Monet Monday

photo by Lauri Johnston

       This evening I went to a special class at our city's art museum. About fifty of us--teachers, artists, writers--were going to explore Monet's art in depth.

       The museum was closed to everyone else. We had a quick meal in the cafe, then began our workshop.  At one point I needed to use the restroom; another woman and I went at the same time. A guard was there when we got on the elevator, and a guard was there when we got off and went directly into the bathroom. The rest of the museum was off-access.

       The cloak of darkness was upon us. The elevator was large enough to comfortably accomodate a painting or two. For a moment, the Walter Mitty in me came out...What would it be like to try and lift a priceless painting? Probably more exciting than wrestling with my students and their stuffed animals (It's "Hugs Not Drugs" day tomorrow.)

        Of course, I did not conjure up Pierce Brosnan ala "The Thomas Crowne Affair," nor did I branch out on my own and become an art thief. But I did think about it for a split-second.

        This evening we looked at Monet's Waterlilies using homemade viewfinders (an index card with a small rectangle cut out of the center) and decided on a spot of our own, we drew what our spot inspired in us, we chose a sound that we "heard" at our spot and created a symphony of sounds, and we wrote poetry about the paintings. Even though I did not get back until close to 9 (making it a 14-hour day for me), it was a marvelous night.

       The bit of writing advice I got out of this experience:  look from afar, and then look closely (make your own handy-dandy viewfinder), and then back up again and look from a distance. If you're writing about a character, and you know a person who has the same hair as your character, ask to look at their hair with the viewfinder. You'll see things differently. You'll see the variances in color, you'll see more texture than you would otherwise. Look at your house with the viewfinder. You'll be focusing on parts, which will nudge you into thinking in unique ways.

      Try it. You'll be surprised... 

Book Blurb Friday #34

     It's Book Blurb Friday (even though it's Saturday right now; I wrote this post yesterday, but I wanted to get a little bit of mileage out of my post on Linda O'Connell's arrest--since that is really serious business--before it got "lost" in the blog shuffle.)

     Every Thursday (for the early birds) Lisa Ricard Claro provides a photograph for our inspiration. Our mission? To write an enticing book "blurb" in 150 words or less. Writers then comment on Lisa's blurb (and say a big "thank you," please), and link their blurb to everyone else's, via the handsome Mr. Linky.

     Here is my blurb. It's dark, but goes along with the mood I was in this week.

     The Slow Death of Hope
       by Sioux Roslawski

Franklin saw that framed picture when he went to his school library. A peaceful scene. The road curving…to another place. A better place.



Full of anger and hatred, he was finished. Finished with trying to get help. He wrote a letter to his teacher about the unspeakable things he and his brother and sister were being forced to do by Mom’s boyfriend. He told his principal. They had reported it. People in suits came over, but the boyfriend denied it; the case was closed.


Now Franklin and his family were moving. To a school where no one knows what happened last year…what’s still happening.

Will anyone with any power ever help Franklin? Will Mom ever get some sense and start protecting her precious kids? Will Franklin’s former teacher hunt the boyfriend down and slice off his testicles in a fit of rage?

Read to find if Franklin ever finds peace…

(150 words)

(Note: Unfortunately, this story is true. The name is changed, and it involves a friend of mine who works in an out-of-state school district. But sadly, the rest is true...And I'm pissed. And heartbroken.)

Linda O'Connell: Arrested

        (For all of Linda's blogging friends, be assured that Linda is being treated with the utmost of care. Although the orange jumpsuit is not particularly flattering--considering her complexion--the guards have allowed her to use her laptop during her incarceration, so have no fear: Linda's blogging will continue uninterrupted.)




photo by gloomy50



      Ironically, the crime scene was the same place where Linda was assault, a couple of months ago. Coincidence? I think not...

      For those who have not read the story on CNN yet, you're probably wondering what Linda did that landed her in the slammer. After a jackass man called 911 to report an incident of over-exuberant WOMEN (Writing Outrageously, Mimicking, Eavesdropping and Nudging), the police arrived, sirens wailing and lights flashing. The other three perps scattered, too wily for the police to apprehend. Linda had remained on the scene to try and bash some sense into the jackass' victim's girlfriend/wife. Her efforts were in vain...

      Witnesses claim they saw the four women sitting for a couple of hours in overstuffed chairs, immediately outside the Barnes and Noble cafe. Part of that time, sporadically, they were silent, hunched over pieces of paper. At other times they seemed to be passing each other notes, and would then be observed gesturing (with nods of their head, and widened eyes) towards the jackass victim and his female companion, who were directly behind them.

     Some of the statements from the witnesses made the incident murkier, rather than more clear.

       "They seemed to be concerned with the punctuation of a particular term of endearment--one that is reserved for those who are overly-adoring of their mom...Was it one word, was it hyphenated, or was it two words? Apparently one of the women is an expert with the phrase, because she insisted it was one word," one woman in her twenties said.

       "There was quite a lot of cackling and snorting about doing things 'with no strings attached.' I think they were talking about embroidering, or tatting...I'm not sure. Whatever it was, they were getting a lot of enjoyment out of it. The heat at Barnes and Noble must have really kicked on then, too, because one of the women kept pulling at the neckline of her sweater and complaining about it being 'too hot' right then," a blue-haired elderly woman reported.

