Where DID That Muse Go?

~~The short answer it nowhere. ; )

~~The long answer is a bit more complicated and challenging. When I sit down to write and string a few words together then get up in disgust, I've stopped myself. My muse, that spark of creativity, hasn't gone anywhere. I've just ceased listening to her nagging, whining, annoying self. I'll confess to a very low productivity in February and March. I've got a thousand excuses for it, too. But the muse hasn't left me. When I least expect it, I hear this question from deep inside--What are you doing? The point of creativity is simply to do it. Tell the story. Sing the song. Start something. We have to stop denying what we are supposed to be doing. It may sound totally simplistic, but for me it's profound.

~~The idea of a muse for creativity is a long standing one. Artists and writers have characterized the force behind their creativity as their Muse referring to the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (Memory) from mythology. Each of the sisters guided a separate facet of art, music, writing, dance. According to Steven Pressfield's book, The War of Art, that drive or muse is built into everyone. Whether or not we open ourselves to expressing it is our choice. To deny it is Resistance to use Pressfield's term. Resistance can take many forms--denial that we can create anything, excuses for why we can't do it today or next year, or being more concerned about what others think than expressing what is inside. Whatever makes us afraid to go on is a block or Resistance. My biggest fear is that I'm not able to do it right, so why try? We need to just do it. Maybe Nike ads have a bigger point than just getting us to buy shoes.

~~So what's stopping you from putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard? What's you favorite excuse?

Backing out the Stitches--Rewrites and a Catch Me Entry Redo

~~If you've ever sewn, you know what I mean by backing out stitches. It's a rare garment that doesn't need a seam straightened of some other minor boo-boo corrected. I don't really remember not being able to sew. When my granddaddy died at 80, he still had a handkerchief I'd hemmed when I was three. For years I made nearly all my clothes even jeans when I was in high school and the only garment I remember that didn't need stitches backed out was my wedding dress. Though tendinitis and arthritis have stopped my sewing, the lessons I learned with needles and thread are still with me. The only mistake is one you don't correct.

~~Writing is much the same. When we start this wonderful endeavor of creating our own worlds, we have the tendency to cling to our first efforts as if we've mined pure gold instead of ore that needs refining. I'm just now seeing my willingness to rewrite and refine extending to everything I write like my opening scene of FRIENDLY FIRE. I've clung to the first line of "Laura Grace, smile!" for three years, but it's gone now. Thanks to input from the wonderful critique I get from N. R. Williams, my buddies at the Forum, my local crit group, and all of you who participated in the Catch Me If You Can blogfest, scene one is new and improved. At least, for now. ; )

~~So here's the 263rd version. ; )

Another cloud of soiled diaper stench drifted over us, but happiness still crinkled my friend Jen’s eyes as she looked around the large fellowship hall and turned to me. “Isn’t it great, Laura Grace? I didn’t expect so many foster kids, but we have enough goodies for an army.”

She was right. The foster care respite party was a big success so far. Who knew so many would come on Mother’s Day weekend? I shoved what was left of my teacakes to the front of the tray so the kids could reach them easily.

Mother’s Day was my personalized brand of torment, but I had I set myself up for it by volunteering to help with the party to give foster parents a bit of a breather. The memory of Tom’s face hovered just out of reach amid the noise and chaos of so many little children. He would have given me permission to miss this job. I shook the sorrow back in its compartment. Time enough next week to mark the first anniversary of his death.

Rosemary joined us at the serving tables. Her voice rose just loud enough to be heard over the racket of nearly fifty kids as they ran and shrieked around us. “Laura Grace, are you going to be okay?” My backup had arrived.

I winced as two kids shoved each other into me. “I taught high school for a reason, Jen. I haven’t a clue how to entertain a herd of toddlers and elementary kids.”

“I know you think that, but you love kids or you wouldn’t have taught for so long,” Jen said. “I’m certain you have ideas about how we can help their foster parents. Giving them a two hour break once a month is a start.”

Noise ricocheted off the block walls. “Yes, they need help, but the rest of you have much more experience with this age group.” My shoulders hunched with the onslaught.

From the stage at the end of the room, a girl stared stoically at the mayhem. Her face was closed, contained. “Who’s the older kid?”

Jen swiveled to look. “Samantha Smith. She’s a challenge. I hoped she would find someone to talk to.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Soft curls framed the big blue eyes. Her fragile beauty reminded me of a former student who had endured years of abuse.

“That’s the challenge. Her foster mom has six kids. Samantha isn’t difficult if she’s allowed to withdraw. Though…” Jen’s lips tightened. “She’s twelve. Acts older.”

“Most of them do at that age. Why is she special?”

Her eyes scanned the room, not looking at the girl or us.

Rosemary said, “Spit it out, Jen.”

She leaned close and lowered her voice. “Her mother was beaten to death by a live-in boyfriend. Samantha saw it all.”

“That’s horrible and not information you should share!” I looked at the girl again.

“I know.” Jen’s voice trembled. “I just worry about her.”

Creases appeared between Rosemary’s brows. “I hope she’s in therapy.”

“Medicaid provides a little, but Samantha needs more. You know the system, Laura Grace.” Jen’s eyes sought mine.

