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  • “Two dreams and a cup of coffee later…..”

    F.K. Preston

    Kopi Time


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    Write on Wednesday, the last rose of summer, welcome fall…

    This week’s prompt from Becca on Write on Wednesday was:

    Do you make time to write everyday? Don’t you think everybody should?

    Well…… I do write every day, but I do not Write every day.  Big difference, for me, between writing for work and writing for…. fun.  Comments, logs, emails – enough said about work writing.

    I communicate with friends and family every day in writing: text (yes, my daughters have finally forced me), emails to friends, Facebook notes to cousins on the “Clan” page – that kind of writing.

    Since my new position began in late August, I have not had the mental energy to Write every day.  But I think it is time to get back to it.  I have settled into the routine of work, I know (for the most part) what I am doing, I have had confirmation from my supervisors that all is well.  And I have made a couple writing commitments.  One is to NaNoWriMo – write a book in thirty days.  I am excited about something I have never tried before, and I am storing up energy and ideas.  What to write?  I haven’t decided yet.  It has to be something I know.  There won’t be time for any research.

    Back to the prompt.  Should everybody write every day?  I think there is great value in writing daily, but you have to bring something to it, and not everyone might choose to do that, or know how to do that.  My hero, Anne Lamott said,

    Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises. That thing you had to force yourself to do – the actual act of writing – turns out to be the best part. It’s like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony. The act of writing turns out to be its own reward.

    That is how I, personally, feel about writing.  But certainly there are many other ways to communicate, and I think that is really the base of Becca’s question.  “Do you make time to – communicate – every day?  Don’t you think everybody should?”  Definitely.

    Communicate with friends and loved ones, communicate with nature, communicate with yourself…. That is what makes us special and so very different from all the other animals: the quality of our communication.  We don’t just tell our neighbors where our territory ends and theirs starts, or where the honey is.  We talk about our feelings and our fears and our needs.  We have the ability to share the beauty we find in life.  I think we have a responsibility to do that, as a way of giving thanks for this gift.  We can journal, saving our stories for future generations, or to be introspective and grow, which will serve the people in our lives and ourselves.  We can communicate through music, finding peace or release through this medium of communication, and possibly to share with others.  Or we can talk, entertaining those around us.  There is a multitude of ways to communicate, and I do believe we have a responsibility to do so.

    To get back to Lamott’s tea ceremony.  I have learned that the ceremony is the beauty of life.  I think it is a very rare young person who figures this out, and some people never get it.  As I wrote in last week’s post, it is all about the trip, rather than the destination.

    So while you are on your trip, please do connect, divulge, inform, correspond, proclaim, publish, perform, report, announce, interact, or use whatever means with which you communicate best.

    There are a few more roses in the yard, but if frost comes in the next couple nights, this will be the last rose from the summer.  Crossing over time is lovely.

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    write on wednesday, surprises on wednesday, and …

    It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that they are difficult. ~Seneca

    Becca posed a wonderful question on Write on Wednesday this week.  What could you accomplish, if you only dared?  Or if you knew you could not fail?

    by Arthur Rackman
    by Arthur Rackman

    That question opens Pandora’s second box; the one that was full of good will, good luck, and good things.  I have to go back to a quote I refer to often.  My father said to me, when I was very young, “You can do anything you want.”  I believed him.  If I were another person, I might have said, “yeah right, whatever.”  Who knows?  The stars were aligned just right while my psyche was forming, and I have pursued life with this as my mantra, knowing that not everyone realizes it is true for him or her, too.  Of course, along with being sure you can do anything you want, hard work must accompany the desire.  Things don’t just happen by themselves.

    One day I decided I wanted to be a published author, to be able to sit all day, no one else’s clock to punch, and write and write and write.  Although writing has always been a part of my life, I began writing in a different way.  I pursued my writing “career” with a lot of hard work.  And I continue to do that – no publication date within view – but I am still working towards that goal.

    It is the second question, “Or if you knew you could not fail?” that does not make sense to me.  In no way should a goal be defined by success or failure; a goal is about the way there.  It is all about the trip, or my second favorite mantra: “live in the moment.”  I think about all of the things I have learned since I started on my quest to be “a real writer.”   I researched for my first manuscript and learned a myriad of interesting things about Vikings, sagas, ancient manuscripts, and I made a new friend in Iceland.  This is just a very tiny example of what I gained from that quest.  I am so wealthy from the trip – and in a small corner of my brain the hope of getting this manuscript published still exists.  There is always hope!

