Due to the Kentucky Fudge Company being closed on Sunday, May 31st, this month's Writers' Cafe has been canceled.The next scheduled reading of the Writers' Cafe is Sunday, June 28th at 2:00 pm.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Writers' Cafe Canceled
Due to the Kentucky Fudge Company being closed on Sunday, May 31st, this month's Writers' Cafe has been canceled.The next scheduled reading of the Writers' Cafe is Sunday, June 28th at 2:00 pm.
Bobbi,
The posting of Normandi coming to the workshop looks great. For all who are reading this, you are certainly invited to attend even if you are not involved in the workshop. Normandi is quiet a treat to listen to. Come listen and visit with her, you won't be sorry. If you are coming and have the time to let me know, it will help in preparing for the night's activities. Those who are in the workshop do not need to let me know, only those who are not part of the workshop.... looking forward to having lots of folks attend.
The posting of Normandi coming to the workshop looks great. For all who are reading this, you are certainly invited to attend even if you are not involved in the workshop. Normandi is quiet a treat to listen to. Come listen and visit with her, you won't be sorry. If you are coming and have the time to let me know, it will help in preparing for the night's activities. Those who are in the workshop do not need to let me know, only those who are not part of the workshop.... looking forward to having lots of folks attend.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Welcome To Wonderland
Welcome dear Alice,
To the wonderland world,
Where the grass is soft,
And the air is cool,
Where paths to nowhere,
If nowhere you seek,
Are as plenty as paths to days of the week.
The people here,
Though queer,
Are fair,
Excluding the cat, the queen and the hare,
The doorknob, the caterpillar, the white rabbit as well.
Our Mad Hatter, he sits in his cool garden square,
At his table with odd kinds of mismatched chairs,
His cups are filled to the top-to the brink!
Half cups half filled-with two sugars to drink,
In celebration of an unbirthday they share,
Of the Mad Hatter and the March Hare.
The Cheshire cat awaits you with glee,
From his place atop the cold forest tree,
Contorted stripes appear one by one,
A disembodied grin and a riddle about sin,
He fades in echoing laughter.
The caterpillar that smokes and sways,
Of the hookah he knows his ways,
Mushrooms and riddles he leaves,
When size and proportion have left you stranded.
Though well she seems in temperament not,
The Queen of Roses red,
When she isn’t happy she yells “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD”,
Poor king of hers to sit and wait,
And please this mighty lady,
Whose court of cards has a job that’s hard,
Of painting her roses red.
So welcome dear Alice,
To the wonderland world,
Where the grass is soft,
And the air is cool,
Where paths to nowhere,
If nowhere you seek,
Are as plenty as paths to days of the week.
The people here,
Though queer,
Are fair,
Beware,
Of the wonderland world that you seek,
Welcome,
Welcome.
To the wonderland world,
Where the grass is soft,
And the air is cool,
Where paths to nowhere,
If nowhere you seek,
Are as plenty as paths to days of the week.
The people here,
Though queer,
Are fair,
Excluding the cat, the queen and the hare,
The doorknob, the caterpillar, the white rabbit as well.
Our Mad Hatter, he sits in his cool garden square,
At his table with odd kinds of mismatched chairs,
His cups are filled to the top-to the brink!
Half cups half filled-with two sugars to drink,
In celebration of an unbirthday they share,
Of the Mad Hatter and the March Hare.
The Cheshire cat awaits you with glee,
From his place atop the cold forest tree,
Contorted stripes appear one by one,
A disembodied grin and a riddle about sin,
He fades in echoing laughter.
The caterpillar that smokes and sways,
Of the hookah he knows his ways,
Mushrooms and riddles he leaves,
When size and proportion have left you stranded.
Though well she seems in temperament not,
The Queen of Roses red,
When she isn’t happy she yells “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD”,
Poor king of hers to sit and wait,
And please this mighty lady,
Whose court of cards has a job that’s hard,
Of painting her roses red.
So welcome dear Alice,
To the wonderland world,
Where the grass is soft,
And the air is cool,
Where paths to nowhere,
If nowhere you seek,
Are as plenty as paths to days of the week.
The people here,
Though queer,
Are fair,
Beware,
Of the wonderland world that you seek,
Welcome,
Welcome.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Unknown - Hallowed and Hushed
(This is the beginning of a creative non-fiction piece I'm working on based on a true story. In the late 1800s, an unknown young woman came to the Graham Springs Hotel in Harrodsburg, Kentucky. During the evenings grand ball, she danced all night with one man after another. Immediately after the last dance, the lady died in her partners arms. Her identity remains a mystery to this day.)
As she entered the Graham Springs Hotel, she self-consciously touched her dark hair. Mid-back length, she had it artfully pulled on top of her head with several ringlets of curls dangling like tendrils around her graceful neck.
Her alabaster complexion was deathly white, but not a sickly pallor of ill-health, just the markings of a gentle lady brought up to protect her skin from the sun. The apples of each cheek held the faint hue of a pink rosebud at dawn with only a tiny dimple marring the line of her left cheek.
Her eyes were hazel with tiny flecks of gold that glistened and reflected in sunlight or candlelight. Thick curly eyelashes gave her eyes a dreamy look of someone older than her years.
When had only checked into the hotel for one night, arriving unescorted on a coach from Lexington. She had only a small trunk and she was reluctant to let out of her sight. She paid her bill with Confederate bills and signed her name daintily in the thick ledger Mrs. E. W. Maclaine. They later learned this was a false name.