“Yes. After thirty years, the kids’ problems were killing me. Abuse is all too common.” Blinking back tears, I looked at the girl. “Tom and I tried so long and now he’s dead and I don’t even have him anymore.” The old familiar ache seized my heart. “I can’t stand this. I’ve got to go.”

As I reached the door, I heard Rosemary’s voice. “Jen, you knew being here would upset Laura Grace. Why did you badger her into coming?”

Cherry Blossoms

~~I know the news is disheartening. I can't turn on the TV or even open my homepage without seeing reminders and images of Japan's heartache. I have friends with family in Japan. One of my young cousins is there as well. Some of the news coverage is so sensational that I can't figure out the real from the hyperbole. And yet, spring will come even amid the carnage.

~~To the left you'll see my new picture of a Kwanzan Cherry Tree in full bloom. My Yoshino is starting to bloom about a month early as well. I knew there had to be some symbolism behind the loveliness we all associate with Japan. Here's a bit from a Wikipedia article on cherry blossoms. (Go HERE for the entire article.)

      In Japan cherry blossoms also symbolize clouds due to their nature of blooming en masse, besides being an enduring metaphor for the ephemeral nature of life, an aspect of Japanese cultural tradition that is often associated with Buddhistic influence, and which is embodied in the concept of mono no aware... The transience of the blossoms, the extreme beauty and quick death, has often been associated with mortality; for this reason, cherry blossoms are richly symbolic...Cherry blossoms are an enduring metaphor for the fleeting nature of life, and as such are frequently depicted in art.

~~My prayers are still with Japan. The photo below is of cherry blossoms near Tsuruga Castle Aizu-Wakamatsu, Fukushima, Japan.

Japan Disaster--WE can Help

~~We are all worried about the people of Japan with the destruction from the quake and tsunami. Find some way to help. Go to The Flying Cheetah for suggestions.
~~My prayers go to all the injured and bereaved.

Awarded...Again!?!

There's a lot of ground to cover in this post:
     Awards
     Catch Me catch up
     Where to go for critiques

~~Imagine my surprise when I came to the Shade this morning and found out I had won not one, but two awards from Kristina at KayKay's Corner. This is my third Stylish Blogger, but now I have a nifty One Lovely Blog to go with it. Amazing! I'll do all the requirements below. ; )

~~I really meant to get to all the lovely people in Kristina's Catch Me If You Can blogfest, but a virus caught me first. Add a migraine and I didn't get to any yesterday. At least I had visited around thirty on Monday. There is some seriously good writing going on around here!

~~My opening scene is slated for some detailed rewrites. All the lovely comments have really helped me look at it again. Hopefully all you Catch Me bloggers has got some good feedback as well. When I get that done, I just might consider sharing it again. Also if you'd like excellent critiques, you can do no better than the Books and Writers Forum at CompuServe. Try this link HERE. Believe me, I write much better because of the family of lovely writers who share their WIPs there.

~~Now without further delay here's the requirements that go along with my two awards:
     1. Link back to the blogger who gave you the award. (See above for a link to KayKay's Corner.)
     2. I have to tell you seven facts about me you might not know.
     3. Pass the awards along to as many as fifteen blogs you have found recently.
     4. Notify the bloggers of their awards.

~~Seven things you might not know about me and I didn't tell you the last time I won an award:
     1. I much prefer digging out a litter box than walking the pups in 14 degrees or a driving rainstorm complete with thunder like today.
     2. I won't make choir practice tonight due to the virus and lingering effects of the migraine. I don't think even my MC, Laura Grace, would fuss at me.
     3. I sing soprano, but have filled in for at times on high tenor and alto over the years.
     4. If you wondered why I use a wink ; ) instead of the traditional smiley : ), it's because I like the look of the wink much better than the smiley in my favorite font--Georgian.
     5. I hate san serif fonts that don't have the little lines on top and bottom of the letters. I confuse capital I's, little i's and little l's in san serif fonts.
     6. I've been known to use a cat emoticon =^..^= in my signature line for years because I have shared my life and love with seven purrfectly lovely cats over the decades. Now we have two toy poodles and I still don't have a clue what makes doggies do what they do.
     7. We still call Max and Casey the puppy poodles and always will because we like alliteration. They'll be two on April 7.

~~Now some bloggers you should check out. You won't be sorry. Many of these folks are in my groups at the Crusade. Hi, Groupies!
1. Lola at SharpPen/Dull Sword
2. Ann at Inkpots n' Quills
3. Lauri at Lauri's Blog
4. Linda at Scheherazade's Journal
5. Rusty at The Blutonian Death Egg
6. Alberta at Alberta's Sefuty Chronicles
7. Dan at Sanguine Musings
8. Sylvia at Play with your Writing
9. Deborah at Deborah Walker's Bibliography
10. Lynda at W.I.P. It
11. Dominic at Writes of Passage 
12. Marie at The Flying Cheetah
13. Sully at Sully's Scribbles
14. Myne at Myne Whitman Writes
15. Rose at East for Green Eyes

Have a blessed Ash Wednesday. Lent's here and Easter's coming. ; )

Catch Me If You Can!

