Long Hollow

My Prayer Bowl Overfloweth

 

 

A friend's husband, my own former co-worker and friend, died earlier this week. Just in the past month or so another friend lost his mother, a classmate's husband succumbed to cancer, and I learned of the death of another friend (along with my good intentions to see her again here on earth.)  

There are others... many I can't think of right now. 

Perhaps it's the stage of life I'm in, this middle zone between parents and children, on the cusp of "old age". Perhaps I'm just becoming more aware of the heartaches around me, thanks to online connections and communication.

Whatever it is, there are too many in too short of a time... too many cases of cancer, too many surgeries, too many sons and daughters facing crisis, too many out of work, too many ailing parents and siblings and friends. Too many.

Too many for me to keep them all in my head every day, every minute, along with my own personal prayers.

My mind is on overload. 

Hence, the prayer bowl above, an idea I got from a religious education workshop years ago. I scribble each new name, worry or heartache onto a strip of scrap paper, fold it into thirds and drop it on top of the growing pile, offering the whole bunch up in prayer. 

When it becomes full, as it will too quickly, I'll toss the bits of paper onto a fire. The prayers will float to heaven and become one with the earth, simultaneously.

Fifty two years ago the beautiful milk glass vase held flowers for my mother and her new baby (me) sent with love from her Sunday School class... a symbol of their prayers.

Now it holds those tiny strips of paper, folded gently around prayers of my heart, all of them lifted up to God with faith that he'll take care of them all, every single one, according to his plan.  

Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

~ Philippians 4:6,7

 

 

 

 

Good Dogs, Brave Duck

Monday morning my head was floating somewhere in the clouds when the dogs and I climbed the path to the little pond in the hills.

Belle seemed excited about something, rushing to the top of the path.

That brought me down to earth in time to ready my camera and snap this...

 

 

...before this happened...

 

 

 

I was kicking myself for not bringing my zoom lens that morning when I noticed this little guy still hanging out at one end of the pond... 

 

 

(I say "guy". It could be "gal". I admit I know nothing about duck gender! Perhaps I should use some gender neutral word but I'm too lazy to think of one. "Guy" it is.)

Anyway, this little guy seemed totally unruffled about me, my camera and the dogs.

He just kept swimming nonchalantly around the pond, perfectly fine with being left all alone and the sole focus of my paparazzi antics.

I could even imagine him calling out "Chicken!" to his friends in Duck Talk.

 

 

To their credit, after Belle's initial excitement, my sweet puppies totally ignored the ducks.

They didn't even bark, just made their way down to the water's edge for a quick dip (Max) and drink (Belle) and then headed back to me.

I was so busy snapping the little guy I didn't think to capture one of my puppies until they were in this totally uninteresting pose, but I felt it only fair to add it to this post.

They were such good dogs!

 

 

Ever the optimist, the next morning I brought my zoom lens.

My optimism was rewarded.

The ducks were back!

 

 

And they didn't fly away!

Just kept paddling around the pond, oblivious to us, having a great time.

 

 

 

And all because of one brave little duck.

 “One person can make a difference and every person must try.” ~ President John F. Kennedy

I'm sure JFK would include ducks in that statement, don't you?

But that's not the end of the story!

Yesterday, guess who I spotted paddling around on our own pond?

You guessed it!

 

 

 

Brave duck!

 
And guess who was more interested in what Max was doing back at the house than in a little duck swimming around on the pond?

 

 

 

Yep. Good dog.

These are ring-necked ducks just taking a winter vacation in our neighborhood, according to this website.

I hope they come back next year!

Under Attack

It seemed like a good idea at the time, getting off the main road and taking the path along the creek for a bit on my morning walk.

The problem is that path is little more than a deer trail in many places, making it necessary to duck and zigzag around mountain cedar branches. 

