RIDING THE ENERGY OF COMMITMENT

Commitment. This word even sounds intimidating, vibrating with a forboding sense of scary responsibility. Definitely not a soft word, like smooth or peaceful. With commitment, both your mouth and jaw actually have to "work" to pronounce the word.

Of course, you've probably guessed where I'm going with this. Commitment to anything in life brings with it a strength of purpose, constantly pushing us forward to some end, whether definable or indefinable. By indefinable, I'm saying that sometimes we don't exactly understand what it is that brings us to "square one" of a new project. Sometimes its a "calling" from within. Who knows where that new and exciting energy comes from. Some people might call it spiritual, fate or destiny. But however you want to look at it, commitment is definitely an energy word, a word that is not content to rest on its laurels, but constantly moves outward like the universe, creating space within space.

Being truly committed involves high, medium and low energy levels. The low cycles unfortunately bring moments of despair, when we want to give up and scrap what progress we've already managed to accomplish. The trick is learning to push through these dark energy levels and into the light of high energy. Nothing is easy. If writing were easy, everyone would be a writer. Any endeavor in life takes a deep sense of commitment. Persevere in spite of difficulties. True commitment builds character, and character feeds the need to complete. And if you sound out both words (character and commitment), you'll find the jaw muscles work with the same determination, both words strong, both using a distinctive drop of the jaw for pronunciation. Today, in your writing, be aware that energy always ebbs and flows. Recognize the low points, move on, and never give up!

DUST OFF YOUR FAMILIARITY

The world is amazing. When I opened my eyes this morning, I purposely looked at everything in the room with a new eye. Each item I had placed there, each item having a story behind it. The bedroom furniture we inherited, the lamp beside the bed came from an auction. The Navajo doll that sits on a handmade jewelry box, came from Sedona. Isn't it true, that after a number of years, the selected and beloved "things" often become overly familiar to us? The treasured items fall into a category of a chore, that is, keeping the dust off everything, the inspiration dulling after a series of years of looking at the same ol' things.

Approaching my writing today, I will attempt to see my characters in a new light, see them for all their beauty and flaws and with a sense of purpose for which I first brought them to paper -to tell a story that hopefully will not gather dust mid-way into the manuscript. Open your eyes!!! See the beauty in what has become familiar.

LOVING LIFE IN A WOMAN'S SOUL

A short blog today. Waiting on "proofs" of Island Passage. The cover art is gorgeous! I'm excited. While I wrote this story more than ten years ago, I had fun re-editing and getting it ready to be printed into book form. And when I receive the first complete copy, I will hold the new book to my nose and breathe in the smell of the paper, run my hands over the cover, and feel myself grin. What satisfaction. I love writing stories of the human heart, stories that reach out and hold hands with the hearts of other women. I love the toughness and softness of our souls, stubborn and yet quiet and reflectful of every experience bringing us forward in our individual lives. As women, I believe we deeply understand the unification of past, present and future, each phase entwined into the tough fabric of living. We lose, we gain, we give birth to new hope.

REJUVENATION, ETC. - OR I'LL TAKE MINE WITH CREAM

It's raining. We needed this "soaker." Looking forward to putting out the annuals and rejuvenating the flower beds. Rejuventation. That's my magic word today. Webster New World Dictionary defines the word rejuvenate: to make young or youthful again; bring back to youthful strength, appearance, etc. Well, considering I'm a little past youth, I think I land in the etc. part of this definition. Nonetheless, spring does bring a sense of youthfulness. I remember a time when I thought growing old would be a long time off, that all the older people would always stay old, and I would always stay young. Do you remember the old movie It's a Wonderful Life, where the old man sitting on a porch swing tells Donna Reed and Jimmy Stewart that life is wasted on youth? Or, like Benjamin Button, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to live our lives in reverse, that way we might appreciate our youth, maybe even bring a halt to all the bickering in the world and make us more respectful of how beautiful it is to be young. But, one the other hand, it's nice being my age and spending a quiet Sunday morning rocking on the back porch, rejuventating my tired bones while listening to the rain, drinking a cup of coffee and enjoying the moment. You see, I'm fussy about my coffee. I like it medium strength in my favorite mug with a little cream. No sugar. You see, as a person gets older, rejuvenation takes place more on the inside than the outside. As I said before, I fall more into the etc. part of Webster's definition.

