Archive for February, 2019

Walk with Me – Turn Left

It’s Monday or as my morning has proven: Three Tylenol and a Tums Day. That is another story for another Monday involving travel and mystery.

Today involves a book review. Don’t worry. It’s not my book. I belong to a book club, Novel Friends. I love the name, members, and the books (most of them).

Last month we read Little Fires Everywhere, by Celeste Ng. I can remember how to spell that name. Her plot was interesting and her descriptions were healthy, real, spot on. This reader was caught in the beginning as I assume most were. Who set the fire? Ng takes you through the fires within each character and how these hot spots affect others everywhere. An amazing idea, which I wish I had thought of. Most authors explain how main characters interact with others, but she pin points how the actions of one determines the decisions of others.

Mia, a housekeeper, “corralled the crumbs” off the kitchen counter as she listens to her employer’s children. They had dismissed her out of mind. I find that I too, gather our crumbs while I take in others’ conversations, the scenes through the window, and TV news, dismissed by others. Great detective technique.

More importantly, Mia later offers a definition of a child. Hopefully, Ng will forgive this free ad. It’s beautifully written.

“To a parent, your child wasn’t just a person: your child was a place, a kind of Narnia, a vast eternal place where the present you were living and the past you remembered and the future you longed for all existed at once.”

“You could see it every time you looked at her: layered in her face was the baby she’d been and the child she’d become and the adult she would grow up to be, and you saw them all simultaneously, like a 3-D image.”

Now, that’s great writing.







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I have written about the church in our backyard, or Back Garden as the British say. It rings the hour (9a, 12p, 3p, 6p) and then plays one verse of a Christian hymn, most of them I either recognize or can sing along, because of my appreciated childhood. This morning it was “This Is My Story”.

“This is my story. This is my song. Praising my savior all the day long.” There’s more, but memory fades somewhat. My point is … that title fits this author and it has kicked my literary backside into gear.  The amount of time I have dedicated to my writing life has been pitiful.

Which brings me to the non-creative side of my business. I am not happy in this part. Procrastination prevails. I need to write a synopsis for each of my six novels if I am to successfully capture an agent of worth.

I am not condensed milk. I do not enjoy condensing my beloved historical characters, and all they have to say, into the present time and delete conversation. It feels as if I have put them in an electric dryer, deflowered them somehow. The plots are similar in difficulty, but not as gut-boiling. The setting, my swamp, hasn’t changed for thousands of years, except for manmade stuff. Still the process is stifling.

I have decided to mix this business around. I’ll do what needs to be done, but work on my WIP on the same day. I need the fluid bit to loosen my joints and enjoy this life.



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