After a Dry Spell Comes the Rain

The most interesting things happen sometimes when you're not even looking, when you least expect it, and isn't that what makes life interesting? Sometimes it seems that we endure spells as dry as the Sahara and then, out of nowhere, it starts raining. Not just raining but torrents of water pouring down.

Recently, I had the opportunity to sit in on a presentation by the original editor of the first volume of "Fifty Shades of Grey," and in listening to her speak, I realized, marketing your brand is the most important thing, I think, maybe even more important than having a quality product. I mean, everybody knows "Fifty Shades" is a trainwreck but one thing E.L. James understood was the market. She understood she had to get to the market and corner a huge chunk of it to get her brand to sell, to keep her in the driver's seat, and make her a, well, a millionaire. That was what she wanted. And yes, that does sound crass but I believe that E.L. James, like many of us fledging authors, was looking at the grand prize and not so much the product. She couldn't have been looking at the product.

Sadly, that is a trap that too many writers fall into these days and since it is so easy to upload to Amazon and Kindle, polish and professionalism have suffered. Is that a stamp on writing in general? No, I don't think so. I believe that earnest, hardworking, professional writers are still out there. Or at least, I am, and I know I'm not the only one.

Now, another interesting thing happened to me. As the president of the Springfield Writers' Guild, I rub elbows with a lot of writerly people in the community, and one of these people told me recently that she would send me an invitation to the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame banquet, to be held in March. I jumped up and down with glee but deep down inside I wondered, would she remember? With all of the other, more important people she deals with every day, would she remember little old me? Well, I was estatic when I spied that silver grey envelope in my mailbox addressed to me, and the invitation to RSVP. Inductee this year: Ridley Pearson. Oh boy, this means a new dress, a new hairdo, some perfume. It's gonna be a blast and I can't wait.

And then the last thing (so far). A publishing company in St. Louis randomly emailed me and wanted to advertise their services. Did this fall into my lap or what?

It's moments like these that reaffirm what we're meant to do, why we're here. If writing is your passion, it's going to find  you. You can't hide from it. It won't let you.

What are the odd and wonderful coincidences that have happened to you?

A Quieter Life

I saw this photo the other day and I found myself staring, not at it, but into it. I couldn't help but think, I could live this way, just this way, so simple, so quiet. The thought of pulling my boots on, wrapping up in a Macintosh, carrying my bag to the market, padding quietly over cobblestone streets, the ding of the bell on the market door, the pleasant, welcoming faces within. "Oh, are you back so soon? I have something I've held back just for you," the proprietor/proprietress would exclaim, as he/she drops the present customer's items in his bag.

Wandering around the fresh produce, I choose maybe some brussel sprouts or a long necked squash, some walnuts, a couple of pears, and then onto the meat counter, where I would select a chicken breast or a nice piece of fresh fish. A bottle of pinot grigio in my bag and I approach the counter, where the owner slips a beautiful piece of cheese into my bag and winks at me.

We have a good community feeling here in my daydream. I wave at the owner of the market and the door bell dings as I walk out. Maybe as I walk back home to my cottage, I'll take the long way and spend a few minutes gazing at the sunset lying gently over the ocean.

Wal-Mart does not exist here. No bright lights, no running, screaming children, and no screaming parents either. No stop lights, no traffic crush, no urgency to carry out unfulfilling obligations. In fact, what this place has to offer is peace, calm, and a gentle comfort.

What about you? Has a photograph ever inspired you to think, I could live here?

January Cometh, Again

I was standing in the grocery store aisle this morning, waiting, grocery items gathered in my arms, and as I stood there, I began scanning the glossy magazines lining the checkout line.

The screaming headlines seemed to lead me to believe we are in some sort of personel jam here, at the end of 2012 and at the beginning of 2013. It seems imperative that we follow: "50 Ways to Organize your Closet," "How to Get the Most Out of the Smallest Space," "Organize Your Life in 2013 - Here are Tips!"

Oh, that's great.

My closets are overflowing, I have no space to speak of, and my life, such as it is, continues on along its turbulent stream of blue-green chaos. And it all seems to work, as best it can anyway, and I, me personally, continue on from challenge to challenge and so far as I know anyway, I'm doing okay without all this streamlined organization stuff.