She appeared in the grand ballroom at precisely the stroke of nine o'clock, her pale green dress draping behind her like a foaming waterfall. She was instantly the center of attention, turning every young man's head.
She danced with each man in turn and would then start all over again, rarely stopping to catch her breath. She refused all overs for a glass of punch and never left the ballroom for a walk in the moonlit garden.
Just a few strokes after midnight, guest began making their way to their rooms. As the mystery girl's last dance partner gave her one last twirl, he was horrified to find the young woman dead.
All attempts to learn the true identity of Mrs. E. W. Maclaine were unsuccessful. After a week of searching, he unknown lady was laid to rest on the grounds of Harrodsburg Springs. The unknown tombstone still marks the grave.
Unknown - Hallowed and Hushed be the place of the dead. Step Softly. Bow Head.
As she entered the Graham Springs Hotel, she self-consciously touched her dark hair. Mid-back length, she had it artfully pulled on top of her head with several ringlets of curls dangling like tendrils around her graceful neck.
Her alabaster complexion was deathly white, but not a sickly pallor of ill-health, just the markings of a gentle lady brought up to protect her skin from the sun. The apples of each cheek held the faint hue of a pink rosebud at dawn with only a tiny dimple marring the line of her left cheek.
Her eyes were hazel with tiny flecks of gold that glistened and reflected in sunlight or candlelight. Thick curly eyelashes gave her eyes a dreamy look of someone older than her years.
When had only checked into the hotel for one night, arriving unescorted on a coach from Lexington. She had only a small trunk and she was reluctant to let out of her sight. She paid her bill with Confederate bills and signed her name daintily in the thick ledger Mrs. E. W. Maclaine. They later learned this was a false name.
She appeared in the grand ballroom at precisely the stroke of nine o'clock, her pale green dress draping behind her like a foaming waterfall. She was instantly the center of attention, turning every young man's head.
She danced with each man in turn and would then start all over again, rarely stopping to catch her breath. She refused all overs for a glass of punch and never left the ballroom for a walk in the moonlit garden.
Just a few strokes after midnight, guest began making their way to their rooms. As the mystery girl's last dance partner gave her one last twirl, he was horrified to find the young woman dead.
All attempts to learn the true identity of Mrs. E. W. Maclaine were unsuccessful. After a week of searching, he unknown lady was laid to rest on the grounds of Harrodsburg Springs. The unknown tombstone still marks the grave.
Give me some honest critique
As you can see, I have posted the story I did not read at the meeting on Friday night. This is one of the stories I am working on for the book I am going to call "Snapshots" and I need your eyes.
If you would try to answer these questions for me:
1. What is the picture you get from this story?
2. What is hidden in the story that is not about going to the fair?
3. Is this story too predictable?
4. Is the dialogue believable?
5. What is your Very Honest opinion of the story? Give me details.
I am very serious about this book and each of you reading it can help me accomplish what I want to do if you give me a critical eye.
Thank you
By the way, I thought we had a good meeting Friday even though we did go a bit longer than usual... I promise that will not happen again.... You all are the greatest!
If you would try to answer these questions for me:
1. What is the picture you get from this story?
2. What is hidden in the story that is not about going to the fair?
3. Is this story too predictable?
4. Is the dialogue believable?
5. What is your Very Honest opinion of the story? Give me details.
I am very serious about this book and each of you reading it can help me accomplish what I want to do if you give me a critical eye.
Thank you
By the way, I thought we had a good meeting Friday even though we did go a bit longer than usual... I promise that will not happen again.... You all are the greatest!
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The Octopus circa 1957
“What time we leavin’, Ma Ma?” Andy said sitting on the bottom step of the stairs.
“I’m almost ready, we’re gonna meet Gladys and Jolene at the front gate at six, so we have plenty of time.” Andy’s mother walked out of the bathroom, stopped to look at him and said, “My, don’t you look handsome.”
“I wanted to wear my blue shirt but I got it dirty and forgot to bring it downstairs.”
“Well, that one is just fine. It’s been a long time since we haven’t been to the fair in a long time have we?”
“Nope.” Actually this was the first time Andy could remember going anywhere with his mother since she started working the swing shift. They some times when to visit his grand parents on their farm where he usually spent most of his summer, but they never went any where fun.
“well, we will just have to make up for that tonight. We’ll have a lot of fun. Are any of your friends going to be at the fair tonight?”
Andy wondered if his mother was hoping there would be so she could go off with her friends. He hoped not. “I don’t know. Maybe Jerry if his mother will let him.”
The fairgrounds weren’t far from their home so they were able to walk. Andy could hear the rides running and the music playing. When they turned the corner of their street he could see how the midway was lit up even though the sun had not set. Andy could feel the excitement in the air.
“What do you want to ride tonight?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“Well, maybe not everything. But the Tilt-a-Whirl for sure.”
His mother pointed to the front gate of the fairgrounds, “Oh, there is Jolene.”
Jolene was standing just outside the gate. Andy knew her because she came to visit his mother often.
“Well, you have a fine looking date tonight.” Jolene smiled at Andy.
“Isn’t he something?” His mother replied. “Says he wants to ride everything tonight.”
“Me too.” Jolene giggled. “Gladys will be here in a sec, I saw her come in but parking is tough tonight. I think the front is full.”
