Work Your Art

          After reading OJ's post on the quest for macaroons in Paris, I was instantly teleported back to France. Although the only bit of Paris I've seen is the inside of the airport, (I can hear you tsk-tsk-tsking already...I know, it's a crime going to France and not spending time in Paris.) the south of France is a place that occupies a huge part of my heart.

       The French people consider eating an art. Salad dressings are homemade and made for just that meal. Breads are carefully selected. Cheese follows lunch and dinner, and lunch last for an hour or so; dinner can easily stretch into 3 hours. Of course, it's not all eating. In fact, the food is consumed slowly and is savored. There's lots of talking and laughing and drinking--the food is sprinkled in here and there.

       I was in awe of the pastry shops, because the tiny treats were works of art. They were too gorgeous to eat delicious.

a tray of French pastries in Pau, France--photo by Sioux Roslawski
(I photoshopped it so my drool on the display case was not visible.)

       Take the time to make your art the best masterpiece it can be. If it's writing, share your piece with others. Let them nibble on it...listen as they discuss the flavors and ingredients.

         Then, put their suggestions in your pastry bag, and pipe on the revision. Polish your writing piece. Tinker with it. Put on the finishing touches. And serve it up to an editor as a submission. Hopefully, they'll savor your work of art.

The Sisterhood

             Currently I have a couple of projects going. One is a story about an almost-feral cat we took in...The other is a revising project.

              And then there is the lawyer in North Carolina...He knew one of my heroes---a player in the Negro leagues---and apparently I am going to have to stalk him to get any information.

              Many of my blogging friends juggle a dozen or more projects at any given time. So the degree to which I walk the walk is probably pathetic. But for me, it's progress.

              A couple of days ago, Donna wrote a post about a forgotten word, and her eyes immediately lit on one of the definitions:  sisters of the quill.  The bloggers who commented fell in love with the idea of a community of hardworking writers, a support system for schriveners...

               And thus the Sisters of the Quill award was born...



created by http://donnasbookpubl,blogspot.com/

                  After reading Linda O'Connell's post today (April 8), I was struck (again) with how often I think of the blogging writers I follow as "local." There are times I think, 'We could have lunch and I could get some feedback,' or I contemplate whether I will see a particular writer at an event. Unfortunately (for me) some of them live in Minnesota or Georgia or Arizona or...In fact, in some cases, I have no idea where they live. And that's okay.

                   Because, after all, if we're writers, we're kindred spirits. There is a connecting thread that binds us to each other. (kinda like handcuffs)

                    Donna passed on this award to several writers. She made her proclamation:  Spread the sisterhood!  Give the award to deserving writers, to women whose talent needs to be recognized.  And since I enjoy going to the fence and "chatting" with my blogging friends, I am going to pass the award to out-of-town writers who regularly wow me...

                         Katie at Katie Gates Writes           

                         Lisa Ricard Claro at Writing in the Buff

                         Janel at  her post

                         OJ Gonzalez and her blog

                         Shay and her poetry                          

                         C. Hope Clark  and  her blog



(I would also pass it onto to Pearl and her blog, but she don't do no stinkin' awards---she's too  busy ministering to bus riders and unemployed cats.)

                     So...the sisterhood is spreading.  Keep it growing...And keep on writing.


               
                         



            

One Big Lie Wrapped Up in Four Truths

        Tammy's a liar.  A stretcher-of-the-truth. A teller of tall tales. A fabricator. In other words, she's a writer...

       While reading her blog, I discovered Tammy had passed the liars' torch to me, along with this award:

         According to requirements of the award, in order to receive the huge cash prize and the semi full of Rice a Roni that accompanies the cute colorful certificate, I must tell you four truths and a lie. See if you can discern which one is the lie:

• I've been skydiving before. In fact, I've done it three times and look forward to doing it again.
• I have a half-sister who is in prison for life, without parole, for killing her step-grandson. 
• I once worked in the Chrysler plant for a short period of time; unfortunately, my ineptitude got me fired.
• Both of my children were born at home, by choice, without any drugs.
• I once spent the summer working in a national forest. It was an all-women work camp, and involved stringing barbed wire, digging post holes (by hand) and clearing trails.

(I think I am also supposed to post a photo of me writing.  That will have to wait until next week...)

          Now I am going to pass on this award to some of my blogging friends. (And I must admit, a few of these bloggers I've picked because I am dying to see what kind of lie they brew up.) And the few, the chosen, the awarded, are:

         Lisa Ricard Claro and her wonderful blog and meme. She writes marvelous stuff, shares writing opportunities, and has even launched a new meme recently.  Check out her Book Blurb Friday if you haven't already...

       Janel and her "Jumble." She writes. She creates bracelets and necklaces that are works of art.  She's way too talented for her own good. Let's see if she can spin a tall tale as well as she can weave wire and beads.

       Katie and her writing from the west coast.  Sometimes the stories she tells (true ones) are so hilarious and "out there," I'm suspicious.  I think she's a well-honed liar, but I could be wrong.

