Mother's Day: My Momma Had Words With Me

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Momma with my siblings and me

I do post this every year, but this year it's even more special. On April 29, I was honored to read "My Momma Had Words With Me" at Atlanta's Listen To Your Mother show.

Momma, I love you and honor your gift of the love of reading. And always will.

My Momma Had Words with Me

            I don’t know if it’s true anywhere else, but in the South, to “have words with” someone means to fuss, argue, or reprimand. My momma had another purpose for having words with me, for me, and around me. We didn’t discuss why people read or why it was important. My siblings and I just read. The power, magic, and glory of words surrounded us. No lectures were needed. No punishment was forthcoming to make us read. It was second nature to read. After all, our parents read in front of us every day. Momma focused on fiction while Daddy read the newspaper, biographies, and his professional journals.

So, it was all Momma’s fault that my father-in-law was shocked when my daddy built bookshelves that covered half the walls in our study from the floor to ten-foot ceiling. With wide eyes, he said, “No one has that many books!”

            My husband shrugged. “She does. Everyone in her family does.” He knew there would be no wasted space in our study.

            It was Momma’s fault that we take delight in words. She gave us no choice in the matter. From the time we were toddlers, we all had library cards and joined the summer reading program at the regional library branch in our home town. Every week, we checked out five books. All the librarians knew us by name.

How do you feed a growing reading habit? Momma knew. She made sure there were books to read that challenged us. She made reading more books fun and expected. When our abilities to read outstripped our ages and we needed bigger, more complex books, Momma checked out adult books for us on her own library card. As the school librarian at my elementary school, she found harder and harder books for me to read when I had read everything at the lower levels. I clearly remember reading Ramona by Helen Hunt Jackson in the fifth grade. It was my first adult novel and I’ll never forget holding the large book and being carried away into the Southwest by the words.

In time, my siblings and I found our own preferred genres. When given a list of three hundred books for college-bound students in the 1960’s, we attacked it from different angles. The fact that the complete works of Shakespeare and the great Greek historians were available in our home, made it easy to get started. My sister loves literature. My brother has a taste for biography, science, history, and true life adventure books. I read history, fiction of all types, and poetry.

            As voracious readers, we are the people who keep bookstores—large, small and online—in business. We are the people who always have up-to-date library cards. Our to-be-read lists of new books and old favorites are extensive. None of us is bored as long as there is something to read. And that isn’t likely to happen if we live a thousand years.

            It’s Momma’s fault that there is a longstanding family joke about the end of civilization. If an asteroid or other near extinction event occurred, our combined libraries would form the basis for restarting science, math, history, and literature. We could quickly raise man’s knowledge back to its former heights.

            The majesty and beauty of the words I grew up with created the desire to shape and form my own stories, to create new adventures, new people to meet, and new places to go. Momma encouraged me. She kept the poetry I wrote as an eight-year-old. Her simple acceptance made no obstacle insurmountable. Her faith that I could do anything I wanted allowed me to experiment and try different styles. She not only taught me to love words, but the persistence it takes to shape, order, and arrange them in coherent ways. When she gave me the love of words, she gave me the tools to accomplish what I desired to do. She gave me the ability to tell stories that soothe hurts, inspire challenges, and entertain. My mother gave me life—physically, mentally, and emotionally. She gave me dreams and encouraged me to strive to reach for them. My mother gave me words to share and the persistence to achieve the dream of being a writer. She still encourages me to write and inspires me with her own voracious reading.

            Thank you, Momma, for having words with me. I love you.

IWSG: May

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Insecure Writers Support Group

Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Co-Hosts:
Michelle Wallace
Nancy Gideon
Tamara Narayan
Liesbet @ Roaming About
Feather Stone

Question: What is the weirdest/coolest thing you ever had to research for your story?

Short Answer: Everything! ;-)

Long Answer:  Since I write contemporary Women's Fiction, the adjectives "weirdest" and "coolest" doesn't mean the same as I think it would to a writer of SF or Fantasy. My research is grounded in the reality of families. The saddest, most unforgettable, and important thing I've researched so far is the foster care system--both nationwide and in Georgia in particular. My stats are for back in 2006-2010, but there were 854 case workers over fourteen thousand children in foster care and under the watch of the Department of Family and Children Services.

As one of my characters says:
“When home becomes a war zone, the first casualties are the children.”