KITTY - I STILL LOVE OPRAH!

Just read Kitty Kelley's book on Oprah. I'm still shaking my head, trying to understand the purpose of this book. I suppose anyone who has had a taste of fame, knows the down-side, that eventually someone somewhere is going to chip away at their character and analyze all their flaws since birth. There are people out there who make big bucks making those in the limelight appear deceitful and greedy. Truth has many sides. And one side of truth is this: you can take anyone on the planet, look into their past, and devour every particle of a person's life, and turn a story for the jackals to jump on and tear to pieces. This is the part where I really and truly feel sorry for "O", because I consider myself to be a pretty nice, ordinary person, but there are some days when I don't want to smile and make nice faces to the outside world. Even if you're worth ten bucks or a billion bucks, the weight of fame has to be pretty darn heavy at times. I feel sad that Oprah's many good works are criticized by those who feel she exploits her public image and uses it to sell her goodie-two-shoes image to the world at large. So what! Reality check: Oprah has changed the world for many women. AND, the woman is a pretty darn good businesswoman. She's smart, savvy, and she identifies with ordinary women of all ages, races, economic levels, and religions. All women, everywhere, need a little pat on the back every once in a while, rather it be in person or through television. Sometimes those little pats on the back are just the thing needed for someone to believe that the world can be a kinder and more gentle place with them in it. Oprah inspires me, makes me want to be a better person. I'm proud to be living in an age where a woman can be anything she wants to be. And if she doesn't feel like smiling all the time, or people want to berate her for being human, that's okay. That only makes me love her even more. You go Oprah!

THE OVER-REVVED ENGINE

Ahhh, another day on crutches. This is so totally not me. Doc informed me another four to five weeks before I can put my weight back on my foot. Okay, so I've become lazy with all this hobbling around in the last month. Sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do, and let source take over and do the mending, both in body and mind. Let the soul be the coolant for the over-revved human engine of delimma, namely, overthinking everything! There are times when you just need to sit back, clear your mind and reconnect with the beauty of being an eternal soul in a human body.

GOOD FRIENDS, GOOD FOOD, GOOD GOD, LET'S EAT!

Yesterday was a wonderful day. Debbie, my friend and fellow blogger (Life is a Stitch and other thoughts that make you smile), brought lunch and a bottle of wine. We sat on my back porch and talked for several hours, just enjoying the woods and conversations about writing, quilting, a little of this - a little of that. The lunch of chicken salad, cucumber salad, a grain bread and fresh strawberries and grapes was absolutely delictible. In this fast-paced world, it's easy, and sometimes more convenient, to make do with fast-food friends, the friends that come and go in our lives, and in the end, we don't really know much about them. Like fast food containers, we end up throwing them away with little thought or concern. Me? I'd rather have the five-course friends, the friends where easy conversations and laughter come naturally, the friends I keep and treasure like my best china. Today, choose a friend and give them a call, just to let them know how much you value their love and support. Life is not about consuming the over-salted and pre-packaged convenient stuff. Indeed not. Life is about the preparation, sharing and savoring each bite.

SPACE, STAINLESS STEEL APPLIANCES, GRANITE COUNTERTOPS AND THE MAN CAVE

On HGTV they're always talking about "space." On House Hunters, the realtor and clients enter a house and undoubtedly someone says, "Oh, golly gee, this is a nice space. I love this space." Or, "This space is great for the man cave." I love all these little words that become overnight successes. For instance, a few years back, everyone needed "closure." Or, this one: "Are we on the same page?" Little words or phrases that catch on like a virus and invade our vocabulary. But space, yep, I like this one. Everyone needs space, especially writers.

