Long Time, No See?

IF YOU FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER, you've undoubtedly seen my daily tweets about a book signing, and you're asking yourself: What is she talking about? Is she really making an appearance? It's WHERE again? Where has she been ALL this time, anyway, and what has she been doing?

Let me put your mind at ease.

Yes, I really will be making an appearance. I will be signing books, along with many other authors, at a local author signing event at the Mansfield Richland County Public Library on October 14th. Click here for details. Please come and support all of the creative local talent. I'd love to meet and chat with you about writing, life, food, your favorite pet, and anything in between. Two other author friends of mine will be there, too. The first is E. Michaels, who is about to publish a second mystery novel for children called, The Greatest Summer Vacation. Be sure to check out the cover and excerpt that was recently revealed. The second author, John Caldwell, is a super-nice guy who writes the popular Tom Price detective stories.

And, if you're looking for a good scare this Halloween, be sure to pick up a copy of my second novel while you're there. It's called, Haunted Voices from My Past: True Narratives of an Ohio Family. With well over forty haunting stories, I'll take you on an unforgettable journey through the paranormal, the macabre, and the unexplained. And, yes, they're all TRUE stories that happened to me and my family over the past one hundred years. If you can't make it to the book signing, you can grab a copy anywhere books are sold.

Back to your questions: 1. What is she talking about? Check. 2. Is she really making an appearance? Check. 3. It's where again? Check. 4. Where has she been all this time, anyway, and what has she been doing? 

*Sigh*

The answer is hard. The answer is simple. The answer is in the mirror. The answer is at the time clock. The answer is in the face of those you love. The answer is in the tiny frog who hangs on the screen and peeks in the window. The answer is in the way you wait for something, anything to happen.

Where has she been all this time, and what has she been doing?

The same as you.

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you're in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.

It's contagious.

A Long Haul

YES, I know I've been uncharacteristically quiet these past few months. I assure you, though, it's been with good reason . . .

I've been writing like mad!

(Big surprise, I know!)

So, now that I have that cleared up, I'd like to announce the publication of my third book, Nonessential: The Expansion Paradox. Yes, you heard me right! My thought-provoking sci-fi is now available to the public. This latest project of mine has been a long haul, and, for me, an artistic and literary achievement. I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about this release, and I hope you'll take the time to read the excerpt and watch the trailer before ordering.

From the back cover:

Times are changing . . .
And so is the world.

 
Times are changing—
Not always for the better—
And with that change comes need
And the desire for knowledge.
And with that knowledge
Arises the purpose of life and man
And the origin of want and waste.

 
NONESSENTIAL: THE EXPANSION PARADOX

Three Men. Two Agendas.
Only ONE Possible Future.

 

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

 

Chances Are

CHANCES ARE if you enjoy reading poetry, you’ll believe you understand how to write it. Chances are if you try writing it, you’ll realize you have no idea what you’re doing.

Chances are if you respect yourself, as well as others, you’ll hide it in the desk drawer.

That’s the reason I stopped writing haiku last September. That’s the reason you’re not reading the poem I’ve been sweating over the past two days.

That’s the reason I will be sticking to prose.

All kidding aside, though, I’ve been busy during my three-month hiatus. I found a new computer that I call HAL-2010, a not-so-good replacement for my long-lost love, HAL. Unfortunately HAL-2010  also had serious issues although they had nothing to do with his hardware. After months of struggle, though, he was finally straightened out last week by Harrison B. (a nice computer man with a glow-in-the-dark plate in his head).

So what else have I been up to? Well, I finished my latest book. Yes, really. It’s entitled Nonessential: The Expansion Paradox, and you can read the first page here. It’s in the design stages now and will be available for purchase in the next couple of months.

All right, so you’re wanting to know what my poem was about. Tell you what, I’ll let you read the last three lines if you promise not to laugh. I’ve laughed enough for the both of us.

The last three lines of my awful poem:

Bang bang from the hall
shooting at the iron clock
nailed upon the wall.

See? I told you it was bad.

 

*** As always, I love to hear from you. If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line. In the meantime, keep writing, reading and smiling, It’s contagious.

