Writing - the ups and downs

The Shack by William P. Young has been much touted in the last few years. Some people love it. Others hate it. As it was one of the books discussed recently at our writers meeting, and the group was clearly divided in their feelings about the book, I decided to read it. I knew very little about the book when I opened it and I was hooked in the first few pages. It's about the disappearance from a camp ground of a beautiful little six year old girl named Missy. The shack comes into play early on when the little girl's bloody dress is found in the shack in the woods. Okay, we move along backward getting to know the characters in the story. Then, Mack the father gets a letter from papa, which is what they call God. He's invited back to the shack in the woods by what he assumes is God. He goes. It's winter and it's been snowing and is icy. This is where he started to lose me. The weather which he's having trouble walking in turns suddenly to spring or su...

Every Wednesday at noon, Joy Ruth takes old Minnie Hendrix to McDonald's. She pushes the wheelchair up to the counter where the old woman orders a Big Mac, large fries, and a black coffee. Today, they are sitting in the newly remodeled section which has green plastic ferns hanging from the ceiling. "My tail bone is killing me," Minnie complains as she eats. She has just turned eighty and is a finicky eater. McDonald's is the only place she will finish her food. "Raise up a minute," Joy Ruth says, "I'll see if I can fix that skinny tail bone of yours." Minnie grasps the wheelchair and lifts her frail body up from the seat of the chair. The young woman reaches over and fluffs the flowered pillow underneath the old woman. Satisfied, Minnie sinks back into the pillow and straightens her red satin dress. Every week the old woman insists on wearing the red satin dress with food stains on the bodice. Joy Ruth always offers mor...

Several years back we had two weddings in one year. Our oldest daughter married in June that year, our middle daughter in October. (Our middle daughter said all she wanted was a new car. Her father helped her get one. Next thing we knew, she wanted a husband as well. You cannot trust daughters.) After that busy year, I figured when the time came for our youngest daughter to get married the wedding would be a snap. Not. It seems having two weddings in one year is a walk in the park compared to marrying off the baby. It wasn't just that the price of weddings had skyrocketed. Marrying off the baby was significantly different than marrying off a regular daughter. This is the wedding of the one in whose presence the word "no" has never been uttered. Even if it was uttered it was quickly changed to "yes." She's had the best her family could give her. No. She's had better. And, as is the case with many last borns, our youngest offspring had perfected the ...

SOMEONE said writing a story is like giving birth to a child. Each one has its own significance, its own breath, its own place, its own pain in becoming. Beforehand you were in awe of it, a little scared of it, knowing not what to expect. It moves us forward to the next plane, the next level - giving us the knowledge and commitment that strengthens us for the task of caring for AND launching our charges. What do you think? Anything you'd like to compare writing to? Look forward to hearing from you! Blessings on this new and unfolding month.

Dear Critique Partner: In regards to recent criticism of your work, remember this: when we give a piece of our story to someone to read - we expect them to see the whole. It's like building a house and giving someone a single piece of lumber. “Here, see the house I'm building.” SOME CAN SEE IT AND SOME CAN’T. This step is as necessary to me as breathing. I need to give you single boards as I create them. AND I expect you to be a visionary and say, “Why yes. I see.” (EVEN if you don't!) I need you to see how special the piece of lumber is that I'm using and to see that eventually I'll add more pieces to make the whole. Choose people to read your work who like the kind of stories you write. Then, they'll appreciate the pieces. There are as many kinds of stories as there are houses to live in. If you give a brick ranch to someone who only appreciates a high rise he'll have a hard time fitting himself into what you are offering. Don’t rebuild your stor...

"I think that one's art is a growth inside one. I do not think one can explain growth. It is silent and subtle. One does not keep digging up a plant to see how it grows." E.C. Just as one does not dig up a plant to see how it grows ---one does not judge the hue or color of a flower until it blooms. Yet we seem to want, I seem to want, to dissect and judge every piece of my story before it's completed - when it is in its infancy. That's what I'm thinking about today. Writing, it really is up and down. Off here to create today's portion of my story. Blessings!

I wanted to recommend a good book for you to read if you're stuck in the house due to bad weather. A few years ago a friend gave me COFFIN as a gift. I believe she bought it at the Tamarack in WV, which I love. The book is classified as young adult but it satisfied my adult mind. It's the fictionalized story of young Fanny McCoy of the Hatfields and McCoys. The author warns: This is a historical novel. Read at your own risk. The writer feels it necessary to alert you to the fact that you might enjoy it. I DID! Go read this book and let me know how you liked it. BLessings.