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Thursday, July 10, 2014

Chores On The List


Life is busy.
My daughter is away. She can be a
cyclone with her ADHD. 
Dust keeps piling. 
Chores remain. 
I was up this morning at five. 
Early summer fog disappeared. 
Sunlight starts around 5:47 AM.


"Stick to the list." I tell myself.
Time robs in bits and pieces.

I'm halfway through the revision on paper.
I read aloud at the kitchen table in the early hours,
and again at night after my work.
Doubting every adjective...

A break in the garden to water steals
an hour, just a second to pull some weeds.
The washing machine waits for me to figure out
how to repair the dogs (the little clips that spin the
big drum). Intuitively I know how to fix it. The center
agitator is pulled off. It waits for me to allocate a couple
hours to the fix. Perhaps hand washing and visits to
a Laundromat are more foolish than penning it into a schedule.
Wish I had the excess cash I once had to hire a guy.
On the weekend I rented the commercial carpet steaming machine.
"You have four hours to return it perfectly clean." The kid said.
"No problem I have only three hours to get 3400 feet of white
carpet sanitized."
He looked at me funny. A teenager at Home Depot . Probably
never lugged a fifty pound machine upstairs, certainly never
worried about getting things done efficiently, maybe never
fussed over word choice and never thought about a sentence
while the smell of bleach and carpet shampoo wafts about.

The dogs are going to stay outside more this summer. 
"You can be so happy napping in the gazebo." I told our Golden
Retriever. Her eyes understood. Her feelings bruised.
"I'm one of the children. You can keep the other dog terror in
the gazebo." I swear she was speaking in my dream last night.

This morning my son said, "Leave a list for me Mom."
I nearly cried.
I am so blessed.
  


Porthole in the Lighthouse


Saint Nicholas patron saint of Sailors. His head fell off.
Notice the wire structure...

Monday, June 30, 2014

My Writing Process







Carla Stockton asked me to participate in this chain gang blog hop.

1)What am I working on?

Novel in progress working title: Eco Terrorist
Natalie Clark retires from MI5 during the Great Drought. Seeking a life far away from her job as an Analytic Soothsayer she buys a  ranch in rural Wyoming. Two men will pull her back to her old life. One wants to poison the Ogallaha Aquifer (all the remaining water in the West and Midwest). The other desires to control it all. Can she stop them?

Currently the book is 188998 words. I’m revising. Preparations are underway to send to my editor. Revision for me is on a paper printed copy. I read each word aloud. My goal is to edit ten pages a day.

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I’m a member of International Thriller Writers. The underlying structure of my novels are “thriller”; however they are literary. I ghostwrote a few thrillers for someone else first.
I’m not following the typical format. My hero is heartbroken. There are two villains. Readers may relate to the bad guys. Both are fathers, both have built lives for their families. However the process in which they achieved their goals is dead wrong. The setting is the Midwest /West after climate change has left most with no resources for water. My work has been called “transgressional, dark, poetic, and gothic.” This story is written in four different voices. Each has their own version of the story within the tale. Mise en abyne in which the French would look for clues in each voice.
Thriller genre seems at odds with literary fiction and poetic structure. In this novel there are secrets, song bird calls and bits of tornadoes. Someone else may categorize the book as apocalyptic.

3) Why do I write what I do?

I have a million stories to share. I hope to make a reader think. I’m writing about this time from my spot on the planet. My poetry, short stories and novels aren’t easy reads but they are true.
I write or I must surrender to the ashes.

4) How does your writing process work?

To write a novel:
I start with drawings, photographs and my moleskin notepad. This year I used instagram as a journal to keep ideas flowing.
First I use a white board. It is four feet by six feet. The story is mapped on the board as a graph.
Next, I write every day. The Chapters are not numbered. They may be shuffled around like cards later. Sometimes I begin with the middle of the narrative. I have a full time job and am a single Mom besides writing.
I am disciplined. Every morning at 5:25 A. M. I’m working on our kitchen table. Weekday evenings I will put in two more hours. I set word count goals. Each day that I achieve the goal I reward myself by going for a hike or working in the garden for an hour.
Once the first draft is completed I print the novel. At this point I will write a short story or poetry to give the draft a rest for a couple weeks.
I am creative in my daily life. Come over for dinner. You will be entertained.

Revisions begin: this part is slow. When I wrote I often will put two or three words to express an idea in a sentence. I’m not doing spell check or grammar check. I read aloud. Muddling over the exact word choice, uncovering the tool that clearly expresses not just the meaning of the sentence but the sound and rhythm I find my way.

Second edit is to take all the handwritten notes on the hard copy and put them back into the computer.
Total process takes a year or more.
I purchased a couple writing programs (Final Draft, Story lit, White smoke, Story book) none make it easy. This is a long process. My editor uses one then I will finish with whatever he is using.
Word does some tricks with auto saving the wrong copy. In long form at this point you better be labeling each copy and dating it. Otherwise you may have to go back and rework. Ugh.

