You are only lost if you think you are?

While attempting to learn about and write a romantic suspense, another year has passed. Besides reading suspense authors, I took a few side trips. These excursions included online classes here and there, talking to writers, loops and more reading, writing and dreaming as time moved relentlessly on.

The RS ended up being too gory-more horror than romance-and too much fantasy. In the laborious process of trying to make myself fit and write what was logical to pursue, I frequently wandered from the goal. I began to play with other ideas: I couldn't help it, avoid it, or shut it down. It makes me crazier than I already am when this happens. And I love that it happens. A middle grade fantasy and two characters emerged.

I recently attended a webinar - the guest lecturer was... if my dreams come true agent. Said agent is critiquing pitches from attendees. Wow! So, what did I pitch? Not my Golden Heart finalist ms, not my angel fantasy, not my "real" novel - but my middle grade pitch.

Once again I find myself following another path. And I am grateful. I am having fun writing.

Purple hats, french perfume, and pocket rockets

The messy desk is back...what a tremendous relief. When I am blocked, I clean and my desk is an ordered place. I clean the keyboard with alcohol and Q-tips, between the keys, and the surface. It is a bleak and uninspired ritual and I persist to keep me near my computer...waiting...waiting for the muse.


In the years that I focused on my art, my creative identity solidified, complete with little rituals. Creativity and rituals, creativity and structure, in my wired brain these elements are aspects of being able to paint and write. When I was a younger artist, I would paint and paint, the muse in my heart and mind, never gone. In the rituals was a part of my artistic identity: black tights, eye makeup, lip gloss, long hair, and perfume. The perfume was a counterpoint to the heaviness of linseed oil, turpentine, and oil paint vapors. The rest was just for fun. I'd listen to music, paint long into the night til morning - and slide into bliss.


When I grew up (ahem) and more and more people occupied my waking hours, my little rituals retreated. I got tired of the question, "Where are you going?" as I appeared in one of my flamboyant outfits and smelling of perfume. The message was clear; the artist had departed - there were fewer and fewer works in progress. If I was dressed it must be for a special occasion like grocery shopping, scouts, dinner date, or work.

The happy dances in black tights disappeared. I have never been a public person; I'm not good with an audience. Yet, somehow I lost my private space too; no one to blame, it happened. In my artistic days, I was about the creative act and the expression - the artist made visible. Jeans, awesome shoes, short skirts, ties, hats, eye make-up, and lip gloss - the outward expression as I worked on my latest painting. Canvases lined my walls, works in progress and blank, beautiful canvases ...waiting.

Look artistic, smell artistic, live artistic, do artistic, think artistic, all the package equals artist's life. That was my mantra.

As I traveled thru the parenting and social complexities of family, my creativity transferred to storytelling/reading, artful cakes, children's outside art shows, how many different ways could I arrange the furniture, and moving bushes outside.

Recently, one of my daughters dragged me into Ultra, the makeup mecca at Pier Park. What an uncomfortable and fun several hours that became. I was made over in the low key way I am most comfortable with and it was an improvement. As I was checking out the clerk held up one of my purchases and joyfully announced to the small crowd, "one pocket rocket." I went red; for some maddening reason I still blush. I had unwittingly purchased a lip gloss that is marketed as a pocket rocket compete with a hologram of a very fitful and lovely male named David who disrobes as you apply the product. All of which she demonstrated to me and the crowd. Oh, and he smells like dessert.. Welcome to the new and improved lip gloss.

There is nothing to be done to apply what I have learned or am now learning to the past. But today and tomorrow offer possibilities and hope. Here I sit back on track with my writing, with my favorite purple fedora, french perfume, and David; even my paints and paintbrushes are near. What fun! Write on...

Between the covers - Reading for fun

I love Mondays. The day is like a mini New Years day; I have survived another weekend to arrive again at a new beginning. The week stretches before me, a little celebration of possibilities, rife with opportunities.

For years I have read quite a bit for research and market study. Reading for pleasure fell to the bottom of my list. I am taking the week to do just that - read for the fun of it. Rather than reaching for the book before I sleep, I'm reaching for it during the day. It strikes me as truly indulgent to do this.

I'll continue ee cummings - Poems 1923-54, Michio Kaku - Hyperspace, and James Kelley - Lego-Mindstorms Programming Guide. And will read a couple of other authors, Elizabeth Strout - Olive Kitteridge and David Sedaris - Naked.

A few nights ago I reached for a favorite book for the comfort and pleasure it offers. I had forgotten the power of a good book, a good read. I was transfixed by the cadence and the emotion of the poetry. Then I read some of Lester Del Rey's short stories and I was transported - a time traveler. It was one of the best parts of the long day.

I remain surprised at how the structure of our lives is determined in small ways. The choices we make either directly or by omission can seem insignificant. But these choices direct our path, determine in no small measure who we are and the texture and substance of living. Reading is a simple joy.