Well, normally that by itself isn't a problem, but at this time of year, and right now in epic proportions, the branches of the male ashe juniper (aka cedar tree) is bursting with these little cones full of cedar pollen. It's not unusual to see a huge puff of smoke billow from a tree at the slightest touch of a breeze... not actually fire smoke, but a cloud of pollen. 

It didn't even occur to me that when you walk through them and knock them out of your way, the pollen clings to you as if you were an oversized bumble bee.

Consequently, a few hours later when my allergy meds had worn off, the pollen hitching a ride on me went into full attack mode on my nose, throat and eyes.

But in the height of my sneezing and clawing of itchy eyes, I was grateful for one thing. Well, one thing besides my stockpile of antihistamines and nose sprays and eye drops...

 

...that during my walk, when the thought occurred to me that if knocked one of the branches hard with a stick, I might finally be able to capture one of those billowing pollen clouds in my camera, right up close, I immediately tossed that thought away, realizing the suicidal potential of such a stunt.

I'm relieved to know that, even for me, a photograph isn't worth "Death by Stupidity and Pollen".

(For more about the mountain cedars, click HERE and HERE.)

Take It One Bird at a Time (and a week's worth of Sweet!s)

Right after work this evening, I drove straight to a stranger's house. Seven of us sat around a dining room table, munching on queso, chips and gluten-free brownies, discussing our 'babies' - the collection of words we've poured our hearts into for longer than we want to remember.

Our babies range from picture book to young adult, all in their last drafts, but we each have the same goal: to get PUBLISHED. Tonight we vowed to help each other achieve that goal to the best of our critical ability, with honesty, bi-weekly meetings, and a maximum of five pages every two weeks submitted for critique to one another.

Five pages at a time. Five pages is nothing, and yet five plus five plus five, etc., eventually equals a whole book.

A whole book is overwhelming, but five pages is nothing. I can focus on five pages.

In Ann LaMott's book Bird by Bird, she says that's the advice her father gave her brother when he had procrastinated on a huge project and the idea overhwhelmed him. "Just take it bird by bird", he told him.

Bird by bird. Page by page. Piece by piece. Day by day. Minute by minute.

Good advice for writing.

Better advice for life.

And now for more sweet moments of my week...

Sunday: an unexpected, extra evening with your daughter before she heads back to college, spent watching "Willow"

Monday: a room full of twenty-something girls, welcoming your daughter back to campus; getting $7 for a box of old VHS movies; chilling on the porch with your husband, neighbor, a gang of dogs and a glass of wine

Tuesday: a morning call from your daughter on her way to her first class; a call from your oldest, just checking in

Wednesday: a respite from your cedar fever; an 'in-person' hug from your daughter; serendipity striking again, placing you next to a sweet, helpful, supportive new business contact at a meeting; winning the doorprize (a beautiful silver necklace!); another of your blog posts featured on Pioneer Woman's sidebar

Thursday: morning sunlight on the hills; playing the drums after a long silence; a ray of hope in what you thought was a hopeless situation 

Friday: a prompt response from a Help Forum; sunshine and 70 degree temps in the middle of winter; your husband's French Toast

Saturday: blueberry cobbler and vanilla ice cream; putting your feet up and watching a movie with your sweetie after a long day

Sunday: a morning serenade, courtesy of the birds, frogs and running creek; a hug from a friend; happy customers; homemade flat bread pizza; clicking with your writing critique group; a wiggly puppy welcoming you home

Please share some of the sweet moments from your week! I really want to know!

And don't forget... if you're facing something that totally overwhelms you, just take it bird by bird...

Salts of the Sea

 

 

Early sunlight reached through the gauzy curtains, caressed her skin, whispered wake up, wake up. On cue, the sounds of surf tiptoed into the room, singing her more awake. Eyes barely open, she pulled on the running clothes lying on a nearby chair, grabbed her worn out Brooks and laced them on tight.  I really need new ones, she thought.

She stood and stretched, briefly considered climbing back in bed, but instead headed for the bedroom door."Come on, Jack, time to run!" she called.