And: “Consider just one form of abuse—sexual. One in three girls and one in six boys will be sexually abused during their childhood, and only one in ten will tell someone about it."

There you have it. The sad state of our abused children and the families that need help. It's one of the reasons for my first WIP--MOTHER'S DAY--to show the need and the scope of the problem. It's a huge topic, but when you get to the nitty-gritty, it's about the children in the cracks.

So, you can see what research means to me. I'm a retired teacher, and I was a trained mandated reporter. I taught the children of the foster care system and the abused. I still worry about the ones in the system today.

It's research that makes that come alive in my story, and research that causes others to get involved in the Court Appointed Special Advocates (CASA), as foster parents, or working to offer respite for the caregivers.

Next Post: A special return of my essay, "My Momma Had Words With Me." On Saturday, April 29, I was honored to be included in a cast of eleven marvelous women in the Atlanta Listen to Your Mother 2017 show. Check out my cast spotlight. We share essays of and about motherhood. It was a fabulous show!

Happy Mother's Day!

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This is a repeat, but can't say "Thank You" enough to my darling Momma who taught me to love words. Everything else comes from that joyous sharing of story.

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Momma, me, my brother, and my sister--Lovers of Words and Reading

My Momma Had Words with Me

            I don’t know if it’s true anywhere else, but in the South, to “have words with” someone means to fuss, argue, or reprimand. My momma had another purpose for having words with me, for me, and around me. We didn’t discuss why people read or why it was important. My siblings and I just read. The power, magic, and glory of words surrounded us. No lectures were needed. No punishment was forthcoming to make us read. It was second nature to read. After all, our parents read in front of us every day. Momma focused on fiction while Daddy read the newspaper, biographies, and his professional journals.

So, it was all Momma’s fault that my father-in-law was shocked when my daddy built bookshelves that covered half the walls in our study from the floor to ten-foot ceiling. With wide eyes, he said, “No one has that many books!”

            My husband shrugged. “She does. Everyone in her family does.” He knew there would be no wasted space in our study.

            It was Momma’s fault that we take delight in words. She gave us no choice in the matter. From the time we were toddlers, we all had library cards and joined the summer reading program at the regional library branch in our home town. Every week, we checked out five books.

All the librarians knew us by name.

How do you feed a growing reading habit? Momma knew. She made sure there were books to read that challenged us. She made reading more books fun and expected. When our abilities to read outstripped our ages and we needed bigger, more complex books, Momma checked out adult books for us on her own library card. As the school librarian at my elementary school, she found harder and harder books for me to read when I had read everything at the lower levels. I clearly remember reading Ramona by Helen Hunt Jackson in the fifth grade. It was my first adult novel and I’ll never forget holding the large book and being carried away into the Southwest by the words.

In time, my siblings and I found our own preferred genres. When given a list of three hundred books for college-bound students in the 1960’s, we attacked it from different angles. The fact that the complete works of Shakespeare and the great Greek historians were available in our home, made it easy to get started. My sister loves literature. My brother has a taste for biography, science, history, and true life adventure books. I read history, fiction of all types, and poetry.

            As voracious readers, we are the people who keep bookstores—large, small and online—in business. We are the people who always have up-to-date library cards. Our to-be-read lists of new books and old favorites are extensive. None of us is bored as long as there is something to read. And that isn’t likely to happen if we live a thousand years.

            It’s Momma’s fault that there is a longstanding family joke about the end of civilization. If an asteroid or other near extinction event occurred, our combined libraries would form the basis for restarting science, math, history, and literature. We could quickly raise man’s knowledge back to its former heights.

            The majesty and beauty of the words I grew up with created the desire to shape and form my own stories, to create new adventures, new people to meet, and new places to go. Momma encouraged me. She kept the poetry I wrote as an eight years old. Her simple acceptance made no obstacle insurmountable. Her faith that I could do anything I wanted allowed me to experiment and try different styles. She not only taught me to love words, but the persistence it takes to shape, order, and arrange them in coherent ways. When she gave me the love of words, she gave me the tools to accomplish what I desired to do. She gave me the ability to tell stories that soothe hurts, inspire challenges, and entertain. My mother gave me life—physically, mentally, and emotionally. She gave me dreams and encouraged me to strive to reach for them. My mother gave me words to share and the persistence to achieve the dream of being a writer. She still encourages me to write and inspires me with her own voracious reading.

