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 LIGHTBULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

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




Wednesday, May 9, 2018

Pen on pause


Wow!

When life changes drastically, in a good way.

When routine becomes memory and tasks change from have to, to want to, the everyday takes on new meaning.

That’s life now.

Retired from my all-over-the-clock 9 to 5 (which never was a 9 to 5) but a nights, weekends, and holidays ‘must,’  I could cry because I am so grateful to have a normal life back. Um, I have cried with the relief of it all.

The only downside, oh wait, there is no downside.

On a personal note, the past two months have been filled with family. I won’t go into the particulars but I have been able to spend time with a soon-to-be two year old and an nine month old, which has filled my heart in ways I not thought possible. Babies put everything in perspective.

But what about writing. What about the dream?

Still there and back in earnest next week.

When my daughters were little I never (not once) regretted the business I closed and management career I put on hold for eight years.

And now?

Not one second am I regretting my pen on pause.
BUT
Get ready boys and girls. Next week. I'm lookin' for ink.

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

It's all about balance

update
Update
UPDATE

That previous post, that I'd be finished and querying by Easter, (and said I'd never make it), I met the deadline.
Book done and querying. But ah ha, it's a different book.

My only regret, I have none. How could I.
Because of life-circumstances I am able to write full-time. What a joy. What a f-en joy.
I am learning to balance my new everyday with the privildge of time for word-devotion. "Word Devotion" sounds like a religion. Ha, maybe it is.

I am grateful, thankful, and hopeful.
The worrier in me has me waiting for the proverbial shoe to fall. It is my nature to think that good has to be balanced with bad, pleasure with pain, love with hate, and joy with sadness.
'Write' now life is good - very, very good.
What's next?
Springtime!
Um, it's snowing. Fourth nor'easter at our doorstep. Ya know that balance thing I just wrote about?
I told you so.

Friday, January 26, 2018

Climb Every Mountain


I am standing on a mountain, well not actually a mountain, more like an out cropping on the edge of one. Above me, slippery rocks, with barely a path. No predetermined route, only the belief that there is one. Often there is fog which confuses me and blocks my forward motion.

Below me a spectacular valley, lush with life and words. Yes words. Terraced fields of them ripe for picking. Words hang from trees like tart macs, sweet bartletts, and lemons so sour they pucker thought. And elsewhere, there are words as drops, forgotten on the forest floor, soft and rotten to their core.

Like a part on the well tressed surface of a globe, there’s a river, dividing the valley. Ambling and wide at one end, narrow and white-water rushing at the other.

On the surface of the river boats are filled to overflowing with words, some of which have toppled into the water and float. They sun and soak in the pleasure of their momentary cruise.

In the narrows, the words travel fast, so fast in fact that once seen, if they are not quickly plucked from the foam and left to dry, they are as forgotten as autumn leaves turned crispy at the bottom of evaporated puddles baking in the sun.

And here I am, teetering on the edge of a crag, searching for just the right batch to fill my basket. And I will fill it, so full in fact, that once I reach the peak I will toss the overused and unnecessary to the fierce alpine winds. The unused will finally settle on the gentle breezes below to once again, feed the soil.

Time to climb.