After editor makes his notes I will share with a couple beta readers.
I lost both mine. My mom had a stroke, then open heart surgery. She’s no longer up for the task, but I will give her a printed copy this summer to attempt the red pen. Any volunteers? Prizes, vacations and wine promised for certain.

Next up:
Judy Serrano graduated from Texas A and M University, Commerce with a BA in English. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and Dallas Area Romance Authors. She spends her days writing on her laptop and living in her imagination, when she can steal a private moment. She is the author of "Easter's Lilly," "Brother Number Three," "Relatively Close" and "Memoirs of a Mobster."
Judy currently resides in Texas with her husband, four boys and five dogs. She is also a singer/songwriter in her spare time.

Ewa Zwonarz is a Polish-American writer, author of the soon to be released paranormal young adult novel “Moonchild.” She is a recipient of several awards in journalism and film production, a published poet and an author of a blog. She graduated Valedictorian with a Bachelor’s Degree in Mass Communications and works as a Strategic Analyst for a Silicon Valley start up. When she is not working, Ewa is traveling the world collecting morsels of inspiration for her future projects.




Link :  www.dare2begin.com

DAVID B LENTZ

Was born in Woburn, Massachusetts, David B. Lentz graduated from Bates College and has published six novels: "For the Beauty of the Earth", "Bloomsday: The Bostoniad", "AmericA, Inc.: A Novel in Stream of Voice", "Bourbon Street", "The Day Trader" and "The Silver King." In addition, he has published two stage plays, "Bloomsday" and "AmericA, Inc.", as well as a volume of poetry, "Old Greenwich Odes." He introduced a new model of critical literary theory for reviewing novels in his "Novel Criticism." Selected excerpts from his collection of literary works among his novels, stage plays and poetry are available in "Essential Lentz." He is a member of the Center for Fiction in New York, the Royal Society of Literature in London, the Academy of American Poets, and the Connecticut Authors and Publishers Association. He has served Bates College as an Alumnus-in-Admissions (18 years), Stamford-Greenwich Literacy Volunteers of America, Midnight Run for New York City Homeless, Healing the Children Northeast, Inc. (Board), St. Baldricks Foundation for Children's Cancer Research and as a Volunteer in St. Paul's Chapel at Ground Zero. Lentz has lived in the Garden District of New Orleans, Boston's Back Bay, Houston, Philadelphia's Main Line and Greenwich, Connecticut.
 

 



 
Caroline Gerardo















Monday, June 9, 2014

Candles


I am working on revisions with the novel printed on paper.
Moving slowly with my mortgage work, daughter had
car accident yesterday, son has wisdom teeth out tomorrow,
and all the surprises life brings.
Eating mostly organic vegetables from my garden.
Feeling mooopy - yes spelled correctly and pronounced
with that moody soupy sound.
Hoping my writing is clear, hoping it's not blindly
written by candelight.
This work in progress is structured differently.
Perhaps the darkness in the Great Drought (the setting
of the novel) is getting in through cracks in the rafters.
 
Lighting a candle to find my way.
Anyone volunteer to be a beta reader?
Any answer would cheer my soul...
Do you doubt yourself in process?

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Missing Poem








I started this letter before. I wrote in the steam in the shower glass. Often triggered by experiencing a place we shared, reaching for my moleskin notebook, then only looking at the paper. My eyes waited to read the words. The page remained empty. I have the gift of haruspicy. You live in another place and time, wearing eye glasses that blank out the entrails. Vision is clouded.
I exercised, painted and drank bottles of wine. I read. I prayed in my library. Nothing expelled the specter.
Your platitude, “time will heal.”


I gave it years.

The sore needed wound care. Finally it did seal up jagged.


At three in the morning it would awaken me pounding.


Turned the lights on, there was no bloody hole. Only arrhythmia playing tricks on the amount of oxygen to the brain.


Why are love songs about hearts? Better off with emotions in my feet to help me use that animal flight instinct. When I met you there was another contender. I stopped admonishing my soul. I’m great at stock picking. I conquer adventures.


My children are scarred. Tricked by a tin wind up box with promises, they don’t offer keys.


Splashing over writer’s block, diving from the platform without fear, swim up for my life.


I am at fault. A priest gave me absolution, but that Ash Wednesday cross is tattooed on my forehead.


Time does not heal. Time gives us perspective. The choice to forgive and love again.


I hope you have joy.


Still missing poem.










Photographs from my iphone Boston College Library

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Harvard bookstore on valentines day



 

I love the smell of stacks
To sit on a rolly stool
To get a paper cut
To hold a story
in my hands
love