       Liza Bean, in care of her two-legged friend Pearl.  Of course, Pearl is welcome to tell four truths and a lie, too, but I am far more interested in Liza Bean's hair-raising "tails."

       Linda and her blog.  Linda shares her writing expertise--generously--and she makes me laugh (as do the vast majority of my blogging buddies).

        OJ Gonzalez-Cazares and her blog.  She's done quite a bit of traveling, and has a unique spin on life.  I think even her truths would sound like lies.

       Barb and her purple pen.  I am looking forward to her four truths and a lie, written with a rhyme scheme...

        Becky Povich and her blog.  Ooops, sorry. She's supposed to be working on her memoir and not spending endless hours on blogspot.  (You can write four fast truths and an even quicker lie...And then get back to your book!)

       And finally, last but certainly not least, is Donna and her book publishing blog.  Everyone's heard the phrase, "Still waters run deep."  That's Donna.  Who knows what kind of crazy, far-fetched true tales she's keeping hidden, under the surface? It'll be fascinating to find out.

         

Thanks, and a...Test?

         The other night I was part of a very large birthday celebration at a local Mongolian grill restaurant.  I had just fulfilled a bet with my husband for $20 (I ate a plate of with their hottest sauce; I finished it, but did drink a huge glass of water as I ate it.  In the past I've also smoked a cigarette, while my witnesses watched me turn green, and I've eaten a pickle without the help of gravy.  From my perspective, both the cigarette and the pickle are equally deadly and disgusting.)

       Okay, I digress...

       Heidi, one of the young women there, is an interpreter for the deaf.  Seated across the narrow table from me, and knowing I am a teacher, she asked, "Who is your most unfavorite student?"

        I sat there and started mentally going through my class of 25.  Who would that be?  I thought of Teflon-Boy, a student quite talented at making sure no homework ever stuck to him.  Now, however, he was getting a bit more serious about school, he accepted when I stapled his homework to his forehead every afternoon, and he had won me over with his smile...

        How about Miss Moody?  She regularly snarls at her peers, the nasty looks she give me when she thinks I'm not looking, she's a challenge. But when I met her mother, I knew why MM is the way she is.

      I thought of a few more students, trying to form an answer, and finally said, "Well, there is a student in our class who hates being made fun of, and yet he daily says the most cruel things about his peers.  He's super bright, and one-on-one, has an incredible amount of empathy and is quite self-aware.  He's made some improvements so far, but is still very resistant. He's not a student I dislike, but he's my biggest challenge right now..."

      She smiled at me, and then immediately asked, "Who is your favorite student?"

      Whew, another hard one.  I have a bunch of students who work really hard every day in spite of academic struggles, they have their loveable little quirks...Who would I name as my favorite?

       "If you asked me that question last year, I would probably say ___ because this student began the school year reading way below grade level, but she never gave up, and although she had this 'tough' exterior, when she saw that I really cared, we formed a great relationship.  Now she comes and says hi every morning and every afternoon, and we tease each other, and I really admire her perserverance..."

      Heidi smiled.  I guess when I could not come up with a name instantly for each of her questions, I had passed her "test."

     I guess I wonder how you can spend all day--5 days a week--with kids, and look at them in such black and white terms?  Like.  Like.  Like.  Don't like.  Like.  It's impossible.

      Here's a few more thanks to folks who follow my blog. Some of them might have just checked in once, and are now bored, but I'm extending a thank you nonetheless...

photo by little_bulldog_design

Pat Wahler at http://critteralley.blogspot.com.  She is an animal lover, a writer (and rewrote the "Night Before Christmas" in a way-clever version) and has a dog named Indy and a cat named Bogey.

Lisa Ricard Claro at www.writinginthebuff.net.  Lisa is a gifted writer, can be serious or wry, and even has links for writers.

OJ Gonzalez-Cazares at http://castazero.blogspot.com/.  OJ is a writer and a traveler.  She can take you to another country via her words, and you can smell the aromas and see the sights and feel the pulsating music.

Clara Gillow Clark at http://claragillowclark.blogspot.com.  She writes historical fiction.

Janel Gradowski at http://janelsjumble.blogspot.com.  Janel is one of those people that make you envious.  She bakes.  She writes.  She makes jewelery.  (You can even buy her necklace and bracelet patterns!)

Karen Lange at http://karenelange.blogspot.com.  Karen is not only a writer, she's also an online writing teacher.

and Tammy at http://messageinabloggletheartofbeingbroken.blogspot.com.  Tammy has lots of publishing credits under her belt, and she is a substitute teacher along with her freelance writing.   Her sense of humor will slay you...

I hope that 2011 is a great one for all of us...Thanks for making comments, for reading my blog, for checking in once in a while...










   

Malo! Malo! Malo!

        OJ Gonzalez-Cazares,  in her blog, has written a poem about domestic violence.  She also has linked a music video of a singer named Bebe..

          There are subtitles, but the chorus gets under your skin, and the singer's power and style make it unnecessary for a translation. 