Andy saw the other woman walking along the fence and headed their way. “There she is.” He pointed towards her.
His mother waved and the woman waved back.
“Whew, I had to park all the way in the back. That is a long walk. Have you all been waiting long?” “Just got here.” Andy’s mother said.
“Well, come on,” Gladys said, “I need a Sno- cone. What about you, Andy, you need a Sno- cone or maybe some Cotton Candy?”
Andy smiled.
The four of them walked down the midway amid a barrage of clanking bells and barkers touting their goods and games. “Hey, Lady, come on over and win that boy a bear. Three balls for a quarter... come on..”
Andy’s mother ignored the man but Andy was fascinated by him watched him as they passed by. He was watching so close he almost tripped over a cable. Something about the man scared him. Andy took his mother’s hand.
“Look at tall these rides, Andy, do you think we can ride all of ‘em tonight?”
About that time they were passing one called The Octopus. It had seats a lot like the Tilt-a-Whirl but they were more enclosed. The difference was, this ride had long arms and when it was running the seats spun around and the arms went up and down in the air. It looked real scary to Andy.
“I don’t know if I want to ride that one or not.”
“Oh, sure you do.” His mother said, “It’s the best one they have.”
Andy frowned.
“Well get our Sno-cones and ride the Tilt-a-Whirl first.” His mother grinned and squeezed his hand.
They all sat at a picnic table and ate the Sno-cones while they watched all the people milling around. Many were headed into the grand stands to watch the horse show.
“I hope we have time to see some of the show.” Gladys said. “I really like the ones pulling the little carts.”
“Oh, yeah, me too,” said Jolene, “Do you like to watch the horses, Andy?”
“Yeah, I’d like to ride one of ‘em someday. Those with the carts, I mean”
Oh the way to their first ride, they passed by a tent where several women were standing on a stage and a man out front was shouting, “They wiggle, they giggle, they strut their stuff for just a dime you’ll get enough… come and see them perform.”
Andy looked at the women on the stage. His buddy, Jerry told him about this kind of show. Jerry’s dad called it a Hochie Cochie Show but Jerry wasn’t sure what that meant and Andy was afraid to ask.
The Tilt-a-Whirl was a lot of fun. Andy and his mother rode in one and Gladys and Jolene rode in another. Sometimes it seemed they would crash into each other and Andy’s mother would squeal. Andy would laugh and try to make the cart spin around.
When it was over, Andy’s mother said, “Ok, come on, Andy, let’s go ride The Octopus.”
“I don’t think I want to ride that one.”
“Oh, come on, Andy,” Jolene said, “We’re gonna ride everything tonight, right?” They bought the tickets but Andy still was not convinced he was going to ride.
“It’ll be fun, Andy; it’s just like the other one except it goes up in the air. You’ll love it, I promise.” Andy listened to his mother but still had doubts.
“Ok.” he finally agreed.
The man locked them in the car and gave them a spin. He did the same thing to everyone until all the cars were filled. Then he shouted, “Hang on, you’re going for the ride of your life.” And then he laughed.
It was slow at first and barely got off the ground. Andy held on to the bars so tight his knuckles were white. His mother knew he was scared so she didn’t make the car spin.
The ride picked up speed and Andy slid up next to his mother and the car began to spin. Now the ride was going faster and faster and the arms were going up and down, up and down. Andy’s heart raced.
“Ma Ma, I want off.”
“You can’t get off, Sweetheart, not until the ride is finished.”
“Please make them stop, Ma Ma.” Andy begged but his mother just grinned. Up and down, spinning around and around, around and around.
Andy caught a glimpse of the man on the ground and began hollering at him, “I want off, Mister, let me off.”
The ride just seemed to get faster and the man laughed harder.
“Please, Mister, Please.” Andy cried.
His mother tried to make the car quit spinning but since all their weight was on one side it wouldn’t stop.
Spinning and spinning, up and down, around and around, “Please, Mister, please.”
Finally the ride started slowing down and cam to a stop. It seemed like forever to Andy. Now, he wanted off and as far away as he could get. But they were the last to get released.
When the man unlocked the bar, he said to Andy, “Here wanna ride again?” and handed Andy a free ticket, then laughed again.
Andy didn’t take it; he just rushed to the gate leading back into the midway.
“Are you Ok, Son?”
“Yeah, I guess but that was way too scary.”
Jolene and Gladys came over and Jolene asked, “Did you all hear some kid screaming on that ride?”
Andy didn’t answer and his mother only said, “Let’s go see if we can win a bear and then see some of the horse show.
As the four walked off, Andy took his mother’s hand and said, “Maybe we’ll ride that again next year.”
“I’m almost ready, we’re gonna meet Gladys and Jolene at the front gate at six, so we have plenty of time.” Andy’s mother walked out of the bathroom, stopped to look at him and said, “My, don’t you look handsome.”
“I wanted to wear my blue shirt but I got it dirty and forgot to bring it downstairs.”
“Well, that one is just fine. It’s been a long time since we haven’t been to the fair in a long time have we?”
“Nope.” Actually this was the first time Andy could remember going anywhere with his mother since she started working the swing shift. They some times when to visit his grand parents on their farm where he usually spent most of his summer, but they never went any where fun.
“well, we will just have to make up for that tonight. We’ll have a lot of fun. Are any of your friends going to be at the fair tonight?”
