The View From the Outside Cover of My Yet Unpublished Book(s)

The best things in life are truly free.

A friend recommended Stephen king's book "On Writing" and I picked it up at my favorite place-the Modesto Library!
After I trudged through the somewhat sad and seedy story of his early life (chalk that off the list of possible correlations of my life to famous writers) I got into the meaty business of how to be a writer. In the middle of a very practical treatise on making writing an everyday part of your life (or perhaps, 'how to fit a life into your reading and writing') I quote the King on this and declare it to be a true treasure.

"If you feel you need permission to do all the reading and writing your little heart desires, consider it hereby granted by yours truly."  He was 53 when he wrote this, and I'll turn 53 this year. Dare I call it a sweet coincidence?

To all my word-loving friends I pass this on, for free.

Thanks for reading!

All Things Bright and Beautiful

May you and yours find peace and joy this Easter.

He Is Risen!




Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.

The purple headed mountains,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning
That brightens up the sky.

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,
He made them every one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
To gather every day.

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well….
Chorus
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all.

Smashing Success

What would your life be like if you achieved a smashing success in your professional life? I pondered this on the front side of writing, directing and producing my first play.

The day finally arrived, and despite the usual theater jitters, and a bumble or two on my part, the kids were simply amazing, and I couldn't have been more proud!

In the afterglow of the performance, as I numbly watched a good friend tear up at the joy of my success, I realized that a special moment had arrived for me, and I felt so 'normal' that I had almost let it pass without noticing.
Often we look at celebrities and other people who we view as 'successful' people and imagine their lives to be vamped up somehow and less stressful. Surely that feeling of euphoric success carries them over the normal feelings of inadequacy, and fear of failure that the rest of us unknowns deal with everyday.

Nothing could be further from the truth. All men are created equal.

At the end of the day, the dishes and laundry are still waiting, those difficult personal situations still take more courage, and I am the same person I always was, with the exception of perhaps an even stronger craving for another success.

So go ahead, write that book, produce that album, sell that artwork, start that business. Call me when it all comes together for you, and we'll understand each other.

Windows of Johnny Depp's Soul

I've been a Johnny Depp fan for some time. His performance in The Tourist with Angelina Jolie (another recent favorite of mine after seeing Salt) seemed at first to be disappointing. He played a math teacher from Wisconsin, with a singularly ordinary American accent. The old Johnny Depp presence just wasn't there.  I thought he'd really let me down this time.

I watched about an hour and then fell asleep. I wondered the next day if he'd just chosen a bad script. I'd heard he had dropped out of the American Hollywood scene and fled to Europe. Had he lost the magic touch? The last thing I'd seen him in was Alice in Wonderland. I'd loved his eccentric portrayal of the already eccentric Mad Hatter.

There was not much in the math teacher to command any sort of adulation. Except of course that Jolie's character Elise had taken an interest in him. Given her character was driven by expert costuming and make-up, enhanced of course by her sheer natural beauty, it was a thin thread, but I kept watching.The unusual setting of Venice was pretty fascinating as well.

As it turned out, Johnny Depp gave one of the most spectacular performances I'd ever seen. Without spoiling the movie for you, I'd have to say he drives the plot with his eyes. Check it out, and see if you think so too.

Free Write of the Day/ South By Rail

Here's what I did with 45 minutes while waiting for my daughter to finish a class. Just for fun!

I’m pretty sure that no one knew about my obsession with trains. That was what made it all the more dangerous. And it explains completely why I found myself lying on the railroad tracks at the junction of Amtrak’s Central Line and Ryetown’s 54^th Blvd on April 8, 2011.

The sun was high in the sky, and beat down upon my bare arms. The iron tracks themselves were barely warm, as the spring thaw had only begun several weeks ago. A light wind blew, raising the hair on my arms and blowing my long brown hair into my face, obscuring my eyesight. I whipped my hair to the right and wrenching both handcuffed arms around to my left side, I strained to read the face on my Union Pacific collectable wristwatch.  In only a few minutes the 12:54 would come barreling through the small town. I counted ahead from 12: 38.

I had come too early. Berating myself for being too eager, I glanced from side to side at the bare fields, just beginning to show sprouts of green barley waving in the breeze, hiding the keys I’d tossed as far away as I could hurl them on either side and then looked down the tracks to the north as far as I could.

For weeks now I had wanted to feel the thrill of being flat on my back, knowing that all ten tons of passenger cars would roll over that very spot. I had plenty of time to get up. Too much time in fact.

My stomach growled. The Captain Crunch I’d had for breakfast was long gone. The ripped up feeling in the roof of my mouth remained.

From far away I heard a whistle. Was it a whistle? Could 16 minutes have possibly have gone by, or was the train early?