I'm not changing anything. I don't care if it is January, the month of re-organization and new resolves and changing one's ways.

The only thing I will resolve to is to be a better human being, and a harder working writer. Other than that, I'll just let my socks drape out of their drawer, and I won't worry too much about that.

You?

Winter's Maven strides in tonight, dressed in full white, a hooded cape masking her beautiful white face, snow flakes flurrying around her. She rakes her icicle fingers down Lady Autumn's back, a private signal for Lady Autumn to retreat in submission, to retreat back into the mysterious seasonal world from which she came. Gathering her green and gold wrap around her, Lady Autumn bows to the Winter Maven and walks quietly away. Her time is gone now and she retreats into the netherworld to gather her most comfortable things around her and to wait. To wait for her next season.

Our time now, this season, belongs to Winter's Maven. Here is how she is.

Winter's Maven is visceral and often unyielding; she is a formidable foe. Winter's Maven brings cold winds, feathery snow, snappy ice. She doesn't ask for anything, she demands, and her demands are huge. You must be on your guard with her for she will twirl you about until you're dizzy and she'll move you on uncertain ice at that, she will buffet you with fast, icy winds, and she will make you hungry.

So. Bring your wool-lined mittens, gather your firewood, salt your meat, put the bread dough out to rise, chop the vegetables for soup. Winter's Maven is hungry and she'll take what you have to give her, and don't be surpised when she wants more. Because she will want more. Winter's Maven is the most demanding of seasons and the most unforgiving.

Light your lamps, read by the fire, create your stews, casseroles and wonderful breads. Drink dark wine or other spirits, bundle up for the times you have to venture out of doors, greet your friends and loved ones during this time, and remember to rest.

Draw hearthside and snooze. It's a good thing.

To New Friends and Wonderful People!

Good evening, folks. I'm sitting here, trying to think of a title of this post, and I wanted it to be something moving, something genuine, something glorious, and all I can think so say is...help your brother.

My family and I, we have a lot of stuff. You know, you have a lot of stuff too, and if you are honest about your stuff, you know you have a lot more stuff than you will ever need or want and there is no reason for you (or me) to gather even more stuff. Stuff will end up in a yard sale a year from now with a casual price tag of a dollar swinging off the item, and we're gonna feel good about selling the thing, whatever it is, but who needs that?

This year, my family and I said, it's ridiculous to keep this holiday season all to ourselves, we need to do something besides gather more stuff. We don't need or want any more stuff and there are people around us who don't have the luxury of saying, we have more stuff than we need. So, that's where it started, this feeling of let's do something for other people, people we may not know but people who don't have the ability to gather all this stuff.

I believe in charity work. I believe it in wholeheartedly. And so...

We adopted a family from Springfield Victory Mission, and I can say, it's been a wonderful walk with this family, such genuine, sweet people. Travis, Rose and Grace, in the middle of the photo there. These are our new friends, our new loved ones.

Merry Christmas, Travis, Rose and Grace!!! We are so happy to know you!!!

It's always better to do for others...it really is. This is the good stuff of life. I'm so pleased to have been given a part of Travis, Rose and Grace's life this holiday season!

A Christmas Memory

Look at where we find ourselves, December, the most glamorous month of the year. Savor the parties, the sparkling lights, rich food, shiny ribbons and bows! Viva la Christmas!

Well, sure. But let me share with you one of my favorite Christmas memories, and it's a humble one. It's sepia-toned, for sure, a little ragged around the edges but, nonetheless, here goes.

Here is what I remember. My father (the pastor) urged our church youth group to go Christmas caroling. He, of course, knew each and every address he would have our youth group to travel to; some were nursing homes (where we went inside), but, he also took us all around town in Worthington, Minnesota, to anyone he knew of who might be a shut-in, or unable to travel, or simply old and forgotten; any person who could not make Christmas memories on their own, that's where he had us go.

