Giving Thanks

I should be writing; I should be writing a novel.  At least that is what I'd planned on doing when I signed up for this year's NaNoWriMo but with only today and tomorrow left to finish my novel, my plans are quickly evaporating.

Once again my busy life has squashed my plans for writing but I am thankful.  "Life is long" is the advice I'd overheard a parent telling his adolescent daughter.  And he is right.  This moment will fade into the next leaving only shadows of memories. 

This month may not have been spent completing my sequel but it was not wasted.  Time spent with family and friends is an invaluable gift and after spending an evening with my 91 year old grandmother, I was reminded how long life is.  This busy phase will pass.  Children grow up.  Time returns to us in the end.

Spooooky

Washington Irving's classic, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" has always been one of my favorites.  As I travel a hiking trail near my home, I became vividly aware of the tale's haunting depictions.  Armed with only my camera I attempted to capture images worthy of Irving's verbal setting.  Before me loomed the iconic bridge described in his words:

...This road leads through a sandy hollow shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and just beyond swells the green knoll...

Over a deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. Such was one of the favorite haunts of the Headless Horseman, and the place where he was most frequently encountered... 

...In the center of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air....

...About two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook crossed the road...

 

...He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond...

An opening, in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand… "If I can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, " I am safe." 

Maybe my imagination had gotten the better of me but as I hiked that trail, I could almost hear the horse's hoof-beats or maybe it was just the fact that the trail allows equines.  Either way it made for a fun and exciting afternoon.  Once safely across the bridge and back at my computer, I noticed in one of the photo's I'd snapped, an actual cemetery rested against the peaceful hillside.

The Sweet Time

I'm halfway through the editing process of my second novel but the outdoors keeps calling to me.  It's the sweet time - that time of year where bounty is in abundance and ready to be harvested.  Earlier this year, I asked a friend if she'd like to keep a couple of bee hives on my property, hoping that the little insects could boost the pollination of my fruit trees.  She agreed and the project paid off for both of us.  She is swimming in honey and I yielded so many nectarines that two branches broke on one of my trees - not to mention the peaches - oh the delicious peaches.

My tomatoes are in full production and are loaded with perfect ripened fruit from which I've been busily making tomato soup and soon hope to can salsa and spaghetti sauce.  I am so busy but it is a labor of love.  Soon winter will be upon us but my pantry will be loaded with jars of tasty sunshine.

It's not been all work.  My family enjoyed playing in the local apple orchard down the road from our house.  There is something about the morning air this time of year - dewy and energized with life.  I tried to capture the experience with my camera as we picked raspberries in the field in front of the orchard.  I love how the hills in the background are flooded with the morning light and the textures created by the raspberry bushes.

I can't wait until we visit the orchard again.  My favorite apples are just coming into season and though they weren't quite ripened to perfection, I still had to pick the grapefruit-sized Honey Crips apples.  Yes, I love this time of year and I have given myself permission to push my editing aside so that I might live in the moment and experience all the wonders which create the sweet time. 

Feels Like Fall

The weather was cooler today reminding me of fall.  Whenever the seasons change, I feel like I need to change - to migrate or something.  And lately I've been pondering my place in life.  My whole life I've been working towards goals - complete elementary school - graduate high school - earn a bachelors degree - find a good job - start a family.  What's left?  Retirement?  I have too much life to live before I start planning that journey.  I guess that leaves me with my dreams of writing - I need to become more serious and create time for myself.  I know it sounds cliche but life is flying past and I feel like I'm a passenger peering out a bus window.  I'm only receiving glimpses of the world instead of being able to interact - take charge - play a role. My husband thinks that finding a different job would help - possibly free up time and allow me more life with my love ones but I've already cut my hours at my current job and though that has helped my sanity - I still am not able to achieve much beyond the day-to-day routine.

At least the changing season has sparked me past my creative slump and hopefully that is all I will need to get motivated again.

Listening to the Rhythms of my World

Lately, I’ve been attempting to live by a new concept – at least new to me.  Instead of my usual fight to bend the world to my will, I’ve taken a step back and am embracing the universe and all its rhythms.  I am trying to work with the uncontrollable forces of my life instead of in spite of them.