Andy wondered if his mother was hoping there would be so she could go off with her friends. He hoped not. “I don’t know. Maybe Jerry if his mother will let him.”
The fairgrounds weren’t far from their home so they were able to walk. Andy could hear the rides running and the music playing. When they turned the corner of their street he could see how the midway was lit up even though the sun had not set. Andy could feel the excitement in the air.
“What do you want to ride tonight?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“Well, maybe not everything. But the Tilt-a-Whirl for sure.”
His mother pointed to the front gate of the fairgrounds, “Oh, there is Jolene.”
Jolene was standing just outside the gate. Andy knew her because she came to visit his mother often.
“Well, you have a fine looking date tonight.” Jolene smiled at Andy.
“Isn’t he something?” His mother replied. “Says he wants to ride everything tonight.”
“Me too.” Jolene giggled. “Gladys will be here in a sec, I saw her come in but parking is tough tonight. I think the front is full.”
Andy saw the other woman walking along the fence and headed their way. “There she is.” He pointed towards her.
His mother waved and the woman waved back.
“Whew, I had to park all the way in the back. That is a long walk. Have you all been waiting long?” “Just got here.” Andy’s mother said.
“Well, come on,” Gladys said, “I need a Sno- cone. What about you, Andy, you need a Sno- cone or maybe some Cotton Candy?”
Andy smiled.
The four of them walked down the midway amid a barrage of clanking bells and barkers touting their goods and games. “Hey, Lady, come on over and win that boy a bear. Three balls for a quarter... come on..”
Andy’s mother ignored the man but Andy was fascinated by him watched him as they passed by. He was watching so close he almost tripped over a cable. Something about the man scared him. Andy took his mother’s hand.
“Look at tall these rides, Andy, do you think we can ride all of ‘em tonight?”
About that time they were passing one called The Octopus. It had seats a lot like the Tilt-a-Whirl but they were more enclosed. The difference was, this ride had long arms and when it was running the seats spun around and the arms went up and down in the air. It looked real scary to Andy.
“I don’t know if I want to ride that one or not.”
“Oh, sure you do.” His mother said, “It’s the best one they have.”
Andy frowned.
“Well get our Sno-cones and ride the Tilt-a-Whirl first.” His mother grinned and squeezed his hand.
They all sat at a picnic table and ate the Sno-cones while they watched all the people milling around. Many were headed into the grand stands to watch the horse show.
“I hope we have time to see some of the show.” Gladys said. “I really like the ones pulling the little carts.”
“Oh, yeah, me too,” said Jolene, “Do you like to watch the horses, Andy?”
“Yeah, I’d like to ride one of ‘em someday. Those with the carts, I mean”
Oh the way to their first ride, they passed by a tent where several women were standing on a stage and a man out front was shouting, “They wiggle, they giggle, they strut their stuff for just a dime you’ll get enough… come and see them perform.”
Andy looked at the women on the stage. His buddy, Jerry told him about this kind of show. Jerry’s dad called it a Hochie Cochie Show but Jerry wasn’t sure what that meant and Andy was afraid to ask.
The Tilt-a-Whirl was a lot of fun. Andy and his mother rode in one and Gladys and Jolene rode in another. Sometimes it seemed they would crash into each other and Andy’s mother would squeal. Andy would laugh and try to make the cart spin around.
When it was over, Andy’s mother said, “Ok, come on, Andy, let’s go ride The Octopus.”
“I don’t think I want to ride that one.”
“Oh, come on, Andy,” Jolene said, “We’re gonna ride everything tonight, right?” They bought the tickets but Andy still was not convinced he was going to ride.
“It’ll be fun, Andy; it’s just like the other one except it goes up in the air. You’ll love it, I promise.” Andy listened to his mother but still had doubts.
“Ok.” he finally agreed.
The man locked them in the car and gave them a spin. He did the same thing to everyone until all the cars were filled. Then he shouted, “Hang on, you’re going for the ride of your life.” And then he laughed.
It was slow at first and barely got off the ground. Andy held on to the bars so tight his knuckles were white. His mother knew he was scared so she didn’t make the car spin.
The ride picked up speed and Andy slid up next to his mother and the car began to spin. Now the ride was going faster and faster and the arms were going up and down, up and down. Andy’s heart raced.
“Ma Ma, I want off.”
“You can’t get off, Sweetheart, not until the ride is finished.”
“Please make them stop, Ma Ma.” Andy begged but his mother just grinned. Up and down, spinning around and around, around and around.
Andy caught a glimpse of the man on the ground and began hollering at him, “I want off, Mister, let me off.”
The ride just seemed to get faster and the man laughed harder.
“Please, Mister, Please.” Andy cried.
His mother tried to make the car quit spinning but since all their weight was on one side it wouldn’t stop.
Spinning and spinning, up and down, around and around, “Please, Mister, please.”
Finally the ride started slowing down and cam to a stop. It seemed like forever to Andy. Now, he wanted off and as far away as he could get. But they were the last to get released.
When the man unlocked the bar, he said to Andy, “Here wanna ride again?” and handed Andy a free ticket, then laughed again.
Andy didn’t take it; he just rushed to the gate leading back into the midway.
“Are you Ok, Son?”
“Yeah, I guess but that was way too scary.”
Jolene and Gladys came over and Jolene asked, “Did you all hear some kid screaming on that ride?”
Andy didn’t answer and his mother only said, “Let’s go see if we can win a bear and then see some of the horse show.
