Writing - the ups and downs

We're going away for Thanksgiving dinner and I'm giving thanks for the invitation to our daughter's house. No three days of cooking for this mom. My oldest daughter does the turkey just the way I like it, tender and moist - she's a great cook and while there are many things I love about her, I especially love that she's a good cook and loves to cook. It's one other thing that we share as well as our love of books and reading. That's a whole other blog - all the books we've shared over the years. She started out just as I did. Reading books in bed late at night as a teen when she was supposed to be sleeping. To our special dinner, I'm contributing the stuffing, candied sweet potatoes, plus the cherry and pumpkin pies. I may do homemade rolls as well. I know the grand kids who'll be there, Dan and Jillian, love my rolls and so they will be appreciated. All right, so I love them too! Today I made the pie crusts and put them into the freezer. M...

Grandma’s Rocking Chair by: B.W. Grandma’s rocking chair - passed on to our daughter - headed for Wisconsin loaded in a U Haul, nestled between an antique secretary, and a refinished dresser - mirror long gone. Our three year old triplet grandchildren, faces pressed to the window of the van, wave good bye to me and grandpa in the driveway, their tears breaking our hearts. Our daughter, Jill, heavy with the child of her new husband, hums to the children And soon they are fast asleep. The rocking will start while baby is in the womb, this new grandson of ours, whose name before he's even born, is Austin Cole. He will learn from his mother How rocking soothes the soul. Nourishes the spirit. Links us one to the other And to generations past and future. just as we were linked as children forming the circle for ring around the rosey. -the end- Comments Welcome!

RED MARBLES By Anonymous I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me. 'Hello Barry, how are you today?' 'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good.' 'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?' 'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.' 'Good. Anything I can help you with?' 'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.' 'Would you like to take some home?' asked Mr. Miller. 'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.' 'Well, what have you...

Amazingly enough, I found some inspiration along the highway coming to Wisconsin. Could it be the time I had to think? Or was it the quiet novel we listened to on the way? Or, the long stretches of road? Or the time to talk to R without interruptions or chores. Whatever it was, I found myself thinking of several stories I'd like to write. Not going to say a thing about them here because I've learned that talking about a story before it's written can give it the only life it needs and when one starts to write the story it folds in on itself. This is true for me, at least. Raymond and I were reliving some funny events that took place in the fifties in our families and all of a sudden, I could visualize my characters having these experiences. When this happens you need to run for pen and paper or pencil and napkin or whatever. I jotted down ideas on the back of our map and when I get home I can give them some body. It's good to take a vacation. Especially driving ...

Since I spent Aug/Sept sick and so far Oct. has been spent doing birthday/grandchildren things and catching up on the necessities of life, I've proclaimed November as writing month for me. The entire month. Every day. Well, Sunday off for church and cooking or whatever. Nothing is allowed to get in my way except something of extreme importance. Emergency dental work etc. I look forward to beginning on the first of the month and making as much progress as possible by the end. I have several projects that I have in mind to work on as well as the KILL ME project. I find I have to give myself some freedom to move between projects. Otherwise, I freeze up. There's the fear of that anyway. My writing seems very precarious presently. I may seek out some old stories. I left behind some characters that are worthy of saving from life in the back of a dark desk drawer. And then there's the sequel to HUNGRY FOR CHOC. titled SWEET BABY JAMES who is about an abduction. Baby stil...

This week I've tried without success to get back into the story KILL ME OR DRIVE ME TO FL. First I read over parts of the story. I climbed into the car with this group going to Florida and it was stifling. Nobody would say or do anything. Nobody moved. Not even mouthy Daisy. I was ready to chalk it up to another failed story attempt. Then I started thinking. First I took myself outside the car, outside the box I'd written these people into. I woke up thinking about the characters one day. I still didn't have anything to write. That night I went to sleep thinking about the story. The next morning it hit me. These four characters had lives before they got into that car and that's where I had to start. At that moment ideas started jumping out at me. And with that I was/am back on track. I keep having to re learn everything I've learned about writing in the 20+ years I've been at it. Sometimes I think I'm not meant to write a novel length story. ...

Every little girl who lived on Cherry Lane in the seventies knew about Clara Walk’s fashionable, affordable Barbie boutique. I met Clara not long after moving onto the street. She was the matriarch of the weekly coffee klatch, having teen aged children and beyond. I learned a lot from Clara. And, not just about children either, though she clearly had a soft spot for little ones and a great flair for doll fashion. My first taste of Clara’s Barbie fashion designs came when I accompanied a friend to Clara’s. Her daughter’s new Barbie needed a wardrobe. The array of outfits that Clara offered for Barbie was astounding. She not only sewed the tiny garments she created on the sewing machine, but she hand stitched embellishments such as flowers, pearls, buttons, and fancy pockets. She crocheted and knitted suits, coats, hats, caps, and scarves. Barbie could be outfitted for everything from tennis lessons to ball room dancing to playing in the snow in a matter of minutes, all right in...