New Year's Nearly Here

A few years ago I still delighted in the first snowfall. Now, as I stare out the window, the freshly coated Currier and Ives landscape just looks cold and soggy. The problem is...it's not really winter yet. In fact, it's a whole month shy. So I'm not tickled with the arctic storm with accompanying single digit temperatures that's roaring in this weekend. Right now there's a light dusting of snow on the lawns. There will be more flurries over the next few days, followed by a week of icy sunshine. This signals the end of my walks around the Loop with Natty, at least until spring.

The good news is that the young man who mows my lawn dropped by yesterday and for three solid hours he and his girlfriend raked up the autumn leaves blanketing the side and back yards, and toted them to the bonfire pile in the pasture. The lawns won't be smothered by sodden leaves when everything thaws in the spring. I'm a little better prepared this year, since I got most of the bushes and shrubs trimmed back early, and over a hundred new tulip and daffodil bulbs set.

So maybe I can stop worrying about the yard and the weather and concentrate on getting some writing done in December. I've yet to write "Forgiving Charles Dickens" or "Get Me to the Church in Time." And I've got to finish interviewing Peter S. Beagle by e-mail for a story about his terrific comeback with a series of new novels and stories. I also want to write about reunions and rejections.

So it's coming up Thanksgiving week...time to count blessings.

Nat and Nami passed their annual physicals, and the vet says they are in good shape for senior citizen canines.
The cats have fluffed up, so will be able to withstand the colder temperatures.
I finished editing "Wine Wherever" and e-mailed the completed manuscript yesterday.
I've secured a housesitter so I can spend Christmas in Arizona with my stepgranddaughter and her parents.
I've thought of a format for my "novel" in short stories...and plan to begin writing the connected episodes in January.

Okay, winter...here's the deal. It may be cold and soggy outside. In front of my laptop, I'm always warm and dry. So let it snow. There's days I still may find it delightful.

Choosing Shoes Blues

A fashion maven I'm not. I'm inclined towards jeans and sweaters, loafers and tennies. Nonetheless, I share Carrie Bradshaw's love of fancy shoes...so long as they're worn by others. The last heels I wore was to my son's wedding in 1989, and that was just for the first part of the evening, until we all started to dance.

Nonetheless, I learned this morning that my story about the days my father worked weekends in the Sears and Roebuck shoe department at Slauson and Vermont in Los Angeles has been selected for an upcoming anthology for shoe lovers. It will be published by Princess Dominique, the company that bills itself as "the epitome of all things beautiful."

I'm looking forward to learning when the book will be available, and what it's title will be.

Check out this terrific blog:

http://www.princessdominique.com/fashionblog/

Patience Pending

Christina Katz, who publishes The Prosperous Writer, has committed this year's 52 columns to discussing qualities writers should possess. This is Week 39, and she addresses patience.

She writes: The definition of patience describes the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.

Can you bear it? Can you remain calm in the face of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like?

Oh, dear. Just this morning I snarled at Harpo, my marmalade cat, when he leaped up on the back of the chair and clawed my shoulder as I sat at my computer, finger poised to poke "send" to submit an entry to yet another anthology. It didn't help that Natty, the mutt, had wedged his snout between the armrest and my left wrist, or that Nami, the Akita, flanked my right side, panting heavily and licking my cheek. Then the Internet connection dissolved, and I gave up.

"Que sera," I hummed, dragged out the leashes. I took the felines and canines for a stroll through the back pasture. I combed Nami, who has entered a new shedding season, tossed some windfall apples to my neighbor's horses, breathed in some crisp October air and reconsidered.

Was my essay really ready to go out? Did it need revising or at least a little tweaking? Was I rushing to submit because I'm about ready to take off for Southern California for a visit with friends and relatives?

By the time I got back in the house the Internet mysteriously had reconnected. I looked through my piece. Nope. It was good to go. This time the animals flopped in the hallway and left me in peace. The story's off now into ether space.

Now here's where the real patience comes into play...the part that Christina didn't mention. The deadline for the piece I submitted today isn't until next March. Then it will be another month or so before the editor lets the writers know if they've been accepted. If I'm lucky and get accepted, several months more will pass before the book is printed. More time might elapse before I get my contributor's copy and/or a check.

