, AL with its Korean War Memorial and Avenue of Flags. We wouldn't have listened to locals in unforeseen stops along the way and heard the soft southern drawls that changed with each new region we traveled. We would have missed the concerns of those locals as they discussed the projected weather reports and the crops that might lay in the balance.

One thing I've always paid attention to has been the reality than no road is traveled without encountering pluses and minuses. They tend to balance each other. The trick is to allow the pluses to take precedence. Many times a person has to look hard to see the pluses, but they are always there for the finding.

Writers know that a story doesn't always drive the same road that's been intended for it. The plot will begin to wander because a character decides to see a new sight, make a different decision than the one planned, and so on. These deviations lend complexity to the story when allowed to flow naturally from the character's viewpoint.

Resolutions evolve from those drives along unanticipated roads that move into new territory and require a different sort of ending. Not all endings are happy ones. Some endings are unexpected, on-going.

Our trip has become this type of storyline. It will be on-going for an unknown time into the future. Our direction may have shifted because of budgetary concerns and the weather, but the intent is the same. No true resolution has taken place yet and won't until we have no further need for adventure.

Our book has its new intent, its new aspect.

For the next few months, Sister and I will continue to see new places and new attractions. We have more friends and family to visit along the way. There are many more unforeseen tidbits to study and stories to write. During this time, I will share some of those tidbits with you, the readers, as I have been. Hopefully, the sharing can be more constant and frequent.

Until then, take care, all, and God bless.

Claudsy and BJ

Impressions and Enjoyment on the Road

2011-01-13T08:21:00.002-07:00

The seawall beckons the dawdler. Miles of beach dotted with an occasional peer welcomes those who long for possible salt tang and common sea shells or sand castles. Beachside also displays the continual effort toward recovery from horrific storm damage.

Ike (the hurricane) left his mark on Galveston back in 2008.

Despite these reminders of Nature’s destructive visits, Galveston, Texas is one of the Lone Star’s most entertaining cities. For those looking for history and fascination, this city’s example of hospitality shouldn’t be missed. Admire Tiki Island from the Galveston Causeway as you move onto Galveston Island and Broadway for a drive through town.

After getting into the main portion of town, an old cemetery appears on the right. Inside this are graves dating back to the 18^th century. The monuments and crypts captivate the history buff as they teach about the area’s history in a new way. Stones tell of the heroes and the builders, the housewives and the children. Centuries of time are compressed into two city blocks.

Further along Broadway a monument reaches for the sky in the center of the median. The statue and base were erected to honor the Texas heroes, both men and women, who lived and died for the sake of Texas. It is a hero’s symbol called Victory.

The historic district flaunts rows of colorful Victorian homes. Impressive mansions punctuate the streets with designs from the world’s cultures. Clapboard siding cozies up to stone and brick without self-conscious allure.

More adventurous shoppers can explore distinctive shops and cafes that invite one to linger down on The Strand. The trolley rumbles through on its track, which helps keep the area from being too crowded with cars. This convenience also helps the traveler by allowing her to park further away from that central street and ride there in style.

At anchor there most days is The Elyssa, a genuine tall ship. The Elyssa stands ready for tours of her decks or a jaunt out onto the bay. She has her crew polish her decks and keep her rigging taut so that wedding parties and special occasions can come to life under her masts. She’s a fine looking ship.

Slightly northeast of The Elyssa a more modern ship has opened her holds to the dockside crane, which will use its arm and net for emptying the goods carried down inside those dark holds. Ships from the far reaches of the Earth snug up to Galveston’s wharves to distribute wares to American markets. Further down on different docks, a multi-story cruise ship may wait for new passengers or returning current ones from a day of shopping and exploration.

Residents strive to repair homes and businesses. Yet, many buildings along the sea wall or further inland boast only broken backs and boarded-up windows.

