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.

Celebrate the Winners!

~~Sadly, all celebrations must come to an end. Today is the day to reveal the winners of my Celebration Blogfest in honor of my 100th post and 200th follower. I'm thrilled to say that Random.org worked its magic. The winners are:
First Place
L. of Notes from the Jovian Frontier

Second Place
J. L. Campbell of The Character Depot

Third Place
S. P. Bowers of S. P. Bowers

L. let me know which book is you choice--Stephen King's On Writing, Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird, Steven Pressfield's The War of Art, or signed copies of my An Easter Walk  and A Christmas Walk. I'll leave a comment with instructions for collecting your prizes on your blogs with my email address and email you if I have your address.

~~Thanks to you all for commenting and helping me celebrate!

Celebrate!

"Celebrate! Celebrate! Dance to the Music!"

Okay. If you now have a Three Dog Night earworm, you've just dated yourself. No worries. I understand. For all you "young'uns" here's a classic clip. (Though I do prefer Eli's Coming  and Old Fashioned Love Song.) You could do worse than classic Three Dog Night. ; )

~~The reason for all the hoopla is my Celebration Blogfest honoring my 100th post and 200th follower (Thanks, Rachna at Rachna's Scriptorium) I started blogging June 2, 2009. It seems like only yesterday. I posted mostly about incidental things like the new puppies (They were 2 on April 7), neat music clips, movies and the flowers, but now I concentrate on writing. Of course, the cute doggies get included still. ; )

~~It's only been since January that I really learned how to use the blog to network and create a platform for my writing. I was reading my buddy, Deniz's blog The Girdle of Melian when she posted a link to a publication blog at Denise's L'Aussie Writing. I started regularly reading Denise's posts and she mentioned a No Fear Blogfest at Dom's Writes of Passage. I entered on a lark and was a finalist. And a blogfester was born. The next link that intrigued me was platform builder extraordinaire Rachael Harrie's Rach Writes and her Second Crusade to Build Writers Platforms. I was hooked. The rest is history. In January, The Shade of the Cherry Tree had 18 followers and look at it now!

~~To celebrate, I'm going to put the names of all the commenters to this post in a drawing for three prizes. The first winner gets to pick from the four prizes listed below. The second and third get fewer and fewer to choose from. But even then, winner number 3 gets two choices--thanks to John, my darling husband, who couldn't stand for the last one to get just the left over gift. If you post a link to In the Shade of the Cherry Tree and tell me in the comments, I'll put your name in the drawing twice. I'll be using random.org to choose. Here are the prizes:

Stephen King's On Writing Amazon link

Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird Amazon link

Steven Pressfield's The War of Art Amazon link

Signed first edition copies of my two devotionals--An Easter Walk and A Christmas Walk (Check these out with the links on the left side)

~~I'll notify the winners by announcing it here, emailing if you have left an email in the comment, and commenting on your latest blog post. Whatever the method, I hope you enjoy the prizes. When you are notified of your win, email me your address. My email is a the bottom of the blog.

~~Good luck, everyone! And Thanks a Million for helping me build my blog and remember to

CELEBRATE!

What Did You Say?!?

This is post 99. I still need five more followers to hit the magic number of 200. When I get them, I'll post the Celebration Blogfest with four prizes to be shared among three winners. ; )

~~OUCH! OH! S*!# D#*%
What do you say when you hit your finger with a hammer? Does it matter? New research says that cursing actually helps reduce the pain. Don't believe me? Try this ARTICLE for the latest news on pain and cursing. Will that give you permission to say a few four-letter words the next time you hurt yourself? What about your characters?

~~I've been thinking about this as I write lately. The main character in FRIENDLY FIRE is a church-going, widowed, retired teacher. In rough draft scenes Laura Grace  has said shit and damn, but I find that in editing, she finds some other way to express her pain. On the other hand, my murdering sex abuser, Craig Ellis, is more likely to find more cuss words to say in the rewrites. It's all about the character's voice and how they relate to the world.

~~For what it's worth, I've never had a character to say the F-word. Especially not Laura Grace. I think Cherry Hill would explode if she did. ; )

Keep watching the Shade for the upcoming Celebration Blogfest.

Random Hits

This is post 98! Only two to go till the magic number of 100.

~~I'm working on the Celebration Blogfest coming soon to the Shade of the Cherry Tree. There will be four prizes up for grabs for the three winners. I only had three planned, but my sweet hubby insisted that Number Three needed a choice also. I'll keep what the prizes are under wraps until the big day. ; )

~~Now the question is--how do I go about choosing the winners? It will be a random draw and my dear Momma and Hubby will be glad to pick random numbers from among the comments or I could draw the comments out of a hat, but...I know there is a better way somewhere out there. If you know about programs to select random winner, let me know.

~~And while I have total control over the number of posts, I can't control when I reach 200 followers. If you haven't followed me yet and want to, please click away. If you feel like posting a link to me, I'd be thrilled. Especially on the big day. I'm crossing my fingers for Friday. That gives me three other days to post Number 99. ; ) Like I said, I have control over that one.