            Thank you, Momma, for having words with me. I love you.

RIP, Sweet Cherry Tree

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Long before there was a Cherry Hill, GA, there were three Yoshino Cherry Trees in my side yard. And there was In the Shade of the Cherry Tree's original post. 

On June 30, John and I took down the old Cherry Tree, the last one of the original three, but in recent years, it has had fewer flowers and even fewer leaves. Add the increasingly dead limbs, and you have a sick, dying tree.

Rest easy, there is a newer tree already in place with plans for another one next spring--possibly a different variety of cherry tree to extend the blooming time. To put this in perspective, you have to realize that it's from this tree and its siblings, that all things Cherry Hill have sprung. 

Setting is one of the necessary building blocks of fiction. It helps readers ground their feet in our stories and allows them to "be" in it.  When I started Mother's Day in March 2008, I only knew that Laura Grace Chandler was meeting a child who would change her life forever. From that small beginning, I have developed the following works-in-progress:

• Mother's Day
• Friendly Fire
• Consuming Fire/Justice and Mercy
• Line of Fire
• Camp Fire
• Unexpected Child
• The Founding of Cherry Hill
• Elise Dooley's Story

And predating them all is one WIP that's not set in Cherry Hill. In fact, it's not even set on Earth. ;-)--The Dawn and the Lion.

So, in memory of the cherry trees that started all things Cherry Hill, I give you some pictures and some snips. Enjoy!


     The square was lined with cherry trees in full leaf casting cool shade over the brick sidewalks. I rather missed April’s pink clouds of cherry blossoms drifting over the carpet of rose, white, and pink azaleas at their feet. Though on a hot day in May, shade might be more refreshing. Either way, Cherry Hill always dressed for the season. (from Mother's Day)


     The two construction cranes that looked like they were mating over the Court House expansion, gave me pause. I knew it was my perspective. They weren’t actually touching. I’d checked. But it would explain the explosion of new buildings all over town. (from Mother's Day)

    I looked over the small lake. On the dam, crape myrtles in riotous bloom alternated with the cherry trees in full leaf. I took a deep breath. Another group’s grill behind our table rewarded me with a whiff of smoke. (from Mother's Day)

     The cool, green leaves of the cherry tree moved slightly when I stepped onto the porch. The low, repetitive call of a mourning dove hunting its mate sounded from the shadowy depths of the limbs. But no answer came. The moments stretched as I stood on the porch in the simmering air. The bird’s plaintive call sounded again. When there was no answer, it lifted on white-tipped wings. (from Mother's Day)

     I uncapped the pen again then looked out of the window at my garden. It was spectacular this year. Even though the heat would bake everyone’s annuals, my carefully selected perennials were bright and colorful, a welcoming space of solace and refuge, especially since Tom’s death. I wanted to provide Samantha with all the care she needed to grow strong. To provide her with shelter like the full-leaved cherry tree that shaded my study from the summer glare. (from Mother's Day)

Next week: Another Mini Book Review!

IWSG: The Terror of Completion

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Insecure Writers Support Group

Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer - aim for a dozen new people each time. Be sure to link to this page and display the badge in your post.
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter hashtag is #IWSG

The awesome co-hosts for the the June 3 posting of the IWSG will be M. Pax, Tracy Jo, Patricia Lynne, Rachna Chhabria, Feather Stone, and Randi Lee!

The manuscript for the first of my Cherry Hill stories--Mother's Day--is complete in the hands of my beta readers. (Love y'all to pieces!) So what's next? (I'll admit to a bit of terror at this point.)


Good question. My first answer, in light of my first contest responses (95, 70, 61), is that I'm not ready to query. I could stare at the list of things to do:

• Write a query
• Research agents
• Read a ton of craft books (Thank you for that suggestion)
• Etc.

I could take a break and rest while my beta readers read, but I think that's a dangerous course. Would I ever start again? Possibly not. So I'm not stopping. I'll read craft books (notably: Monica Wood's Description, Don Maass's Writing 21st Century Fiction, and Desmond Morris's "little" sociology text Man Watching.) The last book is an attempt to make my body language more realistic, more varied than grins, winks, shrugs, and frowns. I'm planning an online workshop with Barbara Rogan sometime this summer. I'll also keep my hand in writing as I work through Cherry Hill book 2--Friendly Fire.