As the four walked off, Andy took his mother’s hand and said, “Maybe we’ll ride that again next year.”
Friday, May 22, 2009
May Assignment
*****SCROLL DOWN FOR NEWEST POSTS*****
The next meeting for the Community of Mercer County Writers - or Nomadic Ink - will be Friday, May 22 at 6 pm at the Ag Center in McAfee.
Your assignment - if you choose to accept - write a story, poem, prose or song entitled:
"My Mother and Me"
We didn't have a very big response to members posting on the blog, but we encourage everyone to post their stories.
The next public reading for Nomadic Ink will be Sunday, May 31st at 2 pm at the Fudge Company on Main Street
The next meeting for the Community of Mercer County Writers - or Nomadic Ink - will be Friday, May 22 at 6 pm at the Ag Center in McAfee.Your assignment - if you choose to accept - write a story, poem, prose or song entitled:
"My Mother and Me"
We didn't have a very big response to members posting on the blog, but we encourage everyone to post their stories.
The next public reading for Nomadic Ink will be Sunday, May 31st at 2 pm at the Fudge Company on Main Street
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The Windmill
(Photo by Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixels Narratives
THE WINDMILL
Wind moves the windmill
Like a choreographed dance
The natural force
And the man made contraption
At one on the lonely prairie
Sending me images of the land before Oz
Stirring my emotions and memories
Holding them captive
Awaiting the creative outlet
That is bound to flow from my pen
Friday, May 15, 2009
The Girl and May Flowers
It was the first time I had seen the girl and I thought it odd because Adolph, my Basset Hound, and I take this walk almost daily. But, a beautiful day in May often brings out people who don't normally visit cemeteries. I suppose the May Flowers in bloom are the attraction. And, today they were glorious. Tulips lined the gray stone wall and Daffodils dotted the space between them. The purple Red Buds and White Dogwood blooms hung heavy above all the other flowers and created a wonderful contrast in colors.
A gentle wind blew and was only disturbed by the blare of distant sirens in the city. The girl wore a sleeveless summer dress which I thought to be a bit cool for the day but she did not seem to be chilled at all. She stood just inside the main entrance and smiled at me as I approached. I smiled back.
Adolph didn't seem to notice her at first and it surprised me since he has such a keen sense of smell.
"Your dog is cute," the girl said as we got closer to her, "does he bite?" She was holding a purple and white Iris in her hand. It looked almost like an Orchid.
"Thank you," I replied, "No, he does not bite. He is pretty laid back. It would take too much effort for him to bite anyone."
Even with my assurance, the girl stepped back when Adolph finally began to sniff his way to her.
"You may pet him if you want too."
"Thank you, but no, I am not very good with dogs."
I pulled Adolph to a stop, "My name is Zack and this is Adolph. I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new to our community?"
"Oh, no, I've been around for a long time. But I have seen you all before. You come here a lot, don't you?"
"Yes, it is one of our daily routes. Don't you just love these May Flowers?"
"They are beautiful, they always are this time of year. I love the pink and blue Phlox, the way it mounds over the rocks. It is just so beautiful."
As she spoke, I heard more sirens and wondered what was going on. They seemed closer now. "Yes, I love the Phlox too, I wish it bloomed like that year round. So you have seen us before? I guess we just missed you somehow. The breeze is a little chilly this morning, aren't you cold?"
"Not at all. It's always a little cool here but it makes me feel alive. You have family here, don't you?"
"Yes, over in the Eastern corner. That is our family plot. I guess they will plant me there someday. There is a lot of family over there, all the way back to my great-great grandmother."
"She's a beautiful lady, isn't she?"
"They say my sister looks just like her." I answered even though I thought the question a little strange.
Adolph began sniffing around and seemed to be ready to continue our walk. "I guess we had better be getting on. You are welcome to walk with us if you like."
"Thank you, that would be nice, but I usually just stay right around here."
"Well, you have a good day. Maybe we will see you again soon?"
"I am sure you will see a lot more of me now and the others too." The girl hesitated for a moment then went on, "Do you hear them talking?"
The question was so strange. It just seemed really eerie and I couldn't answer at first.
"If you listen, you can hear them." She held her hand up as if she were telling me to stop thinking and just listen.
I tilted my head and concentrated on listening to whatever it was she was talking about. When I heard the voices, I began to understand all to clearly...
"I swear," a young man said, "They just walked right out in front of me. There was nothing I could do."
"I guess he didn't see you coming. I see him walking along here all the time."
"Sir, what should we do with the dog?"
"If you have an extra blanket, just wrap it up and put it in my truck. I am sure the family will want to bury it."
"Yes, Sir. The coroner is on his way. It's a shame, isn't it, on such a beautiful Spring day...
NOTE: Now be very honest in your comments... let me know what I could have done to make this a better piece... practice your critique and write good helpful comments.
Congrats to many
I just want to congratulate all of our writers: Earl for the new book, Staci, Paula, Bobbi and Tammy for their columns... Shirley for sharing her newest writing... Mr. Robinson for the new novel he is working on... to Lynn for not being afraid to step out there and share his fresh writing... To Christine and the production she has worked on so hard and late.. To Morgan who writes and writes and writes... to each of you for your contribution to my writing. You are all inspiring me to be better and productive
Keep up the fantastic writing you are doing... someday it will all pay off in a very special way.
