Been busy! Working on making the book better. I think I might have figured out the problem. Chapter one, paragraph one sucks! I revamped it, and it is now a rockin' great opening...worthy of the rest of the book. PRAISE GOD!
Hope you're all finding inspiration in interesting places.
Write on!
Hope you're all finding inspiration in interesting places.
Write on!
McKeelan holding his niece. It's weird to think of myself as a step granny, and it's even weirder to think that McKeelan is an uncle, again...and he's just 11. Anyway, school begins tomorrow, if FAY allows. Looking forward to school starting, as I have become too relaxed.
Had a great Italian night of music, food and fun at my friend Suzanne's house. I ate "Made from scrath" spaghetti for the first time. It's was fantastico!!!
I'm finding out that I do more writing when I am under strict time restraints. Sent the family off to the Miami Science Museum today so I can write. JUST IN: I am VERY glad I didn't go to the museum, as it is BRING YOUR PET SNAKE Day!!!! Holy Crap I hate snakes! Kyle called to inform me that I had chosen a great day to skip the Science Musuem...whewwwwww!
Happy School Openings to all of my teacher friends and students.
- Mood:
relieved
Why did you choose your user name? Is there any special meaning or story behind it? Submitted By |
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Meet, Emery. My stepdaughter's new bundle. It's been awhile since I've had a baby in the house (11 years) Hmmmmm. Funny how we forget something that we never thought we could forget. Remember the late nights? The wails? The constant wondering if you're doing the right things? When I brought home my first child (1987), I couldn't believe how much I did NOT know! I brought my little son home. I made the wise choice to use those bottles with the platic bags (brand shall remain nameless).
But, nobody told me that I had to PREMEASURE the formula. I was putting the liquid straight into the bags and feeding him--yummy. Little did I know, he was being starved! When I actually measured the liquid, only after I called home to my very wise mother, did I realize the right amount of liquid actually filled the bag to within bursting. So, my new baby was getting half the formula and wanting to eat every 90 minutes--needless to say, I didn't get any sleep that first 3 days. Yes, it took me three days to call home to Montana and admit that I was lost!
My stepdaughter is wayyyyyy more comfortable than I was. There's something pretty amazing about a relaxed mommy.
I'm also reading a book titled A WRITER'S SPACE by Eric Maisel, PH.D.. Now this is another great book for writers. In chapter 1 the author asks me to describe my ideal writing space. How impossible is this!!!???
Hmmmm.....
Five hours later....
It's a space that sounds like the bottom of a pool. I can breath in this space because the air is exactly the right temperature 72 degrees. The room is void of: washers or a dryers, telephones, computers that access email, windows, vacuums, televisions, or other people (that know me anyway). There's a comfy chair for my back. I don't really like to write in a tablet, so a laptop would do nicely. I'm thinking that the only place that fits this model would be in the bowels of a library. No windows, no people, no other books to temp me with thoughts of investing or gardening: what's a bull/bear market anyway?
There must not be any pictures on the walls. I would order a long, long chalk board or freezer wrap paper to be installed on the walls. And I would have buckets of colored markers strewn about. In a far corner a record player or CD player plays music in other languages so I don't know what's being said. I need this room for a morning at least five days per week, that's all.
Here's a snap shot of my current writing space!
Check out the green electric monster in the foreground and the distracting window to the left. My view from this window is magical; it's even stupendous at night because the neighbors have small lights at the base of their magical trees making their yard more inviting in the night. I can't help but laugh and shake my head because I know that the office isn't the reason for my writer's block or paralysis, but I sure wish I could blame it on that stuff. One thing is for sure: when I am in my writing space my mind wanders, wonders, and tries to organize the mess.
Anyway, what's your ideal writing space? If you have one already, share with me.
May the muse of inspiration and imagery dance on your finger tips.
Hmmmm.....
Five hours later....
It's a space that sounds like the bottom of a pool. I can breath in this space because the air is exactly the right temperature 72 degrees. The room is void of: washers or a dryers, telephones, computers that access email, windows, vacuums, televisions, or other people (that know me anyway). There's a comfy chair for my back. I don't really like to write in a tablet, so a laptop would do nicely. I'm thinking that the only place that fits this model would be in the bowels of a library. No windows, no people, no other books to temp me with thoughts of investing or gardening: what's a bull/bear market anyway?
There must not be any pictures on the walls. I would order a long, long chalk board or freezer wrap paper to be installed on the walls. And I would have buckets of colored markers strewn about. In a far corner a record player or CD player plays music in other languages so I don't know what's being said. I need this room for a morning at least five days per week, that's all.
Here's a snap shot of my current writing space!