Wish me luck! What do you do when you're waiting and know you need to retrench a bit? Got any suggestions for me?

Next Week: the first of three mini book reviews...Yes, I've been reading. ;-)

My Momma Had Words With Me

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I know what you're going to say...This isn't Tuesday! But once you read the following, you won't care. It is Mother's Day and what would be better than the following essay. ;-)

Me, Momma, My brother, and sister--July 2012

 My Momma Had Words With Me

      I don’t know if it’s true anywhere else, but in the South, to “have words with” someone means to fuss, argue, or reprimand. My momma had another purpose for having words with me, for me, and around me. We didn’t discuss why people read or why it was important. My siblings and I just read. The power, magic, and glory of words surrounded us. No lectures were needed. No punishment was forthcoming to make us read. It was second nature to read. After all, our parents read in front of us every day. Momma focused on fiction while Daddy read the newspaper, biographies, and his professional journals.
      So, it was all Momma’s fault that my father-in-law was shocked when my daddy built bookshelves that covered half the walls in our study from the floor to ten-foot ceiling. With wide eyes, he said, “No one has that many books!”
      My husband shrugged. “She does. Everyone in her family does.” He knew there would be no wasted space in our study.
      It was Momma’s fault that we take delight in words. She gave us no choice in the matter. From the time we were toddlers, we all had library cards and joined the summer reading program at the regional library branch in our home town. Every week, we checked out five books.
All the librarians knew us by name.
      How do you feed a growing reading habit? Momma knew. She made sure there were books to read that challenged us. She made reading more books fun and expected. When our abilities to read outstripped our ages and we needed bigger, more complex books, Momma checked out adult books for us on her own library card. As the school librarian at my elementary school, she found harder and harder books for me to read when I had read everything at the lower levels. I clearly remember reading Ramona by Helen Hunt Jackson in the fifth grade. It was my first adult novel and I’ll never forget holding the large book and being carried away into the Southwest by the words.
      In time, my siblings and I found our own preferred genres. When given a list of three hundred books for college-bound students in the 1960’s, we attacked it from different angles. The fact that the complete works of Shakespeare and the great Greek historians were available in our home, made it easy to get started. My sister loves literature. My brother has a taste for biography, science, history, and true life adventure books. I read history, fiction of all types, and poetry.
      As voracious readers, we are the people who keep bookstores—large, small and online—in business. We are the people who always have up-to-date library cards. Our to-be-read lists of new books and old favorites are extensive. None of us is bored as long as there is something to read. And that isn’t likely to happen if we live a thousand years.
      It’s Momma’s fault that there is a longstanding family joke about the end of civilization. If an asteroid or other near extinction event occurred, our combined libraries would form the basis for restarting science, math, history, and literature. We could quickly raise man’s knowledge back to its former heights.
      The majesty and beauty of the words I grew up with created the desire to shape and form my own stories, to create new adventures, new people to meet, and new places to go. Momma encouraged me. She kept the poetry I wrote as an eight year old. Her simple acceptance made no obstacle insurmountable. Her faith that I could do anything I wanted allowed me to experiment and try different styles. She not only taught me to love words, but the persistence it takes to shape, order, and arrange them in coherent ways. When she gave me the love of words, she gave me the tools to accomplish what I desired to do. She gave me the ability to tell stories that soothes hurts, inspires challenges, and entertains. My mother gave me life—physically, mentally, and emotionally. She gave me dreams and encouraged me to strive to reach for them. My mother gave me words to share and the persistence to achieve the dream of being a writer. She still encourages me to write and inspires me with her own voracious reading.
      Thank you, Momma, for having words with me. I love you.

Next Week: May Mini Book Reviews ;-)

4 April Snips!

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In honor of Spring--thank God, it's finally here--I wanted to share a few snips that involve nature and a few spring pics of what you'd see if you came to Cherry Hill. ;-)
  

This is why there is a Cherry Hill. ;-)

Late Spring:

Dappled shade and bright patches of vinca and impatiens along the path gave me the calm I craved. I entered the cool green oasis under magnolia blooms scented heavily with lemon and vanilla. A flock of Canada geese honked at each other as a mother goose, followed by five fluffy goslings, sailed by on the small lake. The little ones were puffs of downy yellow-gray as their legs worked overtime to keep up with their stately mother. Male mockingbirds stretched out their wings in the time-honored ritual to show how big they 
 were in hope of attracting the ladies.