Keep up the fantastic writing you are doing... someday it will all pay off in a very special way.
Working to be here more
Hello, Ink Blots and others who are following this blog,
It has been a crazy few weeks (make that months) and I have not been able to post as much as I wanted to on here. The picture I have included with this post is what my office looks like right now. It is one of the reasons I have not been on like I want to be. You could call it a work in progress.. a lot of work and very little progress. But, I am going to try and designate a day and time to dedicate to this blog because I think it is one of the most important elements of our Community of Mercer County Writers. Bobbi, is to be highly commended for her management of the Nomadic Ink Blog site. She works very hard at keeping us up to date.Recently I asked her to keep the latest Workshop and Group challenge at the beginning so no one would have to search several pages to find it.... almost immediately she did it and has kept it there ... we all need to thank her for all of this because without her work we would not have this place to share our work on a daily basis.
I have been trying to post my May Flower story now for a month and maybe if all goes well I will get that done today. Part of my problem has been the move, the weather and a host of other distractions.Isn't it easy to find excuses not to do something we know is important and helpful.It is the way of the writer... so many of us almost always are looking for reasons not to write... but the good thing about that is, it is the perfect indication that we are truly writers. Those who only dabble in writing will get on a post like this and try to use it for their gain or slop something on here just to see their name... but, to my delight, the members of our group are afraid to post something because they don't think it is good enough... which means it is perfect for this site.
How many of you have started to read something in the workshop or group and said, "Oh, this is not very good." and the whole group is awed by what you have written? Almost everyone of you has... and it makes everyone in the group happy to see such good writing coming out. I am constantly amazed at how good you guys are... each of you has the potential to be a successful writer and I am proud to be a part of this group!!!
Enough rambling on my part this morning... I hope to post a few things for you critical eye today... please be honest and tell me exactly what you think... I will only be mad at you for a few minutes...NOT!!!!
Tony
It has been a crazy few weeks (make that months) and I have not been able to post as much as I wanted to on here. The picture I have included with this post is what my office looks like right now. It is one of the reasons I have not been on like I want to be. You could call it a work in progress.. a lot of work and very little progress. But, I am going to try and designate a day and time to dedicate to this blog because I think it is one of the most important elements of our Community of Mercer County Writers. Bobbi, is to be highly commended for her management of the Nomadic Ink Blog site. She works very hard at keeping us up to date.Recently I asked her to keep the latest Workshop and Group challenge at the beginning so no one would have to search several pages to find it.... almost immediately she did it and has kept it there ... we all need to thank her for all of this because without her work we would not have this place to share our work on a daily basis.
I have been trying to post my May Flower story now for a month and maybe if all goes well I will get that done today. Part of my problem has been the move, the weather and a host of other distractions.Isn't it easy to find excuses not to do something we know is important and helpful.It is the way of the writer... so many of us almost always are looking for reasons not to write... but the good thing about that is, it is the perfect indication that we are truly writers. Those who only dabble in writing will get on a post like this and try to use it for their gain or slop something on here just to see their name... but, to my delight, the members of our group are afraid to post something because they don't think it is good enough... which means it is perfect for this site.
How many of you have started to read something in the workshop or group and said, "Oh, this is not very good." and the whole group is awed by what you have written? Almost everyone of you has... and it makes everyone in the group happy to see such good writing coming out. I am constantly amazed at how good you guys are... each of you has the potential to be a successful writer and I am proud to be a part of this group!!!
Enough rambling on my part this morning... I hope to post a few things for you critical eye today... please be honest and tell me exactly what you think... I will only be mad at you for a few minutes...NOT!!!!
Tony
Sunday, May 10, 2009
NO Class
Just a reminder - there will be NO formal meeting of the advanced writing class at the library this week. However, we will have an informal meeting at the Fudge Company on Main Street at 6pm. Come on over for some yummy ice cream and good company.
Mae Flowers
Mae Flowers
Her life did not turn out to be the one she had imagined. As a young girl, dreaming and drowsy in the tranquil shade of the trees that sheltered her father’s house, she had pictured something quite different, I’m sure. Early photographs of her show a beautiful young woman with vibrant red hair, a solemn smile, and the alabaster skin that was prized in the early 1900’s.
Childhood is never really easy, except perhaps when recalled with the hindsight of weary adult eyes. As a farm girl, there was precious little time for the pursuit of childish pleasures. Her father and her five brothers shouldered the burden of working in the fields, while she and her sister worked alongside their mother at the endless, grinding work to maintain a home for the family.
When she spoke of those times, though, it was with a wistful smile that belied the hardships endured in her childhood. The memories of backbreaking chores, tempered by the passage of time, assumed a “Little House on the Prairie” quality. When remembering her parents and siblings, genuine admiration and deep love generated a distinctive warmth in her voice and her eyes.
That warmth was hard to come by when she spoke of her adult life. She married young, to a handsome, charming man who would later become an abusive alcoholic. I don’t know what their early years of marriage were like, because as a child I lacked the empathy to ask, and I doubt she would have told me anyway. There was, at times, an almost palpable sadness about her, but if anyone remarked on it she would quickly change the subject. She was from a different generation, much too reserved to share her innermost feelings, and shocked by what people revealed on Phil Donahue’s show. In her world, a person simply didn’t talk about those things, much less broadcast them on national television. I have to smile when I imagine what her reaction would be to Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer.