Check out the green electric monster in the foreground and the distracting window to the left. My view from this window is magical; it's even stupendous at night because the neighbors have small lights at the base of their magical trees making their yard more inviting in the night. I can't help but laugh and shake my head because I know that the office isn't the reason for my writer's block or paralysis, but I sure wish I could blame it on that stuff. One thing is for sure: when I am in my writing space my mind wanders, wonders, and tries to organize the mess.
Anyway, what's your ideal writing space? If you have one already, share with me.
May the muse of inspiration and imagery dance on your finger tips.
This is one view from the lighthouse at Bill Baggs State Park, south of Miami. Taken this summer by my son, McKeelan.
Although I didn't climb to the top of the lighthouse, McKeelan took this picture for me. I am on the beach under a very pink umbrella. Can you see me?
I will climb up the 90 feet...but not until the weather cools. I'm thinking that there's a story at this old lighthouse. I need to visit it at night....ooooohh, spooky.
I'm reading Joyce Carol Oates' book on writing....it's so inpiring. She says that a writer must write what she is passionate about. That really got me to thinking: what am I passionate about. What are you passionate about? What exactly does it mean to be passionate about something in the first place? It's a topic that seems so simple, yet when I try to put my finger on something substantial....my mind bends and won't wrap around it. It's kind of like trying to define Justice.
What r u passionate about?
- Mood:
contemplative
I hate to leave the house a mess. It's part of the OCD issues. What would happen if something bad were to happen to me and my family had to clean up my mess. I also run through mental checklists just like a pilot. Drives my family crazy because I won't leave until I've done the "list".
Hung out with a bunch of turtles this week. They're a great bunch to hang with. The day was filled with fun, hiking up the 40 foot tower at Gumbo Limbo and taking cool photos. If you get a chance visit this great Nature Center in Boca Raton, do it right along A1A. It's free and has a lot to offer. If you plan to hike up the tower, bring something cool to pour over yourself 'cause it's flaming hot these days. While we were there, a female firefighter, in full firefighter garb, ran up it and probably back down....we left 'cause she was way too ambitious and was embarRassing us not-so-in-shape folks. Lordy, she looked hot and I don't mean in the MTV sense.
Laurie Halse Anderson's prompt: Write down the scariest dream you ever had. If you don't remember the details, make them up. Now figure out the metaphors/image systems and write another scene using those tools, i.e., the trees in SPEAK
Here goes. . .
She rounded the corner from her bedroom into the long hallway, under her feet she felt the gaps that separated the hardwood boards from one another and giving way with each step. Yet the boards didn't speak to her. She wasn't part of her own body anymore. Her hand landed on the alligatored door, nothing made noise. She knew darkness had spoken through the night and come to steal her breath away.
When the door would swing open, that which she has been seeing inside of her mind would be real. Nothing mattered to her, only the movement of her feet, the push of her hand against the old wood and getting there--in time. The house had never benn quiet like this. It talked to them in creaks and groans. It knew they were a good family. But it also knew that he was their broken china doll.
The house tried its best to protect him. Just as she had. That's why it woke only her with a whisper that only houses can make. She knew that once she opened the door, once she actually got into the room she could change things. She could rewind things and he'd be alive. no longer blue. Still her boy.
Still was he. Still like the house and still as the beat of her heart. Before she pulled him from the old bathtub, from the still water, she screamed for him.
Recently, in an online friend's journal she quotes a young person saying that being neutral is lonely. What a profound remark. I've never given much thought to what it means to be neutral. For some it means one thing, others it means another. Right now (for me) it means that I am not going forward in my life or with my goals. And, it means that I am not going backward--either. YAHOO! So, being neutral can also be a good thing. Lately I am on this "pitty" party; I sit around and kick myself because I am a BIG chicken %#$!! regarding editors, agents and the upper crust of publishing, when I should remind myself that I gotta kiss a lot of frogs to get the prince.
Laurie Halse's word SPAM conjures up images of the uniquely shaped tin. Beneath the lid lurks a familiar slime oozing around, a gelatinous pink flesh. It's a familiar delicacy in our home. I hear dad click off the tin lid, with the funny shaped opener. He sniffs the contents. I turn down the "sniff" test, because I know this smell is kin to the smell of feet. He turns the tin upside down, the jelly holds tigthyly to the substance and the sides of the tin, providing no source of lubrication. I hear a familiar sucking sound and when he heaves downward, out plops the pink flesh. Perfectly shaped it is. It looks more apealing than it smells....not really. That's a lie. Dad's blue eyes smile. He wrinkles his brows like a mad man and tells me, "This is going to taste better than you think." Again, not telling the truth. I go along with his enthusiasm anyway, because I know how much he likes to impress me with his culinary feats. From the right, we smell the familar smell of burnt food escaping beneath a hot fry pan. Dad slices the pink flesh into 10 exact slices of meat and slaps them into the pan. The flesh sizzles, pops and cries to be turned. Flip. The smell of bologna fills the kitchen. "Slap some Miracle Whip on your bread and hand 'er here." http://www.writerlady.com/
SPAM reminds me of dad, of lunch and of how much I loved to see him smile. I miss you, dad!