I’d chosen the junction precisely because of the whistle. I wasn’t stupid. I needed plenty of warning to plan my escape just in the nick of time. The handcuffs, and leg shackles were purchased from Crescent Supply in Ryetown. The look on the clerk’s face was truly priceless.  Getting them on by myself had been the real trick.

Another long pull on the horn. Good thing I’d practiced as many times as I did. The train was early. When does that happen?

A convoy of Semi’s blew by on the 54^th. I lay as still as possible. Having some beer-bellied red-neck trying to play hero wasn’t in the plan.

Another whistle. It was time.

The squeaky wheels gave the kid away, though the second I saw his face, I knew he was trouble.

“Hey Lady, Whatcha doin’ on the railroad tracks? “

“Get outta here, kid!”

“Are you tryin’ to kill yerself?”

“Go on. Mind your own business!” I was hollering now, willing myself to concentrate, not lose focus. I had done this hundreds of times.

The sweat crept down my back and my wrists ached from the restraint of the cuffs, and having my arms in one position for so long.

“Are you making a movie?” The bike inched closer, momentarily shading my face from the noon sun.

The voice was an irritation, but nothing compared to the anger I felt at myself for the way my fuzzy brain was beginning to panic. Not the way I’d planned it.

I didn’t fancy being pulled off the tracks in shackles, but I mentally gave myself this out, and than just as instantly rejected the idea. The kid was six, maybe seven. He couldn’t have lifted me if he tried.

It was still plan A, but with distractions. I rehearsed a headline or two:

WOMAN AND CHILD DIE IN TRAGIC TRAIN ACCIDENT

And worse yet:

CHILD DIES WHILE RESCUING WOMAN FROM TRAIN

Rolling over the six inch rail with gravel on either side and limited mobility of hands and feet was painful, but I managed to get on top of the right side rail, without thinking I’d gone to the opposite side of the track of the child. Would he try to come running across the tracks to gape at my predicament, and…

Where was this kid’s mother? Why do people let their kids ride bikes near the railroad tracks?  Foolish question.

I’d once hear that males crave a brush with death every day. Well, some females do too.

I could hear the engine, and the weight of the 12:54 as it raced at 85 miles per hour to a junction that seldom had any traffic at all. There wasn’t even moveable arm, just a white crossing sign.

The kid was looking up towards the north track, his eyes wide with terror. He was gripping the handle bars of his bike so tight I could see white knuckles.

One big push, and I’d be out of harm’s way. Or most of it. Three feet away was barely out of danger. The wind from the passing train could blow an average sized person under the carriage, especially on an already windy day.

I gathered all my strength just as a small voice cried out.

“You better get out of the way! You want me to push you?”

“NO!”

Everything went black and a deafening noise closed off all further sound.

Writing the Perfect Book: A Bridge

At the beginning, the hero is not yet on the scene, but only exists in the mind of the reader, suggested by the urgency of the entire plot.

The heroine is the perfect touch of helplessness and womanly strength and beauty. She embodies the hopes and fears of women everywhere.

The setting is a stellar combination of your finest dreams haunted by your worst nightmare. It is both a place you have been and a place you hope you never have to see, a bridge between your life and your imagination.

The pace is leisurely when you are enchanted, but galloping when the suspense is ratcheted up.

When the hero arrives, he is everything you want him to be. Vulnerable, totally capable, and in the nick of time.

The ending comes far too soon.

The lingering taste in the palate is satisfaction, with a mouth-watering thirst for more.

Insert  description, characters and dialogue here.

books rethunk

I've been gradually opening my mind to the concept of e-books taking over the publishing world. The biggest barrier for me is one I find it hard to verbalize. I suspect this is the case with many people. How do you describe the difference between holding an actual book with a cover and pages in your hand, compared to holding an electronic device?

But, I have tried.

The day I knew 'they' were winning was when I entered a contest to win a Kindle. So, I wasn't as against the device itself, but rather the expense, perhaps? Since I normally don't buy books at the usual new price, but rather review books for free,borrow from the library or my mother's extensive book collection, I object to being locked into reading at a cost higher than my current one.

But this was before I found myself surrounded by a sea of children and parents waiting to go into the Storytime Hour at my local library.

I saw toddlers, and babies, preschoolers and kids in strollers with moms, dads and grandparents. The library had provided books in baskets in the foyer where they were waiting. Adults knelt on the floor and sat in chairs with children on their laps. Kids were lifting the flaps of flap books, pointing to colorful pictures, drooling on books, listening to the adults read, and prattling about the pictures.

Instantly in my mind, I replaced each scenario with an e-reader. It was not a pretty sight.

All that work. Gone in an instant. I wasn't going to be able to keep up the pretext of going with the flow into a new generation of e-reading. And now I had one solid reason why.

What's your opinion on books vs. e-readers?