    My greatest aspiration is to give this gift to my students, and especially to my children – to realize that they, too, can do anything they want.

    The most wonderful thing I have found on my writing journey is the gift of friendship.  I have met so many wonderful people in this particular writing arena; like minded people I would never have met had I not decided to take this trip.  This trove was compounded by a tangible gift this week.

    As I drove past my house on the way to the garage Wednesday afternoon, I saw a brown box on my front porch.  The mail man drops our post and runs because the ferocious beast on the other side of the door scares the bejabbers out of him.

    I retrieved the box and and set it on my desk while I decompressed from a day of work. Changed my clothes, drank a glass of ice water, checked the phone messages, pet the dog.  Then I opened the box and set the contents on my desk and admired it.

    I took the pup for a walk.  The sun was out, the leaves were crunchy, Terra was happy, bouncing and trotting through the long grass.  Sitting on my desk was a present to open.

    When I got home, I unwrapped the gift.  The bird on the front was apropos for a couple reasons.  It is fall, spooky time, and there is nothing spookier than a raven.  Edgar Allen Poe and all that good stuff.  It was also appropriate, because of the contents of the package.

    My very own copy of Bird by Bird, a gift from Carl.  I have been raving about this book for quite a while, bemoaning that I had an overdue copy from the library, but could only read a page at a time, to savor and soak it up.  And the package had other goodies in it, too.  The ever spooky eyeball bubbles, gravestone erasers, a Halloween bookmark, and a beautiful card by  Anne-Julie Aubry.  What a treat.  I sat down immediately and moved all of my stickies from the library book to my personal book.  Then I read two pages.  Ahhhhhhhhh.  Life is good.  Thanks Carl!

    I received another gift this past week; a totally different form of a gift.  I was assigned a new intern three weeks ago.  She was teaching in a very difficult situation, her supervisor said she was failing, her mentor did not have a background in the area she was teaching; they did not find a meeting point.   When the supervisor performed her surprise observation this past Thursday, the intern got an A+.  I was so pleased for her, and happy for myself.  We had connected, she was open to my ideas, she worked hard, and it became a happily ever after!

    The best teacher is the one who suggests rather than dogmatizes, and inspires his listener with the wish to teach himself. ~Edward Bulwer-Lytton

    I remind myself of this every day, and find that if I follow this advice, the results are never disappointing.

    I took Friday afternoon off to help my youngest get ready for Homecoming.  What a great week!


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    The Gardella Vampire Chronicles by Colleen Gleason

    It started with Carl’s challenge at Stainless Steel Droppings:  create a photo with Colleen Gleason’s latest book, include the book in the photo, and send it in to the contest.  In order to create the photo with the book, I had to buy the book.  I was happy to support the author with her first week of sales.  Of course I love buying books, but I have never read a vampire book, other than Bram Stoker’s Dracula. (Colleen Gleason also has a Wordpress Blog that is fun.)

    Once I had created the photo and sent it to Carl, I had this vampire book on my hands.  Now the problem was, this book was the fourth in the series.  Obviously you can’t start a series with the last book.  Thus I requested one, two, and three from my library.  In a few weeks, I had all three books, and they sat, lined up on the table next to my bed.  I wasn’t too excited about starting the first chronicle. Romance and vampires….. just not me.

    The night came when I had nothing lined up to read.  Except for The Rest Falls Away.  So I started reading.  I stayed up late.  I read the next day.  And the next.  Finished it and started Rises the Night.  It was better than the first.  And I finished that and went directly to The Bleeding Dusk.  Yes.  I was addicted.  When I finished When Twilight Burns, I was sorely disappointed because there was no where to go from there.

    Characters, plot, setting: it all works, and gets increasingly better with each novel.  This is the sort of book that really stretches the old “suspend your disbelief” while reading.  On the one hand, the Victorian era is described so realistically, I am so grateful I didn’t live then.  The dresses with the little roses around the hems, the garters to hold up stockings, the corsets.  Yuck!  But imagining Victoria Gardella leaping around a formal garden, fighting the undead in all this paraphernalia, was a bit of a stretch.  I didn’t mind making the stretch because I was so taken with Victoria, her mission, the historical era, and the array of love interests.  Oh yes, the love interests.  If her mother only knew!  I really didn’t know which one to root for; they were all so delectable in their own, very different, ways.