Over two years ago I submitted a story that got accepted. The publisher kept pushing back the date of the book's appearance. Finally last month I got the book and the check. In another case, in mid-2008 I was delighted to learn a piece would be published in an Irish anthology for caregivers. I sent in my bio and waited. Five months ago I got an update...the book would be printed sometime this summer. It's now nearly November and the editor doesn't respond to my inquiries.

How do writers find the patience to deal with these endless delays and perpetual states of suspense? I rely on "the more the merrier." I submit stories to multiple publications, whenever it's allowed. I rewrite and resubmit my "orphans," stories previously rejected. And I try to come up with at least one or two new stories every month, no matter what else is circulating out there.

This morning when I snapped at my annoying beast, I'd had a morning filled with one frustration after another. It wasn't my dogs' fault they wanted an outing and some attention. They're human, too. Well...nearly. Hard-hearted Harpo's another matter though. He's sometimes just plain mean. It's his nature. He's a tom cat.

I realize that all this harping about Harpo and having to wait a year or two for a book or a check is silly, though, taking into consideration how long Samuel Clemens scholars and fans have waited for the publication of The Autobiography of Mark Twain. Clemens wanted his unexpurgated, unBowdlerized book to be published a century after his death in 1910. Various online book vendors advertise the book as available anywhere between October 29 and November 15. I've waited over fifty years for this book myself since reading the earlier heavily edited autobiography in the early sixties. And guess what? Thanks to technology, I just downloaded it onto my Kindle five minutes ago. I'll be reading it in on my trip to Southern California, at long, long, long last.

Some things are worth being patient about!

Sweet Sorrow

I love writing inspirational stories for Chicken Soup for the Soul, Cup of Comfort, Patchwork Path and Thin Threads, but not every story has a happy ending. And in my life, there's been some sadder experiences waiting to be told.

Not long ago at a membership meeting of the Colville branch of AAUW (American Association for University Women), we did a "getting to know you" exercise. Each of us revealed what is her favorite song and why. I wouldn't have guessed this in advance, but John Lennon's "In My Life," immediately came to mind. I've always been haunted by the lyrics...not the refrain of "in my life I love you more," but this:

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them...

I think about those people, places and things all the time these days. I recall once learning in a psychology class about how older people do a kind of "life review." I'm that Older Person now. For the past four years I've successfully reviewed my life through writing my anthology stories. But I'm not Pollyanna, the Glad Girl. I can't find a silver lining to every event or experience.

So what do I do with these bittersweet or edgier stories that may not be altogether inspirational? Mike O'Mary answered that question for me, and other writers, when he established Dream of Things for creative non-fiction. This new series of anthologies provides an outlet for those of us who want to go just a little deeper in our self-examinations.

http://dreamofthings.com/

My story, "Dreaming as the Summers Die," appears in this beautiful new book, Saying Goodbye: to the people, places and things in our lives. I'm delighted to be part of this literary debut and look forward to writing other stories for this new series.

The official book launch is Monday, but Saying Goodbye already is available at Amazon.com. Here's the site:

http://www.amazon.com/Saying-Goodbye-people-places-things/dp/0982579446/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1286554344&sr=1-1

Two Rib Bones and Three Bowls of Borscht

Today's Tsunami's eighth birthday. Doesn't she look contented after chewing away for an hour on a Safeway rib bone? I got one for Natty, too, and at $4.96 each, I could have bought myself a couple of rib eye steaks. (Ken, wherever you may be, please notice that I'm still spoiling "the children.")

Sometimes when I'm trying to put a story together, I get stuck. That's what happened to the tale about a fifth anniversary trip to Canada. Somehow finally it all came together in the predawn hours today before Natty forced me out of bed so he could get outside to chase a deer who had leaped the back fence in hopes of scoring a few windfall Delicious apples. So now all I have to do is let the story tell itself...it's called "Three Bowls of Borscht," and involves some wonderful treks to Grand Forks, BC.

Earlier this week I finished "Why Did Cynthia Slap Me?" and fired it off. Over the weekend I plan to tackle "Forgiving Charles Dickens." And I finally have a story in mind for Dream of Things collection on sports, "It's Only a Game." I had to reach all the way back to 1959 when I picked up a trophy for "ladies third place" in a handicap bowling league!