Many signs of recovery are overshadowed by three great glass pyramids that reflect the sunlight onto bay waters. These structures of Moody Gardens also endure their own repairs to ready them for a new life as one of the premier attractions of the city.

Within them the rain forest recovers from storm damage with new specimens and renovated systems. The IMAX theatre in the second pyramid gets its own system’s check and thumbs up. The Aquarium that occupies the third pyramid requires rigorous attention and is ready for the public on schedule with its sister exhibits.

All in all, anyone who saunters along the Galveston promenade will have a fabulous experience and always yearn to return before too many years have passed.

I know that we’re now three states away, but not that many days have elapsed. Since then, we’ve moved through Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. The cold temps are driving us now more than anything else. We’re not prepared for tenting in winter temps of 23 degrees.

Florida beckons us with threats of warmer weather and equally fascinating exploration. We’ve decided to take her up on the offer earlier than planned. So that’s where we’re headed later today. Southern Florida, here we come.

For those enduring their own trials and adventures in travel (in the ice, snow, and cold), hang in there, keep the hoods up and the gloves on. There will come spring. It’s been promised. At least, that’s the rumor.

Until later, enjoy your days.

Claudsy

The Blacktop Awaits

2011-01-06T22:59:00.000-07:00

We've had our rest, and we've visited with friends. It's time to return to the open road and do more traveling.

Early tomorrow morning we move out onto the road again. This hop will be a short one, however. We need to finish a few things in the Houston area before continuing on to Louisiana. We've got friends and others with whom to meet. We have a few more short adventures on the Texas Gulf Coast before rain soaks everything for the next week.

Yes, that's right. Rain is again going to be trailing behind us. If we stay in one spot long enough, everyone will get a bit of a wetting. Hey, what do you expect? It's winter, after all.

I'm glad for the prospect of moving again, of looking forward to new sights and experiences. Being stationary while visiting loved ones and good friends is a marvelous and welcome treat. But the road! That's where the unkinown calls, begging to be allowed into the circle of the campfire where stories are told on dark nights and goodies are roasted to perfection. It's that unknown that draws us, that keeps the wheels rolling and the anticipation at fever pitch.

How many people hear the call anymore? I wonder. Have we given up that part of ourselves that yearns to explore the far hills and valleys for possible treasures to end all treasures? Have we lost the ability to relate to our pioneer ancestors and their desires to move about the country in search of... So many things to search for...

Think about it. Did your ancestors search for gold in California or Alaska? What about black gold on the plains of Oklahoma and Texas? Did they put their few belongings into a covered wagon and risk everything to find a different, perhaps better life in the west? If you're not Native American, you're forefathers came from somewhere else. How long did it take them to get here and begin to build a new life?

See what I mean. All of those people risked everything for the sake of a possibility--a simple possibility. And yet, there is no such thing. Nothing is ever simnple. The "simple" act of throwing a ball is terribly complicated when you break it down to every last component that goes into that action. (I know. I just couldn't help myself. I had to throw that in.)

So, what's our simple possibility? you ask.

I suppose it's two/threefold. 1. To see our country, especially those places we're never been. 2. To write about the experience so that everyone can experience it, too. 3. To learn about ourselves and our own deepest desires.

Nevertheless, beneath everything else, it all comes down to one question. CAN WE DO IT?

I doubt either of us have a glimmer of answer to that question. We don't know for sure. We only know that we're going to give it our best shot. We're going to do whatever it takes to do as much of it as we possibly can.

No one knows the future. We don't claim that ability, either. We only know that we're the only senior wemen we've heard of who're traipsing around this country in a car filled with camping gear and looking for a deeper adventure. That in itself should be world something.

Therefore, we begin again tomorrow. We know only where we plan to be for the next week. I hope everyone here and any others our readers can drag in for a looksee will stop by to witness updates when they're posted.

I do want to take time to thank everyone who comes by to see what Sister Jo and I are up to. It makes things worthwhile in a different way.

Until next time, take care, all, and God bless.

Claudsy