    Book three and four bring up the vis bulla quite a bit.  This is a silver cross worn by the Venator (vampire slayer) as a piercing, somewhere on their body, and it gives them extraordinary strength.  It occurred to me that a vis bulla I had created for myself fifteen years ago, sat languishing in my jewelry box.  Of course I didn’t have vampires in mind at the time, but I think it might work.  I may need to have it blessed, however.

    From the cover of The Rest Falls Away:

    Beneath the glitter of dazzling 19th-century London Society lurks a bloodthirsty evil… .
    Vampires have always lived among them, quietly attacking unsuspecting debutantes and dandified lords as well as hackney drivers and Bond Street milliners. If not for the vampire slayers of the Gardella family, these immortal creatures would have long taken over the world.
    In every generation, a Gardella is called to accept the family legacy, and this time, Victoria Gardella Grantworth is chosen, on the eve of her debut, to carry the stake.
    But as she moves between the crush of ballrooms and dangerous, moonlit streets, Victoria’s heart is torn between London’s most eligible bachelor, the Marquess of Rockley, and her enigmatic ally, Sebastian Vioget.
    And when she comes face to face with the most powerful vampire in history, Victoria must ultimately make the choice between duty and love.

    I recommend the series to you. If you have second thoughts in the beginning, don’t stop before reading at least half of the first book. I guarantee, you will have changed your mind by this point.

    This review is also a part of SSD R.I.P III challenge, so I accomplished two projects in one fell swoop!  On another spooky note, I have included some graveyard pictures I took a few years ago.  I have an extensive collection of head stone photos – I think they are beautiful.  And sometimes, they are entertaining…

    Happy October!

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    Write on WEdnesday – ‘time is relative’

    Becca asks: “Do you find yourself moving too fast through life?  How does slowing down affect your creativity?“

    In my house, Veronica is the chatelaine of time.  You can tell by the look in her eye that she is pretty serious about it.

    There are clocks all over the house.  My father repaired and restored clocks as one of his many hobbies.  I moved here three years ago, but I still have clocks in boxes in the basement.  My favorites are out, however.

    This is the first clock he gave me.

    I took the face off of this one because the mechanism is so beautiful.

    This is my favorite; my mom gave it to me after my dad died.

    If you look closely at these clocks, you will notice something.  Each announces a different time, because none of them are running.  They sound beautiful when they chime, but I can’t bear the sound of them ticking.  Ticking away time, counting the seconds.  “Time flies when you’re having fun!”  It is so true.  Time is definitely relative.  I feel as though I was twenty-seven, and then I blinked and found myself here today.  I am afraid that the next thirty years will pass and I will feel like Rip Van Winkle, awakened to find myself old, and in another place in time.  When my grandma was ninety, she said to me, “I can’t figure it out… I feel like I am seventeen, and I look in the mirror and I am shocked at what I see.  The time went so fast.”  That frightens me and I have to take a deep breath and focus on the heart palpitations that are spinning me out of control into a panic attack.  So there you have it: my phobia is out on the table.  I never say, “I wish it was the weekend!”  I never wish time away, but prefer to be right here, right now, in this moment, as it slips away into the past.

    That brings me directly to Becca’s question.  I do find myself moving too fast sometimes, but as soon as I catch it, I tell myself to slow down.  I leave early enough for work in the morning so I don’t have to worry about being late.  I am not a Type A driver.  I cruise along with traffic, and if I have to stop at a light, it gives me a chance to take a sip of coffee, look at the people waiting for a bus at the corner, and make up a story about what the day might hold for them.  I do that kind of thing all day long.

    Yesterday I read my requisite pages in Bird by Bird, and Anne Lamott talked about her method of taking notes about ideas that strike her throughout the day.  She uses notecards, sticking one in her pocket when walking the dog, or having a pack in her bag when heading out for the day.  That sounds like something that would work for me.  I have notebooks spread out all over my life, scraps of paper litter every surface of the house, my bag is stuffed with receipts that have writing on the back and are ultimately thrown away, unreviewed.  Note cards would be so much more organized and accessible, and seemingly just right for me.  So now, when I sit in the back of a classroom and a student says something that strikes me as hysterical, or I am at that stoplight and a man pulls out his fabric wallet to retrieve his bus pass and I imagine where he is going, I will have my little pack of notecards to write it down.

    Slowing down feeds and nurtures creativity.  How can you let that inner voice speak if you are squeezing it’s vocal chords with frenzy?  It doesn’t work for me, anyway.