Writers need lots of space. We do well in open desk areas with very sharp pencils, plenty of paperclips and lots of blank paper. Our space includes a computer and printer. We sit at our space in a comfortable chair. We sometimes light a fragrant candle to make our space more inviting, more conducive to writing a love scene or some poetic narrative. Writers find mood in space - the more space, the better the mood.

My morning space begins with coffee to my left, computer face-on, desk cleared of everything I don't need to get the morning started. I get on my blog-space and write something that is hopefully inspiring. I then get into my business-space where I knock out a few confirmations for the cabin rentals and do my batches for credit cards. By this time in the morning, I usually have to clear my space of debris; i.e. wadded up papers, a spray of paperclips, a few phone messages that came in while I was on the computer. After clearing my space, I go into my writer-space, or, my pretend space. Here, I make things up, lots of things that hopefully will go permanently into a story. After a few hours of writing, I have to come back to my reality-space. That means housework, cabin cleaning, cooking - all the stuff it takes to keep my outer-space clean and functional. Oh yes, you didn't know that, did you? You have both an inner-space and outer-space. Inner-space is personal, very private, like what psychologists talk about being an arm's length around your body. When people invade your inner space (standing too close) you get uncomfortable and intuitively back away from the intruder. The outer-space thing is everything else that is yours, but you have to maintain - including everything from your 12 speed blender to relationships you have with friends and family.

All this space talk is making me a bit dizzy. But I still like the word. It makes good sense. Even saying the word makes me want to stretch out and get comfortable. As they say on HGTV, "This is a good thing." Nah, that's Martha, isn't it? I'll try again. As they say on HGTV, "This is a good space. I love this space. What a wonderful space." Yep, this word will definitely stick around for a while, unlike granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and people who are being interviewed about their new home while slicing carrots and celery. Oh yeah, like, after the interview they won't just order a pizza and pig out in front of their big-screen TV in the man-cave. That's called pizza-space.

THE DELICATE BALANCE OF EGO AND SOUL

I'm back in the saddle - or at least riding side-saddle. Ankle is healing, and now hobbling along with great gusto, instead of pity-padding along, feeling sorry for myself.

In terms of writing, oftentimes, I get to this point - stumped on a sentence, paragraph or scene. It is then that I pull out the mental crutches and sink creative shoulders into them for support. Self-pity can be a mighty comfortable cushion when all else fails. BUT staying immobile for too long, can cause atrophy to the muscles of the body AND to the brain as well.

Story writing is not for the meek and humble. It's a fine line writers walk between ego and soul. We become the devil's advocate when it comes to picking and choosing through human emotions and spiritual awareness, all for the purpose of adding depth and personality to our characters. Just as a physical injury can bring a person to dead halt in activities, so does our creativity when we come to a scene that fails to work. Or, perhaps we become truly exhausted from constantly dipping into that sticky ego for emotional growth of characters, and then find it equally difficult to lean to the other side and pick our souls for the right paths our characters must choose to follow to get to the end of the book. As writers we constantly question motive and direction of our characters from ALL angles, just to make everything fit succinctly into the story we are creating.

Truly, as writers we must be aware that our minds dealve into areas that often make us question all five senses and even our mortality. All this questioning can be very tiring. When we tire, we tend to put down our tools and threaten to give up. But like muscle and bone healing after an injury, we must forge ahead and not become immersed in self-pity or self-criticism. Recognize these emotions for what they are: temporary and sometimes NECESSARY.

The next time when a scene, chapter, paragraph, or whatever stumps you, just think about this inconvenient dry spell as being a lull in activity that eventually gives new direction to your writing. Understand that all things are connected in life, and the stories we create become stronger only when we take time out to use the crutches to maintain balance in order to regain our stength. Just be aware that at some point in time, you must gather the courage to throw the crutches aside and walk on your own again.

THE ILLUSION OF TIME

Wow! My last blog was March 28th! Much has happened in that time, and then again, not much has happened. My ankle ended up being broken in two places, had surgery and now healing. The first two weeks I spent in complete denial, thinking my body would heal on its own. Wrong. Now, the surgery is over and I'm on my way to being back on my feet again.

