Tag Archives: Writing

November 9, 2024 · 4:13 pm

Mind of a Writer

The American Writers Museum is located in Chicago, Illinois. My Photo.

Saturday afternoon. Wondering what to write. Obviously, lots to comment on if I were to verge into current events, but I don’t want to do that. I want to find one good thing to write about—something good for writers, since this will be a post on my writer website.

Perhaps something about writing into your pain, both as a way to expunge it, and as a way to find a path through it. A way that perhaps can teach you something about what you really think, or want, or can make possible, and if you can do this, then so can anyone else. It can be healing.

So, let’s see what comes up in a five-minute timed writing. Just a furious spilling of whatever comes up. It must be nonstop and unedited. Ready?

If I ask you to do it, I must do it, too. . . (sad writer nervously sets timer). . .

My Clock

Begin!

The first thing I want to say is that I am sad and I wish that things were different. I wish I had gotten busier being successful so that I would have more options now. Now that I want to change things and move and find a yoga class and travel more and eat wonderful vegetarian food in beautiful restaurants and have a home big enough to have a guest room with an extra bathroom and I want to have a place right near my daughter and grandchildren but I cannot afford to live there and it’s because I never figured out a way to make enough money when I was young and never knew how to save money or grow money and money is the only thing that seems to make freedom work in America.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I have always been a dreamer. I have always been a worker, too, and I thought I could be a dreamer and just keep working and that things would consistently get better over time. By get better, I think I meant that I would be able to afford health care and all those things I mentioned above. I also expected that people would want to love each other, help each other, and understand each other. Teachers and librarians and ministers and social workers would always be revered. A college education would be attainable and who wouldn’t want to go to college?

Photo by Thayná Barsan on Pexels.com

And it would be a great equalizer, because a lifetime of learning and studying history and art and literature, science and geography and math … all of this could illuminate anyone who wished it … and why wouldn’t everyone wish it?

But I was wrong. And I am filled with regret about so many of the choices I made that probably made things worse, but my mind is vague about what those things were and why they were so wrong when obviously I was doing the best I could at the time. But it was never enough. I’ve never been enough.

And I miss my kids. And I want to live in a little house near water where I can walk every day and admire the ducks and the geese, I miss Canada geese, and where I can stop in a little coffee shop and write on my laptop. Which I do not have. But I have a desk computer, and I have a lot of journals and paper is still affordable and I can write longhand, which is better in some ways for me anyway, So why can’t those things happen?

My Photo. The Drawing of Our House is by Derek Zacharias.

I know that the outrageous cost of housing in this country is not my fault. I don’t know who is at fault for that, but there’s a part of me that blames the people who made better choices than I did or who were born into “better” families… And it does me no good to think that way.

Photo by Lena Khrupina on Pexels.com

Bitterness is knowingly biting into the peel of a grapefruit, chewing it slowly, perversely enjoying it, even though as a child your mother cut the sections loose for you, sprinkled the pink fruit with sugar, and centered your portion with a cherry. That’s the way I like my grapefruit still, that, or in a grapefruit martini with a sparkly sugared rim.

 I don’t want to be bitter. I want to find a way back to optimism. It’s just so hard. I miss my kids. The holidays I so love to celebrate are nearly upon us, and I don’t have a way to enjoy them with my family all together. I come and go always somewhere where I am half happy or half as happy as I fantasize, I would be if everyone I love would be there together at the same time. But the drive to Arrowhead from here is much harder than I thought it would be, and since we now know that it’s more expensive here because we regularly leave and stay far away in the city when we have a healthcare need, such as my husband’s recent helicopter trip to Reno and subsequent stay in the hospital there. The hotel bills for me to stay near him during his procedure. All the money spent on gas and restaurants.

Lake Itaska, Minnesota. My own photo.

Moving to Minnesota seems the only semi-practical solution. At least there will be doctors nearby. We still won’t have a lot of money to pay doctor bills, but at least we won’t have to spend extra money just to get to the place where the medical facilities are located. And the houses in Minnesota that are outside the Twin Cities range in price of course but some of them are much more affordable than anything in the West. We can’t afford anything here near healthcare.