    But back to clocks.  There is an article in the Telegraph which describes a clock, created by Dr John Taylor.  It is incredibly modern, and uses very old technology at the same time.  The video is a little fuzzy, but still interesting.  And check out that Grasshopper escapement!

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    Write on Wednesday about details

    Another thoughtful prompt from Becca this week, on Write on Wednesday.  I am so pleased I decided to take the time today to think about it.

    Are you detail oriented in your writing? What are some of the details you most notice in the world around you? What details do you focus on in your writing – place, character, emotional?

    Photo by Jim Flynn
    Photo by Jim Flynn

    The public library is looking for me.  I checked out Bird by Bird, written by Anne Lamott, on August 3rd.  The library gives you the book for three weeks, at which time you can renew another three weeks.  That due date was September 14th, but I am not finished with the book yet.  I should just go out and buy it, but I haven’t gotten around to it, and I can’t give this one up until I have a replacement copy.

    Anne Lamott
    Anne Lamott

    Anne gets me off to a good start every day.  In between the bliss of Egyptian cotton and wrapping my peanut butter sandwich in wax paper, I have Anne.  I read two or three pages at a time.  There are tiny post-it tags sticking out of three sides of the book; it looks like a porcupine.  I don’t really want to finish this book.  I will certainly read it again because it is teaching me a lot, but I am also planning to read it again because I am taken with the way she writes in such incredible detail.

    Anne writes in detail about things, but she also writes in detail about… the details of writing.  She says,

    I honestly think in order to be a writer, you have to learn to be reverent. If not, why are you writing? Why are you here?

    Let’s think of reverence as awe, as presence in and openness to the world. The alternative is that we stultify, we shut down. Think of those times when you’ve read prose or poetry that is presented in such a way, that you have a fleeting sense of being startled by beauty or insight, by a glimpse into someone’s soul. All of a sudden everything seems to fit together or at least to have some meaning for a moment. This is our goal as writers, I think; to help others have this sense of – please forgive me – wonder, of seeing things anew, things that can catch us off guard, that break in on our small bordered worlds. When this happens, everything feels more spacious. Try walking around with a child who’s going, “Wow, wow! Look at that dirty dog! Look at that burned-down house! Look at that red sky!” And the child points and you look, and you see, and you start going, “Wow! Look at that huge crazy hedge! Look at that teeny little baby! Look at the scary dark cloud!” I think this is how we are supposed to be in the world – present and in awe. There is ecstasy in paying attention.

    So the details may be describing a character’s feelings, or the details may be describing the side of a barn.  The writer may use just a few words, or the writer may take page after page to embroider, so you can see it – feel it – taste it.  Either way can work, if the writer gets it right.  Anne quotes Gary Snyder:

    Ripples on the surface of the water-
    Were silver salmon passing under – different
    From the ripples caused by breezes.

    You can see it, can’t you?  Do your eyes squint, because you know the light is glaring, sparkling, shimmering off the top of those ripples, even though he has not mentioned it?

    While I savor the taste of a few pages, a few words of wisdom (I think she would laugh at this) from Anne, I start my day with a calm, grounded feeling.  When I step out the door with the dog, I am noticing the smaller parts of the whole with awe.  How thick the moisture in the fall air feels, in comparison to the dry, gold leaves that are starting to cover the ground.  The layer of fog that floats just above the ground in the park looks thick enough to stand on, but my legs cut right through it like my finger dipping into a bowl of fresh whipped cream.

    I do try to use “details about place, character, emotion” in my own writing:

    I walked to school. Up the steps, my backpack felt heavy with nothin in it. Pulled open the huge door. Window got safety glass, but it’s all cracked with a bullet hole in the middle.

    Got in the line, twenty kids already there in front of me. They must be hungry. Took off my belt, and went through the metal detector, holdin my pants up while security run the wand. Walked down the hallway, not lookin at nobody. Brown walls. Janitor paints em, and five minutes later, someone comes along and writes ‘fuck you’ with a permanent marker they stole from a teacher desk. Decoration with a message.

    The gray floor is scuffed up and dirty, probably started out a different color.  It’s darker in the auditorium, good thing.  We waited there every morning like a bunch of dogs in a pen.  Damn musty, but I couldn’t decide if it was better to breath through my mouth or my nose.  I looked at my new shoes so I wouldn’t have to think about nothin.

    Are the details there? Can you see it? Feel it?

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The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.

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