For example, this spring as I worked in my garden, I focused on what was easiest to do each day.  If it were rainy or wet – I pulled weeds because they removed with ease in the wet soil even though my head told me I needed to be planting because it was getting late in the year.  But last year I learned that planting in the rain could wash away the seeds and walking through the mud in my vegetable garden destroys the composition of the dirt – so I listened to the world around me and only planted after the soil had dried enough that it was no longer easy to pull weeds.  Then on the really dry days when even planting was difficult – I pruned the overgrowth. 

My logical side was appalled by my new concept.  Everything has an order.  Finish one project before starting another - planting before weeding.  But this year I didn’t listen to my logic and somehow my garden grows.  The vegetable crop is maturing admittedly later than usual but the work was much more enjoyable.

So looking at my work as a writer, I’ve begun to wonder if the same concept applies:  listen to the universe and my writing will come easier and better than trying to fit it into an agenda.  I’m not sure.  We’ve all had those days when ideas flow from our minds with elegance - or had days when editing comes easy by using a critical mindset and seeing what works and what doesn’t.  But I fear that if I don’t stick to an agenda, I will avoid and neglect specific activities indefinitely and never finish anything.

In either case, I’ve had a bad case of ‘I don’t want to work with anything dealing with writing’ and I need to find a way to break out of this slump.

Happiness Is...

Recently, I found myself at the happiest place on earth - literally.  I’d spent months planning – pouring over every detail trying to make the event perfect but when the BIG moment arrived, instead of happiness, I was surrounded by complaining loved ones.  Shaking it off, I knew that if I believed hard enough, I could turn our day around and transform it into the euphoria we expected.  More complaints followed.  Granted, we’d squeezed through a gantlet of bad luck but the future was ours – ours for the experiencing – ours for the seizing of true happiness.  That’s when it rained – literally - and not just a gentle spring rain but a full unsought thunderstorm.  I was drenched.  We all were.  She looked up at me, her luminous eyes were round like a full moon as she said, “I hate this place.”

Her words stung.  I was angry.  I was hurt.  After all, this whole trip was for her.  I’d worked so hard to make her happy.  I knelt to her level and with quick angry words crushed her until her pain matched my own.  This was all for her - - - or was it?  Slowly, I began to understand.  I was trying to live through her and not with her.  It wasn’t her job to feel happy for me.  Happiness wasn’t an item to be package and given.  It comes from within, arrives at unexpected moments, and flees just as mysteriously.  Chasing after it is as pointless as trying to bottle the breeze.

Broken and wet, we stood next to each other wondering how to get beyond this place.  The rain quit, the crowds evacuated and finally, we found our magical moment.  As we watched the twinkling lights of the parade we embraced in the darkness.  Joy filled us from within and we were closer and stronger than before.  I’m still trying to understand all the lessons I learned that day – trying to help guide her through the confusion but one thing we gained was a mutual respect for each other and for our strength to navigate through the darkest of times.

 

It's Me

Thanks to my close friend and fellow writer, Traci Robison, I now have some much needed head shots to update my profile.  As a photographing enthusiast myself, it felt odd stepping in front of the camera.  My knowledge of angles and lighting should have aided me but in truth, it was little help once the posing began.  Smile, but don’t be fake.  Try not to squint your eyes so much.  Chin up; chin down.  I’m not one of those people who devotes time on self-image, so I began to feel very self-conscience; and that is when it happened. On a breezy Friday afternoon, at a city park just beyond a major street, I stood somewhat hidden amongst a grove of pine trees, feeling beyond ridiculous dressed in my field hat and fake fur collar – adorned with too much makeup…when a middle aged man passed before us traveling along the bike trail pulling a child’s wagon which held nothing but some sort of engine.  And suddenly it dawned on me that no matter how odd I looked, that moment in the park, had to be one of the most surreal events of the day.  I’m not sure why the man was using a child’s wagon to transport his engine through the park but the humorous voice in my head wants to believe he was simply taking it for a stroll – giving new meaning to ‘airing out your engine’.  Either way, the encounter helped me move past my self-conscience attitude and yielded an afternoon of giggling and fun.  Finally, some 500 shots later, I now have a portfolio I can use as I pursue my publication dreams.  Thanks Traci.