There's much to be said for having nothing to do but think. I've spent the last few weeks thinking about who I am and where I am in my life. I've decided that always pushing to get ahead can get you into a lot of trouble, especially when you push when there is no resistance to push against. The result: falling flat on your face. There's much to be said for taking a time out from life, sitting back and realizing that life pretty much takes care of itself, IF you allow it to do so. Time is only an illusion. So, condense that busy schedule and sit down, give a big yawn and realize there is no such thing as time. Life does go on without you. So enjoy!

LESSON ONE FROM A HARD-HEADED MULE

Ankle is healing, and hopefully everything will mend properly. It's hell getting old! BUT I'm a hard-headed mule, so I'll need to do what needs to be done to get back on both feet again. And speaking of old (as in old news), I'll let you know that ISLAND PASSAGE will finally be going to the publisher in another two weeks. I'm excited about getting it out of my hair, and then I'll be free to start on the next project. The most valuable lesson this hard-headed mule has learned from writing a second book is that life is a neverending learning process. AND nothing is ever gained from expending valuable energy on whining, rationalizing, or self-criticism. Growth, at times, can be downright perilous; refuse to wither in a drought of self-doubt.

LIFE IS A PARADOXICAL EXPERIENCE

Life has a way of showing us the path, even though we don't want to listen. Yesterday morning, I was taking a hike through the woods above a 90 foot waterfall. I was irritated with the amount of things I needed to accomplish that day and plenty aggravated that I had no choice but to plow through full speed without giving time to my writing. Of course, the mule at the head of plow was me. Mule-headed me, thinking the world just couldn't operate in a timely manner without my help. My hike yesterday morning brought on a very important lesson. Well...I reached a wooden bridge, slick with frost, and my right foot slipped, then caught, my ankle rolling to the left. I went down like a ton of bricks. When I held my foot up, it drooped to the right. Geez, that didn't look too good. Thank goodness I always walked with my friend Audrey and our dogs. Okay, I'm on a path above the falls and no way to get down. I asked Audrey to go on ahead and get my husband. In the meantime, I managed to get my legs under me, and then hobbled to the stairway and made my way down and through the rock path to the sandy part of Ash Cave. My husband and Audrey met me on the path coming out of the cave area. A bad sprain and now on crutches with probably a couple of months of recuperation on the right foot. Okay, God answers our prayers sometimes in the most ironic ways. In exchange for a bum foot, I now get my slow-down time and guess what? The world does go on without me. It's that darn ego working again, thinking only we can do the work that needs to be done. Sometimes, to get the best out of life, you must first give in to life. Life is paradox, for sure.

OUT OF THE DREGS AND INTO THE LIGHT

I've been in a real funk lately. Editing is one of the most mentally fatiguing tasks a person can undertake, especially if it's your own manuscript. On bended knee, I thank my critique partners for all their hard work and efforts in helping ISLAND PASSAGE come to a professional level. Impossible to have done it by myself. The mind sure plays tricks when it comes to editing, and my eyes have a habit of not picking up missed words, such as THE OR and IS, all the little buggers that can trip up a sentence. I find using a ruler helps in editing as my eyes are always anxious to quickly take in a line of manuscript, then jump down to the next. Not a good thing. My question is this: how can you love something so much when it causes such emotional distress? Writing is hard work, no doubt about it. The tough part is, we create something that only can be appreciated after the fact, meaning no physical structure to measure our progress. No one except a writer can appreciate the innumerable amount of hours spent in bringing a story to completeness. Although at this point, I'm beginning to see the light. Soon, I'll have to let this baby go and send it off to the printer. And then what? Well, my next project, of course!