Jack. With his name, the last threads of sleep dropped to the floor and reality replaced dreams. Walking to the other side of the bed, she knelt beside the faded green cushion, still sprinkled with black hair. She placed her hand in the middle for a moment, right where Jack's heart had beaten steadily beside her while she slept for so many years.

"Come on, Jack, time to run," she whispered, then rising, made her way to the beach, to their familiar path, where tears, sweat and the salt of the sea blended, a healing salve for her heart. 

 

 

This is my fiction contribution to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt: 

“The cure for anything is salt water….sweat, tears or the sea.”
~ Isak Dinesen, pseudonym of Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke

"For your Creative Non-Fiction tell us about the last time that one of these three things “cured” you. If you are going with Fiction, have your character resolve a problem using one of the three (or all three!!!). There are so many ways you can use this prompt so be creative with it, don’t take us where we think you’ll go. Word Limit is 300."

 

God Bless the Late Bloomers!

Those things, good Lord, that we pray for, give us the grace to labor for.

~St. Thomas More

 

It's inside of me. I can feel it pushing, trying to stretch and uncurl its petals, this flower of mine. This flower of Me.

Some days it's stronger than others and I feel it's almost there, almost free, but then it grows still, frozen by doubts. 

What will it look like, this composite of seeds blended together over a lifetime? Will one color dominate, washing out the others, or will they all be in there, a mish-mashed rainbow?

Will you be able to see the writer, who can't help but try to capture and direct the flood of words constantly streaming through her brain? The photographer who always has a camera pointed at the world, hoping to freeze what her eye sees? The re-awakened business person who sold lemonade and knick-knacks on her childhood curb? The personal historian who loves to ask nosy questions... who finds true life stories as fascinating as fiction?

I don't care. Just bloom, already!

These late-bloomers inspire and encourage me to keep trying...

Mary Wesley was in her fifties before she published her first book, one of several for children she wrote. She went on to write a novel, "Jumping the Queue," published in her seventies. It was rejected several times before MacMillan Publishers took a chance on it. By the time she died at ninety, she was a widely popular, successful writer.  

Harriett Doerr went back to college in her sixties, after her husband died. She published her first novel at seventy-three, "Stones for Ibarra," went on to write many novels, short stories and essays... and win the National Book Award.

Mary and Harriett make my 52 years feel younger than ever, God bless them!

Other late-blooming authors include Frank McCourt (60's), Richard Adams (50's), James Michener (40's - a spring chicken!), Laura Ingalls Wilder (60's) and Raymond Chandler (50's).

Although I started writing years ago, it's taken me until now to believe in myself enough to make it a priority over other parts of my life. Not necessarily a belief in any talent I might or might not have, but in my doggedness and desire to write, and the belief that those are the keys to success as much as, or maybe even more than, talent.

I'm just too stubborn to give up now. 

Ripped Apart and other Sweet!s of the Week

A collection of colorful bags and pieces of luggage grows beside me. Today's the day I take TG back to campus to start the spring semester. Wasn't it just a few days ago that we carried all of those bags down from the car?

Christmas break went by so fast. At the beginning of it I had two kids at home; soon it will be just me and Tom again. Sweet, yet bittersweet.

Sweet because, luckily, Tom and I enjoy being together - we easily fall back into our pre-kids selves. Bittersweet because I enjoy having the kids around, too, and not only for all the help they give us with dishes, dog care, laundry... although I do miss that, too.

This might have been the last long break TG spends with us. By this time next year, she'll be living in an apartment, probably working near campus through the break, coming home for a weekend every now and then. Sigh.

I'll take it a semester at a time, though, and right now I just pray this one will be the best ever for her.

Well, while I wait for her to finish packing, I'll tell you a little about my day yesterday, spent in the World of Writers.