Discomfort

What makes you uncomfortable?  I recently posted on the writersvibe blog about how children make me uncomfortable.  I don't know why, perhaps I fear they are miniature truth seekers and will reveal something I want to keep secret.  Which is silly - it's not like I'm full of dark secrets or really any secrets.  So I started thinking and decided that I'm not really afraid of children - I do occasionally avoid them but I understand the purity of their hearts and the magical wonderment behind their bright eyes.  When I was a child I had many friends and we all ran amok in our happy world.  In fact, as a child, I feared grown-ups especially men.  And there it was: men make me nervous - even more than children do.  When I compare my memories of the sweaty, air voiding panic I felt as a child toward men - I became aware of my phobia.

As an adult, I've luckily grown from my phobia but I can still remember how I felt.  An unnatural fear - I was born with but my distrust saved my life at least twice.  Perhaps as you read samples of my work you'll notice my fear tucked neatly away into a scene.

This week try writing a scene where something you fear comes to light.  How do you feel when you are under the influence of the fear - do you overcome - escape?  Maybe spend some physical time with something that makes you uncomfortable.  Listen to your body and analyse your fear.  For me, I plan on hanging out with a group of children and getting beyond my slight discomfort because the child within me yearns to play with others and I won't let this discomfort become a fear.

Masters of Light

The writersvibe March 2013 postings about different forms of art has made me think about the importance of light.

50 shades of gray wouldn’t be enough for my favorite photographer.  Ansel Adams used every shade of gray, black and white.  While teaching at the Art Center School in Los Angeles in 1941, he developed his own Zone System of photography.  This system allows photographers to calculate and control the range of gray-scale tones in their negatives by using a light meter. The objective is to obtain a negative with silver densities corresponding to the photographer's preconception of the scene. This meant, Adams utilized a mesmerizing number of distinct shades of gray, black and white. He further encouraged his students to manipulate their images' tones while developing and printing. Adams compared printmaking to a musical performance by likening the tonal values of a negative to the notes on a musical score. Like a musical performance, the print was then subject to variation and reinterpretation over time.  Once again, art recapitulates art which has been our theme at writersvibe.

 Another artist, Thomas Kinkade, has mastered the use of light.  His paintings revolve around light striking floral landscapes – a light that is symbolic of his Christian faith.  Whether you are a believer or not, all can appreciated Kinkade’s love of Light.

From the Master of the gray-scale to the Painter of Light, lighting plays an important part in art.  It sets mood and brings objects to life.  It casts shadows and allows darkness to exist.

Now as you write – think about lighting – try adding simple descriptions of lighting to your scenes.  Anything from a flickering light bulb to a sun drenched sand dune, remember to bring life to your writing through descriptions of light.

Practice a writing exercise focusing on the use of light – if you like what you wrote, please feel free to post it in the comments.

Beauty in Imperfection

Anne posted in her Glazed Heart Blog about receiving enjoyment from the lesser appreciated things in life, which got me to thinking about the beauty of imperfections.  In the spirit of art month at the Writersvibe, I’m posting some of my art work.  As I scanned photos of my artwork into my scanner, I realized: most of the works fell short of the expectations I originally held – basically, my skills as an artist lack the polish my imagination expected.  Now looking back at my work, I still feel sad that I was unable to accomplish my goals, however, I found a different appreciation for each piece.  There is beauty in the imperfections – beauty which makes each piece individual – a work of MY art.

