Fact truly is stranger than fiction. Hopefully it ends on the last page with a huge, “Ahhhhhh….”
Women who rolled their own – women worth writing about.
I didn’t know what I expected to find at the church. No one there would remember him, but it was a start. I paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk in front of a tall, grey, stone building whose peaks and spires reached for the equally grey Chicago sky. …
Colorful – that is how I would describe Ognian Georgiev’s look at journalism, sports, and literature. Grateful – that is how I would describe my attitude to the first person who reached across the world and asked, “How does it feel to be an Amazon top ten author?” Check out his …
A character in Bette Midler’s “That Old Feeling” said he wrote better on an old typewriter than on a computer because it made him think before he typed. My elderly neighbor back in Kansas said no one met on front porches anymore when television came along. My kids said there was no excuse for not knowing …
Daring and impossible relationships make great subjects for the imagination, for art, and for novels. Two opposites meet – the differences are cute, quirky, exhilarating. Two opposites become a pair – the differences are obstacles, annoying, and getting old. Two opposites find it necessary to separate – the differences are irreconcilable, the other person’s fault, and proof the relationship was a mistake from the start. I was a dog to begin with, and you were a cat. It was silly of us to even try. Wait, was it? What about Milo and Otis?
Conflict, conflict, conflict, and the determination to overcome it makes for a great story, a great character, a great subject, and great success. Turning the other cheek is good. Turning away…the story is done.
Because we are opposites, we attract. Since we are opposite, we repel. But that’s only the beginning!
My tribute to another artist and his or her art form – one that speaks to the writer in me and tells me a tale. Whether this couple’s faces were whittled or carved, I don’t know, but their creator etched their histories into their expressions well enough I can feel how sharp that blade must have been and what they did to survive it. Whoever made these, you’ve carved countless stories in my mind and created endless hope that these two will always always survive. Thank you for infinity in your characters, one that will never conclude with, “The End.”
I’m a detail person by day, in the laboratory where it’s necessary. But in my other life, my real life of writing novels, I create. I can’t be weighed down when a story is churning in my head, with mechanical things or processes that falter or foul up. Those things bog me down, they slow the free-flow thinking process, they turn my novel into something that sounds more like a scientific journal than an engaging slice of life. When I’m in creative mode I expect the details of living to manage themselves. I want my car to start, the washing machine to cycle, my mower to run smoothly – in other words I want the mechanical elements in my life to magically do their job and refrain from distracting my thought flow. So I thank you Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, and Eli Whitney for allowing me to think creatively. Thank you that I can engage with my characters instead of rubbing two sticks together, chasing down the horse to harness it, or tying the goat to another section of my overgrown lawn. And maybe most of all, thank you, Mr. Crapper, for advancing my plumbing to the state of the art it is today. There would be no Annabelle, Julianne, or Kyle from my book, “Mine to Tell” if I was toting chamber pots to the back forty or kicking a tank of water that wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do. Thank you, all other creative geniuses, for allowing me undistracted time to write.
I remember when my mom turned an antique hobby into a business, and fun became all business. Instead of letting it sour her, she mastered it. She became the best walking price guide anyone had ever known. If writing is turning into a business for me, then I want to tackle it the way she did her antiques. I love creating a story, I love editing it and working with my publisher and scaling the social media learning curve… And now, instead of doing that with just one book, I’m doing it with three. Mine to Tell, Asked For, and the as yet unnamed beginning of novel number three. It’s a challenge, a new definition of fun, and Lord willing I’ll master it! Artists create and artists evolve!
Of course I did! It’s art! It’s someone’s art and I stood at a crowded auction, waiting, until it was mine. I didn’t care for the look on my friend’s face when he asked. It was a smile…no maybe a smirk…but his brows were furrowed like he was confused. I wasn’t confused. I wrapped my arms around my purchase and held on until I got home. Maybe as a writer I appreciate the act of creativity. Could I have carved or whittled this? Never, no matter how much I wish I could. Someone built an expression into this wood. Maybe it’s Paul Bunyan, maybe it’s God, maybe it’s how someone’s great-grandfather looked when raccoons devoured his sweetcorn patch. But it’s art, and I appreciate it.