Seanachaí's News

On the last Sunday of each month, I compile "Seanachaí's News," a status report that assesses my work during the current month and also formulates my plans for the upcoming months. It will also give you a peek at my works in progress.

My Work During the Current Month

1. Do you enjoy the simplicity and beauty of haiku? Don't miss Part IV of  my continuing series, "Murmuring That Creeps into the Life of a Wandering Soul."
2. Read about a haunted woman's brave attempt to face the future in my latest short-short, "I Saw You."
3. Are you a writer or artist looking for great software? Check out these five must-have free programs!

 

My Plans for the Upcoming Months

1. If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I've been working diligently on my new book. What you may not know is that you've already read the first page. Yes, really. Read the first page of my new novel here!
2. Don't forget, all of my short stories and poetry are now available at Scribd. You can download my work and subscribe to my feed by following this link. 

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

I Saw You

THE NONFICTION

A woman in an old blue T-shirt throws open a screen door and glares at a vulture gliding in the late afternoon sky. "There's nothing dead around here but my brain," she screeches. The door slams and the carrion eater decides to hang around for handouts of human brain and sanity.

***

As you may have guessed, the scene above did in fact happen this week. The strain of working on my new book has exhausted my word tank and my creativity. With that said, I'll leave you with the short-short I wrote this week for Friday Flash. Enjoy!

*** 

THE FICTION 

I Saw You

11/1/08  Just a Tired Old Town

I  SAW YOU.

   I was driving through the old part of town when I was caught by the light next to the apartments where we used to live. Mom was shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun and I was fiddling with the rearview mirror to check on— My hand slid from the mirror. I saw you sitting behind me in a black pickup truck with narrowed eyes and a tilted head.

   Was it because of the sun or because you saw me, too? 

   A gentle breeze blew through the crack in your window and ruffled your hair. You still wear it a little long, but that’s OK. I always liked it that way. I closed my eyes and imagined I was running my fingers through those unruly brown curls. Your lips were determined but gentle and your eyes were the color of . . . the color of. . . . No, it’s no use. I may not remember the color of your eyes, but I know they gleamed when you held me close.

   I’m such a fool. I thought I was over you.

   Is it possible to forget someone who used to make me laugh in the cold winter wind and smile at a sink full of dirty dishes? How can I not remember those late nights on the patio, gazing at no-name stars and shaking my head at crazy wishes? Remember how we used to dance in the elevators between floors and wake each other up in the blue hours of dawn to talk about how we met on the corner at the old bookstore? 

   That old brick building is gone now and my heart is breaking in two.

   Did you leave because of the money? I never made you pay for anything I wanted. I had a job. Was it getting too serious? Was it because you weren’t having fun anymore? You warned me before I moved in that we were supposed to have fun. The last words you said to me were, “Baby–” No, wait, I want to make sure I remember this right. You said, “Angel, I’m bored. I’m going out with the guys.” I waited up till three and for breakfast I had stale crackers and old tea. I saved all the furniture and finished out the rest of the lease, hoping you would come back to me.

   I opened my eyes and glanced at the mirror one last time. A woman with long black hair rested her head on your shoulder like I used to do. 

   The light changed and I drove Mom and our daughter home. She’s two.

   You didn’t know about her, did you?

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

Seanachaí's News

 

On the last Sunday of each month, I compile "Seanachaí's News," a status report that assesses my work during the current month and also formulates my plans for the upcoming months. It will also give you a peek at my works in progress.

My Work During the Current Month

1. Starting a new work of fiction? Name the Baby discusses the importance of naming your work before it's published.
2. Are you talking at readers? Is your writing ambiguous? Keep It Simple!
3. Stay the Course examines my latest ride on a runaway writer's train. Yeah, you've been there, too! It's that little town called Continuity Problems.
4.  Excuses, excuses, excuses! Stop Cheating Yourself and WRITE!