Her children were her pride and joy; two fine, hardworking sons and a daughter who became a nurse. She loved them with the unconditional, infinite tenderness of a mother, and they adored her in return. In the unforgiving atmosphere created by her husband’s drinking, she nurtured them into flourishing adults, encouraging them to enjoy the time spent with their father when he was sober, and shielding them from the fallout when he was not.
Once the children had left home, her flowers became surrogate recipients of her loving care. There was precious little spare time allowed to her, yet she managed to fill the yard with beauty. Dazzling yellow forsythia filled one corner of the yard, contrasting with the vivid shades of purple iris stretched along the fence. Fragile pink blossoms nestled among the delicate tendrils of sweet pea winding through the front gate, releasing their subtle scent at the slightest brush. Overblown peonies bloomed extravagantly from beside the stone walkway. Lush petunias overflowed a window box, enticing tiny hummingbirds that delighted her as they darted from blossom to blossom. A glossy magnolia tree grew in stately splendor, providing fragrant shade. She even managed to coax high-maintenance roses into glorious bloom.
The lilac bush, however, was the crowning glory of her yard. It was massive, the perfumed lavender clusters permeating the yard with their heavenly aroma. She often joked, although never within earshot of her husband, that beer made it grow better. On Saturday nights, he would bring home enough beer to last through Sunday. After he had fallen asleep, she would pour most of it under the spreading branches of the lilac bush. Sunday morning, when he woke from his binge, she would tell him with a perfectly straight face that he had drank it all.
No, her life did not turn out to be the one she had imagined. She made the most of it, though, relying on God to sustain her when her own innate strength could not. She worked hard, created a loving home for her family, and taught her children and grandchildren solid values that served them well. She was a smart, funny, loving little woman. I miss you, Granny. Happy Mother’s Day.
Her life did not turn out to be the one she had imagined. As a young girl, dreaming and drowsy in the tranquil shade of the trees that sheltered her father’s house, she had pictured something quite different, I’m sure. Early photographs of her show a beautiful young woman with vibrant red hair, a solemn smile, and the alabaster skin that was prized in the early 1900’s.
Childhood is never really easy, except perhaps when recalled with the hindsight of weary adult eyes. As a farm girl, there was precious little time for the pursuit of childish pleasures. Her father and her five brothers shouldered the burden of working in the fields, while she and her sister worked alongside their mother at the endless, grinding work to maintain a home for the family.
When she spoke of those times, though, it was with a wistful smile that belied the hardships endured in her childhood. The memories of backbreaking chores, tempered by the passage of time, assumed a “Little House on the Prairie” quality. When remembering her parents and siblings, genuine admiration and deep love generated a distinctive warmth in her voice and her eyes.
That warmth was hard to come by when she spoke of her adult life. She married young, to a handsome, charming man who would later become an abusive alcoholic. I don’t know what their early years of marriage were like, because as a child I lacked the empathy to ask, and I doubt she would have told me anyway. There was, at times, an almost palpable sadness about her, but if anyone remarked on it she would quickly change the subject. She was from a different generation, much too reserved to share her innermost feelings, and shocked by what people revealed on Phil Donahue’s show. In her world, a person simply didn’t talk about those things, much less broadcast them on national television. I have to smile when I imagine what her reaction would be to Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer.
Her children were her pride and joy; two fine, hardworking sons and a daughter who became a nurse. She loved them with the unconditional, infinite tenderness of a mother, and they adored her in return. In the unforgiving atmosphere created by her husband’s drinking, she nurtured them into flourishing adults, encouraging them to enjoy the time spent with their father when he was sober, and shielding them from the fallout when he was not.
Once the children had left home, her flowers became surrogate recipients of her loving care. There was precious little spare time allowed to her, yet she managed to fill the yard with beauty. Dazzling yellow forsythia filled one corner of the yard, contrasting with the vivid shades of purple iris stretched along the fence. Fragile pink blossoms nestled among the delicate tendrils of sweet pea winding through the front gate, releasing their subtle scent at the slightest brush. Overblown peonies bloomed extravagantly from beside the stone walkway. Lush petunias overflowed a window box, enticing tiny hummingbirds that delighted her as they darted from blossom to blossom. A glossy magnolia tree grew in stately splendor, providing fragrant shade. She even managed to coax high-maintenance roses into glorious bloom.
The lilac bush, however, was the crowning glory of her yard. It was massive, the perfumed lavender clusters permeating the yard with their heavenly aroma. She often joked, although never within earshot of her husband, that beer made it grow better. On Saturday nights, he would bring home enough beer to last through Sunday. After he had fallen asleep, she would pour most of it under the spreading branches of the lilac bush. Sunday morning, when he woke from his binge, she would tell him with a perfectly straight face that he had drank it all.
No, her life did not turn out to be the one she had imagined. She made the most of it, though, relying on God to sustain her when her own innate strength could not. She worked hard, created a loving home for her family, and taught her children and grandchildren solid values that served them well. She was a smart, funny, loving little woman. I miss you, Granny. Happy Mother’s Day.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
See Me
SEE ME
The warm oblivion
slowly courses its way through the pipeline of my life,
taking me away from the worry, the stress which threatens to drown me.
Why do I seek the escape?
Why do I run instead of facing the dark reality around me?
I’m long past caring, long past trying to appear as a normal imprint in this
cruel, cold world.
Whoever said the pattern was to keep up with the Jones or to lead the life of a sheep
was wrong.
