Something Delicious

        A good book is delicious. Really.

      At our last writing critique group meeting, a book was being passed around. Tammy, one of the WWWPs had loaned it out. Lynn had borrowed it and was returning it. Beth had read it a while ago. Before Tammy could get it back, I snatched it and dragged it back to my lair.

      "Whoah. You mean this writing critique group is a little self-made library? You mean you do something besides critique each other's writing?" you say?  Not only do we toss books back and forth, we also nibble (on--too often--homemade treats), we drink (mostly tea, but once we drank a satisfying alcoholic concoction that is named after what Meg Ryan faked in the movie When Harry Met Sally), we play proctologist and examine what comes out of one member's anal sphincter every two weeks, and we investigate threats on Linda O'Connell's life. (Writers who are desperate to slow her submission rate down have threatened her with death by wood chipper...a leg of lamb...a nail gun.)

photo by www.thedawgsdish.com

       The book I'm almost finished with is Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl. In the middle of my sneezing and snorting, I think I can finish it tonight. I'm enjoying it so far, but at least two of the women expressed disappointment about one particular part/aspect. (And they wouldn't say WHAT was lacking...)

Is the end disappointing? I hope not.

\What deliciousness are you savoring right now?  (Yes, I know what you'll say, Shay. You're luxuriating in a month-long vacation, and are burying us all under an avalanche of your poems.) What book or television show or project are you immersed in right now?

My snot-filled nose wants to know.

 

"I Think It's My Best Writing."

         This past fall Marcia Gaye and I were at the same book signing. I got there first, and set up my Chicken Soup books and my Not Your Mother's books. Fortunately, I was in the room where a large table of appetizers was set up. A bathroom was there as well. I suggested to the writer next to me that we would demand people buy a book before they were allowed to eat or relieve themselves. During the rest of the evening, this person kept looking at me warily. I wondered why. Wasn't it reasonable to "charge" for food and restroom privileges? I thought it was...

     A publisher I know set up next to me, so we got to talk during the evening. Unfortunately, Marcia Gaye--a writing friend--came a little later, and the spots on either side of me were already filled, so we didn't get to sit next to each other and chat. At a slow point, I walked over and we talked. The book she was signing and selling was Times they Were A-Changing: Women Remember the 60's and 70's. The bright rainbow of colors on the cover immediately brought back a flood of memories.

        Oh, you don't know Marcia Gaye? Marcia writes prose and poetry, and whenever she enters a contest, she wins. In fact, there are some contests where she's won multiple prizes. There are even some writers who surrender and refuse to submit to a competition when they hear Marcia is a contender.

     So when I heard these words uttered from her mouth, my ears perked up. I asked her about her story in the anthology, and she said, "I think it's my best writing." This juggernaut of jewel-like poems? This unstoppable slayer of competitors? She was proudest of this story? I was drawn to the collection like a moth to a flame. Like a honeybee to clover. Like a menopausal woman to a box of Godiva. I had to read her tale. 

     I bought her book, had her sign it (but not to me), telling her, "I'm going to read it and then give it away on my blog," and while it was still slow, I went back to my table and read...read the beginning...continued reading...could not stop reading...was compelled to read the whole story.

     Marcia's "Two Sisters" story paints a perfect picture of that era. The rhythm of her writing, the images, the odors that come wafting back to the reader from the pages...it was like a long-gone lullaby.

       Here are the first two paragraphs:

         1964--Prayer
  
         Katherine and I gather on our big double bed after our brothers have been tucked into their own beds. The boys got stories from C. S. Lewis and Lewis Carroll. Now the two of us will read from the storybook that is all true. Straight backs and crossed legs, we settle into quiet attention. The Bible on her knees, Katherine reads aloud.

         We have been through creation and the flood. I've marveled at the perfect pronunciation Katherine gives to all the strange names. She shows me the divided kingdoms on the map as we travel alongside the kings. While she reads I twirl my fingers over the chenille and embroidery of the quilt. I trace the patterns of just the white flowers, and then just the pink ones.

       It is an ordinary story told in an extraordinary way, in that Marcia didn't witness the shooting at Kent State. She didn't hang out with Jimi Hendrix after he left the stage at Woodstock. She didn't ever do a duet with Janis Joplin (although Marcia does have the long flowing hair for it). It was a slice of Marcia's life told in an enthralling manner.

This is Marcia Gaye, so when you enter a writing contest and she jostles you
right out of the competition, you know who to trip...

        If you'd like to have this signed copy for your own, leave a comment. I'll draw names in a week...

Bright Spots of "Color"

photo by Charla Finn of Collinsville, Illinois

        Like a lot of the country, we got a bunch of snow dumped on us. School was supposed to resume last Monday...but we had a snow day instead. Tuesday...another snow day...Wednesday...yet another snow day. I figured that surely we would return to work on Thursday, but it didn't happen. Friday--another day off, much to the surprise of the teachers dismay of the parents.

       With the weather conspiring against us, it was necessary to look for the bright spots buried under the white (and then dingy) blanket.

