Wednesday, July 2, 2014

IWSG--Writing is an addiction

Many, many years ago I accepted a challenge. Call it a dare, call it a bribe, whatever.

I had this thing for paper and notebooks. No, actually I think this was the accordion situation.

I wanted my Dad's accordion, and he said I could have it if I stopped writing for one month.

Simple enough. I put down the pens and paper and walked away.

For about four hours. I started getting antsy after one day, and by two I was reaching for my addiction every time I had a spare moment. But I wanted the accordion! So I endured. I put away the pens and paper, didn't even cheat at school (which was a real uphill battle) and I made it.

One month without writing!

It was literally hell. Writing is an addiction. By the end of the month I was miserable and angry and taking it out on everyone around me. I had the shakes, I couldn't eat or sleep with all these characters running through my head screaming at me to tell their stories.

At the end of the month (to the hour) I sat down and started writing again. I've never again agreed to give it up, no matter what the incentive. I'm an addict. I admit that. But there are worse things to be addicted to.

Monday, June 16, 2014

The Writers Garden

I haven't been very consistent around here. I wander in, notice that nothing's happening, clear out the spam and wander out again--most likely into my garden.

Beans are producing, peas are entirely gone except for one plant that's for next year's seed. Zucchini and winter squash have blossoms, the garlic was pulled last week. The corn is up and growing beautifully.

I'll be gone later this week, due to a family reunion.

The difference between a blog and a garden (aside from the sun, watering, weeding, mulching, thinning, etc) is that I don't have to do anything to get to my garden. Get up off my chair, walk ten feet and I can sit and watch the onions grow.

A blog takes effort. Go to the internet (I don't leave it up because otherwise I don't get anything else done), type in the address, possibly a password, but first I have to remember that the blog is there. Then sit down and actually make my brain work.

Same with other things, like facebook, twitter and smashwords. Oh, where was that I was going again? The zucchini needs to be weeded? But I was on the internet. Why am I on the internet when I could be outside watching the grass grow? *Wanders off*

Summer's like that, for me. Gardening and writing are my two obsessions at the moment--I get bored with the writing I wander outside, and usually when I get back inside I'm ready to go. When I get bored with the garden (or just need to come inside so I won't burn to a crisp--I think my ancestors were designed as forest people, or maybe underground people) I can come inside and write, write, write.

I guess actually, life is like that for me. I wander in, do something weird, wander somewhere else and wonder why I'm wandering. Or where, or whatever. But not who. I never have to wonder who.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

IWSG (I'm going to stop trying to be clever with the title)

Welcome, welcome to my craziness! I guess we're all crazy in some way or we wouldn't do this to ourselves.

Anyway, I've made a discovery. Many years ago I was a solitary writer. I even turned down an invitation to a writers group because I didn't need it. Yes, you can laugh. But I was a solitary writer. Writing was the thing I did for me, and

I'm alone here
in my room
with the music
in my head
and my feet
move silent
to the beat
of the drum
that I hear
in my head
in my room
when I'm alone

In the last seven years (apx) I've kept that image of myself as this solitary person who needs people from time to time. But last week I had an epiphany.

That's no longer me, if it ever was. I'm not sure. I realized that the reason my creative mind has been suffering is that I need that interaction in order to feed it. I need people, and strangely enough the internet is no longer enough to fill that need.

My writing group last week clinched it. I am a solid introvert, but my creative mind needs people and interaction and communication in order to function at its best. Social situations are hard for me--I often come home and crash--but part of me needs that interaction.

I came home and crashed, yes, but I felt better and my writing flows better because of the interaction with others who share my obsession. It's like I'm two people--an introvert and an extrovert, with all the problems and none of the benefits of either. :)


Happy writing!

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

IWSG or something

I haven't been labeling my IWSG posts. Part of the problem is that I can't think up new, interesting ways to label them each and every month (i.e., I'm lazy) and part of the problem is that I often forget until the las...

No, can that idea. The fact that I forget has nothing to do with labeling anything, so that's meaningless.

Part of the problem is that I need to...


If I stop to think about...


It's a matter of scatteredness. Call it ADHD, call it an imagination, call it Alzheimers. There are lots of labels that might fit. I call it WDHD or simply WD. Writers Dementia (High Density).

There are times I can't remember even my own name, my brain is so filled with characterization, plot, writing time, non-writing time, how the stories are developing and why and blah blah blah.