Of course, Laura Grace has azaleas, too

Nearly Summer...

The square was lined with cherry trees in full leaf casting cool shade over the brick sidewalks. I rather missed April’s pink clouds of cherry blossoms drifting over the carpet of rose, white, and pink azaleas at their feet. Though on a hot day in May, shade might be more refreshing.

And daffodils. Hyacinths, too.

Next comes autumn. Besides, weeding is a good use of anger, don't you think? ;-)

Her doubts about my abilities didn’t change the need of the foster children. And yes, Samantha’s pain had given me direction, but I’d help anyone. She would just have to deal with that. Sometimes even best friends had to go different ways. I turned back to the flower bed and grabbed the first weed I saw. Its pale roots gave way to my fury and I threw it at her retreating back.

The iris are putting up new shoots, too.

And then comes winter...

A cold steady rain swaddled Cherry Hill in a gray cocoon of winter. I could only hope that the waterlogged flowerbeds wouldn’t drown my mother’s iris. The painstaking digging I had done at her home place after her passing would have been in vain if it did. Maybe the rain would help them grow fat and healthy to bloom in all their deep purple glory next spring. I hoped so.

I hope you enjoyed the snips. ;-) 

Next Week: The April Tip is about the Sinister Synopsis!

Bonus Tuesday: Snip, An Update, and Input Request

{Note to followers: if you want an email to reach you every time I post, there's two ways. (Thanks, Ane M., for reminding me of this.) Either follow again or go the the left column and subscribe for emails. Thanks.}
 
 It's been an earthquake month in my writing world. My WIP is six and a half years old. Wouldn't you think it's about time I really understood the story? ;-) It started with a working title of MOTHER'S DAY. The basic story was of a recently widowed, retired teacher who was still aching over the fact that she is childless. When she meets an abused foster child, she begins a journey that leads her to become a foster and adoptive parent. Slowly it evolved into a story about abuse in all its various guises and the working title changed to FRIENDLY FIRE.

This month I attempted writing a synopsis and ran into to a huge problem--I had too much story for one book. ;-) And so, with the help of some friends, I revamped and rejuvenated the original theme and MOTHER'S DAY is on again. Now my Cherry Hill series has grown to a potential list of five books centering on the Chandler and Talley families.

I thought I'd get your input on the one paragraph "back cover" version of MOTHER'S DAY:

 Newly widowed retired teacher, Laura Grace Chandler's long-buried ache of childlessness is becoming an open sore. But after meeting Samantha Smith, an abused foster child, she finds that abuse is rampant in her hometown. And she’s at ground zero.  Though Laura Grace isn’t a mother, she knows the look of a child whose parents are missing in action; she’s seen hundreds of children in this position during her thirty years of teaching. Samantha has all the signs. As she gets to know the girl, Laura Grace is drawn to be the mother this child needs.  But to dive into the breach and become this child’s shield, she must open herself to heartache—again.

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I'd love some more input from you, my loyal readers. Since I've been doing the new topic rotation at The Shade (June, July, August, and September) I've noticed that author interviews get the most page views. Mini book reviews and snips weeks come in second. The tips week is lagging behind. 

Comments on the actual blog have been lagging. Though, comments on Facebook and Twitter have been growing. I've been working on promotion through those two outlets and Google + as well. Though, now that I've found the answer to "How do you add share buttons to the bottom of each post?" I'm hoping traffic picks up.

So, what do you think? Is the new schedule working? Do you have any suggestions? Please give me some feedback either here In The Shade, on Facebook, on Twitter (#InTheShade), or at Google +. I can't wait to see what you think?

Speaking of blog posts, check out Rachelle Gardner's post on "13 Simple Tips for a Better Blog"

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Next week: Snips!

Peek-a-Boo!

My Momma Had Words With Me

~~It's Mother's Day here in the States and in Australia. I wanted to post a little essay I wrote last winter. My buddy Carole at Nietzche I'm Not was planning a book titled LESSONS I LEARNED FROM MY MOTHER and asked me to submit. Unfortunately the anthology didn't come to pass, but I do have a great little piece that tells one reason my mother is so special to me. I hope you enjoy it.