       * I sent off a letter to a friend. Without this long expanse of time off work, I'm not sure I would have taken the time--at least not this week.

       * Finishing a black scarf for my son--along with a blue one for one of his best friends--made me feel like I accomplished something as I knit and watched old episodes of Project Runway online educational documentaries. 

       * I got immersed in Falling Leaves: The Memoir of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter by Adeline Yen Mah. I'm in the middle of it and it's heartbreaking but compelling...

       *Pitching some things made me feel better, but when I found a gold box labeled Godiva and frantically opened it to see if a piece was hiding in the corner, uneaten, I felt foolish. I knew I had gobbled up every one of those delicious delicacies. Only David Copperfield could have made a piece reappear...

      * I submitted a few things---to start the new year off--and am sweating over working on a couple more. One is about a time when I played "donkey basketball" (yes, I rode on a donkey and "played" basketball in a high school gym). Hopefully I will be able to finish them and send them off before the deadline smacks me in the face.

     *  I was entertained by one of our Goldens. Foley, not the brightest of dogs, loved frolicking in the snow. He would deliberately head for the deepest drifts and come back with snow on his nose and a zip in his step.

     What positive things happened to you this past week? It's now a new year--what good things are going on in your life?  

Go, Go, Go--ReviMo!

      Do you have a picture book that is collecting dust? Do you have a picture book manuscript that needs some serious slashing and burning revising? Have you been procrastinating busy, and keep shoving that picture book draft to the side? If your answer to any of those questions is "yes," this is the nudge foot up your rear encouragement you need.

      Cathy C. Hall got me on the trail of Meg Miller's ReviMo. If you're interested, you need to register by Saturday, January 11. Different from the NaNo 30-day nightmare, you only have to focus on your picture book from January 12-18.

      I have a picture book manuscript. I have a long, tear-stained story about past publishing attempts (a story I will never tell) when it comes to this manuscript...but now I have a new publisher in my sights, which means I need to shine it up and get it as spiffy as possible.

    This is just the prodding I need. Thanks, Cathy and Meg. In seven short days, I will have a new and improved picture book (she said, as she pulled the draft out of a drawer and blew the dust off. Ooh, even a spider had made its home on one of the pages, the writing had sat there dormant for so long...).

You Can't Always Get What You Wa-ant!

     But if you try sometimes...you'll get what you need.

    Okay, I'm almost always in the mood for a good dose of Rolling Stones, so forgive me. My fourteen days off (holiday break) has been extended by another day (today) and I'm wondering about tomorrow, with the big dump of snow and the wind chill. And more snow is supposed to come on Wednesday.

    If you're in the St. Louis area, you should be working on your Listen to Your Mother story. They're accepting submissions for the next month or so...

    Chicken Soup is looking for stories about forgiveness. I don't know if I can forgive myself for eating the small smallish not-jumbo sized box of Godiva chocolate I got from a skinny friend as a Christmas gift (the gift that keeps on giving, 'cause cellulite's forever), but perhaps there is a story in there... 

     I got an email that a story (written for the upcoming Chicken Soup Alzheimer's collection) has made it through the first set of hoops. My fingers, my eyes and my feet are crossed. (Wait. Sorry. My feet are almost always crossed and twisted-up.) However, I had sent in several stories, and really wanted a story written about a family friend to be chosen. They didn't pick that one, but am I going to argue and beg and plead with them to change their mind? No way.

                                                          

      If you're a writer, what are you working on? If you're snowed in, what are you doing to keep yourself from going all redrum-crazy? Do you have some Godiva sitting around? Send it...I'm all out.

All You Need is Nudg..ing

         I've had a virus for the last three days. Feverish. Hacky. Phlegmy. (Do you want more info? I thought not...)

          This week was supposed to be dedicated to working on my report cards activities done to avoid working on my report cards making some headway on my 2012 NaNo/2013 NaNo Rebel project. It hasn't happened. It's difficult to type while curled up under several quilts...dozing off sometimes...teetering on delirious (Wait. Writing while in a not-quite-lucid state might result in better stuff than I've accumulated so far.)

          Nothing has gotten written this break except a submission for the St. Louis Writers' Guild "St. Louis" anthology. Nothing else. No NaNo work. I had no desire...until this afternoon.

          A blogging colleague (Never met him. Don't even live on the same continent that he lives on--most of the time. I just follow him and envy that he travels. and. gets. paid. for it. AND he writes a lot.) offered to be a beta reader for me if I need it. Thanks, Sean. I appreciate the offer. I won't say I'll never take you up on it, (Sean McLachlan, do you really want to read a chick lit novel about a bunch of menopausal women writers who vent and dream of what they could do with an commercial-sized wood chipper? Really?) but I will say your offer nudged me into writing.

          The Beatles claimed, "All you need is love." But what is a kick in the butt nudge, if not love?

          How was your New Year's Eve? What kind of nudging--and in what directions--are you getting from your friends and family?