Nature's Way

I'm having a bad day.  My problems have forced me to ask myself tough questions.  Love one's have hurt me and betrayed my trust but with deeper examination - the fault is all mine.

Hurt.  I decided to take a friend's advice and put my emotions and thoughts to poetry.

So sitting on a bench at the park, I took out my every-present notebook and wrote:


I have found the magic in the everyday
Seen the glitter in the sun's rays
Heard the whispered stories of the leaves
But all it has brought me is regret

It is time to grow up. 

I've learned this too late
Nature has a way
and I've tarried too long

With my new philosophy on paper I took a deep breath readying myself to become the new me but as I looked at the ground I spied a fairy wing.  I picked it up examining the delicate appendage.  The old me marveled as the sun's brilliance transformed the glass-like wing into iridescence splendor. The new me argued, 'that's not a fairy wing.  You've studied entomology and you know it's a cicada wing - Time to grow up."  But then a deeper voice questioned why the wing was there - upon the ground -at that very moment.

Nature has a way.

Crafting a Story

I love writing.  Particularly, I love hunting for the perfect words and allowing their connotations to cast a tone upon my scene.  The fundamentals of style writing: dictation, sentence structure, imagery, and tone.

Like wise, aperture, ISO, and shutter speed are my fundamentals for telling a photographic story.  Lighting is key.

Feel free to use the following visual prompts to craft a scene.  Try using diction (word choice) to capture the lighting (life force) of the photo.  Use sentence structure to create the rhythm and tone to cast a mood. Sprinkle imagery into the scene and you've sparked your writing style.

Focus on color.

Do you hear it?

Feel the textured ground.

Light is life

What is the connection?

Light and texture

Moonlight imagery.

Power of Light

Steps for Producing a Novel

Rewriting....Yuck.  I love to write but as it turns out I hate editing.  After setting my latest completed novel upon the figurative shelf, I've recently picked it back up again for the second rewrite and boy, it turns out that it's not as 'magical' as I remember it.  I have my work cut out for me.

My journey towards creating this novel seems to be following the most practical steps for producing a novel. So I just need to suck it up and keep editing.

Practical steps for producing a novel?  Yes, that is what I said.  I haven't found any statistical analysis to prove my belief but other writers seem to agree that there is a proper process to producing a novel.

1. Step ONE:  Write  Write everyday - write total crap if you have to but push through and place the story which resides inside you into words.
2. Step TWO:  Research This step might coincide with step one but don't get too carried away researching that you never complete step one.  Research, however, is important.  Even if you are writing fiction - the best fantasies are the ones that seem the most probable.  Plus, living in a world were everyone can Google a topic and become instant experts, writers need to try and keep their work credible. 
3. Step THREE:  Shelf It  Upon completion, set your novel away.  After working so hard to finish your labor of love, you are emotionally attached to it and won't be able to give it the proper corrections.
4. Step FOUR, FIVE, SIX and possibly SEVEN REWRITE....yuck
   

Ok, enough blogging. I need to go fix all the hole in my novel - I hope.

Why I Write

That's my grandpa on the right - quite a story with this photo

I have always had a love for stories.  I remember as a child sitting in my grandparents's living room listening to the adults tell the stories of their childhood adventures.  I honestly can't decided if my family was blessed with amazing lives or simply the gift to tell a good story, but I could  have spent a lifetime listening to their humor and knowledge.  As I work on my skills as a writer, the spirit of those stories are always present with me.  Telling a story is family time - a way in which my history has been passed to me.

Mother Nature

Another great gift my parents gave me was my love and understanding of nature.  Nature is the ultimate teacher. Her grace is great and knowledge is vast.  She has shared her lessons through her laughing trees and her whispering grass, animals of fur and feathers and all the amazing insects.  Some of her lessons she has shared openly while others I have earned with my life.

I write because I love telling a good story.  I write to pass on the prose I have learned and discovered.  I write because it is a piece of me and a way to connect with my past, my future, and all that is present about my being.  I am a writer.

Nature's gifts from my Garden of Knowlege

Welcome Gus

Gus

Spring is a time for new birth and so it is with joy that I announce the newest member of our family: Gus, the very handsome four year old German Shepard we rescued with the help of the awesome people at MOGS (Missouri German Shepard Rescue).  But it is Gus, who has rescued our hearts.

Two years ago we mourned the passing of our two beloved friends.  Loki was our faithful German Shepard and Isis was our sweet Rhodesian Ridgeback.  Our four-legged family members were a constant pillar in my turbulent life, helping me through life’s twists.  Loki was massive, strong and brave, always providing a comforting place for me to cry allowing my fists to grip his thick fur and bury my sorrows against his stoic neck; and Isis, with her gentle reassuring presence knew how to comfort using only the kindness that radiated from her eyes.  She'd rest lightly next to me, a faithful spirit.  They were true friends and completely tuned to my emotions.  Life is fluid and there were many good times too, celebrated with kisses and wagging tails, and victories were reveled with happy dances and lots of wiggles.

Loki and Isis

I raised them both of them from pups.  They were only three months apart in age and bonded so closely that I knew when we lost Loki at the age of eight to cancer – Isis stopped living.  We even tried to help Isis by adding Jaxson to our family but even the overly energetic Ridgback pup couldn’t fill the void Loki had left in her life.  She stopped eating and joined her Loki eight months later.

My world was in transition, mourning the passing of my friends, life continued about me.  Jaxson, the-ever-naughty, Ridgeback pup would let me stay too gloomy and soon I realized that he needed a friend but it had to be just the right friend.  I'd used all my energy raising Jaxson and now at two years old, I didn't want to do the puppy thing again.  I contacted several adoption groups but most were too busy to respond to my application.  At first, I was discouraged but then I found the people at MOGS.  From the start, they were helpful and organized and above all, they understood I had some specific requirements which not only did they understand but were able to match us to the perfect dog.

I still mourn Loki and Isis but my heart is full again thanks to Gus.  He and Jaxson have filled our home with the happy sounds of toenail clicks upon the hardwood floors and our backyard with play and happiness.

Now with everything in balance again, I feel renewed and have begun working on a new book – a story from my childhood.  Spring is hope and I hope to carry the memory of those who've gone before me with the beauty of my words.

Gus and Jaxson

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.