 

My Plans for the Upcoming Months

1. Writing, writing, writing and more writing on the new book.
2. Have you found your way to Scribd yet? All of my short stories and poetry are now available at this interactive writer's network. You can download my work and subscribe to my feed by following this link. 
3. Be sure to send your youngster to school with E. Michaels' great new book, Little Duck Gets Ready for School.

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

 

Stay the Course

I've recently disembarked from a runaway train I like to call "writer's binge." Writer's what? No, believe me, you've had it, too. It's that insane burst of creativity when the words are being generated so fast your fingers can't keep up. You give up sleep, food, and common sense and write until your aching, malnourished body drags itself to the engineer—your brain—and begs to be let off at the next stop. The train slows and you jump onto the platform, weary and haggard. You collect your bags and as the train pulls out of the depot you notice several of the rail ties are missing from the winding track. All breathing stops because now that you're free of the madness, you're able to see that you have an  issue with . . .

Continuity.

Whether you're writing poetry, short stories, or novels, continuity cannot be ignored. It must be regarded as the glue that binds your words to the characters, plot, and theme of the work in progress.

I'm suffering from a continuity issue myself as a result of the four-day writer's binge that took hold of me this week. I was writing like mad, getting very little sleep—about 4–5 hours each night—and creating thousands of new words in which my characters could develop and interact. 

How could that be a problem? 

One of my central characters—I have about three—is acting as he should be; however, somewhere along the way his personal development got out of order. Part of this can be blamed on the fact that I'm telling this story out of order—this story is  presented like the random pieces of colored glass in a  kaleidoscope—but the majority of the problem stems from my latest stint of reckless writing.

So, how am I solving continuity issues? I'm going to physically put the story in order and create a time line so I can see how my character needs to develop as the plot unfolds. I have quite a job ahead of me and it's going to set me a back a few days, but I know I'm going to have something great when I get back on track. Notice the pun? Yeah, that's my point. Without my latest epiphany I'd be without several thousand words of great scenes, characterization, and plot development.

So, what am I trying to say? 

Worry about making sense of the ride after the train reaches the depot. Stay the course and embrace those sudden bursts of creativity however and whenever they show up. Without them we'd be on the station platform empty-handed and waiting for a train that's never going to arrive.

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

Name the Baby

As you know, I've been busily writing my new novel and everything was going smoothly until. . . .

Hmmm . . . well, let me start from the beginning. 

Part I

With the exception of Dead Bird in the Weeds, every piece of fiction I've written has had a working title before the first word hit the page. Why? A piece of fiction without a title is like a newborn baby without a name. How are you going to point out your screeching bundle of joy to other parents (readers and writers), if it doesn't have a nametag on its crib? Will you say, "Oh, yeah, that's mine over there, 103 rows from the left, 500 cribs down"?  The reply will be "You mean the bald one with no name who's bawling and has its finger stuck in its mouth?"

Sound familiar? It shouldn't.

Without a title, your work is going to be lost in an imaginary garbage heap like the other million no-name works being written.  The time to interest readers is before the book is available. Give them time to wade in the waters of your creativity before asking them to cut off an appendage to read the work in its entirety. 

To clarify, consider the example below.

Which sounds better?

1. The new book I'm working on is about a lost girl who finds her way home through the help of a stranger.
2.  I'm writing a book about a lost girl named Marsha who finds her way home through the help of a ghost.
3. Mystic Journey is about Marsha, a lost young woman who hitches a ride with a foul-mouthed supernatural being named Roger.

See what I mean? The more concrete you are with your description, the more interesting your idea becomes to readers.

Part II

Notice the name I've given this fictitious book: Mystic Journey. I created this title just now, but upon further investigation at the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office,¹ I've discovered that "Mystic Journey" is the name of a bookstore. OK, so now I need to change the name of my book before I get so attached to it that it becomes nearly impossible to think of something else. After Henry has been Henry (possibly for years) can you call him Henrietta without feeling as if you've damaged him in some way?

And that, folks, is the reason for my dilemma this weekend. I didn't check the availability of my working title until I had become so attached to it that I now feel as if I'm murdering my own child.

My advice: name that baby before it's born, but make sure that another prospective parent hasn't beaten you to mailing the Social Security application.