I finally made it to a meeting of the Austin Chapter of the SCBWI (Society of Children's Book Writer's and Illustrators) held at BookPeople, a wonderful independent book store in downtown Austin. I don't think I've every met a friendlier group of strangers in my life - the support and encouragement was palpable!

I sat in the only open chair I spotted,  After introductions, I discovered the woman beside me, as well as the two directly behind me, all live just a few miles from me and are eager to form a writer's critique group.Talk about serendipity!

The first session of the meeting was a presentation by author Brian Yansky on plot, character and structure of your story. Some of it was knew to me... some I already know but don't necessarily put into practice... and that's why I need reminders like this, especially from successful authors who are willing to share what has worked for them. Judging by the others who were scribbling notes, I'm not the only one!

Next, a few of us went to the third floor for the open critique group... the part I had been most eager for! I passed out copies of my first two pages, cleared my throat, took a deep breath and read out loud while they followed along.

When I finished, I could see they were hesitant, not sure if I wanted brutal honesty or encouraging pats-on-the-back.

"Rip it apart!" I told them. I've read too many books lately that began with seeds of great stories, but because of neglected pruning, had grown into huge distracting messes. I don't want mine to end up that way!

So with my blessing they ripped it apart, so to speak. Some of what they mentioned I had already wondered about myself, but needed another opinion... which is why I was eager for the critique group. Other things were surprises, and so even more helpful.

A critique can be painful if you take it personally, but I look at it as a really good workout... tough to get through but so invigorating and energizing when it's all over... and the only way to get stronger.

We took turns reading and critiquing, everyone offering concrete constructive comments. Writer heaven!

After a quick break (I walked to Whole Foods and enjoyed a cup of tomato basil soup at a small table outside, great for people-watching!) we gathered on the third floor again. Two of the members had attended a recent Story Masters Workshop where they took pages and pages of notes, all of which they shared with us. 

Spending a day with such a great group of talented writers (many published authors in the group) who encourage and support each other... very sweet!

And now for some other sweet! moments of the past week... 

 

Monday: a fire in the woodburning stove on a cold, rainy day; cedar pollen that's been attacking your nose and making you want to scratch our your eyes washed from the air by the rain; finally meeting a previously only 'online' friend in person; loose ends neatly tied up; joining a writer's group, at long last, to help you with your book 

Tuesday: the moment when dark clouds break apart to reveal blue sky; frogs singing in the distance, grateful for the recent rain; watching "The 10th Kingdom" with your daughter; cell phones that allow you to talk to your mom and your dear friend, despite the miles between you

 

 

Wednesday: $300 worth of free jewelry, thanks to your party!; a Post of the Week award from Hilary for one of your photography posts; that sparkling-clean-teeth feeling you get after a trip to the dentist; a jingle-jangle in your pocket for stuff you didn't want anymore anyway  

Thursday: getting word that a sweet kid you know was found before you even knew he was missing; scratching things off of your list; finally fulfilling a months-old promise to a friend

Friday: a "Happy Anniversary" first thing in the morning from you sweetie before you even realize it's Friday the 13th; puppies stretched out comfy and warm on the laundry room floor on a below-freezing morning; shopping with your baby girl; getting $17 for from a local resale shop for things you were going to toss out; any Ryan Reynolds movie

Saturday: a day spent with writers; getting honest feedback and suggestions on your children's book-in-progress; tomato and basil soup outdoors on a gorgeous day; a walk at dusk beside a running brook; home-brewed beer; watching Harry Potter movies with your daughter

Sunday: a friend thinking of you when a job comes open; watching more Harry Potter movies with your daughter; a call from your mom

What were some of your sweet! moments in the past week? (I know you can come up with at least one!) Please share them here!

Friday the 13th

Up late last night, writing and coming through on a months-old promise of photos to a sweet friend.

Reset alarm, later, later. Finally staggered out of bed at 6am to kiss Tom before he hit the road.

"Happy Anniversary!" he tells me.