#####

I don’t know if it’s true anywhere else, but in the South, to “have words with” someone means to fuss, argue, or reprimand. My momma had another purpose for having words with me, for me, and around me. We didn’t discuss why people read or why it was important. My siblings and I just read. The power, magic, and glory of words surrounded us. No lectures were needed. No punishment was forthcoming to make us read. It was second nature to read. After all, our parents read in front of us every day. Momma focused on fiction while Daddy read the newspaper, biographies, and his professional journals.

So, it was all Momma’s fault that my father-in-law was shocked when my daddy built bookshelves that covered half the walls in our study from the floor to ten-foot ceiling. With wide eyes, he said, “No one has that many books!”

My husband shrugged. “She does. Everyone in her family does.” He knew there would be no wasted space in our study.

It was Momma’s fault that we take delight in words. She gave us no choice in the matter. From the time we were toddlers, we all had library cards and joined the summer reading program at the regional library branch in our home town. Every week, we checked out five books. All the librarians knew us by name.

How do you feed a growing reading habit? Momma knew. She made sure there were books to read that challenged us. She made reading more books fun and expected. When our abilities to read outstripped our ages and we needed bigger, more complex books, Momma checked out adult books for us on her own library card. As the school librarian at my elementary school, she found harder and harder books for me to read when I had read everything at the lower levels. I clearly remember reading Ramona by Helen Hunt Jackson in the fifth grade. It was my first adult novel and I’ll never forget holding the large book and being carried away into old California by the words.

In time, my siblings and I found our own preferred genres. When given a list of three hundred books for college-bound students in the 1960’s, we attacked it from different angles. The fact that the complete works of Shakespeare and the great Greek historians were available in our home, made it easy to get started. My sister loves literature. My brother has a taste for biography, science, history, and adventure books. I read history, fiction of all types, and poetry.

As voracious readers, we are the people who keep bookstores—large, small and online—in business. We are the people who always have up-to-date library cards. Our to-be-read lists of new books and old favorites are extensive. None of us is bored as long as there is something to read. And that isn’t likely to happen if we live a thousand years.

It’s Momma’s fault that there is a longstanding family joke about the end of civilization. If an asteroid or other near extinction event occurred, our combined libraries would form the basis for restarting science, math, history, and literature. We could quickly raise man’s knowledge back to its former heights.

The majesty and beauty of the words I grew up with created the desire to shape and form my own stories, to create new adventures, new people to meet, and new places to go. Momma encouraged me. She kept the poetry I wrote as an eight years old. Her simple acceptance made no obstacle insurmountable. Her faith that I could do anything I wanted allowed me to experiment and try different styles. She not only taught me to love words, but the persistence it takes to shape, order, and arrange them in coherent ways. When she gave me the love of words, she gave me the tools to accomplish what I desired to do. She gave me the ability to tell stories that soothe hurts, inspire challenges, and entertain. My mother gave me life—physically, mentally, and emotionally. She gave me dreams and encouraged me to strive to reach for them. My mother gave me words to share and the persistence to achieve the dream of being a writer. She still encourages me to write and inspires me with her own voracious reading.

Thank you, Momma, for having words with me. I love you.

MeccaFest

It's coming this weekend--October 9 and 10, from 10-5, MeccaFest 2010. If you like good books, come by the CCWC tents near the steps for children's books, devotionals, and novels. Throw in a little women's humor and you have a great selection. My devotionals--An Easter Walk and A Christmas Walk will be on sale both days. Members of the Carrollton Creative Writers Club will be presenting "Local Voices" in the Mabry Theatre of both days. Saturday is 10:30 AM to 3:00 PM and Sunday's readings will be 11:00 AM to 3:30 PM. We will read excerpts from novels and memoirs, poetry, and children's stories. I'm reading at 11:30 on Saturday and at 1:00 on Sunday. Both days will be excerpts from my novel in progress, Mother's Day. Be sure and stop by and say hello.