Lost in the Fifties...and WOW

So here I am, my first semester at Compton College, my smile captured fifty five years ago by the man who became my first husband, Bob Elders. He took photography in the same building where my journalism classes were held.

This weekend I slipped back to the fifties and sixties. My time travel started when I picked up Terry Ryan's captivating recap of her mom's efforts to keep a family of ten children afloat through contest entries. The book's title sums it up, "The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio: How My Mother Raised 10 Kids on 25 Words or Less." I well remember the era, as I first married in 1955. I never became an avid submitter, but did win a prize in at least one of these skills contests before sweepstakes replaced them. I received a cardboard soft drink stand, and my son, Steve, and his pals peddled Funny Face from it off and on in front of Circle Gardens apartments in Long Beach, CA, on hot summer Saturdays.

I didn't see the movie made from Ryan's book when it appeared a few years back, but have moved it to the top of my Netflix list. Those were simpler days...less technology, fewer expectations. Postage stamps cost only four cents. Like Evelyn Ryan, I didn't drive in those days either...didn't get my license until I had to in 1967 to go to work for Los Angeles County Department of Public Social Services. I walked to the grocery store and post office, rode my bike to Cal State Long Beach and the Los Altos library...and took the bus to Jordan High, where I taught English and Journalism. Or Bob would drive me to where I needed to go.

Just as I was recalling those days, I got a telephone call from an old Lynwood High School classmate. She's compiling a mini-anthology for a reunion next month. I transferred to Lynwood in January, 1954, too late for class photos. She wondered if I had something from that period that I could scan and send her. So I spent hours digging through the duffle bag where I store old photos, to come up with one from that time period. Every three or four years I plow through this bag. I've always hoped to take a weekend to sort out the photos, but never have. There's ones dating back to my early childhood, to my son's childhood, to my early teens. Photos from my 1955 honeymoon in Catalina. I spent more happy hours reminiscing.

But now I return to today. Today I appear as the first featured guest columnist in Publishing Syndicate's WOW Principles Newsletter. In this article I detail how I hope to turn my experience at the University of Cambridge into stories for a variety of publications. Here's the link to the newsletter:

http://www.PublishingSyndicate.com/PS/wownewscurrent.pdf

I've listed a dozen or so possible stories I plan to create, using my Cambridge experiences. And I intend to follow up on these good intentions...just as soon as I finish two stories that need writing first...one about a humbling experience in seventh grade, and one about borscht.

The story about my transfer to Lynwood appears this month in Whispering Angel's Living Lessons.

http://www.whisperingangelbooks.com/

Enough Frivolity & Merriment...Back to Basics

It's not that I've not left London. Here's visual proof: Heather, my English pal, and me sharing a farewell feast of chili at The Marquis pub, not far from Victoria Station. After lunch she headed back to Weston-super-Mare and I returned to Colville, WA. But London has not yet left me, particularly Charles Dickens' version of it. My Victorian summer continues, even though the maple leaves have turned red. I'm still watching Masterpiece Theater's production of Our Mutual Friend, and Netflix will be sending Little Dorrit once I'm finished with this series.

I've strayed from writing these past few days...went to the newly opened A Club in Spokane to hear Jason Webley, with his music that tears itself apart, and to the local Alpine Theater to see Javier Bardem steal Eat Pray Love from Julia Roberts. Sunday night, while fires roared in the nearby Shiloh hills, I savored a platter of shrimp and sausage at my first ever Shrimp Boil. I've even partially cleared out a mountain of e-mail that had accumulated while I was in England.

Now, though, if I can shoo away the cats and quiet the dogs, it's time to chain myself to the laptop and commit to writing these stories:

• Fifth anniversary trip to Canada
• Going back to school at age 73
• Forgiving Charles Dickens
  
• Botanical gardens, Seychelles, Mauritius and Cambridge
• Meanness...and I have a title for this one, "Why Did Cynthia Slap Me?"
• Times of Trouble...family misfortune
• Museum of Childhood

My goal: to have all of these tales written before I leave for Southern CA on October 20.