TWO BEAUTIFUL WORDS: THE END

I'm back after a few days of staring into space and wondering how to fit reality into the world of fiction. It's difficult for writers to disappear into their own heads and into the heads of fictional characters, become immersed in the lives of people who exist totally on paper. And then...come back out into reality and see that you still have a life to deal with on the outside. It's like spending the afternoon in a bar and coming out into the bright sunlight, eyes squinting to get used to the light on the outside world. Not that I spend afternoons in dark bars, but if the analogy fits, go with it. At any rate, I'm feeling renewed and ready to go into the final edits of ISLAND PASSAGE, and then off to the printer. Then, I'll go into the editing process again with DEVIL'S CHANGE, planning for that book to be out in 2011. Writing is difficult, no explanation needed as to the amount of work and mental fatigue it takes to produce a story that others will hopefully want to read. For writers, it is unusually difficult to put your head and heart into a project that no one sees until the finished product. This entails months and years of cyber copulation with your computer. Disgusting image, I suppose, but nonetheless the truth. Developing a story is no less than developing a relationship with characters, setting, plot and all the ingredients that must be taken into consideration. Sometimes this involves throwing some characters out into the snow and bringing other characters inside to perform the task needed to get to that ultimate climax in your story. The emotions needed to come to the end of your story is much the same as that give-and-take needed in any relationship. It takes patience and lots of nurturing to get to those last two words: THE END ...or happily ever after.

WHEN THE PAST MEETS PRESENT DAY

I have a lamp on my desk with a ribbed green shade, an old lamp that has been refashioned for electricity. Whenever I sit at the computer and try to say something unique and insightful, I look at the lamp and imagine it before electricity, functional with oil. Perhaps a woman, after finishing her chores for the day, sat down under the soft glow of this lamp and read a book or mended socks or rocked her children. Lives of men and women who went about doing ordinary tasks just to survive. Many of us are too young to remember a time when a man made $10.00 and spent no more than $10.00. No credit cards. No credit scores. A time when people made do with what they had, because there was no more. My father died in 1998. In his dresser drawer we found a small slip of paper from 1946 when he took an overnight trip with my mother. Every item he bought was duly noted on the paper: gas, lodging, dining. Would you believe the total expense for their trip was $15.00! My father and mother were "depression kids," growing up with an appreciation for simplicity and squeezing that nickel in their pocket until the buffalo pooped. When I write, I feel the love and security of a past that I'm sure I've added a few frills to over the years, making memories as mellow and soft as the light coming from the lamp on my desk.

OLD FRIENDS MEET IN ODD PLACES

My blog this morning will be short. I work two days a month at a law firm, helping with their billing and have to be dressed and out the door in fifteen minutes. But I do have a thought for the day about friendship.

Monday morning (yawn, stretch, drinking a sip of coffee) On my Sedona post I was thrilled to see one of my daughter's friends, Emily! I've known her since she was thirteen and remember Steph's (my daughter) slumber parties here at the house with all the other giggly girls. Again, friendships that may falter at times, are there, nonetheless. You see, friendships are like fingerprints: there for life and each unique in character. Emily is teacher and writer. And, on a more personal note: "Emily, I am so proud of the woman you have become." I'm also friends with her mom and dad, who I haven't seen in many years. Directed to Emily: Tell your mom and dad hi, and that I miss them.

Also, my friend, Barb Whittington, had an article in the Cleveland Plain Dealer on Sunday. If you get a chance, check out her blog. She is amazing.

A SNIPPET OF REAL LIFE

It's Saturday, so my blog will be personal. The snowstorm last night brought my daughter and granddaughter (14) to our doorstep. Their car had slid off the icy road not far from our house. They were okay, but pretty shook up. If the car had slid six inches farther, the vehicle would've rolled down an embankment. They safely got out of the car and walked to a nearby nursing home and stayed there in the warmth until the tow truck arrived. While at the nursing home, my daughter talked to some of the residents in the lobby, all expressing delight at having visitors so late at night. One elderly woman took hold of my daughter's hand and claimed her as her own daughter. All in all, everything worked out fine. Instead of driving the 80 miles back to Columbus, they stayed the night with us. This morning my daughter woke up in her old room, and before ten o'clock was on the road again. Leia had big plans with her friends; Jake (10) had hockey; Tori (4) had Celtic dance. Or maybe it's called clogging. Anyway, such is life. I'm a lucky woman!!!