My favorite painting hangs in my parents' house.  It is hard to tell from this second rate photo but it depicts a girl holding a tiger lily as her protector, a magnificent white tiger stands behind her.  Or at least that is what I'd envisioned.  In fact, I dreamed up a whole series of paintings with girls from around the world holding indigenous flowers and posing with powerful animal friends.  As I slowly realized I lacked the skills needed to bring my creations to life, I quit painting.  Somewhere I have a portfolio of unfinished painting.  I allowed the details to stop me from finishing the work.  When I look at the painting of the girl and the tiger, all I see is the over painted lines in her neck and the awkward forehead of the tiger.  The tiger bothers me most because in all the sketches I drew beforehand, he was the figure I liked the best, but somehow when I painted him I messed up the angle of his forehead.  But even with all the errors, I still managed to capture a fierceness in the girl's expression.  A fierceness, I once had inside of me.  I girl who would not quit because of little details.

The next photo I scanned is another large painting which hangs at my parents' house.  I used a photo I'd snapped on a visit to Hawaii as the background and added a collage of dolphin photos I captured from a marina.  The photo from Hawaii, however, only showed the rock cave but in order to balance the canvas I tried to imagine the ground above the cliff surface.  Again, I feel like I failed.  My original idea was a long narrow painting focusing on the dolphins.  Each time I view this painting I am reminded of the dramatic image in my head wishing I'd re-balanced the setting.  But the playful spirit of the dolphins keeps me returning and fills me with a desire to play with my paints again.

I fear, as I edit my writing, I am falling into the same trap.  I find myself hanging on awkward wording and poor word choice instead of focusing on the emotion behind the story.  It is the imperfections which make a painting art - a longing for the perfect which emphasizes the strengths - otherwise it would be a photo.  Could writing be similar?  The imperfections are simply a reflection the the writer's life.  And life, is imperfect.

This sketch has imperfections but I love them.  I love the rough lines of the pencil and the smudged areas along her face.  They are real to me and remind me of my love of drawing.  The sounds of the graphite as it scratches the porous paper and the smell of eraser as friction heats the rubber.  This simple sketch is framed and hangs on a wall in my house.  Oddly, there is nothing I would change about it.

Finally, I won an award with this sketch, nothing prestigious, but special to me all the same.  I'm happy with the Snowy Owl but I have always felt that the Short-Eared Owl lacks finesse.  I probably should have finished his body but I like the journal-look of the artwork.  It is my drawling and I am proud to say I created it.

Perhaps that is the key.  If I can accept the imperfections and even come to embrace them, are they still considered imperfections or do they become art?

Horray for Art

It's art month at the Writer's Vibe.  We dedicate March to any and all mediums which inspire creativity: from the fine arts to finger painting and of course the art of writing, we embrace them all.  Lately, I have felt stuck.  Editing seems to have quenched my creative fire so when Traci suggested changing my focus, the idea of art month was born.

I am no stranger to other forms of art.  In high school I learned to paint, even entered art competitions and won a few ribbons but nothing worth mentioning.  Water colors and acrylics were my favorite medium. 
I also learned photography along side my mother who guided me spending many hours in our make shift darkroom.  I haven't developed film since high school but the thrill of watching my creations appear before my eyes has remained with me. Now with the wonders of the digital age I have transformed my developing skills into computer editing skills, however, the basic principles my mother taught me still apply.

In college, a group of friends taught me how to merengue and salsa.  We spent every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night at the local Latin Clubs perfecting the art form.  And as most Americans, I view myself a a music connoisseur even though I have no official training - I just like a wide range of music from Enya to Emminem and African to Zydeco.
Likewise, I enjoy watching movies.  I did dabble in theater during high school but anxiety kept me from preforming in more than one play a year.  The stress was too great for me.

But enough about my background.  This is art month so be watching for more postings on the subject.  For now, you can visit, Jule's blog, Rhyme's a Rhyme Found in Time for some brilliant ideas relating to art.

For the Love of Publishing?

Two of my co-writers have posted wonderful blogs to the Writersvibe site giving me a much needed reminder that writing is my passion not publishing (or even editing).  Jules reminded me that the joys of life are phun and that we get to choose how our lives reflect the things which are most important to us.  In the words of Maya Angelou, "If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude."

In Traci's posting, she asked the profound question: why not publish making good arguments for leaving a book unpublished. 

I still plan on pursuing my goal but it is a nice reality check to know I not only have options but the power rests within me - it is my decision and my future.  Now I better get back to phun editing - OK, so simply calling something fun doesn't make it so.