I will still have to fly to see my kids of course. The flights may cost slightly more from St. Paul, Minnesota to California than they do from Reno, Nevada, but that’s the only way I can go. I don’t know how I will afford it, but perhaps I can get a part-time job again like I have here (never as lovely as this job here, I don’t think… I’ve been so lucky in that way). My library position is the reason I’m able to buy plane tickets, and it is a complete joy. But I believe whatever happens, moving again offers the only glimmer of hope.

Time.

And there you are. Or there I am. Do I feel better? Maybe a bit, and I’ll take it! Next a walk. A walk after a writing session helps all the thoughts flow better and meet one another and mix and calculate. Also, writers need to take care of the body that carries them around and allows them to experience many of the things that feed them as creatives.

I believe I’ll go for a walk now.

Wishing you lots of “free to worry” (and resolve) writing time—and all the healing you need and all the hope.

Jiminy Cricket from Pexels Free Photos, Disney.

P.S. I came back from my walk and edited my freewrite just a tad. It’s what we writers do!

Happy Writing, With Love.

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September 30, 2024 · 3:38 pm

Embrace Autumn: October’s Beauty in Nature

Hello, October!

Suddenly the leaves turn red, yellow, and orange; the night temperatures dip into the thirties, and I enjoy sitting in my front yard both in the morning and the early evening. Ahhh . . . those morning coffees and evening wines . . .

The steeple front, right, is on the old Methodist church, now our community center. The steeple across the canyon (you may have to zoom in if the image is too small) is on St. George’s Episcopal church, where I attend. Sunday services have never stopped at St. George’s since the church opened in 1878.

Just a month ago it was much too hot to sit here for any length of time. It is an unusual yard, not yet shaded, one that we created by tearing down an old carport that covered the entire front of our old parsonage for sixty years. This reclaimed space has an incredible view of two one-hundred-plus-year-old church steeples and an impressive hillside on this, the northern end of our section of the Toiyabe Mountains, but no large trees yet. We have planted an oak, a cottonwood, and a blue spruce there, but they are small still.

That evening wine.

Our little town of Austin, Nevada is located in central Nevada’s sparsely-populated, history-rich Lander County in  “. . .the Toiyabe Range, a mountain range in Lander and Nye counties, Nevada, United States. The range is included within the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest. The highest point in the range is Arc Dome (11,788 feet, 3592 m), an area protected as the Arc Dome Wilderness. The Toiyabe Crest Trail runs along the Toiyabe Range for over 70 miles, and is one of the most challenging and secluded trails in the United States.”  U.S. Forest Service, www.fs.us.gov.

In October, we venture out on the mountain trails, we get supplies ready for the long winter to come, and we sit in quiet reverie, grateful for nature’s hush. Enjoying the splendor. Soon, it will be too cold to sit out here without a coat. Soon, there will be more time inside, tending the fire, cooking large pots of soups and stews, reading, and writing.

This gradual gathering of the special autumn light, the relish we feel as we take it in, and our own eventual inner-directed shift is a very great gift as the seasons change, I believe.

Mostly Marigolds! Some of my favorites.

Here is a poem of great beauty by John Keats on the season:

 “To Autumn”

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

  Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

  With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,

  And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

  With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

    For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

  Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

  Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,

  Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

    Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

  Steady thy laden head across a brook;

  Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

    Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

  Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

  And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

  Among the river sallows, borne aloft

    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

  Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

  The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,

    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Written September 19, 1819; first published in 1820. This poem is in the public domain.

Hello, October! And Welcome!

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September 21, 2024 · 2:18 pm

Unearthing the Character Behind A Fine Suddenness

Three Months ago, at the beginning of summer, I received an agent request for the full manuscript of my historical fiction novel, A Fine Suddenness. I am told that 3 months is about the time I might begin to expect to hear back from the agent, and so today I am checking my email even more regularly than usual, and I am thinking about the origins of the manuscript.