A view from the inside of a lighthouse at Bill Baggs State Park, Florida 2008
www.floridastateparks.org
Laurie Halse's word SPAM conjures up images of the uniquely shaped tin. Beneath the lid lurks a familiar slime oozing around, a gelatinous pink flesh. It's a familiar delicacy in our home. I hear dad click off the tin lid, with the funny shaped opener. He sniffs the contents. I turn down the "sniff" test, because I know this smell is kin to the smell of feet. He turns the tin upside down, the jelly holds tigthyly to the substance and the sides of the tin, providing no source of lubrication. I hear a familiar sucking sound and when he heaves downward, out plops the pink flesh. Perfectly shaped it is. It looks more apealing than it smells....not really. That's a lie. Dad's blue eyes smile. He wrinkles his brows like a mad man and tells me, "This is going to taste better than you think." Again, not telling the truth. I go along with his enthusiasm anyway, because I know how much he likes to impress me with his culinary feats. From the right, we smell the familar smell of burnt food escaping beneath a hot fry pan. Dad slices the pink flesh into 10 exact slices of meat and slaps them into the pan. The flesh sizzles, pops and cries to be turned. Flip. The smell of bologna fills the kitchen. "Slap some Miracle Whip on your bread and hand 'er here." http://www.writerlady.com/
SPAM reminds me of dad, of lunch and of how much I loved to see him smile. I miss you, dad!
A view from the inside of a lighthouse at Bill Baggs State Park, Florida 2008www.floridastateparks.org
- Mood:
busy
The BIG thing on my mind is this weird movement by students armed with their very hidden cell phones.
Story #1: The last week of school this year (2007-2008)a group of screaming high school girls caught our attention (picture a small group of teachers quietly enjoying lunch at a pic-nic table). At first, the screams didn't register or interuppt our conversations. When the screams did show up on our radar, we were shocked to find out that they were faking a fight, videotaping it to post to the internet. We reprimanded them, of course. They left and I didn't think anything more about it until tonight.
Story #2: So, tonight I'm checking my school email and there's a very short post from the NEA about teachers that are being video taped in class raising their voices in anger and the like. This prompted the memory of the girls and their fake fight, which prompted me to remember another incident in the middle school 2007-2008 school year. A sixth grader, brother of one of my eighth graders, told me that I had his sister in class. Naturally, I smiled and asked which girl. After he shared her name, he told me that she had been setting me up....trying to get me to blow my cool. My words, not his.
Are you an educator and have you noticed this kind of thing going on in your classes? If so, and you're not afraid of reprecussions, please post your comments.
Story #1: The last week of school this year (2007-2008)a group of screaming high school girls caught our attention (picture a small group of teachers quietly enjoying lunch at a pic-nic table). At first, the screams didn't register or interuppt our conversations. When the screams did show up on our radar, we were shocked to find out that they were faking a fight, videotaping it to post to the internet. We reprimanded them, of course. They left and I didn't think anything more about it until tonight.
Story #2: So, tonight I'm checking my school email and there's a very short post from the NEA about teachers that are being video taped in class raising their voices in anger and the like. This prompted the memory of the girls and their fake fight, which prompted me to remember another incident in the middle school 2007-2008 school year. A sixth grader, brother of one of my eighth graders, told me that I had his sister in class. Naturally, I smiled and asked which girl. After he shared her name, he told me that she had been setting me up....trying to get me to blow my cool. My words, not his.
Are you an educator and have you noticed this kind of thing going on in your classes? If so, and you're not afraid of reprecussions, please post your comments.
What's happening when a writer finds 1 million things to do other than writing? Since, I started this whole "publishing" thing, writing has stopped being fun. I wrote for 8 years and for the last two years.
Since the "publishing" thing started, I have to force myself to write. When I don't write, I get anxious. When I write, I get anxious. I can't win for nothin'. I'm sure I am not the only wrtier that suffers from this....whatever it is.
MUSIC ON MY IPOD: La Vie En Rose by Sophie Milman......what a song....what a voice.