Photographed Souls

Native Americans believed that images within a photo captured the person’s soul; thus, many tribes refused to be photographed.  Today we splatter images of ourselves everywhere.  It’s almost like you don’t exist unless you participate in Facebook, Twiter, or a blog.  Image is everything.

An increasing problem is occurring as people steal photos from personal sites and use them in unthinkable ways.  From billboard advertisements to pornographic sites, peoples personal images are showing up manipulated and captured without permission.

I’m not sure about the legal issues concerning this problem but I know that none of my photos are copyrighted.  And even if they were, what would stop someone from copy and pasting it onto their personal site?  With so many blogs and personal accounts, how could I even begin to keep track of my images?

Perhaps the American Indians had it correct.  Is a piece of my soul being captured not just in the images portraying me but also in the photographs I've created?  I for one, am very attached to the photos I've taken.  They're more than fixed images – they are a glimpse into how I view the world.

One of my fellow writers, Traci Robison, depicted another aspect of this dilemma in her second book.  In a brilliantly written scene, her protagonist is ordered to give his name to his captor.  It seems so innocent but when the captor refuses to release his own name to the protagonist, an underlining power struggle becomes obvious not just because one character tricked another but because of the importance of 'owning' one's name.  The author uses names as a metaphor for one’s soul.  As the novel progresses, this becomes more evident.

So what is the solution?  As in any relationship, when you put yourself out there, you risk getting burned.  Shakespeare said it best, “It is better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all.”  Life is to be lived, loved and shared.  As much as it bothers me that someone could capture one of my beloved images and use it in a perverted way – I am an open book and the joy I receive from sharing with those whom share my passion for creative upliftment outweighs my fear of losing my soul.  So as I move forward towards publication, I will continue to share pieces of myself in hopes that good will spread and flourish.  We can’t force others into making the right choice but we can show them the benefits that come from a life well lived.

A realistic Look

Publishing, it's the topic on my mind these days.  I posted a blog about the subject on the writer's vibe site. In that blog, I discussed the differences between literary agents but as I researched the topic, I began to wonder...what are the odds of producing a successful book?

If I think of all the people I know and calculate how many of them have or are writing a book, I begin to feel deflated.  But if I concentrate only on the ones who have actually completed a book, I start to feel better.  It takes a rare person to possess the tenacity needed to finish such a daunting task.  And an even more driven person is required to face the literary agencies firing squad. I am such a person.

Before I start to pat myself on the back, however, I stumbled across a staggering statistic in my quest for an agent which has left me weak and doubting my talent. A typical agency receives close to 500 queries a month from that pool they invite perhaps 50 of those proposals for review. Out of that fifty, one or sometimes two are delivered to publishers. For this reason alone, I can't stress the importance of a well written query letter.

But it gets worse.  Publishers offer top spots to already established writers.  Next, celebrities steal away valuable opportunities, and believe me, it seems they are all writing books these days, even Snoop Dogg is working on a series of children's books.  Publishers know their names alone sell books.  This leaves very little room for first time writers to break into the industry which may make the appeal of self-publishing brighter.

Who Am I - Life's a Journey

I fear I have created a misunderstanding when writing my profile.  It was the least of my intentions to sound conceded when I said, "I have journeyed my life rooted by knowing who I am".   But I have and I do.  Like all journeys, however, I have often strayed, even become lost upon several occasions, yet even in my darkest hours, deep within - my heart stayed true to the person I am.  This is not to say that I haven't participated in deeds I regret.  I am human and have many sides - I have lived many lives, with in this one - become many characters, which I now drawl upon to create my literary characters.  My journey continues and I still have much to learn but even as I waver my foundation is set.

Was there ever a time of your life when looking back, your personal memory seems more like a stranger's life - distant and dreamlike?  Were you bolder?  Selfish?  Wiser?  Create a scene exaggerating your experience.  Push beyond your comfort zone and transform yourself into a different character.  Think about how you felt.  How you related to the world around you?  Did you express logic?  What emotions controlled you?

Have fun and as always, feel free to post your discoveries.