I am no sheep.
I am not a faceless nobody forced to confirm to societal rules;
weak, vulnerable, a shell of myself.
I’m an original, the mistress of my own destiny, the collective that is me.
So don’t judge me for seeking an escape from the burdens weighing me down.
Don’t you dare judge me.
Instead see the real me,
the scared little girl, the woman wallowing in a deep sea of grief.
See the pain, see the emptiness I’m trying to escape.
See me
I’m learning to stand tall.
Book Signing
Here is our good friend, Earl Dean, at his first book signing for A TAILOR MAIDEN'S SECRET. Congratulations again, Earl!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Book Signing with Earl Dean
Congratulations Earl P. Dean on the publication of your first novel! Earl is a member of The Community of Mercer County Writers - Nomadic Ink.Mayfest 2009 Book Signing
Saturday, May 9th from noon - 4pm
Gratz Park in Lexington, Kentucky
Earl will be signing his new book, A TAILOR MAIDEN'S SECRET and you will be able to buy a copy of the book on Saturday, or you can order from Wasteland Press, Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
To learn more about the Mayfest events, click here.
A TAILOR MAIDEN'S SECRET
"Arliane Donestica attends mid-school on a planet called Pooda, a forbidding world of the future so far removed from Earth in space and time that the old world exists as a mythical origin for the poodan progenitors.
The Poodan Youth for Unity, sponsored by Pooda's Elders, are chasing Arliane through her snowbound city at the request of the Elders, pressuring her about unspoken activities that might tie her to rebellion similar to her mother's. Activist and wife as well, Arliane's mother had died in a protest by explosion.
Were the Elders behind it? Read of a biological mystery, political strife and forbidden action to discover the answer in A TAILOR MAIDEN’S SECRET."
Earl Patrick Dean is a computer programmer working in Kentucky. He holds a BA degree from Transylvania University and graduate certificates from The Institute of Children’s Literature, and has attended the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning workshops on Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror and Online Writing Workshop for Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror. He loves reading and collecting books, and writes mostly science fiction and fantasy stories.
Earl has published stories in SAY...WHAT’S THE COMBINATION?, MORNINGSTAR ANTHOLOGY and KENTUCKY BLUE.
The Sunflower
(Photo by Brett Trafford)THE SUNFLOWER
Hello my beautiful sunflower
It really is a gorgeous day
And seeing your golden head waving above the garden
Gives me reason to pause and reflect
You are never fussy, never complaining
Seeming to be happy with any amount of food or water I supply
Turning your majestic petals to follow the sun
But occasionally wilting into a bow or curtsy
Standing tall at the entrance to the garden
Some people may seem not to notice
But you call for attention in many subtle ways
Giving surprised growth with each passing day
And when your time has finally come
To fade into the autumn
You continue to give happiness as well as nourishment
For the happy song birds of fall
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Advanced Writers - 3rd Week Challenge
*****SCROLL DOWN FOR NEWEST POSTS*****
We have completed 2 classes for the new advanced writers' workshop. A huge thank-you to Charles Semones for being our guest speaker last night.
Last night's jump start was divided into 3 parts. For the jump start, we were asked to:
1.) List 10 "powerful" or "strong" words.
2.) From our list of 10 words, write 5 sentences using 5 of the words.
3.) Finally, select one sentence and use it in a paragraph.
Sounds difficult, but breaking it down into 3 steps was very helpful.
Now, for the 3rd Week Challenge - Tony has asked us to think about this challenge for a few days before we start to write:
What is your earliest memory? Try to be as specific as possible and write at least 2 pages. Bring copies next week to share with the class.
Also, type up the paragraph we wrote from last night.
See ya next week Ink Blots! I'm going to leave you with a quote from Mark Twain as recited to us by Charles:
We have completed 2 classes for the new advanced writers' workshop. A huge thank-you to Charles Semones for being our guest speaker last night.Last night's jump start was divided into 3 parts. For the jump start, we were asked to:
1.) List 10 "powerful" or "strong" words.
2.) From our list of 10 words, write 5 sentences using 5 of the words.
3.) Finally, select one sentence and use it in a paragraph.
Sounds difficult, but breaking it down into 3 steps was very helpful.
Now, for the 3rd Week Challenge - Tony has asked us to think about this challenge for a few days before we start to write:
What is your earliest memory? Try to be as specific as possible and write at least 2 pages. Bring copies next week to share with the class.
Also, type up the paragraph we wrote from last night.
See ya next week Ink Blots! I'm going to leave you with a quote from Mark Twain as recited to us by Charles:
"The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter — 'tis the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning."
Shadows
(Photo by Sabrina of Nouns Make Verbs)SHADOWS
Shadows come and shadows go
On a sunny day
Dancing, jumping, twirling, skipping
Happy all the way
You always have a friend close by
When the sun is shining
A shadow makes the perfect pal
You never hear no whining
Some may say that shadows are
For the young at heart
But take it from me, tho' I may be old
My shadow is my precious part
The Long Shadows
(Photograph by Highlander)THE LONG SHADOWS
The long shadows are settling across the meadow floor
Whispering the promises for the end of the day
Dodging and weaving over shrubbery and trees
As one last glance of vivid green grass is seen
What does the night hold when the shadows let go
And the darkness creeps upon the land
What undying pledge do the shadows now make
To get us through till the end
.
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