Mountain Stream in Montana (2007)
Since the "publishing" thing started, I have to force myself to write. When I don't write, I get anxious. When I write, I get anxious. I can't win for nothin'. I'm sure I am not the only wrtier that suffers from this....whatever it is.
MUSIC ON MY IPOD: La Vie En Rose by Sophie Milman......what a song....what a voice.
Mountain Stream in Montana (2007)- Mood:
bitchy
If your life was made into a movie, what type of movie would you want it to be? Who would you choose to play yourself? Who would play the important people in your life? Submitted By |
Put your body in that of an inanimate object. Choose one that already exists or make one up, and then describe yourself. Submitted By |
I'm above and beyond, sometimes dark and always light. I hang on mountains and drift through night. Babies...adults...mammals...plants can't live without my power. I am the ultimate-life--giving force. The fuel of fire. Jets scream and slice through me but don't injury me and nobody exists without me. I lift balloons and spirits. AIR.
Took another mini-vacation. This time we crossed over Alligator Alley and headed north on I75 to Sarasota. Saw: John and Mable Ringling's Art Museum and a fantastic performance by a Chinese acrobatic group. HOLY BUCKETS were they good! Picture Below is not a fake. These kids really bend in this way. You know, the mini-vacation has been a mainstay for my family these past 13 years. We've taken one extended vacation, 7 days, but Kyle wasn't able to come because he had to work. So, we don't really count that as a vacation, just an escape from Kyle. Anyway, people call them "Staycations" now--that's the popular phrase. Sadly, I've never been popular or used popular sayings. My family refuses to call them "Staycations" just like we refuse to use "soda" when referring to "pop". Soda.....YUK...that just doesn't fit in my lexicon.
Hope you're all having good and safe "mini....ummmm....vacations:))) Be looking for my facebook page, coming to the internet nearest you!
If you could have dinner with anyone at all, dead or alive, famous or not, who would you go with? Out of anywhere in the world, where would you eat? Submitted By |
Tough! Off the top, it would have to be Cleopatra and Shakespeare, I'd take them to someplace interesting, someplace that might blow their minds.....AirForce One.
Today we (Kyle and McKeelan and I) drove to Miami to traipse around an old mansion. We had forgotten to tell our son (age 11) that we had changed our minds. Originally, we were going to a well airconditioned art museum. Sadly, he wore very hot, black pants! Ooops. Still he raved about the whole place--once he cooled off in the car.
In the 1920s Charles Deering (a Chicago Industrialist) built his Florida dream home. It stands on over 400 acres of very protected land, as it is home to a very unique species that can grow on coral. Too cool. I hope I reported that correctly. My science knowledge is rusty. I am usually interested in the ghosts of the past and the arhictecture.
My favorite room in the mansion: the ball room and the wine cellar. His wine cellar was one of the largest wine cellars in the United States, during Prohibition. There's even a secret bookshelf with a hidden sliding door protecting the cellar's identity. Sadly, Hurrican Andrew blew through and flooded the cellar demolishing the priceless original bottles of wine and liquour. If in South Florida, be sure to visit this historical gem.http://www.deeringestate.com/index.a
http://liblackartists.org/david_wil
Hi all. Visited a great art exhibit today at the African-American Heritage Research Library and Cultural Center in Fort Lauderdale. One artist in particular struck my fancy: David Wilson. Linked above. Although, I have never pasted a link, so I hope you can access the link and get a glimpse of this amazing work.
Naturally, the link can't begin to represent the actual paintings. Wow! I am not an art connoisseur, by any stretch of the imagination. But his work has a warm, yet biting quality.
At first one doesn't see the hidden creations, but upon further inspection one begins to delight in the hidden pictures that make up the whole picture. Alarming, funny, poigniant and earthy all at the same time. It's like a puzzle, in art, poured through color and culture. Kind of Maniac. Definately interesting and thought provoking. Now, I gotta figure out a way to buy one.
If you are unable to open the link above: google this: David G. Wilson Springfield Gardens New York. And click into his stuff. There are many artists to link into.
Hi all. Visited a great art exhibit today at the African-American Heritage Research Library and Cultural Center in Fort Lauderdale. One artist in particular struck my fancy: David Wilson. Linked above. Although, I have never pasted a link, so I hope you can access the link and get a glimpse of this amazing work.
Naturally, the link can't begin to represent the actual paintings. Wow! I am not an art connoisseur, by any stretch of the imagination. But his work has a warm, yet biting quality.
At first one doesn't see the hidden creations, but upon further inspection one begins to delight in the hidden pictures that make up the whole picture. Alarming, funny, poigniant and earthy all at the same time. It's like a puzzle, in art, poured through color and culture. Kind of Maniac. Definately interesting and thought provoking. Now, I gotta figure out a way to buy one.