~~Yeah! The day has dawned and I'm ready...I think. Really, I've been editing and rewriting the first 550 words for the last week to get ready and I've happy with the result. Hopefully, you will all agree that my first scene of FRIENDY FIRE catches your attention.

~~For more info on Kristina's first ever blogfest go to KayKay's Corner. You'll find links to the other bloggers posting their first words as well. Hop around and sample a few.

~~Writers know that their first few pages have to hook a agent, editor, and readers to make it, so without further delay, here's the first scene of FRIENDLY FIRE.

~~Kristina suggested we include an email link for lengthy critiques. zanmariess@gmail.com I'd love the input if you're inclined. ; )

                                                                             <><><><>

Happiness crinkled my friend Jen’s eyes as she looked around the large fellowship hall and turned to me. “Isn’t it great, Laura Grace? I didn’t expect so many foster kids, but we have enough goodies for an army.”

She was right. The foster care respite party was a big success so far. Who knew so many would come on Mother’s Day weekend?

But why had I set myself up for this torment? I knew better, and yet here I was helping with a Mother’s Day party and scheduled to sing in the Mother’s Day service tomorrow.

Rosemary joined us. Her voice rose just loud enough to be heard over the racket of nearly fifty kids as they ran and shrieked around us. “Laura Grace, are you going to be okay?” My backup had arrived.

I winced as two kids shoved each other into me. “I taught high school for a reason, Jen. I haven’t a clue how to entertain a herd of toddlers and elementary kids.”

“I know you think that, but you love kids or you wouldn’t have taught for so long.” Frowning, Jen said, “I know you have ideas about how we can help their foster parents. Giving them a two hour break once a month is a start.”

Noise ricocheted off the block walls. “Yes, they need help, but I’m not the one for this job.” My shoulders hunched with the onslaught. A cloud of soiled diaper stench drifted over us.

A petite blond girl eyed the rest of the children from in front of the stage at one end of the room. Soft curls framed the big blue eyes staring stoically at the mayhem, but her face was closed, contained. “Who’s the older kid?”

Jen swiveled toward the child. “Samantha Smith. She’s a challenge. I hoped she would find someone to talk to.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Her fragile beauty reminded me of a student who had endured years of abuse.

“That’s the challenge. Her foster mom has six kids. Samantha isn’t difficult if she’s allowed to withdraw. Though…” Jen frowned. “She’s twelve. Acts older.”

“Most of them do at that age. Why is she special?”

Her eyes scanned the room, not looking at the child or us.

“Spit it out, Jen.”

She leaned close and lowered her voice. “Her mother was beaten to death by a live-in boyfriend. Samantha saw it all.”

“That’s horrible!” I looked at the girl again.

“I know.” Jen’s voice trembled and creases appeared between Rosemary’s brows.

Tearing up, I said, “Is she in therapy?”

“Medicaid provides a little, but Samantha needs more. How do you expect a parent to provide that on foster pay?” Jen’s frown deepened. “Just how long did you teach?”

“Thirty years. And I didn’t leave a day too soon. The kids’ problems were tearing me up. Parents don’t appreciate the gift God gives them.”  Through a scrim of tears, I looked at the girl. “Tom and I tried so long and now he’s dead and I don’t even have him anymore.” The old familiar ache seized my heart. “I can’t stand this. I’ve got to go.”

As I reached the door, I heard Rosemary’s voice. “Jen, you knew being here would upset Laura Grace. Why did you badger her into coming?”

The Sap is Rising...When is Southern too Southern?

~~Okay, raise your hand if you don't know what I mean by "the sap is rising?" I used this term in chapter 1 of FRIENDLY FIRE and one critiquer noted it with the question, "What sap?" I was describing the time in spring when the trees begin to leaf, bud, and bloom and a young bird's, cat's, hawk's, dog's or man's thoughts turn to love. ; ) During my teaching career, we feared the rowdiness and increase in public displays of affection that Spring inevitably brought to the hallways and classrooms.

~~I used the term to note the time of year, and my POV character, Laura Grace, used the term. Here's a portion of the snip in question.
     

       Ten minutes later, the dappled shade and bright patches of vinca and impatiens along the hospital track began their calming medicine. Magnolia blooms heavy with vanilla and lemon scented the warm air. Settling into my rhythm, the beauty of the place captured my mind. A flock of Canadian geese honked at each other as a mother goose, followed by five fluffy goslings, sailed by. The little ones were puffs of downy yellow-gray as their legs worked overtime to keep up with their stately mother. Male mockingbirds strutted their stuff, raising their wings in the spring ritual to show how big they were in hope of attracting the ladies, and I found myself laughing. The sap was rising, just like spring at the high school.

~~I classify FRIENDLY FIRE as Mainstream. At least for the moment. Since it's set in Georgia, I wonder if I need to rephrase the terms Southerners would use in passing for a broader audience, or do they lend color and flavor to my setting? I find myself hesitating at British and Australian terms all the time, but just figure them out by context and read on.

~~What do you think? When is to Southern (or British, or Aussie)  too much? I'm curious about your opinions.