In my initial post of 10/21, I gave readers the beginning of one of my short stories, Everyone She Loved, and asked readers to contact me and I would send them the ending. From the names of those who requested the story, I would pull one and send them the New River Press anthology, American Fiction Volume 13 -The Best Unpublished Short Stories by New and Emerging Writers which contains my story, "Blind Horse". The winner of the anthology is (drum roll) Steve Patton! Happy Thanksgiving, Steve! Your book will be on the way this week. Thank you to all who participated. Hope you enjoyed the story. If anyone else would like to read the ending, just put your contact info here on the contact page and I will send it to you.
It reached 59 degrees today after a brutally cold, snowy two weeks here (and much of the country-so sorry, Buffalo, we're thinking of you). What a respite it was, encouraging the beekeeper and I to do some necessary clean-up and rearranging for the company we will have on Thanksgiving weekend. Still, I don't want too many of these days now that we are headed toward December. My body is ready to hibernate. I slow down, become introspective, write longer and more often. I look at winter as a time of going within, rest and renewal.
How do you feel about winter? Are you a grizzly, ready to den? Or are you a polar bear, in your element in the snow and cold? How does winter affect your writing? Leave me a comment and let me know. In the meanwhile, here's a prompt for you: using a person who lives in a cold city like, say, Chicago, and a person who lives in Miami or Key Largo, write two persona poems or a short short story on how they react to the winter season.
People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf. - George Orwell
Thank you to all of our men and women, especially my own family members, who have put their lives on hold to serve and protect our country. Thank you to their families who also sacrifice, especially those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice. We honor you and thank you on this Veterans Day.
It is my desire to be cremated. No, it's not the greenest form of burial. Being buried naturally on our own land is possible and would be preferable, but a bureaucratic headache. We have to register as a cemetery, etc.. It's been a source of discussion between my daughter and me for years. That is, until she came across something on the Internet that swung her my way. My diamond-loving daughter found out she could turn me into a diamond when I pass on!
I won't reveal the company - you can Google it yourself - but yes, for a fee they can turn you or me or my pet into a jewel to be passed down through the generations. What do you think? Is that creepy, intriguing, haunting, comforting?
My writer instincts immediately kicked in. The moment she told me, I thought, "What a great idea for a story or poem!"
So here is a prompt for anyone looking for some inspiration today. It lends itself to fantasy well, but could fit in other genres as well as in poetry. I have a couple of ideas, but here's a quick haiku:
Winter sun sparkles
through jewel hung in window.
You, with me always.
If you are willing, you are welcome to share your story or poem in the comments. Or if you have a short comment on being turned into a jewel. But please short works only. If you would like to share a longer story, give us a link. Thanks, and write, write, write!!
I recently received a copy of Nancy Boutilier's On the Eighth Day Adam Slept Alone (Black Sparrow Press, 2000). Nancy is a Visiting Associate Professor, Rhetoric and Composition at Oberlin College. I met Nancy at an Ohio Poetry Association workshop weekend at Malabar Farm where the leader, Diane Kendig, read Nancy's poem, "Why I Love Mornings" which was featured on the Writers' Almanac. I knew immediately I wanted more. I am not disappointed.
I am grazing through the book, reading two or three poems at a time, rereading them to delve deeper, discovering the many layers in her words. Nancy had a tomboy upbringing and it serves as inspiration for many of her poems in this book. "Snapper AFGUE" is about catching snapper turtles and so much more. "What Holds" uses childhood backyard baseball to describe the yearning to return to a sweeter time in a changed relationship.
But there is no subject that is beyond Nancy's adept pen. We are pulled into quiet introspection in , "Help Arrives"
on its own
I recommend this book to all. Thank you, Nancy, for this poetry experience. I hope to see more of your work soon.