If you are unable to open the link above: google this: David G. Wilson Springfield Gardens New York. And click into his stuff. There are many artists to link into.
- Mood: busy
This is the newest member of my household. I can't believe I caved! Now, I am potty training a feline. I thought I was over the "potty" training stage.
Took a great walk on the beach last night about 10 PM. You just can't beat a late-night walk along the beach. We didn't see any crabs burrowing into their holes...strange. We didn't see any sea turtles crawling from the water to bury their eggs....bummer. Too many people out.
I don't know what it is about the beach that makes it such a great place to think.
It took me months and months to write a 3 page synopsis. Is that normal? It took me about a year to right the cottin-pickin' query. I think the "business" side of writing sucks!
Anyway. We gave our television away on Craig's list thinking that it would help us get back to our priorities. It's been three weeks and I kind of like it without the tube. My friends from other countries: France, Jamaica, and the like think that we spend too much time adoring our televisions in the country. NAH!
Went to the theater last night. Saw: The Happening by M.Night Shaylamaa.a.a..asomething or other. I love his movies, but hate trying to remember how to say his name...don't even remark about how to spell it. Interesting movie. Mark Wahlberg is differently directed in it. It's a movie that leaves you thinking.
I gotta go....lots of reading to catch up on.
#1 Naked Pictures of me Plastered in Manhattan!
I haven't actually seen the show, I'm loving the concept of loving oneself---here goes: Naked:))))) Oprah did a great segment with Carson Daly about his new hit series: How to Look Good Naked. I'm thinking this is a great concept, show. And, I wanna be on it. Although, I can't imagine having a 3 story, nude photo of myself plastered in a nightmare (my own nightmare of course) not to mention having it plastered on a building in Manhattan....unless it's in Manhattan, Montana....if that place even exists. Sorry to those that live there.
#2 Sorrow and Crumbling
I'm also thinking of the sorrow that befalls a family when a loved one dies as a consequence of someone's anger and sadness--campus shootings foremost on my mind. And, I must include the family of the shooter in my sorrow. I can't fathom their grief, not only has their child died, but they must also face the hatred of the world. What a weight they must bear.
Nightly, the news shows us images of: schools crumbling, houses blasted apart by tornadoes, roofs collapsing under the weight of snow, rivers flooding, levees breaking, and bridges falling (think Minneapolis, August 2007), and I'm also thinking that the infrastructure crumbling is a metaphor for the rest of the country seemingly in state of CRUMBLE.
So, Dear Fellow Bloggers, I remind myself that for every bad, bad thing there are many, many, many good deeds. It's off to concentrating on the good...right? It's off to PRAYING. . . and helping to shed light on GOOD deeds with MY actions, MY writing and MY voice. I'm one of the lucky ones--because I get to work in a public school in America, and I know we (people that work with kids) make a difference each day by building relationships first.
Sorry about the downer blog:(
Off to a hot bath and a good book.
I haven't actually seen the show, I'm loving the concept of loving oneself---here goes: Naked:))))) Oprah did a great segment with Carson Daly about his new hit series: How to Look Good Naked. I'm thinking this is a great concept, show. And, I wanna be on it. Although, I can't imagine having a 3 story, nude photo of myself plastered in a nightmare (my own nightmare of course) not to mention having it plastered on a building in Manhattan....unless it's in Manhattan, Montana....if that place even exists. Sorry to those that live there.
#2 Sorrow and Crumbling
I'm also thinking of the sorrow that befalls a family when a loved one dies as a consequence of someone's anger and sadness--campus shootings foremost on my mind. And, I must include the family of the shooter in my sorrow. I can't fathom their grief, not only has their child died, but they must also face the hatred of the world. What a weight they must bear.
Nightly, the news shows us images of: schools crumbling, houses blasted apart by tornadoes, roofs collapsing under the weight of snow, rivers flooding, levees breaking, and bridges falling (think Minneapolis, August 2007), and I'm also thinking that the infrastructure crumbling is a metaphor for the rest of the country seemingly in state of CRUMBLE.
So, Dear Fellow Bloggers, I remind myself that for every bad, bad thing there are many, many, many good deeds. It's off to concentrating on the good...right? It's off to PRAYING. . . and helping to shed light on GOOD deeds with MY actions, MY writing and MY voice. I'm one of the lucky ones--because I get to work in a public school in America, and I know we (people that work with kids) make a difference each day by building relationships first.
Sorry about the downer blog:(
Off to a hot bath and a good book.