My Journal

It began in May of 2011 with the glimmer of a character suggested by a signature of ownership in an old red leather-bound book a friend gifted me: The Conqueror, by Gertrude Atherton. My friend Lynn is a librarian, a teacher of history, a seller of used books, and a maker of reclaimed book journals. You can check out her business at brownbagbooks.biz. This book was one of her rescued book journals. The cover was intact, rebound into a smallish wire bound blank journal.

The original inscription inside was simple: Mary Miller 1903. Who was this lady, I wondered? She must have loved her books, I thought, to have signed her name and the year of acquisition on the inside cover, a habit I also have. I usually add the place I acquired the book also, but Mary Miller did not do so. A quick search told me that Gertrude Atherton was a San Francisco author, and The Conqueror had been published in 1902, was about Alexander Hamilton, and was widely acclaimed.

I immediately began writing in Mary’s book-turned-journal, taking on an imagined persona of the unknown lady. It began: “May 8, 1903. Lake Arrowhead, California. I am proposing to tell you a story which I am quite sure you will doubt . . .” Rather quickly it took on the overtones of a ghost story, and I named Mary’s father, described his field of study and stated that her mother had died of influenza when she was a child. All of that came to me very spontaneously. Also, Mary’s husband was dead, but she had a vision of him. So, A Fine Suddenness began as a ghost story. And in some ways perhaps that is what it still is, but not in the way it began.

Eventually, the real Mary Miller, whoever that lady was, disappeared from my mind and became instead a woman who lived in Lake Arrowhead, California during the 1940s—70 years before I read her inscription rather than the actual 108 years. Once I placed Mary in a new time and most certainly a different place than the real Mary had lived, I began to conjure what life was like during World War II on the mountain we shared, not in time, but in place.

All of that pondering gradually grew into a scene of Mary in her yard among her roses, the trees towering in the background. And so, she became real to me, and I wrote her story. She is completely fictional, other than the sense I got from seeing her name, and from the beautiful red and gold embossed cover of a book.

She, I hope, would make her namesake, the real Mary Miller, proud.

Photo generated using AI (which I never expected to use…a story for another day)

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August 19, 2024 · 2:49 pm

Seasons

Aspen Grove above Austin, Nevada. Toiyabe Mountains, August, 2024.

It’s starting to cool off here. Not quite cool enough to hike in the sun at midday, but the night temps are dipping below freezing, and the afternoons are peaking in the 80s, so by the time we go for our regular early evening walk, conditions are comfortable. Also, the trails have been improved substantially this summer, giving us access to some of the prettiest high-country groves, such as the one above.

Midsummer photo of the grove in the top photo from a distance.

The Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest is located throughout the entire state of Nevada and a small portion of eastern California. You can find out more about it here: https://travelnevada.com.

A pinecone in the sun (taken during yesterday’s walk).

The view from our driveway in Austin in the fall.

View approaching Reese River Valley and then Austin from the west on Highway 50,

“The Loneliest Road in America.”

As you can see, the mountains are gorgeous in the winter

(even seen through our slightly dirty windshield).

Our driveway in the winter. We can’t get up into the groves during the winter, as we don’t have a snowmobile, but the hiking around town still presents us with beautiful views.

I love the changing seasons. Nature inspires me to write, to listen, to photograph . . .

and to wander through the wonder.

Ever changing, ever alive.

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August 7, 2024 · 6:35 pm

Dog Days, But With Cats

August in Austin, Nevada… Waiting on Queries, Minding the Library, and Marveling at Nature.

Much of the country (and the entire Northern Hemisphere) is hot. It’s August, a time we refer to as “the dog days of summer.” -Days so hot that even the friskiest of canines refuse to venture out in the blazing sun, barely raising themselves for any reason. A slamming screen door, tri-tips on the grill, Junior home from summer camp . . . all excruciatingly exciting otherwise, barely elicit a thump of the tail during the grip of a heat wave.

We miss you, Atticus!

Dog Days have always been about dogs, right?

