Writing is intimate. It is art on a good day and maybe a glimpse into my soul, my persona, what moves and motivates me, or the belly button lint I am unraveling for the day. I’ve seen that in the works of others who I read consistently, the person who occasionally slips in. They are the shadow lurking in the back of the room, only noticed because you happened to glance up at just the right angle and see them. It isn’t much, just a hint, because art, whatever the medium, isn’t about the person creating. It is about the reflection of the something greater that the artist has received and their expression of that. I used to think only great writers had that ability. Continue Reading →
I tend to read less when writing. (Something about too many words running around my head and eye glaze.) Then something fantastic happened. The book I was reading to avoid my own writing turned to shit 500 pages in. Kinda sad considering I would have bought the rest of the series. Not only did said book go to the great give away in the sky, the author’s chances of ever getting me back are slim. Yeah, as a reader I’m harsh. Reading time is valuable and there are a gazillion great books just waiting to crowd my already crowded bookshelves. Yet I am forever thankful I read that book. More thankful even, that I read it when I did, which was while struggling with my Continue Reading →
The salted sleep, the ocean waves, sand between my toes, safety, peace, the world revolving round, trees in the wind, all the simple things neglected or that which has been taken for granted. The heart fractured and now opening, healing, the stars in the sky, books, fingers entwined. The innocence returned with wisdom entwined. Songs, peals of laughter, dogs barking and a smattering pitter pattering of rain falling. Knowledge life’s enumerable pains all pass. It is not the big moments remembered, more the day to day grind forgotten in its simplicity and the growth of soul, now that is bliss.
This weekend I attended the Florida Heritage Book Festival in St. Augustine. Being the first conference – for writers – I’ve ever been to, I have to say that connecting with like minded individuals, learning a few tips and tricks and finding a few new authors to read was well worth the trip. 🙂
When I originally put Finicky Eater on this site, the story was still in its infancy. As in a couple of months removed from being written and of first draft quality. It has since moved into a toddling second draft with another go round of editing awaiting it before advancing to a fast walk then run. I’ve decided to let the original work stand for those curious to see the writing process. However below is the new and improved first paragraph… Little things tended to add up. Not that Kasha considered this as she grabbed her jacket and headed into the living room. Anticipation quivered in heightened senses becoming a fevered beat pulsing in her head; the soundtrack, devoid of music, was more than a precursor Continue Reading →
It is the voice in my head on continuous loop. The one I cannot turn off, the one I’d like to sometimes drown. The song stuck with half word and sounds unexpressed. The soundtrack of a life in progress with many stops and starts. More comforting are the sounds of nature. The sudden pelting sheet of rain caught in a midsummer thunderstorm or the roar of ocean waves churned from the deep. Of course what would life be without music? Specifically the movie soundtrack that on many occasions evokes a depth of emotion I return to again and again? Complete.
In a post honoring a friend, I gave a brief explanation of what the Stephen King quote, “Get busy living or get busy dying” meant to me. The ending of this movie is one of my favorites, partly because of Morgan Freeman, who doesn’t love listening to his voice, and because it offers all that is good in this world: friendship, love and hope. Hope you enjoy!
I’ve been behind on my Stephen King reading, he is prolific, and just finished Blaze – a good fun romp of a read. Even knowing how the book was going to end, (it is his homage to Of Mice and Men) I had hope I was wrong. As a reader/ writer, I love the way words can be strung, creating a sensory delight, their sound and picture tinkling in my mind’s eye as their meaning evokes feeling. They are the great lines that pull you momentarily from a story just so you can pause, reread and reflect before plunging back into the plot. Stephen King has strung lots of those through the years and something else. He offers hope (for his characters & the Constant Reader) in the rarest of times and reminds me Something Greater exists. Continue Reading →
Last week I was sidetracked by a good cause. Rescuing old books from an uncertain future is a precarious habit given the current state of my bookshelves. There is something about a book, the feel of the pages, the slight imprint of the words, the smell, the binding that all converge into a prized possession even without me having read a word.
Sounds easy, doesn’t it? The Universe keeps sending me this sound bite and today I found myself writing it to another but the message was equally (if not more so) meant for me. I am a perfectionist. If I were to give thought to the reason why it boils down to a simple sauce of belief and a need to finish with the gold star firmly planted on my chest. Perfection to me is equated with the words: a polished finish. One cannot reproduce a higher standard and really who wouldn’t like that? Yet my need for coloring inside the lines and having that perfectly straight handheld scissor cut are rooted in a dislike of chaos. (Ironic and fitting considering much of my life has Continue Reading →