My sleepy brain scrambles for the meaning behind his words. Through the fog, it hits me... Today must be a Friday the 13th, just like the day we got married almost 30 years ago.

And he remembered.

That's just one reason I love him.

 

It was a beautiful Friday the 13th for me. I hope it was for you, too!

Small Steps and Safety Nets

According to my resolved writing-career strategy for the new year, the first ten pages of my children's book should be dusted off, attached to an email and on its way to an agency by now.

I'm sure you can guess from that sentence that my plan has gone awry.

The time to begin writing an article is when you have finished it to your satisfaction.  By that time you begin to clearly and logically perceive what it is you really want to say. 

 ~Mark Twain

That's one of the dangers of setting your writing on a shelf for a few years. When it crosses your mind, it glows beautiful, fresh, brilliant through your rose-colored-glasses memory. But brought back into the clear light of the present under a critical, refreshed eye, its flaws and weak spots glare like tarnished silver. 

The wastebasket is a writer's best friend. 

 ~Isaac Bashevis Singer

The first ten pages. Those are going to win or lose the deal for me. They have to be tempting. They have to hook an agent, convince him/her they'll never rest until they read the rest of my book. Or at the very least, convince him/her there's some potential in the story.

But never mind the first ten pages... it's been two weeks and I haven't moved beyond the first paragraph! I've rewritten it half a dozen times. Probably more. I'm even second-guessing which scene should start the book.

I'm not a very good writer, but I'm an excellent rewriter. 

 ~James Michener

I realize I'm not so much an excellent rewriter as an obsessive one. One more week. Just one more week to play around with the opening, then I'm moving on with the rest of the story. 

But I've taken other steps beyond reworking the beginning and setting this deadline for myself. Something I've been wanting to do for a long time, but couldn't until I entered these empty nest years when my Saturdays are no longer filled with soccer games, track meets and band competitions. I loved all of those things, don't get me wrong, and I don't regret putting this off until now, but I'm really excited for the freedom to do this...

...I've re-joined the Society for Children's Book Writers and Illustrators! I let my membership drop years ago when I realized I couldn't be an active member. But monthly meetings and classes surrounded by other writers, the advice and support of a critique group and multiple sets of eyes examining my words... ah, just what I need! I'll have to thicken up my skin, preparing for the inevitable harsh critiques, but "no pain, no gain" holds true, even in writing!

The story I am writing exists, written in absolutely perfect fashion, some place, in the air.  All I must do is find it, and copy it. 

~Jules Renard, "Diary," February 1895

Forward, march...

 

To Say "It's Done"

I knew what I wanted.

To lay words on page, one after another. Words that twisted and turned but always moved forward through the life of my great-great grandfather, allowing my readers to experience the adventures, heartbreaks and joys of his life. 

Most of all, I wanted to lay the last word. To say "It's done." To bless, to send away, to cross fingers and pray.

A year should have been enough, right? An hour or two a day of steady writing for a year would have gotten me to the end of the journey. An hour or two is nothing... the time it takes to walk and feed the dogs or check my email. 

But the days of our lives are tricky adventures themselves, full of their own twists and turns and dark holes that make hours vanish into thin air... all too often the very hours I needed to tell his story.

And on the rare days I was able to slip away from other projects and responsibilities into his story, instead of steadily moving forward, one word after another, I'd find myself trapped in the quicksand of historic research where hours can truly disappear.

This year, again, what I want most of all is to say "It's done." I want to lay the last word and send something away with a prayer. To finish something without being lured away by another story.

So I'm stepping out of my grandfather's journey and back into another I'd written to the end, but that just needs a little sprucing up here and there. The one my grandfather's story pulled me away from.

There's no need for research, only the loosening of my imagination and the dedication - the determination - to lay the last word. 

And then I'll return to my grandfather's story, stronger, more experienced, more prepared to stay that course to the end.

 

This week we’d like you to write a memoir piece about an unfulfilled goal or a broken resolution, beginning with the words, “I knew what I wanted".