I guess not! I was surprised when I looked up the origin of the phrase. According to Dictionary.com,
“The dog days, in the most technical sense, refer to the one- to two-month interval in which a particularly bright star rises and sets with the sun, shining during the daylight hours and staying hidden at night. This star is known by three names: Sirius, the Dog Star, and Alpha Canis Majoris. Apart from being the most prominent star in the constellation Canis Major (Latin for “Greater Dog”), this heavenly body is responsible for the origin of the expression dog days, a phrase that has endured through millennia.”

Now I need to find that star!

Photo by 一 徐 on Pexels.com

Dog Star or not, August is hot. We head higher up in the hills to cool off. I wrap ice cubes up in my scarf and wrap it around my neck. We play with the hose…

When I’m in the library, I keep the air conditioner set at 65 beautiful bone-chilling degrees Fahrenheit. I check my email compulsively, waiting on agent query replies for my manuscript, and one in particular. I had a fantastic literary agent contact me and request a full reading of said manuscript back at the end of June. I am so honored she asked! In the meantime, I’m getting more reading done (loved I Cheerfully Refuse by Leif Enger), and have had some great getaway weekends. Soon I will be back in Lake Arrowhead for a few days. So much to be grateful for!

And then there are the cats. Somehow, perhaps because we no longer have a dog, all manner of cats, along with their little kittens, and a small number of mule deer, have made our yard, our driveway, and our carport, if not their full time home, at least part of their daily rounds. A few of the kittens now come in through the cat door to look around the house, lounge on the sofa, or eat out of the resident cats’ (Jack, London, and Annabelle Lee) bowls. The mule deer, thankfully, cannot fit through the kitty door, but they do come into the carport at times, which unnerves the visiting cats, their kittens, and our own cats. We even had a near catastrophe last week when a deer wandered in, not noticing Mr. P was in there– and then spooked when he saw him and bolted, running over poor London, our sweet gray long-haired cat. London took a solid hit and was knocked senseless for a time. It was horrifying! Thankfully, he suffered no permanent damage and was back to himself the next day.

London

Two of the four baby kittens who showed up early in the summer got sick. Mom eventually left them with us, and we’ve done our best to nurse them back to health. Happily, they are doing much better, but of course, now we are thoroughly hooked.

Gremlin, the tiniest and most ill of the babies, now thankfully, on the mend.

Where will it all end?

The dog days of summer have gone to the cats!

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June 26, 2024 · 10:33 am

Nature Notes

The trail

June 24, 2024–Austin, Nevada, USA: Somewhere along Big Creek going up the canyon between Austin Campground and Kingston.

Temperatures: mid to high 80s / Transportation: 2007 Rhino Side by Side

Apology: I read another writer’s blogpost very recently, probably within the past two days, yet I cannot find the post so that I can credit the writer for the idea, which was wonderful, and directly lead me to go out on a nature notes day today. It was one of the happiest days I’ve experienced lately, and that happiness is only dimmed by the fact that I cannot find the original post that inspired me. If that was you, and you read this, please respond so that I can thank you properly!

The Task: Spend time in nature and record everything you notice. Size, shape, color, activity … whatever you observe. *The post that I mentioned above actually provided much more detailed suggestions, but, alas, I cannot find it…

None the less, it was a delightful day!

One of my favorite journals. A gift from a young man named Andrew.

My Notes:

Birdsong—melodic, about 8 beats per measure, sweet and easily heard above the rushing-over-rocks downhill gurgle of Big Creek. The birdsong and watersong complement one another.

Big Creek

We are sitting in red canvas chairs underneath the shimmering coin-sized leaves of five or six trees. These shore trees aren’t known to me. The leaves are similar to the Aspen nearby, but the way the trunks grow together in clumps and their branches reach out bush like is very different from the neatly ordered Aspens. Also, the bark on the spreading trees on the creek bank is a dark gray with knotholes and markings that are dark horizontal slashes – smiles and frowns – and some wide patches, some as long as my arm, that look as though the bark has been cut and peeled off. Is that something people do?