1. On the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office home page, click option 2 "Search Marks," then click "New User Form Search (Basic)." Type keywords in the "Search Term" box.

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

Seanachaí's News

 

On the last Sunday of each month, I compile "Seanachaí's News," a status report that assesses my work during the current month and also formulates my plans for the upcoming months. It will also give you a peek at my works in progress.

My Work During the Current Month

1. The Apple Pie is in the Oven is a short piece that celebrates Independence Day using a collage of memories.
2. Have you ever been at a crossroads in your life? Just Another Ledgewalker examines a tough decision I was faced with as a writer and a person.
3. Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind? explores the decisions we are faced with when seemingly bad things happen to good characters.

 

My Plans for the Upcoming Months

1. I'm working diligently on my new novel and had a breakthrough over the weekend after a heart-to-heart chat with a dear friend of mine. If you're struggling with your writing and you're doubting your direction and abilities, talk over your problems with someone you trust. I guarantee that they'll put you back on track.

***

ANNOUNCEMENT

If you haven't visited You Gotta Read Videos this week, please do so. The book trailer for my novel, Dead Bird in the Weeds, is in the running for the July 2010 YGR Best Trailer Award and I could really use your vote! Voting ends midnight on July 26.

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

 

Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?

Did you ever have to make up your mind?

I've been working--not as much as I should--on my new book this week and find myself standing at a crossroad.

Let me back up.

Before I write anything of magnitude, I compose several pages  (sometimes an outline [especially with historical fiction]) that detail the direction of the piece and highlight the major goals I want to achieve. So was the case with my current work in progress and everything was going well until . . . a major character did something he wasn't supposed to do.

Uh-oh!

Well, maybe not.

All of the planning in the world will never make up for the creative process that takes hold of the writer when pounding the keyboard in a fit of inspired genius. You may discover new developments  in character and plot (including the all-important subplots that add extra depth) that deviate from the original plan in such a way that the story becomes more believable/interesting. 

Having said that, you also can't be afraid to rewrite in order to stay on track. A new road isn't necessarily a good road and we do need to use our writerly foresight in order to determine if this new path is the right path.

So, what am I going to do? Well, the road not taken is supposed to make all the difference. Right? Right?

*** 

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

 

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

 

Thinking, Planning, and Daydreaming

How are you?

How am I? Well, if you follow me on Twitter or converse with me on Facebook, you know that I've been doing some pretty strange things lately (strange even for me).

Last Sunday and Monday I spent most of my time changing scenery. I moved from sitting at the desk to sitting under the desk. When that failed to impress me, I moved to the abstract rug in front of the bookshelf that holds the printer. After staring at all of those books shelved in a manner only a lunatic would understand, I abandoned my aching back and sat on my thinking couch for a while. 

Tuesday and Wednesday followed the same pattern except that I sat on the couch upside down, hoping the blood would rush to my brain and spark . . . something.

On Thursday I dragged one of those old leather arcade chairs in front of the sliding glass doors. I spent the entire afternoon  and evening staring at clouds and watching the chipmunk and rabbit frolic a little too closely to my garden.

Friday was spent in town observing people while I chauffeured my mother to her weekly must-be places. That evening I came home and listened to inspiring music while I began to make a list of things that interest me. The list was cut short when a storm halted all thought except unplugging all major appliances in the house and slamming all the windows closed.

On Saturday I read articles on existentialism, transcendentalism, and a bunch of other -isms that I've now forgotten. I talked with friends, family, and other writers about writing, life, and happiness.

He didn't move for 20 minutes. I didn't move for days.

So, why all the moving about, staring, daydreaming, reading, and chatting? I'm tackling the enormous task of searching for a new story idea. While I've probably looked like this little guy on the right (unmoving with a blank stare), I've been doing some serious thinking about plot, characterization, theme, and a bunch of other garbage. 