House Party Alchemy

~~Cherry Hill is magic! When I volunteered to host a Forum house party, I saw it as a chance to try out my novel's setting on a group of talented writers. If Susan, Claire, Deniz, Adderbury, Marilyn, Spesh, Becky, Ron, Jill, and Tara could interact with my small Georgia town well enough to create a story, I would be happy.
~~Well, I'm ecstatic! We had a stellar house party. Among us, we wrote 180,976 words from Thursday night, July 29, to Saturday night, August 7. I had prepared about 10,000 words before hand. I didn't use all of them, and some had to be reshaped to fit the story as we went. As the other writers interacted with their characters, I found myself describing more and more about Laura Grace Chandler's home town, Cherry Hill, Georgia.
~~My characters--Laura Grace, Samantha, Rosemary, and Dean--had to respond to the story as well. I wrote a total of 13,646 words across the nine days of the house party. My total original words of all types connected with the house party is 18,410. That's amazing! Much of this material will be useful with some reshaping in my novel, Mother's Day. More importantly, my understanding of the relationship between Laura Grace and Rosemary has become clear. This is one to the emotional cores of my story. I hadn't seen a way to tell this part of the story until my fellow writers reacted to my town. Now I can write Mother's Day as it should written.
~~To my Forum family, thank you, one and all, dear friends for this gift. It's beyond anything I could have imagined.

Avian Acrobatics

~~The cherries are nearly ripe and Mother's Day is here. We can't help but wonder if our avian acrobatic troup is about to appear. Let's be fair, though. We've only seen them once. On Mother's Day 2008, we looked out the solarium windows and found our Yoshino Cherry trees buzzing with wings. Small birds were going in and out. We had never seen them before and had to look them up. They were eating the tiny cherries that our trees create every spring after their glorious blooms are spent. Ornamental trees often produce small fruit that birds and squirrels eat. Our trees are no different. The event inspired a scene for my novel in progress, Mother's Day. The point of view is my main character, Laura Grace Chandler. The child is Samantha, her newly adopted daughter. I hope you enjoy it. ; )

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“Momma!”

I jumped at the sink and water showered my chest not my face. What could be so important this morning? Grabbing the towel, I went to investigate.

“You’ve got to see this!” Her excited voice drew me to the bay window of the living room. Raucous calls of “zeee” rose from fluttering birds in the Yoshino cherry tree on the other side of the deck.

“Oh my.”

“There’s hundreds of ‘em!” Samantha stared, mouth open, as the birds fluttered among the leaves. Acrobatic feats of flying rewarded them with choice, ripe cherries.

“Get the Peterson’s Guide.” My hand rose to my heart. “I can’t believe this, but I believe they're cedar waxwings."

She bounced back and handed me the book. “Waxwings?”

I flipped the pages. “Let’s see. ‘Crested brown bird. Yellow band at tail tip.’ Yes.”

“Look at the wings.” She pointed. “Looks like red Christmas candle wax on ‘em.”

“Guess that’s where they got their name, don’t you? I’ve heard of them all my life, but I’ve never seen one.”

Samantha ran back to the bookshelf and grabbed a book on North American birds. She giggled. “It says sometimes they get drunk if the fruit’s fermented. Calls them ‘tipsy birds.’”

“That would make flying difficult, I imagine.” I laughed. The delight of the birds' antics warmed my heart. “I think they’re tanking up to fly north to their mating range.” I looked back at the field guide. “Yes. Here’s the map.”

“It says they have to sober up to fly again. That’s just weird!” She stared at the birds again. “Wonder how long it will take for them to eat all the cherries?”

“Not long at this rate.” I glanced at the clock. “Oh, Samantha! We have to hurry. The Mother’s Day service won’t wait on us.” I grinned. This was a special day. It was my first Mother’s Day since I had become Samantha’s legal mother.

“Okay. I just got to dress. Then I’ll watch the birds till you’re ready.”

She skipped down the hall in front of me. Thank you, Lord, for the gifts of this day. Samantha’s mine and cedar waxwings to entertain us. I grinned at my reflection. “I don’t deserve this. I’m so happy,” I whispered to the wrinkled face, wreathed in smile lines. As I grabbed my purse, I heard Samantha singing. The child was a happy as I was.

“Momma, I just can’t imagine a tipsy bird staggering on the deck. Bet it’d be as funny as Dale stumbling around when Craig let him drink beer.”

I stopped. Closing my eyes a moment with my hand clinched, I felt my heart thud. Would Samantha ever escape that horror? I took a deep breath. “Let’s go, angel. We’re late.”

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~~Happy Mother's Day to all of you. May your day be filled with delights of family and nature!