The Aspen grove is about twenty feet away from the water, a small grove. Their bark bright white and peppered with black ink splotches like Rorshack tests. What do you see in the ink blots?

The creek bank is grassy and sun dappled.

Aspens

I can’t spot the singing bird.

The mountains rise up around us. Soft slopes of lime green dotted with dark green dwarf pines here and there. The mountains darken in their march toward Kingston. Each one darker as it rises above its smaller brother to the fore.

Mr. P getting his feet wet

Cornflower blue sky.

White whipped cream clouds.

And still the bird sings and the creek tumbles down, articulate in the way that only water can express.

Life itself.

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June 10, 2024 · 2:32 pm

Identity

“We grow, regress, get stuck, fragment, hide, and find ourselves over and over again.” – Audrey Stephenson, Psychotherapist.

Learn!

Dear Ones,

Today’s readings and my own writing are themselves fragments struggling to find growth. I began by looking at my query status on Query Tracker. Added another rejection to the list. Okay. Next I wrote a short chapter in a new manuscript, one that I do not love in the way that I love the finished one I haven’t found an agent for. It’s hard to fall in love with a new manuscript sometimes. For me, anyway. I am sentimental, perhaps.

To escape, I ventured outside to the laundry room, which is separated from the main house by only a few feet, thinking I would do some productive laundry readying for my work week which begins tomorrow, Tuesday, which is quite wonderful right?–not on Monday, dreaded Monday–but on Tuesday, which I have to be grateful for. And I am. So, a little laundry, and then back to writing, I thought. Until I spotted the giant bug on the laundry room door. Yes, the Mormon crickets are still upon us here. Clearly a sign not to do the laundry.

Then I wrote in long hand–natural left-handed cursive usually brings me back to myself. Maybe even always when I spend enough time there. Today’s topic in my guided journal was Soul Searching: The quest to unlock one’s true self is an ongoing process, because we’re changing all the time (Breathe Journal, c2023. Guild of Master craftsman Publiscations Ltd. http://www.breathemagazine.co.uk. 72-3). Here are two of the prompts given in the journal and my responses:

  1. *Observe every aspect of your surroundings–from the bed you sleep in, to the transport you use. Things around you can shine a light on how you interact with your environment and indicate what you believe about yourself. What do you notice?

Sue’s pillow

Me: My bed must be clean and bright, soft and matchy-matchy- and made! Looking around me: Polished wood. Sunlight. Windows. Plants. Crystal. Books. Lois’s quilt. Photos. Art. Candles. Sue’s pillow. Baskets. Listening to music…

Lois’s quilt

(After I finished, I noticed I didn’t observe “the transport” I use. I could take a picture of my feet, which is what I try to use the most, but we don’t have a mani-pedi salon in Austin. Then I thought of my dear Jeep, Joni Blue. She’s not new, but she’s paid for, and she’s taken us to many beautiful places. She’s currently outside with the crickets, so I will not be going outside to take her picture.)

2. *Breathe. You will be astonished by how often you hold your breath. Just notice. Drop your shoulders, stretch your neck, allow your abdomen to soften. Breathe. Notice what comes up as you come back to yourself and jot down any thoughts.

Me: This is one of the best gifts I learned way back in Lamaze childbirth class and years later in yoga–the magic loosening and lightening of the body and mind through the breath. Surpisingly, I still forget to practice it, often until I am panicked. I need reminders.

Time to breathe

For today, perhaps this enough. Two hours of dedicated writing, reading, journaling, and blogging. If it doesn’t feel good enough, perhaps it’s because “we grow, regress, get stuck, fragment, hide, and find ourselves over and over again,” and that’s all part of the progress.

Wishing you growth and rest, a room of your own, and the company of good souls. I’d love to hear what you’re working on, or not working on, or dreaming about. Thank you for reading, following, and commenting on my blog. Fondly, Lori

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May 31, 2024 · 4:09 pm

100th Post, a New Library, and Mormon Crickets

Austin, Nevada last week.