Why we do it

It's funny what prompts inspiration and insight. Yesterday I found myself thinking about boundaries and what is entrenched - sacrosanct.
As old as I am I discovered something about myself- surprise.

There are few things that hurt my feelings. I'm immune and if not immune; most of the time fairly protected. I've had a lifetime to perfect those defenses. But I realized yesterday- two things cut deeply- automatically. Both are about my creative endeavors.

One is disengagement- a disinterest that is I don't care to read or view your work.
The second is value. Is there value, beyond the immediate in what I share? Is there a connection, a communication worth rereading and experiencing again?

In this immediate and short attention span world of twitter, facebook, email, and blogs perhaps I will become hardened - buck up to the trend. And those two surprising triggers will go the way of other sensitivites. But I suspect these two reactions are tied to my creative psyche.

It is evident to me that although writing is a lonely pursuit; it is an intensely social act. What prompts someone to sit and write is probably as varied as the individuals. Yet, I believe the end goal is a profound need/desire to communicate, to share, to connect. For someone who suffered from extreme shyness and has felt alienated most of her life; this realization struck me hard.

When I write, it is like when I paint. It is a private place- a flow removed from the daily mechanics of living. I agree with the characterization that painting/ writing (creativity) are a state of being - a flow. That experience continues to be one of the most profound and intense of my life. I had no idea how earnestly I desired to share, to interface socially. I am still looking for that connection.
Writing - creativity are the best of me- even though I have not reached/produced my best work. For me there is nothing more personal than writing and painting, than sharing one's creativity. It is what I have to offer.

November 17

As I posted on FB…this day is tethered to my heart – an emotional yo-yo. What a day it has been. Test results for my husband came back better than expected. Huge relief. Much good on this day, some reflections. Author Bruce Lipton tells a story in the intro to his book, The Biology Of Belief, how as a young boy his first encounter with a microscope set his life course in a profound way. I was thinking about how we are impacted by design and accident and the way our lives unfold. It can be a microscope or fairly predictable and clichéd – live by the sword, die by the sword. But for many it is not that direct, more gray and ill-defined.

I consider myself intuitive and emotional then logical, in that order. Perhaps the most important concept I have grasped in a long time is the idea of fluidity versus stasis. As a long time observer of people, one of the things I noticed is how easily we conform to unspoken yet rigid societal definitions. As we age, we fall into step even more- our physical limitations reinforce our roles. I have witnessed too many begin down the path of aging in their late thirties. With each decade they slip more into the realm of believing their time is passing or past. Too many are defeated before they begin.

I have been shy for as long as I can remember. Somedays I hide it better than other days. I love people, don’t like crowds. I prefer to relate one-on-one or in small groups. Learned early on it was: unladylike to talk about one’s accomplishments, needs, disappointments; bad manners to be assertive; and unforgivable to be angry. I learned my lessons well. But being intuitive and emotional by nature, occasionally my heart spoke. That’s a story unto itself.

I’ve spent some time learning to navigate between assertive and aggressive and working on typical anger issues that come with gender stereotyping. With great trepidation, I am putting myself out there. Reaching out to people, networking, hanging out, opening up. Taking risks. Or actions perceived as risky by me, i.e. Trusting someone with my thoughts, emotions, at the risk of rejection, ridicule, or being misunderstood etc. And believing in myself as much as I believe in other people’s efforts.

The benefits have been a day like today - An invitation from the literary agency I consider top notch. My realistic hope is that they see something in my work that persuades them to ask to see what I continue to write. Several people reading my work and liking it and telling me. Some awesome communications from a friend who wanted to talk about the work! Yikes! An offer to possibly collaborate on a project – very exciting. A call from one of my favorite artists to tell me good changes were coming. My great writer friend Jeanie and my wonderful daughters have offered the deadline crunch read. And my very dear friend Melinda has signed to follow my blog. I got tears in my eyes - my first and only follower! So glad I have been stretching…what lovely days ahead.

beginnings and routines

Changes can be unsettling but the challenge and promise of change is exciting. 2009 brought plenty of changes. Now I am in the little house, still unpacking and sorting. There are treasures I carry no matter where I go, both material and abstract. I am in my new home with my prints, electronics, photographs, robots, plants, cats, family, my words, books, paints, purple paraphernalia and dreams.

Looking at my van Gogh print of Starry Night is one of my comforts no matter where I live. I am reminded what my brother Skip once said about the painting, "It is what the stars look like through tears." A resident memory - one of many good conversations thru the years about art and writing.

I have finally begun physically writing the paranormal story I have been writing in my head for several years. I am beyond fortunate to have the opportunity to pursue my dreams and hooray - the chase is on again...feels like home.

Current reading list The Biology of Belief, Eureka! - Scientific Breakthroughs that Changed the World, and In the Spirit of Mother Earth - Nature in Native American Art. Listening to Etta James - Time after Time.