IMAGINATION: BELIEVING IN TINKERBELL

I got up this morning, poured my coffee, worked through a couple of chapters, and now I'm here on my blog. And please take the time to press the "Follow" button so I know you have found me. It only takes a minute. Thank you.

In an earlier blog, I wrote about a writer's voice and how for years I've tried to pin the rascal down and properly define it. Imagination is just as elusive. Someone once wrote that every writer has a central core to their writing. My core is women's fiction - books about women and what we universally feel as sisters in a world of diverse, yet common, communities. My imaginaton has a hard time following any other road. I love the friendships and bonding women share, be it that first best friend, immediate best friends, or friendships between sisters. Creating stories about women is as comfortable for me as sliding into a pair of worn shoes that have formed to the bones in my own feet. Imagination is a place where writers feel at home, where they feel comfortable enough to be exactly who they are on the inside wihout risk of being judged as being (nuts?). Just kidding. It's hard to believe some people say they have no imagination, whatsoever. To me, this is like saying to Peter Pan, "Hey there, you in the green tights and funny cap, there's no such thing as fairy dust." A world without imagination would indeed be a very dull world. Yes, Peter, I do believe in Tinkerbell.

THE POLITICS OF MAKING BREAD

Yesterday, I made a wheat bread to go with veggie soup I had in the freezer. For those of you who make bread, I don't have to explain how spiritual it is to go through the process of kneading dough and watching it raise in a warm place, then punching it back down and forming loaves that miraculously raise again for baking. My first attempts at making bread were laughable. My friend, Jenny, told me I wasn't "loving" the dough enough. The first loaves of bread that came out of my oven were deformed, the texture like eating a piece of cardboard. My dog even turned up his nose at it. But I didn't give up. I practiced until finally becoming almost one with the dough, taking a sort of primitive delight in watching the yeast bubble up before mixing it with the flour mixture. A deli owner from Cleveland told me to add a tsp. of sugar to the yeast granules and warm water. The result was an overflow of yeast, as if, by itself, it could jump into the flour mixture and start "working." There are meditative values in making bread, a sense of letting go and becoming lost in the preparation process. The intoxicating smell of fermentation (escaping alcohol and carbon dioxide), and then the wholesome baking smell of bread makes me feel humble and appreciative of the all the little things in my life. Do you suppose if we gathered all the world leaders in one big kitchen and made them bake bread together, we might have a better world for it? Maybe. (I took this photo in a colonial kitchen in Williamsburg, Virginia)

THE THRIFT STORE ADDICT VS. MARILYN MONROE'S BRA

Catchy title, huh? Well, at least it got you here!

I've been a thrift store addict for over twenty years. Love the people, love the clothes, love inspecting what other people have thrown into cardboard boxes and dumped into one of those metal containers found in mall parking lots. Thrifters know these second-hand stores have no fancy frills, often concrete floors, and NO COMPLAINT DEPARTMENT. You buy it, you own it. The majority of "stuff" in thrift stores is dented, scratched, broken, or NEW (wedding, birthday, Christmas gifts someone didn't like). Hmmm, wonder if they've thought about re-gifting? Anyway, a thrifter knows it's all about separating through the really bad stuff and getting to the treasures. Ahhhh, yes, by now you've probably guessed where I'm going with this morning blog.

I'm on Chapter 12 of ISLAND PASSAGE, going through the manuscript again. Still picking through the "bad stuff" and getting to the "treasures." Let me give you some advice: forget the frills, fancy words, and trying to write like Toni Morrison. Remember this. Toni Morrison writes like Toni Morrison. Get the point? The more you dress up a sentence and call it literary, the more you look like a ten-year-old girl wearing Marilyn Monroe's bra. Go through and tighten your sentences, pick out the flowery words that trip the reader's concentration and makes him/her stop reading mid-sentence. After a few times of stopping-and-starting, the reader loses interest and drops YOUR BOOK into the return slot of the library. Or, if your reader actually bought the book, it might end up at a thrift shop, making the rounds of drab, metal shelving and keeping company with a hodge-podge of other books. No worries, I've found some wonderful "stuff" on those shelves! KEEP WRITING!!!