Hello readers and writers! It’s a bright and shiny day here in Austin, Nevada. We’re experiencing our first really warm days and our summer activities have begun. I’m told that two high school seniors  graduated yesterday in our tiny school district in a lovely ceremony with all the pomp and circumstance of a much larger school. Congratulations to them and their families! In addition, our new library opens to the public Tuesday, and our summer friends are arriving—they of the full-time RV life—bringing their fresh faces and musical entertainment to our quiet town.

How are you? Is the season bringing you joy? What are you up to in your community and life? What changes does the summer season bring?

I opened the main page on my WordPress blog today and noticed I’d written 99 blogs so far. The number 99 is so close to 100 that I felt it best to get down to it and send out another. I don’t post regularly, so 100 posts isn’t really too impressive considering I started this blog in 2013. I spend much more time working on my manuscript and querying prospective agents than I spend blogging.

Still, it almost always feels good to write a blog post (once I’ve committed to sitting down and I’m at least a few paragraphs in-not so much at the beginning when I’m staring at the blank page, obviously) – it’s a way to reach out to family, and friends, old and new, and also is a sort of diary where I can record images and thoughts on times and places—and of course, there’s the curative element of a diary or journaling.

Recent and current books I’ve been reading: A Gentleman in Moscow, Amor Towles; The Night Tiger, Yangsze Choo; A World of Curiosities, Louise Penny; and Hang the Moon, Jeanette Walls. They are all wonderful!

A lovely book, and a fun journal I bought in January while traveling.

I was excited to learn that A Gentleman in Moscow has been adapted to the screen in a series (thank you, Denice from Washington who stopped into the library last week!), so I will watch that as soon as I finish the novel.

The Night Tiger is enthralling- we’re listening to it when we travel to the grocery store (112 miles away), and any other time we’re in the car for more than 10 minutes (which is anytime we leave town since we are so remote…). Here’s an example of the wonderful writing just from memory. Choo describes a doctor’s writing as “a conga line of ants.” Brilliant!

As for Louise Penny… she got me with the first Chief Inspector Armand Gamache mystery years ago, and I am never disappointed as the series progresses. Wonderful characters, heart, and settings.

Books! Wonderful books!

I am a big fan of Jeanette Walls and have read and reread The Glass Castle several times. Hang the Moon is another big thumbs up!

Meanwhile, the crickets are back. Just last week I was remarking that there weren’t any in our yard this year and maybe the gigantic hordes that usually march through town would miss us this year. Uh, no. I’m sure that no matter where you live you have some kind of unusual local wildlife… There are other parts of this state, for example, that experience large migrations of tarantulas, and I know the cicadas are a huge presence in other parts of the country. I’ve heard that Miller moths are everywhere in parts of Nebraska… It’s all a bit eek, but I always think of the line from one of the Jurassic Park films, “Life finds a way.”

I am one of trillions… I just want to travel south (I don’t know why!), but your house in the way! Please move your house!

This, too, shall pass!

Have a wonderful weekend and please do  check in and share what’s going on in your little corner of the world!

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February 22, 2024 · 9:51 pm

Hold On

“Go for broke. Always try and do too much. Dispense with safety nets. Take a deep breath before you begin talking. Aim for the stars. Keep grinning. Be bloody-minded. Argue with the world. And never forget that writing is as close as we get to keeping a hold on the thousand and one things–childhood, certainties, cities, doubts, dreams, instants, phrases, parents, loves–that go on slipping, like sand, through our fingers.”
– Salman Rushdie, Imaginary Homelands: Essays and Criticism 1981-1991
So well expressed. I realize that is a large part of my writing- “keeping a hold on the thousand and one things.”

So few photos here. So many more in my heart. More beloved children, friends, family, and all the rest than there is space. But writing provides an opportunity to keep them all.

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January 12, 2024 · 1:41 pm

My Resolutions: A Re-Post from da-AL’s Happiness Between Tails

Resolutions: Lori Pohlman + Messy Marie Kondo + Nonlutions + Pod

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