Show Don't Tell--Crusader Challenge

~~Rachael Harrie has guided us through a great Crusade and her last challenge is a fun ride. Here are the directions:
My Show Not Tell Challenge: In 300 words or less, write a passage (it can be an excerpt from your WIP, flash fiction, a poem, or any other writing) that shows (rather than tells) the following:

*you're scared and hungry
*it's dusk
*you think someone is following you
*and just for fun, see if you can involve all five senses AND include these random words: shimmer, saccadic, substance, and salt.

~~My snip if from my SF wip THE DAWN AND THE LION. This wip is set on Patria, one of three planets initially founded from Earth. The POV is Princess Canda Aurora of Shardonia, wife of King August Leo, Imperial Heir of Patria. Times are tough as you will see. Let me know if I showed you what's going on instead of telling. If you notice some of those little sneaky telling bits, do let me know. ; )

###

Since the shuttle crash, the nausea that had stalked me for two weeks achieved new levels of torment. Crisp, cool water poured from the liana leaves overhead. At least I’d have something to drink when my stomach settled. Of course, the pounding rain would have to slack off before I could attempt getting any water. The puddles at my feet shimmered with each lightning bolt. They stabbed my eyes like the rockets that had burst from the forest floor.

I could still see the sun’s last rays lighting the rising clouds racing down the ridge as the first rocket tore through the shuttle’s wing and Tomas’ hands fought the saccadic tumble. But the second rocket…no pilot could compensate for that. The scraping branches and vines couldn’t cushion the bone-jarring jolt of our landing. Our attackers were near. Their victory shouts made crawling from the wreckage and running my only chance. Tomas stayed behind; his brains scattered over the instrument panel.

For now, I’d evaded capture, but there wouldn’t be any edible fruit among the wet, rotten vegetation on the forest floor. The oozing gash in my thigh from knee to hip made climbing impossible. At least the throbbing gash screamed louder than my rebellious stomach.

Sudden insight seared my mind like lightning. The rebels didn’t want me dead. I was their best hope, their champion, the only royal who heard their pleas. The honor of shooting me down belonged to the court’s Pure Patria adherents. They wanted me—the below-the-salt, upstart Shardon princess—dead before I could sully the royal bloodline. My stomach turned itself out and I wiped my sour mouth. They were too late. I had to survive for the new life I carried. The only question was how.

Special announcement!
I'm only 12 followers from 200 and three posts from 100 posts. When those milestones are achieved, I'll be announcing a blogfest with three prizes. Hope it's soon. ; )

Inkheart--The Storyteller's Art

~~In honor of all the A to Z bloggers, today's letter is I. Even if I don't have the stamina to post for every letter of the alphabet, I can make sure my posts are the correct letter of the day. ; )

~~Have you ever read a story that came alive as you read it. The characters are real. They live and breathe. They speak directly to you. It's magic. It's the storyteller's art. I've read many great books and seen many great stories made into movies over the years, but last week I saw a movie that hinged on this very idea. The movie was Inkheart based on a book by Cornelia Funke. The movie came out in 2008, but neither of us had heard of it until we found it in our Netflix suggested movie list. And we're glad we tried it. Of course, John had to endure my endless comments of the magic of writing stories as we watched.

~~Mo "Silvertongue" Folchart is a bookbinder with a secret talent. When he reads a story out loud, the characters become alive and some cross over into his world. Unfortunately, his wife crosses into the world of the book he is reading, Inkheart. His art as a storyteller creates a problem he has to fix, but he can't find a copy of the book. His quest leads to the action. I won't give you the entire synopsis. For more check HERE.

~~What I want to discuss is the art that storytellers use when the story steps off the page. The reader becomes lost in a new world. They can't stop reading. They have to know what happens next. The creation of such a story is beyond amazing. It's magic. And don't we all want to be able to do exactly that when we write? ; )

Fabulous, Fantastic...Fearmonger?

~~Well, if toy poodles can be fearmongers, Max qualifies. Twice yesterday, he created situations that could have ended his very short life. Add that he frightened Momma and Daddy to death and you've got fear in a tiny package.
~~First Death-Defying Act--John was working on papers for his GED class to do. There was a small paper clip on the rug beside the piles he was sorting and guess who stole it? Max. John tried to remove it from the little bit's mouth and--presto--it was gone. We feared the worst. He is known to chew the little wire bits into jagged-ended mangles. If he had to pass that, he would tear the plumbing up. We settle in for a wait for the puppy to whine session. Until, I found the paper clip in the corner of the hall where he had dropped it when confronted. One fearful event down.
~~Second Death-Defying Act--John has always wanted the boys to walk off-leash around the yard with him. Treats and "Come" commands have been dominating our walks. Until yesterday. Max shot off through the neighbor's yard and John found him frozen in the middle of the street with cars stopped on either side. Needless to say, there will be no further off-lease walks for the Max Man.
~~We were worried that the little boy would not make his second brithday tomorrow, but so far it looks like we're on the way to another day. Here's the latest pictures of my boys, just back from the groomers with jaunty bandanas around their necks.

Casey

Max

 ~~I'll be computerless until some time Friday. The hard drive is going in for a tune up. I'll catch up this weekend. ; )