I also pulled out some articles written on the subject of finding a new idea to write about. Some were helpful; others were the ravings of snobs. I recall that one writer commented that if you cannot find a topic to write about, then you're barking up the wrong tree and should give up writing because you're not a writer and will never succeed. Wow, what a statement. I believe this individual failed to realize that preliminary writing involves thinking, planning, and daydreaming. I'm certainly not going to start something I can't finish and I'm not going to write myself into a corner without having first tested my ideas with some initial role-playing.

What are my plans for today? This writer is going to daydream a bit more and this afternoon I'm writing down the three solid story ideas that I've concocted this week after all of this vital wandering. Maybe I'll even come up with a few more.

Writers, I'm leaving you with this final thought: Without living, how can you know? Without knowing, how can you speak?

***

I want to send out a big "thank you" to all my friends who have listened to me whine and complain this week. Some of you have even thrown some great ideas and words of wisdom my way. I cannot thank you enough for that.

***

ANNOUNCEMENT

If you haven't visited the new Facebook group, History Writers, be sure to check it out. A friend of mine has created a new discussion group for readers, writers, and lovers of history and historical fiction. We're having a blast, and I hope you'll join us.

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

"Ruby June"

After last month's "Mindy May," you probably saw this one coming.

OK, seriously, I got the idea for this short-short during my family's annual Memorial Day trip to visit my grandfather's grave. You all know him as "Ace" from my latest book, Haunted Voices from My Past: True Narratives of an Ohio Family. 

Anyway, we took an exit for a much-needed bathroom stop and as I waited for my mother's return, I noticed the area was infested with motels and the sky was littered with signs (most of them red). Add that with the dwindling month of May and some other strange sights along the way, and you've got . . .

"Ruby June" 

Ruby June crying best friends forever and writing soapy words on the window.

Ruby June gliding through the water and nabbed by a fish. Ruby June drowning in the sand, dirt caking under nails down to the quick. Man grilling hot dogs on a rotten porch close by. It sears your nostrils and creeps past the homemade flea market on the roadside. Glass beads on rawhide, two for a buck that’s killed in the ditch and bleeding in the ruby sky.

Ruby June dreaming of stretching out under the earth. If you listen, you can hear Ruby June in the maple tree that loses its leaves in the fall. Ruby June crying down the window, freezing in lights strung on pines. Cut down your own one at a time.

The sky is rosy orange but you can check in day or night. Ruby June pretending it feels good and right. Ruby June in the shadows, searching for the sheet. Ruby June, the two-legged cat, tiptoeing out of sight.

Ruby June hanging over the bridge and writing words in the snow. Hear the cocks crow. Red lights blinking on towers now. Ruby June and buildings lighting the night sky. King Avenue, a quarter of a mile. Next exit, take the road to the crumbling brick house and forget all you’ve learned. Ruby June getting the tune to sound right.

Ruby June smiling at the man with tattoos on his chest. Ruby June is bad, dropping on the floor. Make sure it’s dark. Hide the scars and cry really hard and no one will suspect. Ruby June howling at the moon.

Remember Ruby June in the field. Tracks in the wheat. Get beans in fast. Ruby June taking the dog out of the bun and feasting on relish.

Ruby June wanting a break, but blinking towers are back. Ruby June running from them coming down the drive. Drown in the river or spread arms wide and be the cat in the alley. Feet bleeding but they don’t care. Look the other way and lick stained white socks when it’s over.

Ruby June is the thought you get when blood stops flowing and you freeze to the floor. No animals now in the meadow or in the zoo. Ruby June is a month late and the drive-though is closed. Quiet now. Hands over my eyes and die.

Ruby June spread over a blanket, raining on the dirty wool and drowning in a red stream.

Give me back my doll, Ruby June. You’ve killed it.

***

You're probably shocked by the direction this piece took. So was I. I had no intention for it to be this dark. It just happened that way as I was writing in the back of a darkened car that was eating up the interstate. I often find that my work takes a different direction from the original plan. In this case it worked. Hopefully the next piece will be a little brighter.

Keep your chin up!

J.E.

***
 

ANNOUNCEMENT

Make sure you check out E. Michaels' latest addition to The Feel Good Series. The book is entitled Little Duck Gets Ready for School and includes a story to read and color, activities to complete, and games to play. 