Sometimes I just have to sit and stare at the wall to let it all settle. The problem comes in when this staring-at-the-wall phase lasts hours or days. Which it sometimes does.

Writers Dementia can be a hazard of the trade, but it can also be helpful. Some of my best ideas come when I'm staring at walls, or when I'm not really thinking. Of course, when I find myself parked somewhere off in the boonies writing furiously, with no idea how I got there or how long I've been gone...

Life is interesting.

Monday, May 5, 2014


I have this weird thing with gardening analogies. If you've been watching my blog you probably understand what I mean. I can take almost any topic and relate it to gardening, or plants, or trees. Or weather. Nature stuff. I guess I'm a Lander by inclination, if not by birth.

When I was in college I was asked to do a poster showing the way the brain works. My professor was surprised when i gave her a tree. :) Same thing in German, and English, the linguistics classes, the math classes, etc. Somehow I always managed to make it related to gardening in one way or another.

I do the same with my writing. I just wrote about 2300 words and the last piece was an Artison with a piece of lace done as a flower garden. For some reason, gardens and nature in general just get to me.

Every writer has certain recurring themes. They might not always be as obvious as mine, but they're there. Some authors try to remove those things rather than using them, resulting (in my opinion) in writing that is dry and devoid of soul.

The thing is, a lot of writers seem to think that there's something inherently wrong in putting their own interests in their writing. Interestingly enough, those who do this seldom become well known. As a writer I recognize the patterns, but as a reader I look for them.

Reading is a glimpse into an author's soul.

Monday, April 7, 2014


I have something for you today.

Myself and a couple of my writer friends, including best selling author Wendy Knight, have done a book of short stories--very short.

It's called Flash Fiction. Some people set the boundary as low as 200 words (since a story of 100 words is a Drabble, I suppose they don't want to get things mixed up) but we set the boundary at 1000 words.

Every story in Transformation is under 1000 words.

From fantasy to contemporary, from tragedy to comedy, there's something for everyone here.

And it's free!

Find it at BN
Find it at Smashwords
Find it at Scribd

Smashwords also has Kindle (mobi) available, as well as other formats.

When you've downloaded your copy, come visit us.

Wendy Knight
Laura Bastian
Rebecca Blevins
Lauren Ritz

Laura has recently published her first novel, Eye on Orion.

Wendy's next book, Warrior Everlasting, will be coming out on May 6th.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Declaration of Me

I'm in a dangerous mood today. Since I don't have anyplace suitable (i.e., private enough) for dancing like a lunatic and screaming at the top of my lungs...

I’m alone here
in this room
with the music
in my head
and my feet
move silent
to the beat
of the drum
that I hear
in my head
in my room
while I’m alone.

I've always been alone. I remember in seventh grade, my English teacher gave me a compliment--or at least, I interpreted it as a complement at the time. I wrote a half page story and she said it contained a novel's worth of buried fury. So I decided then that I was going to be a writer. Thirty years later I find myself with an obsession that has me by the throat and won't let go.

It echoes in the lonely silences
an endless twisting rhyme that rules my world.
Not only sound, but color, rhythm, light,
it dances through my day and dreams my night.

I wake and free the rhythm and the rhyme
to twist the dance into a human form.
The story shapes itself--I have no part--
and dreams escape the boundaries of time.

I sleep and shape the color and the light,
then form a dream into reality.
The painting moves my hand--it is not planned--
a lonely dance of medium and life.

The art creates itself with paint or ink,
with quiet promises it leads me on.
The end of life, the last of this creation
shall be my final epitaph in stone.

The obsession has never moderated, nor do I want it to. I've always been a writer. But sometimes there's an edge, a hint of something else beyond "just" a writer. Possibility. And I have to dance, or sing, or just sit and fidget because the joy of being fills me to overflowing and I just...can't...

Living consists of
a constant awareness
of the simple things--
breath, sunlight, wind, blood

But then there are the quiet moments, when I sit and listen. I was taught (not told, taught) to be inconspicuous, not to put myself forward or speak my thoughts. And so we have at the last a declaration of me. Take it as you will, because once these things are out of my mind they're out of my hands as well.

Duck and hide,
Don't draw attention
To the beauty you
See inside yourself.

That's boasting.

Duck and cringe,
Waiting to be attacked
For daring to change
The unchangeable.

That's rebellion.

Stand and wait,
Because boasting
Is the beginning
Of rebellion, and
Rebellion has
its own ends.

That's a given.