I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD-SLAPS, SPEED-BUMPS and LIGHT-BULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.



Thursday, July 13, 2017

Dead eye word count

I realized this morning how odd it is to not have a deadline.


Few words mean much.
In my life I have never liked deadlines, never liked anything hanging over my head, weighting down my shoulders, always there and waiting. For now, coming up with a new column, something fresh, something which I consider universal enough to share with readers, is off the table.
I will admit:
I
Am
Relieved.
To singularly focus on a project, to fine tune the tunable, to dead eye the result, is inspiring.
I had to give up something, to get something. Isn't that always the way, especially when we write.

So I ask my few faithful friends, what do/did you have to give up in order to make your word count?



Wednesday, July 12, 2017


My book came back from the editor.

Looks like a roadmap to the obscure. She said nice things, encouraging things, things which make me feel as if I’m on the right track.

But my head…a bucket of rocks.

Lots of stones, pebbles and grains of sand, all sharing the same space and settling for position.

Yup, hard headed and eager to shift the load. Foundation is built, time to chink the cracks.
 
 

Monday, June 26, 2017


This is dawn of a new day, not sunset of an old one.

This story comes in two parts.

Part one:

I love sayings because I’m a cliché kind of person. Aren’t sayings and clichés sort of the same thing? Anyway, I particularly like one of the old ones, fish or cut bait, or my personal profane favorite, shit or get off the pot. At this stage in my life, I think, (tattooed right next to AARP on my ass should be), if not now, when.

Finally, this week, after all the edits and angst,

HEAD-SLAPS, SPEED-BUMPS AND LIGHTBULBS, one woman’s WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life ……. is off to a professional copy editor. (Like reconnaissance, the check went first.)

Once this puppy shines, my plan is to query agents for six months, and if no one wants to pedal a huge chunk of my life, I will get it out there on my own, with a sandwich board and free lollypops.

I am under no illusions. Finding readers, who will put down their hard earned doubloons to read a memoir about non-famous me, will be a challenge. So, during my darkest moments of doubt, I tell myself that the new editor of my column says I have fans.  Like I have often spouted, I’m not a big fish in a little pond, I am a minnow in a mud puddle, and that’s okay. So I’m not totally un-famous, just somewhat known, kinda, sorta, maybe.

My op-eds, articles and columns total in the hundreds, in newspapers, magazines, and on line.  Fifty-nine, plus the force and fallout of each one, are in this book. If all those pros over the years thought enough of my work to publish and pay, than maybe, just maybe I’m onto something. Can you tell I’m still trying to convince myself?

Yet, even after pumping up my writer’s ego, I am making a change.

Part two:

Though I am told I have fans, big news, two more pieces this summer and I am retiring my column, ENOUGH SAID. It has been a great five year run starting in The Shoreline Times and ending in The Day’s 8 ‘Times’ papers. I want to go from a 600 word-limit to book length. Now I will have the time to do it.

Part Three: Oh, here’s another one.

Then, Holy-moly, in August I’m retiring from my 9 to 5. I’ll still be working part-time, (I mean really, how clean does this matron’s house have to be?) That I will be able to write while still in my PJs, rather than just before I have to dash out the door to go to work, is, if not every writer’s dream, than at least this word-monger’s vision of a writer’s life.

Part 4:  Yup another part, the really important one.

I have two grandchildren and a third due in a few weeks. Because of my age and because they are all so little it is highly unlikely I will be around to enjoy their young adulthood. That thought plays on my mind as time ticks on. For them, that I existed, that I wrote about my love for their mothers and that I adore them - I want them to know all of it.  I want them to have a record of what I have said regarding a myriad of every day, serious, controversial and heartbreaking subjects. My words have value, they matter to me and to the people who have communicated with me that something I wrote meant something to them as well.  I hope someday a little part of what I have written will be of interest to my grand-kids too. Or maybe they’ll get a laugh out it.  

That I have stimulated minds and discussions, moved hearts and brought about joy and laughter, is my (bound and on a shelf) monument to being a person with a purpose on this planet. My words are my legacy, from me to them, and to everyone who has read my stuff all the way through to the end.

The End

Not yet.