Yeah, I know it's summer vacation, but now is the time to get your youngster used to the idea of the first day of school. I remember my grandfather (who was a bus driver) driving the bus down to our house during the summer vacation before my first day of school and letting me practice getting on and off the bus. It helped immensely. Hopefully this book will do the same for your child through an encouraging story with games and activities that have a school-based theme.

***

As always, I love to hear from you.

If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.

Walking Barefoot with Crows

As I awaited my turn in the dentist's chair on Thursday, my eyes wandered to the streaked window above the magazine rack. On the grassy hill overlooking the parking lot was a large flock of crows searching for worms. When the birds spotted their prey, their glossy black heads jackknifed and their sharp beaks stabbed the moist earth.

I often think of myself as wandering over a large field. Whether I'm writing fiction or nonfiction, I hunt for truth along the way. I'm also searching for something new to sprinkle upon the tasty morsel I stumble upon. Whether it be a way to alter style, format, or voice, I consider the newfound understanding to be an hors d'oeuvre that supplements the meal I present to my readers.

Sometimes these hors d'oeuvres alter "the truth" of a piece. When I affix the tag "nonfiction" to a post I often add "creative writing" and "short story" as companions because all writing is a discovery and an adventure. Whether or not I have a fact-based beginning is insignificant. It may give me a point of reference, but it also sparks my creativity and where I'll end up is unknown to me until the last word has been crafted.

Does the writer have a responsibility to readers? Absolutely. My job is to take your hand and guide you through an old idea in a new way. I don't want to lose you or confuse you along the way and I don't want you to feel as if I'm the last word. I want to stir your beliefs, your memories, and your notions of reality and illusion.

Reality and illusion. Different, yet the same. Two people can observe the same situation or scene (the reality) and retell it in two or more different ways (the illusion of the reality).

I wrote a haiku earlier this week that was based upon a dream I had. I dreamed that I got out of bed in the middle of the night, looked through the window, and saw a crater-like hole in the moon. This dream, though fantasy, actually happened. Therefore it is reality. The next morning I was haunted by the phrase "a hole in the moon." After struggling with words, rhyming scheme, voice, and other techniques, I came up with the following:

crooning in the night

closes his eyes and hammers

a hole in the moon

Why "crooning"? Because it gives "moon" some balance. It can also stand for "dream." Why "his"? It sounds better with "hammers" than "her" because of the final S. Anyhow, what I ended up with was a perception of the reality. Although this piece stands for a dream that I had, it can mean many other things depending on who is reading it and the life experiences brought to the reading. A friend of mine asked me if he was hammering a hole in the moon or hammering a hole in his head. My answer: whichever you prefer. My thought: I'm glad I inspired another interpretation. I have encouraged this reader to pierce that hilltop field and pull out a unique morsel or "worm."

So, with all of that said and after the questioning I arouse in readers with each weekly blog post, I can truthfully answer the following:

Who is the real J.E.?

The answer is easy:

Look closely. I'm the one walking barefoot with crows. 


***

As always, I love to hear from you.
If you're in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It's contagious.

"Mindy May"

I was up until 2:00 a.m. last night, haunted by the month of May and wondering why it went so well with the name Mindy. 

This is what I discovered. . . .

 

"Mindy May"

You,

   The robins woke me up at 4:30 just before the alarm went off. I mumbled something about the short weekend like I always do and stumbled into the bathroom with my eyes closed. Shaving cream sputtered from a rusty can and I felt your fingers brush my face. Then I opened my eyes and remembered.

   I still hurry to finish in the bathroom even though it doesn't matter anymore. Breakfast is getting easier, too. I remember to put the second coffee cup back in the cabinet before I cross that gouge your brother made in the linoleum. Maybe by June I'll learn not to get it out at all.

   Where did you put my tie, Mindy? You know, that one you hate with the yellow stripes. So help me, I've nearly turned the place upside down looking for it.

   I still hate your mother. I take that back. I despise your mother. Did you give her a key? Every night when I come home I can tell that the house has been rearranged. I have no idea what she's looking for, but I know she's been here because I can smell permanent and muscle cream in every freaking room. Jeez, Mindy, you DIDN'T give her a key, did you?