At the time, I was uncomfortable, standing outside in -10 degree weather in my parka and mittens, standing in my frozen boots with mounting winds assaulting my ears, pastering stray strands of hair to my face, and I wasn't happy about spending my evening being corraled by snow mounds, singing weakly to Christmas hymns for people I didn't know. That's youth for you. I really didn't understand.

I remember one house we stopped at; an elderly widow lived there. I'll never forget the tall, slender widow woman, gray hair gathered up in a bun behind her ears, how she stepped outside of her tiny home when she heard us start singing, gathering her sweater around her, dressed in a housedress and slippers, the warmth of her home silhouetted in yellow behind her and her closed screen door as she stood on her porch stoop and listened to us sing every Christmas hymn we knew. She would have stood there all night, I'm pretty sure, so long as we kept singing and she was so happy to have us there in the first place.

I'll never forget that moment and how much she appreciated hearing the songs she must have loved all her life. This, now, is one of my most treasured memories of this holiday season and I have to thank my father for forcing me through something I didn't have the foresight or the inclination to do at the time, but I now so appreciate.

It's best to do for others. Always.

What is your favorite Christmas memory?

A Couple of....Rules

Rules.

Yes, sorry, writing rules, in fact. Here are a few ideas to make your work better, and help it stand out to agents and editors. Some of this may seem elementary if you've been on the road for awhile but, we all have our pitfalls and need to be reminded every so often of the things that will tank our wonderous work.

1. Show, don't tell. We show through emotions, through reaction to an event, through dialogue. There is no need, or not a lot of need, to describe a character through and through; certain choice glimpses into his character, needs, wants, emotions will work. Let your reader decide whether John Jones is anal by saying something like, "his shoes were shined just that morning," rather than going through an entire paragraph about his suit, his haircut, his attention to detail, his shoes. Also, suppose John Jones heard a noise in the hallway and decided to check it out. There is no need to document his every step to the apartment door and how he opened the door and scanned the hallway and then closed the door when he saw nothing occuring. He may have been startled by a noise, and then he may be mystified as to what he thought he heard but, you do not need to describe to your reader how he started for the door, took hold of the knob, pulled the door open, peered into the empty hallway, and then closed the door by the knob and went back to watching television.

2. Providing information the reader could just as well pick up through action or dialogue. This goes back to showing rather than telling. Nothing will insult your readership more than being given a blow-by-blow detail of your story as if they are not intelligent enough to pick up the details for themselves. Let's say John Jones is late for an important meeting. Do we say that or do we have him check his watch, something impossible is happening, he's sweating, he's dashing to the street, he's impatient with the cab driver, his impeccable suit is now wrinkled, his concern about being late to the meeting could be described as, Tugging his upper lip, he stared out the cab window at the passing street scenery. The cab wasn't moving fast enough. The mid-city traffic was clustered and stumbling, halting and then moving again. John stared at the back of the cabbie's head, willing him to hurry,  hurry, just hurry up already! Turning his gaze to the rear view mirror, he saw how wrinkled his suit had become in the morning humidity. He felt personally insulted, as if the day had planned this whole humilating situation just for him.

It's not great but there's some action there, some sense of urgency. Now. Here's another way. John Jones looked at his watch. It was 10:15 and he was almost late for his appointment. He went to the elevator and punched the button for the ground floor. Once there, he walked to the sidewalk and hailed a cab. He was impatient. He told the cabbie to get him to 101 52nd Street as soon as possible. He sat in the back seat. His suit was wrinkled. He was unhappy that his presentation would not go well because he didn't look his best.

Which sounds better to you?

3. Too  much exposition, not enough dialogue, OR vice versa. Your work should have a pretty even percentage of each. Too much exposition drags the reader down, and doesn't let him/her see or feel the characters for who they are. Too much exposition builds a wall between believability and your work. Your reader won't be able to bond with characters that seldom speak. Too much dialogue, on the other hand, is confusing and lessens the character for your reader, the blabbermouth syndrome.

Pages and pages of dialogue are not good. By the same token, pages and pages of exposition or narrative don't work well.  Balance it out. It's all about balance, seriously.

Just a couple of things to think about in your writing. I wish you well.

Finally, can you describe the scene in the photograph? What would you write about it and why?