       "One of the ladies passed around a photo of a trailer to the other members of her gang. It was appalling. I happened to be walking by at that exact moment, and caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye. It was positively frightening. I am--shudder--going to have nightmares about that thing, I just know it," a middle-aged man claimed. "It was obviously a place where horrendous things had taken place," he added, and then scurried away, still visibly shaken.

      "I don't know why they chose those overstuffed chairs. One of the women--she had short hair...I think they called her 'Sue'--had enough cellulite back there, she sits in first-class style wherever she goes...What? Okay, I'll stick with the facts, just the facts...I got the impression that one of their gangmembers was missing. They kept saying how they wished 'Lynn' was there. I'm not sure...I don't know if that's an alias or what," a trim-figured woman stated. 

     In the only statement Linda made to the authorities, she claimed that she was there for her regular critique group. According to her, they meet every two weeks; they gather together to improve their writing. They also nudge each other to submit with greater frequency. When asked specifically about the alleged incident, Ms. O'Connell's calm, professional demeanor disappeared. She began to gesture, and her facial expressions became quite animated.

      "That girl does not know what she's gotten into. He's asinine. She actually was asking his permission to have her friends over. HE has his friends over twice a month for poker. I sure don't think he asks HER permission, do you? AND, he was all effusive about one of the players who is female. 'She's so good...She plays so well.' I know who's getting poked and I know all-too-well what game they're playing. That poor thing needs to wake up and..." 

      The officers had to cut her off; the spray from her excited spitting had soaked their uniforms. She was then taken from the premises and dragged off to be processed.

     For those who are interested in contributing to Linda O'Connell's legal fund, they may go to her November 13 book signing and buy a copy of the Storm Country anthology. More details can be found on her blog. The police are planning to be in attendance with their SWAT team. There are rumors that a person of interest--only known as "Obermoeller"--will be there. This "Obermoeller" character is wanted in connection with the October 19 Barnes and Noble incident...      

Bluck-Bluck-Bluck-Bluck!

This book will go on sale in March, 2012.

     Yesterday I had an exciting phone call, but I tried to keep my hopes dampened down a bit. A story I had submitted a while ago made it to the "semi-finals" for a Chicken Soup for the Soul anthology. What an honor to make it that far, I figured. I had heard from several people--Linda O'Connell, for example--about how being "chosen" was sometimes a temporary high. Once the final selections are made, some stories get kicked to the curb.

     Why let the news spread like wildfire, if I'm only going to be disappointed later?  I rationalized. I've got time to savor my little scrap of success before the final cut is made.

      Today, I got another email. My story "No More Ditches" has made the final cut and will be in the collection Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Magic of Mothers and Daughters, due out in March of 2012.

      Yahoo!

        

Bloody Blogger!

      I am still having trouble posting on some blogs. I cannot understand why some are easy sailing, and others are impossible. (I cannot even post a comment on my own blog!) So if I have not posted on your blog--and I usually do--it's because I have done everything Mr. Blogger has asked, and still he snubs me.

     These are the steps I have been asked to take by Mr. Blogger:

1. Sign in under my Google account. Redirected...
2. Sign in as "anonymous." On some blogs this works.
3. If anonymously sneaking in a comment does not succeed, I get the following request:

• Pull your hair up to show the true color.
• Pull your shirt up, and make your belly fat into a "puppet."
• Pull your upper eyelids up, to see what you'd look like if you had the money to get a much-needed face lift.

4. Then, Mr. Blogger laughs, and "redirects" me again...to nowhere.

Does anyone out there have a solution?  Are there others like me? Are you having trouble (still) as well? SOS (Save Old Sioux).

It's Thursday TMA (The Morning After)

      Lately, a couple of times a month, I binge on Wednesday nights. I get wildly drunk. I revel. I carouse.

      Of course, since one glass of wine loosens my tongue to the point of embarrassment (mine) and amusement (everyone else), I'm not talkin' 'bout booze. Since my after-hours life is so pathetically sucky, the level of the revel is not too high.* And since I'm so menopausally and sleep apnea-sleep deprived, the carousing is not too late ("Yikes! It's quarter after 9!") nor does it ever result in a call to the police. (However, there's always that frozen leg of lamb or the wood chipper...that just might end up getting the cops' attention!)

     A couple of Wednesdays a month, I meet with a group of wild women with pens. The laughter, the kinship, the sharp barbs...that's the whipped cream, because why we're really there is to hone our writing ability and increase our submissions.

Here are a few things I've learned so far from my "chicka peeps":

• When you're tempted to wait for a friend to get out of their car so you can knock on the door together, and the friend has a bunch of flowers in hand (and your hands are empty), race to the door, and make sure you make your own entrance. That way, your lack of thoughtfulness will not be so evident. 
• Looks can be deceiving. Sometimes women can be thin, young, cute and talented in the area of writing. They can also be genuinely wonderful people.  It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, I've found I like them in spite of it.
• When faced with self doubt...when you get a rejection letter...when you're worried your writing sucks...Think WWSD.

          What would Sioux do?  Sioux would say, "_____   _____." (It's one of her favorite phrases.) It just tears and wears you down if you obsess over the opinion of others. Work your craft. Let your talent shine. And let doubt fall to the wayside.

      What charges your battery? Who are your "chicka peeps" (or your "scratch and sniff pals," if you're of the male persuasion?) What snappy comeback do you give--at least in your mind--when you get rejected? Inquiring minds want to know... 

         (How did I do, Hope?)

* Although my husband got us tickets to see John Prine in December, and I'm shrieking with delight. Shay, eat your heart out.