4/26/10  Just Some Junk

   The porch is a mess. Yeah, I know it's May and you'll want to start grilling out there, but I haven't felt like bagging up the trash. OK, so I've been pitching A LOT of things out there. Maybe if I throw enough crap out there you'll tell me to get my sorry butt out there and pick the mess up.

   Oh, Mindy, I--

   OK, I'm breathing now.

   Your brother was over Saturday. I don't think I said more than ten words all day. I let him talk at me for eight hours while we ate pizza. Pizza and pretzels. No, I didn't check my blood sugar. I felt fine. I haven't checked it for two days. I probably shouldn't have told you that because now you'll worry. While we ate we watched that dumb horse race. Yeah, he still pretends to blow that dumb horn and makes that stupid noise when the horses are loaded into the gate. Why does he do that? Watched some boxing, too. You were right. It's nothing more than a bunch of spoiled bigmouths dancing around and popping each other's face.

   I broke the handle off the lid that fits on top of that large pan you keep in the oven. I wasn't cooking. I got mad at something (I can't even remember what it was) and it was the first thing I grabbed. Now there's a dent in the drywall in the kitchen.

   The lilacs are blooming. I cut a bunch like you always do and put them on your dresser without spilling any of the water. They should last for a couple of days because I put a couple of aspirins in the vase before I filled it. If you hurry back they should still be here. 

   There's a bunch of folded-up papers on the dresser, too. They're next to the small cedar box where you keep your shell necklaces. I've been writing to you every day since you left and tucking the notes underneath that lace thing. I might have to get a bowl or something to stuff them in so they don't fall on the floor.

Dear God, Mindy. 

Where are you? 

It's May.

Me          

***

As always, I love to hear from you. If you're in the cyber-neighborhood,

drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It's contagious.

  

"The Moon Does Not Rise Tonight"

Hello, how are you today?

Well, besides battling ants this week (the bread is now hidden in the oven) and buying 392 bars of soap yesterday (it's a long story), I've been swamped with artwork, digitizing and such. As I was working this week, the image of a train kept returning to my thoughts. I've also been haunted by the moon for the past month. No, I'm not losing my mind (that happened a long time ago). I've been trying to capture photos of our only satellite for the past month.

What have I discovered? 

My camera needs more zoom.

What do you get when you cross the moon with a train?

Read further.

"The Moon Does Not Rise Tonight"

3/30/10  Moon through a Cherry Tree

The moon does not rise tonight.

The black sky peeps through the blinds' broken slats and settles upon the nightstand beneath the window. Darkness creeps over the illuminated clock and slithers to the hand flung over the side of the bed. Fingers wriggle from its grasp and  I recall that old class photo--you with your trumpet and bow tie and me with my sad brown eyes and ashen face. Remember the song you wrote for me? Da-di-da-something. Something. I have forgotten the melody. My hand brushes over the other side of the bed. The sheets are cold and unwrinkled.

The moon must not rise tonight.

I drove to those lonely tracks tonight in that rusty blue and white pickup. I waited silently, patiently for that long, mournful whistle. I ate a package of marshmallow bunnies and wiped sugary fingers on cracked leather seats. I was ten minutes early.

I opened the plastic grocery bag again. A tin of cinnamon rested alone in the bottom. Do you know how expensive cinnamon is now? Can you imagine how much we would have spent that first Christmas? We made all of those ornaments of spice and applesauce and there were so many we couldn't hang them all. The tree looked like a bulging brown upside-down sugar cone.

The whistle blew and I opened the door with its creaky hinges. Feet scurried over the soggy moss carpeting the ditch along the tracks. As I was about to lay myself upon the cold, vibrating metal, a car rumbled toward me from the opposite direction. I seem to be too late for most everything.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Hours seem as minutes in the darkness. A soft light steals through the crisscrossed blinds and a warm drop of brine spills onto a musty pillow.

The moon has risen tonight.

***

As always, I love to hear from you. If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood,

drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.