           I am reminded of a parent in our school. She always referred to her husband as
"Mr. ____."  She never referred to him on a first-name basis when speaking of him.  The kids loved to spin tales about the teachers, so their father could go on a rampage at the school, because that meant his anger was aimed at someone other than them. 

          This family has several sons and one daughter.  What kind of monsters will the boys develop into, with that kind of role model?  What kind of mate will the daughter look for?  From her perspective, is love always black and blue?

photo by Bianca Inez

             

The Winning Writers

            Recently I followed in Becky Povich's footsteps and had a writing contest.  There was a 200-word limit, it had to include a poem/bit of poetry, and the photo below was provided for inspiration.

           It was really hard judging, because they all came from such creative (and unique) perspectives.  (I mean, how do you compare an apple to an orange?)  After some scratching and biting (amongst the judges), T'Mara Goodsell's piece was chosen as the winner. However, I wanted to publish all four, because I was amazed by all of them...

Sign

I dreamed of finding serenity, but it always seemed to elude me. I wanted to live near the beach someday. The beach
was serene---not like here, in a weird little neighborhood near the mountains. Across from my house was a field, and at the far end, a red chair sat all by itself with nothing around but a stop sign. No road, just that sign stuck in the grass. What  kind of nut does that?

During one hot afternoon, I decided to clean up my view a bit and throw that junk out. But when I jogged down there, I discovered that the wind seemed to hit the little chair straight on, and it was cooled by the fields of grass. I did what the sign said. I stopped. I sat. The experience of being perched like a lifeguard at the edge of that ocean of grass was exquisite. The constant, cool breeze sent ripples through the grass like waves. And the fragrance! Green, herbal...fresh.

I closed my eyes and wrote this haiku:

I am on the shore
Of a sea of discovery
The tide brings wisdom.

The chair remains. And I've decided to obey all stop signs.

                               ----T'Mara Goodsell of Message in a Bloggle

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Think It Through

Life gets hectic at times we know.

We're always doing something, always on the go.

It pays to stop every now and then,

Perhaps sitting, reading, or talking to a friend.

There is a difference when we make the choice,

Rather than being told by someone else's voice.

We don't want to hear we're not doing our best,

Especially when our days are already full of stress.

The doctor telling us we need to pick and choose,

So our quality of life is not something we will lose.

Another voice we hear is the one inside our head.

We need to stop and listen to what is being said.

Most of the time we know what we should do.

But there are moments we avoid this truth too.

It may call for changes we don't want to make,

When in our minds there's too much at stake.

Taking the time to think things through,

May help us make decisions that are long overdue.

                       ---Barbara Hodges and her purple pen

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Stubborn Ain't Good

      Grampa were stubborn, and stubborn ain't good.

      He shoulda bent a little, but no way he ever would.

      There were this field, ten acres of tall grass and stickers. Grampa loved it.

       "Boy," he said to me. "There's memorable  things happened under the stars in that there field." And he spat his chaw juice, hitched up his overalls and marched off.

       Few years back some company were gonna plow up the field and build a Wally-Mart store. Grampa got his stubborn on.  He unloaded a chair from his truck and set it next to the stop sign in front of that field.

       "Ain't nobody diggin' up nuthin'," he said.

       Well, Grampa plopped hisself down in that chair with his coon dog settin' to his right and a cooler full of beer to his left. Weren't nobody surprised Grampa wouldn't move for them diggin' machines.  When a three day rain started he still didn't move, jest set there gettin' wet.

       Course, no one were surprised, 'cause Grampa was stubborn.

        When the rain stopped he jest set there dryin' in the sun. Turns out Grampa were three days dead 'fore anyone knew it.

         And that's why stubborn ain't good.

                             ---Lisa Ricard Claro in her writing "attire" 

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"You can run, but you can't hide

Once you get in you can't go back...

A secret passage took you right here

You came in freely, lured by the breeze.

The sound of music, the smell of me

Your dreams of freedom, to escape from thee;

But there is no breeze, there is no shining sky

No grass that is greener, no better life.

You were unhappy, selfish and mean

Nothing was ever good enough for the queen.

The trick was easy; I just followed your lead

Made myself available, you saw me in every scene

The perfect handsome stranger that night at the club

The extra drink, why not, if it is free

The feeling of greatness inhaling a line

Nothing could stop you, not even a clear sign

That you were indeed secretly, sealing my pact.

Yes, the cozy sofa seemed somehow so real

The dark shadow in it so eerie, yet friendly and sincere

All was part of your magic-pill field trip.

If you are reading this, stop wondering: It is rather clear

That your trip is over, that your end starts here.

Welcome to my world, make yourself at home;

Because now you are mine...and mine alone."

      ---OJ Gonzalez-Cazares and her brilliant blog

        If you have not had the good fortune to stumble upon these writers' blogs, please do so immediately. 

        And Jennee--I'm sorry I never got your piece. If you email it to me again at siouxsprompts@yahoo.com I will be glad to publish it on my blog, and if you send me your snail mail address, I will send something your way...

        Thanks again for the submissions.  It is always great when one is inspired to write.

      So, I followed Becky's lead... Who will host the next writing contest?